Sharp Words

I have my parents and my primary school to thank for my love of poetry. For introducing me to it, and it to me, when I was quite small, and for making it something so very normal. My parents gave me poetry books when I was a child; we read and wrote it in school the same way as we read stories or wrote our daily news.

I can’t remember the first poem I ever heard – since my parents always read to me, it would have been when I was very very young. Quite a few baby books are in rhyme, after all.

The first poem that I can remember engaging my attention was Eleanor Farjeon’s Cats Sleep Anywhere, for its easy rhymes and metre and delightful imagery.

Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.

That poem definitely influenced the first poem that I can remember writing; so much so that a school friend actually accused me of plagiarism, not that we knew the word at 6 or 7 years old. (It shows how familiar we were made with poetry though, that she recognised those influences and called me on them!). I’m quoting it here from memory – it made such a strong impression on me that I can remember it more than 25 years later! – and I think I’ve got all the words right.

Mice
I like mice.
I think they are nice.
But some people don’t,
And some people won’t
Keep one for a pet.
But I think mice
Are rather nice.
You’d like them too, I bet.
(© 1981 C Sharp)

My parents bought me a copy of I Like This Poem when I was about 7. It was a Puffin paperback, produced in 1977 for the International Year of the Child, and edited by the fabulous Kaye Webb. The poems had been chosen by children aged from 5 to 15 (and the book was divided by year); each one gave the reason that they liked that poem.

I loved that book – I still do, in fact. (My copy finally fell to pieces a few years ago despite sticky tape and elastic bands, but I replaced it with the one linked on this page. I miss the old green cover though.) Looking at it now, it’s fascinating to see at what age children identify with different poems. The early years are ones from the Winnie-the-Pooh books or Spike Milligan rhyming nonsense rhymes (my favourites too when I was small); later ones include Night Mail by W H Auden with its fantastic train-like rhythm, Jabberwocky (more nonsense words) by Lewis Carroll, and Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen.

We used to read poetry at least a few times a term in primary school, as part of our reading comprehension exercises. I vividly remember How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix by Robert Browning as one I particularly liked.

We also wrote poetry as part of our class assignments. In my final year of primary school (aged 10-11), we created a book with all our own poems written out very neatly and illustrated (badly, in my case; I’m no artist). I can remember the first few lines of a couple of them, which very nicely show what I was interested in at that age!

I am Robbie the Robot, I am only two feet high.
To me, people seem to touch the sky.

Jalia was an enchantress, a powerful elven maid.
Unicorns pulled her chariot, sphinxes lay at her feet.

As you can see, I was familiar with writing both rhyme (which is what every child starts with, particularly because it’s easier to remember) and with blank verse.

I was also keen to inflict my love of poetry on others, and I remember standing up in our school assembly – I think I even volunteered to do so! – to read one of my favourite Spike Milligan poems, Silly Old Baboon. This trend would continue, as I’ll explain in the next part of this series…

There was a baboon
Who one afternoon
Said I think I will fly to the sun.
So with two great palms
Strapped to his arms,
He started his take-off run.