Found Poetry
On the first day of the year, Mr. Chandler came into my eighth grade English class in a pair of large green corduroy pants and mismatched socks. He always wore mismatched socks for luck.
“I ride the bike to school every day, no matter the weather,” he said proudly. “But today was different. My bike chain was making a clicking noise in this exact rhythm: TSS-tss-tss-tss-tss-tss- TSS-tss-tss-tss-tss-tss.” He created the clicking sound by smacking his tongue against his teeth.
“Suddenly, I was thrust into the past and reminded of something, but I wasn’t sure what. Halfway to school, I realized what it was–I was hearing a line from “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe. ‘I was a child and she was a child…’ I said the line to myself over and over and over the whole way there. ‘I was a child and she was a child and I was a child and she was a child…” I was enthralled by his story.
Yesterday, I found myself walking through campus in lovely weather, in a long skirt that fluttered around my ankles. Suddenly, I heard a rhythm I could not identify even with my knowledge of music theory. My mouth opened ajar to form a word not yet born. I paused to take a breath and the words spilled out of me before I could anticipate them: “anyone lived in a pretty how town / (with up so floating many bells down).” It was the spirit of e.e. cummings on a spring day. I repeated the line the whole way to class.
“anyone lived in a pretty how town / (with up so floating many bells down)/ anyone lived in a pretty how town / (with up so floating many bells down).”
Today I am thinking of your found poetry, Mr. Chandler. I hope to find more along the way.
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