But I like that the life of a poet and folk song writer is celebrated around the world today, that there is an evening at which his poems (albeit one which is an address to sheep guts) are read aloud.
Years ago I went to a pub for Robbie Burns night, where there were poems and pipes and lots of beer. I wish it was more a part of our culture to celebrate poets and literature.
When I was in Africa I happened to be in Timbuktu for their annual poetry festival. During this week-long event, poets from across Africa came to recite poetry on a stage set on sand dunes. I’ve been to writers’ festivals, poetry slams, poetry readings, etc in Canada – but nothing can compare to the magic of sitting under the star-filled desert sky, listening to Timbuktu’s poetry.
But it wasn’t just the location that made it so exceptional – it was that children were crowded around the stage, listening with rapt interest, that people of all ages filled the grounds, laughing, clapping and responding with obvious pleasure and appreciation. One old poet, who spoke in a local dialect I could not understand, was such a hit with the crowd that people were continually coming up on stage to stuff money into his clothes.
In Mali there were also poets/singers who were hired to come to weddings and compose off-the-cuff lyrics about the couple getting married and the guests in attendance.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the written word. I love curling up with a good book or reading poetry. But I also love it when poems, stories and lyrics come alive through performances and readings.
So an evening which celebrates a poet, an evening at which poems are read and songs are sung – now that is certainly worth raising a glass to.
Sláinte!
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