Poetry happy

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Poetry is a type of literature in which a poet uses rhyme to communicate his or her fantasies, emotions, or ideas.

Poetry has a lot of power, and one of its most powerful abilities is to allow you to walk into another person’s moment or sensation and think, “Yes, I’ve felt it too.” If you don’t have an experience that exactly matches the one described in the poem, Reading poetry can still be a great way to connect with others and get a sense of what it’s like to look at the world through the poet’s eyes. Poetry deals with all facets of the human experience, as well as all emotions, and it’s sometimes a joy to jump into a happy moment and share it with the poet. When we’re feeling low, poems about happiness can help us feel better. and serve as a reminder that there is good in the world, even when things appear to be hopeless.

Can Poetry Make You Happy?

Poetry expresses our inner thoughts and feelings. When reading poetry, the reader immerses themselves in the poem. Poetry makes us happy since it can shift our thinking while we are in a sorrowfully sad mood.

Poetry forces you to take things slowly. You can’t hurry through a poem, devouring its contents like an email devoured whole in the grocery store’s rapid checkout line. A poem should be savoured, with the lines attentively read so that you can acclimate to the rhythm, melody, harmony, and strangeness. The ideal poem for you will strike a chord with you: it will allude to something significant to you. The most crucial quality you can contribute to a poem is generous, open, but concentrated attention. This type of attentiveness is also known as…you guessed it…mindfulness.

Poetry invites us to step into another person’s head. Except on Twitter, other people’s private lives are frequently hidden. However, Twitter is the dungeon of ideas. Poems encourage us to linger in higher places with people who may be of a different gender, colour, or religion, and who may be thousands of miles or centuries away. Reading a poem is an act of empathy because it allows us to think as the poet does. “Poetry may build your inner life,” declared poet Seamus Heaney.

Poetry has the power to elevate the mundane. If you’re stuck on ideas and your brainstorming session has come to a halt, go to some poetry and pick a random line. Allow the sluggishness of poetic language to lead you in a new direction, where old ways of looking at things fade away and new connections emerge. and you find yourself in awe.

Poetry can also refer to verses created by poets, inventive creations that use a condensed, rhythmic, resonant, and appealing language. A poem composed by a poet is a specific, expert, and tributary version of the general imaginative activity. Nonetheless, I’d prefer to start by discussing poetry just in its second and narrower sense, as poetic works made by people who enjoy writing them.0

College freshmen often found themselves with an afternoon to kill back in the days of white saddle shoes and the gentleman’s grade of C. I recall spending an afternoon with a literary roommate writing what we dubbed “A Complete List of Everything.” We saw ourselves, I think, as Dada’s heirs, and our to-do list, as we scribbled it down on the typewriter, read: amounted to a deliberately bizarre and unrelated succession of nouns A piece of our list could have looked something like this: Absence, chalk, vector, Amarillo, garters, dromedary, Tartarus, tupelo, omelette, caboose, ferrocyanide, and so on. As you may expect, we didn’t finish our list because we were wary of it. As in all forms of spontaneous productions – musical, literary, etc. – In the absence of conscious human meaning, it was only possible to maintain interest for a limited amount of time, whether it was graphic or spoken. Nonetheless, I believe there was a true urge behind our afternoon’s diversion, and I believe it sprang from a basic yearning that is fundamental to poetry: the need to lay claim to as much of the world as possible by shouting the names of things. This basic desire appears in all types of literature, both weighty and light. It can be found, for example, in the eighteenth chapter of Hugh Lofting’s Doctor Doolittle, a chapter that all youngsters like. On their trip back from Africa, Doctor Doolittle and his animal companions, as you may recall, come into control of a pirate ship by chance and discover a young child who has become separated from his red-haired, suffocating uncle on board. Jip the dog walks to the bow of the ship to check if he can sniff any snuff on the Northwind, and the Doctor swears to find the little boy’s missing uncle, wherever he may be. It’s worth mentioning that Jip is a great guy. is a talking dog who mutters to himself while he enjoys the fresh air:

Wet raincoats; crushed laurel leaves; rubber burning; lace-curtains being washed – no, lace-curtains hung out to dry; and foxes – hundreds of them…

These are the powerful odours, according to Jip. He has the following to report when he closes his eyes and concentrates on the more delicate odours carried by the wind:

The fragrant breath of young cows standing in a mountain stream; the lead roof of a dove-cote – or perhaps a granary – with the mid-day sun on it; the lead roof of a dove-cote – or perhaps a granary – with the mid-day sun on it; Little mushrooms blooming through rotten leaves; a dusty road with a horse’s feeding trough beneath the sycamores; black kid gloves laying in a walnut-wood bureau drawer…

A catalogue like this pleases us in a variety of ways. In the first place, it stimulates the olfactory memory, which is a dim and nostalgic thing that prompts us to recall the ghosts of numerous odours and smells. Second, such a catalogue helps us feel vicariously attentive; we join in Doctor Doolittle’s dog’s amazing response, and thus feel more alive to things. In third place, we admire Jip’s power of quick identification, his ability to name things as soon as they appear. In a nutshell, the passage’s effect is is to allow us to partake in a thoughtful appreciation and mastery of occurrences in general.

This is usually invariably what the cataloguing impulse expresses: a want to possess and praise the entire world, or at the very least to feel it. The Latin canticle Benedicite, Omnia Opera Domini demonstrates this most clearly and wonderfully. The opening verses of that well-known canticle are as follows:

I won’t go on because I am confident that you all understand the logic of what follows. The sun, moon, and stars, the winds and various weathers of the sky, the creatures of the ground and sea, and finally humans are all called upon in turn. Nothing has been overlooked. Although the canticle does not mention crushed laurel leaves or sycamores, it does say, ” “Bless ye the Lord, all ye Green Things upon the Earth”; it may not include foxes and young cows in a mountain stream, but it does say “Bless ye the Lord, all ye Beasts and Cattle.” What we have in the Benedicite is a poetic journey from heaven to earth, through the realms of traditional cosmology, to a man at the heart of things — a progression in which the entire hierarchy of organisms is described in terms that, while broad, are not abstract. It’s a lyric or song in which words encircle and capture heaven and earth, and pleasant feelings embrace them.

It’s fascinating to compare Benedicite’s method to that of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “curtal sonnet,” a more personal catalogue and praise poem.

Glory be to God for dappled things –

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