November 5, 2006
A friend of mine told me about this poem, and gave a book of E.E. Cummings poems. Now, I’ve never been a reader of poetry. I guess I always thought it was too, I don’t know, odd for me. But having read many poems, at least by Cummings, I’ve come to really appreciate it. It’s a real challenge, reading poetry. It requires reading out loud, and looking at each and every word and fitting each word together to make a relevent meaning. Poetry is like constructing a puzzle. It’s challenging, it’s new, it’s mysterious. It’s wonderful; especially this poem, which I can relate with, uh, rather well. Olaf is my homeboy.