Wednesday With Words: Poetry of Sound and Feeling

I was reading Edgar Allan Poe's poem "The Bells" to the boys at teatime today and it made me think of the different reasons we love different poems. We enjoy poetry very simply here --no analysis or picking apart, just reading and enjoyment. I'm sure we'll engage in some analysis later on, perhaps in high school, but for now we're laying a foundation of pure pleasure in the words, the sounds, the meanings, the feelings. "The Bells" is one of those poems where the sound of the words sweeps you along and evokes emotion, from the cheerful tinkling of the silver sledge bells at the beginning of the poem to the desperate, frenzied tolling of the iron bells at the end. This kind of poem almost reads itself... it pulls expression from you as you read it.

And that brings me to one of my favourite poems of this kind: "Tarantella" by Hilaire Belloc. It's not quite as heavy as Poe's "Bells," despite the "feet of the dead" and "Doom" at the end.

Tarantella

Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of the tar,
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the dark of the vine verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
Who hadn't got a penny,
And who weren't paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the Din?
And the Hip! Hop! Hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of the clapper to the spin
Out and in--
And the Ting, Tong, Tang of the Guitar!
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?

Never more,
Miranda,
Never more.
Only the high peaks hoar:
And Aragon a torrent at the door.
No sound
In the walls of the Halls where falls
The tread
Of the feet of the dead to the ground.
No sound:
Only the boom
Of the far Waterfall like Doom.

Did you read it aloud? Could you feel the din and whirl of the dance, and then the abrupt slowdown as you understood the depth of the silence and desolation of the Inn now?

Having children and reading poetry aloud to them has increased my enjoyment so much. I would never have glanced at this one twice back in the days when I only read poetry silently to myself. Some poems are meant to be read aloud, and you only understand their appeal when you do.

Do you have any examples of poems that are best read aloud? I'd love to hear them!