You find yourself turning the words and phrases in your mind so many times that certain things click–as in Malcolm’s example, only in Lithuanian, Bengali, or what have you.

Knowing no Bengali, I memorized a Bengali poem for my students’ enjoyment (many were from Bangladesh). I had a recording and a literal translation. The poem, “Beraler eyont kicu pongti,” by Shamsur Rahman, is about a parent with a daughter (the youngest of several) and a cat. The girl loves the cat and takes care of it. But the cat takes off one day, and the girl is so upset she doesn’t eat for two days. The parent doesn’t know how to explain why the cat left.

My transliteration is based on the sounds–some of the word divisions may be inaccurate.

“…Ekdin [one day], bola-kova ney [without saying a word], she beral kuthai udaoholo [this cat vanished somewhere], kicute galo na jana [not a trace of her anywhere], koja-oji holoshar [we looked everywhere], ar amar konischo konna [and my youngest daughter] bhishun kharab kore mon [was very downcast], khelo na dudin kicu [didn't eat for two days], chupchap, nilo she bichana [not saying a word, she lay on her bed]….”

After many repetitions, you can start to figure it out–”din” is “day,” “ekdin” is “one day,” “bola” has to do with speaking, “kojakoji” seems to mean “everywhere,” “khelo na” means “she ate not,” “dudin” means “two days,” “chupchap” seems to mean “lips sealed,” etc.

My students had wildly different reactions when I recited it. Some were thrilled and amazed. Others burst out laughing and asked me to recite it again so they could giggle some more. I don’t think they hear Americans reciting Bengali poems very often.

I still don’t know Bengali, but some words and sounds are now familiar. When I recite the poem, I know where I am in it and what it is saying.

I decided after I submitted the prior comment that it was so stylized that there was a good chance it was wrong. Indeed, I found that it is. The line actualy reads “Nor you…”, which references back to “Let not Ambition…” 2 stanzas prior, so that we let not Ambition do X, nor you do Y.

None of this, by the way, should detract from Malcom’s points, which are well-taken.

The clauses aren’t the hard part of that stanza. The hard part of that stanza is the first line.

I mean, it’s poetry… so you’re allowed to bend the rules. But “No you” is a very, very stylized (and, if one were to here it a particular way, barbarically ignorant) way of saying “Do not”.

One last thing, every time one of my kids recites a poem from memory for someone they’re getting a bit of a taste for performing. It’s led, with my 11 year old, from reciting poems for a few family members to being very comfortable with violin recitals and church readings.

1) Some author observed that reading Swinburne’s line “the mute, clear music of her amorous mouth” aloud “moves the reader’s mouth into the position of a kiss.” It’s not just the meaning or sound of the words.

2) Here’s a stanza from Grey’s Elegey Written in a County Churchyard:

“No you, ye proud, impute to these the fault
If memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise
where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
the pealing anthem swells the note of praise.”

If you read this stanza once or twice, your response is likely to be: “Huh?” but it makes complete sense; “where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault the pealing anthem swells the note of praise” is an adjectival phrase which modifies the noun “tomb”. Memorize the Elegy and you get it.

One thing I’ve noticed is that verses or passages that take longer to memorize tend to stay with the children longer than a verse that only took a day or two to master. I don’t know if it’s the repetition involved in getting the lines down, or if it is simply the amount of time spent on the piece.

We live for opportunities like this! I looked her in the eyes and said…

“Since feeling is first, who pays any attention
to the syntax of things may never wholly kiss you.
wholly to be a fool while spring is in the world.
my blood approves and kisses are a better fate than wisdom, lady
I swear by all flowers.
Don’t cry. The best gesture of my brain
is less than your eyelid’s flutter, which says
‘we are for each other’.
Then laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life is not a paragraph
and death, I think, is no parenthesis.”
e.e. cummings