I am almost done reading Margarita Engle's The Poet Slave of Cuba, a novel in verse about the life of Juan Francisco Manzano. A poem narrated my Don Nicolás, the kind son of the heartless "Marquesa del Prado," ends with the following lines:
think of what she will do
when she sees how your thumbnail
has carved shapes that look
like whole letters, whole words
into the succulent skin
of this geranium leaf
releasing
the fragrance
of verse
That last phrase, "the fragrance of verse," has moved me in that ethereal way only poetry can. It has inspired me to start this blog where I hope to share my experiences reading poetry. If you come across this through serendipity, I would appreciate recommendations on what I should read next and why.
