When
I was an undergrad at Vassar, Seamus Heaney came to give a talk and read from
his newly published translation of Beowulf. Though even then he was getting on in
years he spoke with the energy and enthusiasm of my twenty-year-old friends. The talk lasted an hour or so, and then
we lined up to get our copies of Beowulf signed and to ask him a question or two. Waiting in line, I mulled over what I wanted to ask
him. Not very well-versed in
poetry or poetics at the time, and having only ever read his poem “Digging”
(and his translation of Beowulf which
I was currently reading for my Old English course), and being rather nervous to
talk to a literary legend, I settled on the lame question, “What is your
favorite poem?” My turn approached
and I set my copy of Beowulf in
front of him to sign.
“Hello,
my dear,” Mr. Heaney said.
“Hello,
Mr. Heaney,” I said, and blurted my question.
Mr.
Heaney lifted his head halfway through signing my copy, looked directly at me,
at burst into laughter. I had not
expected this reaction to say the least.
Perhaps a moment of pause followed by a few names of poems or a bored
expression to a question heard a hundred times, but not this. His laughter, having attracted the
attention of everyone in the room, subsided slowly, though he remained smiling
at me when he said:
“Define
comedy!”
I
got it then, what he found so funny.
It was my turn to laugh.
A
joke or scenario I find hilarious may fall flat with a friend or may even seem
boring to me after a time whether because of its repetition or my own evolving
sense of humor. Just like an
evolving funny bone, our appreciation of various works of art changes over time
as we gain new experiences that alter (for better or worse) our understanding
of ourselves and of the world. For
that matter, how can you pick a favorite poem particularly when you, yourself,
are a poet, constantly evolving as a reader and a writer and a person in general?
I know many people and many writers have favorite poems, favorite books,
favorite movies, etc. But often
favorites change. All these
thoughts – more crudely developed at the time – flashed through my brain as I
processed Mr. Heaney’s challenge.
As
Sir Philip Sidney wrote in what is arguably the first work of English literary
criticism, An Apologie for Poetrie, “Comedy
is an imitation of the common errors of our life.” I wish to high heaven I had read An Apologie at that stage in my education and could have pulled
this quotation out of my brain; but even if I had, Mr. Heaney’s challenge was
largely rhetorical, meant to teach rather than test me. Instead I said:
“Apparently
comedy is asking a poet to name his favorite poem!”
Mr.
Heaney chuckled, his eyes kind and patient, not rushing me along to the next
student. He finished signing my
copy of Beowulf and beckoned for me to
lean down to him. I did.
“I
know a great knock knock joke,” he said quietly.
“Oh,
OK,” I said.
“You
start, my dear.”
“OK.” I was confused. “Knock knock.”
“Who’s
there?” he said, and burst into laughter again. I joined him.
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