This poem by the American poet Joseph Harrison (born 1957) showed up in my inbox today, courtesy of Poem-A-Day. To me, the rhythmic flow of the words is almost mesmerizing. I found myself following them without even thinking about meaning but just enjoying the way they spoke to and lulled my subconscious.
Shakespeare's Horse
He was a man knew horses, so we moved
As wills were one, and all was won at will,
In hand with such sleight handling as improved
Those parks and parcels where we're racing still,
Pounding like pairs of hooves or pairs of hearts
Through woodland scenes and lush, dramatic spaces,
With all our parts in play to play all parts
In pace with pace to put us through his paces.
Ages have passed. All channels channel what
Imagined these green plots and gave them names
Down to the smallest role, if and and but,
What flies the time (the globe gone up in flames),
What thunders back to ring the ringing course
And runs like the streaking will, like Shakespeare's horse.
Harrison explains: "The story that Shakespeare got his start in theater by taking care of
the horses audience members rode to plays, serving as the Elizabethan equivalent of a parking valet, is probably apocryphal. But he would have ridden horses frequently, especially as he traveled between London and Stratford. Though he may never have owned one, I like to imagine that for several years had a particular favorite, and that he even, on occasion, composed in his head while he rode."
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