At work today in the lunch room, I heard a line of poetry. The speaker perhaps didn't realize it was poetry since she spoke it as part of a conversation around the table, but to me it was. As faithfully as I can, I reproduce it here:
I have been in Rome when . . . and the lavender was in bloom
It doesn't look like much at the moment, especially since I can't remember the middle section, but the important thing is that I heard it--I heard it with a poet's ears. It sang to me. It wrapped me in its warmth, in the warm hues of its Mediterranean-ness. I could taste the olives still warm from the vine and smell the aroma of bread from the stone oven. I could see the vision of what it was expressing.
So I asked. I asked if I could use it. "Can I use that in a poem?" Yes, said the person who had originated what I considered to be a beautiful line. I took it away with me (well, most of it, anyway), and now all that's left is the hard work of melding it with other lines to bring out the poem that I heard in my head.
I'll keep you posted.
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