Memory and Poetry

I want to talk about a serious subject and, for those who recognize themselves in the discussion that I'm about to launch, to suggest a path that offers many rewards. To jump to the end: I'm going to advocate the virtues of memorizing poetry. (Please don't tune me out.)

There's no one I know, seventy or older, who does not, at least privately, worry about his (or her) memory. What are we to make of those little lapses? The names we can't summon forth instantaneously? The chore that slips our mind? The purpose for which we came into this room in the first place? We don't want to spend our time worrying. Still less do we want to discuss our concern and give our children reason to worry. But still. . . .

And so we adopt tactics designed to train our minds. Treating our brains like muscles, we apply our own versions of the "use it or lose it principle." We work out crosswords, we play bridge, we puzzle our way through sudokus; or we resume piano lessons from childhood days, we finally set out to learn French or Spanish; or perhaps we enroll in courses in the nearest college. All of this is fun – in fact, we wouldn't do it if it weren't – but we also hope that the activity is a useful mental exercise, keeping us a bit ahead of the game as we look for strategies for graceful aging.

In these generalizations I am of course including myself. It's true that I watch others and share observations with them. But above all I draw my impressions from consulting my own consciousness. And so in urging a turn to the memorization of poetry as a form of proactive therapy for memory slippage I'm touting an exercise that I've enjoyed.

It is likely that many of you will recall being asked to memorize poems in school.  That sound practice, sadly, has almost disappeared. And for some of course it was simply an unpleasant inflicting of needless pain. But there were many – and those are the ones I appeal to first and foremost – who, whatever they made of the school assignments at the time, recall now that poetry could sometimes have a certain charm, or power, or magnetism, or incisiveness that made lines . . . well . . . memorable.

For example (and say these aloud):

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep.

Or:

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Or:

Bring me my bow of burnished gold,
Bring me my arrows of desire;
Bring me my spear, o clouds unfold;
Bring me my chariot of fire.

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall the sword sleep in my hand,
Til we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

Or (one of my favorites):

Innocence seeth'd in her mother's milk,
And charity setting the martyr aflame;
Thraldom that walks with the banner of Freedom,
And recks not to ruin a realm in her name.

Or (one of everyone's favorites):

To be, or not to be – that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them.

But rather than supply more examples I'll just become a cheerleader and say it: THIS STUFF IS WONDERFUL. If you speak the poems aloud, the words roll out of the mouth like rich candy – candy for the mouth, yes, but for the ears too, and the brain. If you're like me, it takes time to gain a control over lines of verse; but the achievement, when it comes, is very rewarding. I hope you won't think this an odd prescription. In fact, I hope you'll take it the way I feel it: as a desire to let friends in on the sheer fun of capturing and commanding poetry. Believe me. There's magic in the words of the great poets.

You'll notice I've changed my subject. And that's because I can't really claim that memorizing poetry improves your odds against cognitive impairment. (That was a come-on.) But it might. And it's lots of fun to boot. So my advice is to give it a try. What's there to lose?