Read the translation of Margarita (the fact that it's printed in the Moscow Medical Journal next to a crossword amuses me no end). It's by my grandad actually, who's kind of an occasional poet - he's changed a lot of the lines, so the sense of the poem stays the same but there are phrases I didn't write/didn't mean etc. I do like it, but if I was translating it (not that I'd be capable of doing so, my Russian's not that good) it wouldn't be the same. Which I suppose is the point. The translator brings new veg to the stir-fry.
Sorry. There was talk of stir-fry earlier, I have it on the brain.
Misha was ill today (or rather: Misha had a fever for about five minutes last night prompting Mum to squeal "Ohmydayzzzz* he's ill someone must stay at home and look after him! ANNIE!" only the fever then disappeared and he's been absolutely fine all day. Bitter, me?). So all day I've been making paper chains, playing table hockey - which I SUCK at - I mean, I don't even have to let him win, he is genuinely better than me - and just spending time with my little brother, having heart-to-heart chats etc. Well, sort of.
Me: "Misha, do you know what gifts the three wise men brought?"
Misha: "Gold, frankenstein and myrrh."
Also...
Me: "Do you ever do poetry at school?"
Misha: "No. We never do poems, we always do puzzles of poems. We have to fill in the gaps and stuff."
Me: "Is that fun?"
Misha: "No, it's really boring." Pause. "I want to write a poem."
Me: (surprised and strangely excited) "Really??"
Misha: "Yeah. But we never ever do that."
Me: "You could ask your teacher, maybe she'll let you."
Misha: "No, she says we did poems in year 1 so we don't do them in year 2 because they're not in year 2 exams."
Year 2 exams. Let's not even go there on how insane that whole concept is. But the conversation reminded me of this from a few weeks back. Not sure where I stand on this - yeah, GCSE English was like drowning in a vat of bad metaphors while Gillian Clarke cackled manically in the background and I don't remember doing any poetry at all in primary school, apart from learning some poem about ducks...but on the other hand, what are you gonna do? English Lit. at GCSE and below is always going to be formulaic if they insist on examining it at the end of the year. And if it's formulaic then it's boring, and if it's boring then about 90% of the class just isn't going to care. If people want kids to really appreciate poetry I think it's got to be done outside the classroom.
All of which now makes me desperate to write poems with Misha. Seriously, I really want to try it, although I'm not sure how to go about it exactly bearing in mind he's six and has the attention span of, well, a 21st century six-year-old. If anyone has any ideas, it'd be much appreciated. I have to babysit again on Friday and need something else to entertain him with other than relentless table hockey.
In other news, I just spontaneously fell off my chair. Oh, gravity.
*OK, Mum didn't actually say "Ohmydayzzzz", but it would have been SO WONDERFUL if she had.
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