Growing up, I loved the game Memory. And I was really good at it. My little sister was even better. Recently my uncle remembered playing with us and said he knew he never had a chance at winning. Memory can certainly feel like a brain game. A lesson to learn. A skill to acquire. A competition to win.
September is a time when many are settling back into the classroom. I just finished a class. As part of my ongoing work with The Good Listening Project, I was invited to take an online course, Committed to Heart, Committed to Memory: A Poetic Endeavor taught by Matthew Stillman.
I said yes and immediately began to question my decision. Sure, I was good at playing Memory and can pretty easily memorize song lyrics or movie quotes, but I’m not great at memorizing poems. Like most first days of class, that morning I was filled with doubts. Was I prepared? What if I couldn’t do it? Did I even belong there?
The class began with a burst of energy. Strong enough that it scared my inner introvert. How do you sneak out of a Zoom room without causing a scene?
I am so glad I stayed. It didn’t take long to realize I was exactly where I needed to be. I was among poets, listeners, healers, dreamers. And we were guided by a teacher with a magical aura and unmatched ability to set us at ease while also challenging us to be unashamedly odd, in both our being and our doing.
For four August Saturdays we gathered. We learned to count with numbers and letters. To question certainty. To imagine the certainty of questions. To speak softly and confidently. To listen creatively and intently. To sit with silence. To engage poetry with our whole selves. To memorize poems with our hearts and our minds.
I won’t give away the method because I hope you’ll consider taking the course yourself, but I’ll say that it was so mysteriously simple and, simultaneously, profoundly measured.
Near the end of the first session we received our first poem. I was surprised to realize it is one I am familiar with, even have framed and hanging on my wall. I wasn’t sure if familiarity would make it easier or harder to memorize. Throughout the week, Matthew sent morning emails with prompts and reflections about the poem. Some giving insight into the poet or an image or theme within the lines. Others inviting us to try different cadences or rhythms or accents while reciting. These emails put us in conversation with the poem and with one another. We were not doing this work alone, but as part of a community.
The second week, class began with another (wilder) counting exercise and then one by one, we all recited the poem. You might think hearing the same poem eight times would be boring. It was anything but. Each of us brought our own styles and experiences to the poem. Emphasizing different syllables, tripping over different words, stumbling over different lines. And we did it all with so much joy and camaraderie. Cheering one another on. Encouraging each other when the words got stuck on our tongues. Clapping, sending emojis when they broke free.
In total we memorized three poems and at the final session recited them all. In some ways it felt like a juggling act. In others like holding hands with a trio of new friends.
I was able to memorize three poems in less than a month, while still navigating day to day life responsibilities, because Matthew’s teaching guided the poems into the core of our hearts and walked them into the halls of our minds. Matthew also helped me to come out of my shell, to let go, to not take myself so seriously, to play, to improvise, to be brave.
Hours after the final class ended I was on the road heading north for a visit with my grandmother. Upon arriving I couldn’t wait to recite one of the poems for her. But first we ate dinner. She had a lovely meal prepared. The table was different than the one she set when I was a child, but the plates, silverware, and water glasses were the same as I remember. We talked about anything and everything. We shared memories with an honesty never dared before. Listened with a new and gracious openness. I worried there might not be time for a poem, yet trusted the space would open up if it was meant to be.
Eventually we moved to the living room. A checker board on the end table reminded us both of games we played together when I was young. She remembered those intense rounds of Memory. “You’ve always had a good memory,” she said. “Maybe that’s why you’re such a good poet and storyteller.”
I started remembering the crumbling cardboard box holding 72 cards in a red tray, 36 matching pairs. Vividly recalling images of animals, flowers, fruits, geometric shapes, a baby stroller, and a pair of roller skates. Why was I so good at the game? Because my mind memorized their location on the board or because my heart imagined their story? Who wore those skates? Who pushed that stroller? Did they go to the park or the library?
As with so many things in life, I am learning to shed binary understandings. Hearts think and minds feel. Memories exist in our thoughts and emotions. Your memories do not validate mine. My memories do not negate yours. Our stories are not fighting for a place on the shelf.
This course was about more than poetry and memorization. Memorizing poetry was a way to practice being human and building connections. Listening to others. Trusting ourselves. Risking sounding silly or making mistakes. These lessons have a permanent place in the card catalog of my mind and my heart.
The first poem we memorized was a classic of W.B. Yeats. Shortly before my grandmother and I made our way to bed that night, I asked if I could recite it. And I did, without one missed word or even a hesitated breath. With a poem between us, we were closer than we’ve ever been.
She shared memories of her eleven trips to Ireland. I told her about visiting the church graveyard in Drumcliffe, where Yeats is buried. She told me stories of ancestors and angels. And how she hopes to be remembered. I assured her, that like the poem, she is forever committed to my heart and my mind.
Water-fully and curiously yours, Rebecca
Click here to learn more about the course, Committed to Heart, Committed to Memory.
Click here to learn more about The Good Listening Project.
Leave a comment to share a poem you have or would like to memorize, or what curiosities you have about memorizing poems in general.
Rebecca, one of the things I loved about Matthew's class was getting to know you better, and the others in the class too. Listening to everyone read each poem aloud unfolded different aspects not only of the poems, but of the people!
Thank you for this wonderful account of your experience with Matthew‘s program. I took it a few years ago and can also attest to its power and simplicity! ❤️🍃