Beauty empowers her daughter, Art, to heal both creator and appreciator.
Forget that you may not know this former Poet Laureate (2001-2003.) Back then, Billy Collins was to me what Harry Styles is today for my teenage granddaughter: a god.
On a 2002 Sunday, I was reading one of Billy dreamy poems to my wife when, mid-verse, our phone rang from its cradle in the next room. Even anonymous people should not be interrupted when reading Shakespeare or Billy Collins aloud. We let the answering machine answer.
“Hi, this is Billy Collins,” the machine announced.
My life flashed before my eyes. Was my friend, Steve, practical-joking me like when he mimicked Steven Spielberg?
“I am just returning your call…,” he continued.
The famous do not return phone calls. But, I leapt up, as surprised at my agility as by Billy’s famous voice entering my obscurity.
Clambering over the couch, my foot wedged itself between two sofa pillows. Billy’s poems were real as Beauty. His star was unimaginably distant. I must catch this lightning before it thunders and vanishes! If Billy hangs up I will drown in the sea of assistants that guard the great.
“Oh my God!” I shouted un-poetically to America’s Poet Laureate, “I was just reading you to my wife!”
He chuckled. He was gentle, gracious, poetic, fully booked.
A quarter century later, I am reading “The Art of Drowning.” It begins:
“I wonder how it all got started, this business/ About seeing your life flash before your eyes/ While you drown…"
If poetry soothes and humor heals, his fourth verse of made me laugh. And Billy’s recorded message, his next sentence truncated when I lifted the receiver, remains.
-Erie Chapman
Erie Chapman Foundation supports Radical Loving Care® in healthcare & art. Please Donate-a-Dollar now via: https://www.eriechapmanfoundation.net
THANK YOU. - Erie
Billy Collins' photo: Marcello Noah, 2007
