I absolutely adore Shel Silverstein, and I have since I was a little girl. A quick glance at my “Poems” page will tell you: I love meter and rhyme. My poetry training at UNC extended far beyond this format, of course teaching me to appreciate poems of all shapes and sizes. However, there is something about the form that exudes naivety and childlikeness, presenting an inherent nostalgia that makes important themes accessible to all ages. Here’s a few things of his that I love, and I should warn you not to be surprised if you see more of him on this page in the future.

There is something deeply disconcerting about this poem, which contains an essential truth. One of the things I am fascinated by is the idea of performance and how it plays out in ways that extend far beyond the stage (future post: “All The World’s A Stage by Shakespeare, another favorite.) The meter and rhyme brings an almost saccharine quality to the very real, sad message at play. Also beautiful: his illustration!

The theme of this poem runs parallel to “Masks.” This poem hits me at a personal level, as I’m sure it does for almost everyone. Personally, I often use humor to cover up something sadder within me, as many of us do. (See: “Thoughts On Humor” under my poetry section, or the link on the title.)  I believe that emerging adulthood, that separation from the friendships that have operated within the confines of institutions: my schools, my university, my sorority, etc, have allowed me to come to the realization that the relationships that are essentially good are the ones that allow us to see each other’s “Underface.”I have lost many friendships since leaving college, but have also found even more strength in the ones that have been rekindled and remain. There is a power in not only revealing our true selves, but also in seeing the truth behind another. I like to think of sadness and anxieties as being little suitcases- baggage, if you will- that a true friendship allows you to put down, to share and sort through and organize together, somehow lightening the sense of burden and weight inside of us all.

Next is not a poem, but a simple illustration:

There is so much beauty in this cartoonish drawing that manages to make me want to cry. A theme of many of my short stories is childhood and the innate tenderness in the way children perceive things. (See: Wednesdays With Mrs. Walston.) I like to write about children because I like to feel connected with that tender part of myself. That is me at a rote level: a girl who wants desperately to believe that the world is good. Tenderness is connected with kindness, with gentleness, with many of the things that life in the “real world” has conditioned us to abandon simply for the sake of surviving. Again, we are  returning  to the idea of “masks,” how a hardness covers up our truest selves, which are inherently empathetic and good, albeit insanely insecure. There is such a power in allowing our flowers of tenderness to grow and to unabashedly share them to the world, at the risk of exposing ourselves and opening ourselves up to hurt. The illustration manages to be so poignant because the man cannot do that, which we do not blame him for. He is not weak, he is merely trying to survive. Perhaps the most harrowing element is the smile on his face that comes with his final image, the suggestion of the mask and underface that he has put on.

“Tell me I’m clever,
Tell me I’m kind,
Tell me I’m talented,
Tell me I’m cute,
Tell me I’m sensitive,
Graceful and wise,
Tell me I’m perfect,
But tell me the truth”.

I could not resist including this poem, because it is also so me. Yes, we’ve discussed the empathetic, tender parts. But there is also a selfish part, a part that cannot help but crave validation. I’m learning slowly not to let this part take the wheel. So many compliments we receive are empty and almost arbitrary. I find this poem utterly adorable because of it’s humor and the profound ending: But tell me the truth. It really calls to attention the fact that so many of us don’t really want to know the truth. And, you know what? A lot of the time, that is completely okay.

I will leave you with the advice from Shel I’m taking to heart over the next couple of days as  I set out on my never-ending quest to revise, revise, revise! 

Here’s to the weekend,

Taylor