Got stuck into 'Toddlers and Tiaras' this afternoon.........so American, all sex, hair, diapers, trailers, hair spray, eyebrow waxing, baby bottles, soothers, hotel lobbies, temper tantrums, fake teeth and white trash. I have blogged about this sick show before, featuring two-year-olds as sex symbols. Very, very sick.
Then on came the super bowl. This is where toddlers and tiaras ends up, hanging at the super bowl. Looking for something in a bookcase this morning, I pulled out a few of my old university poetry books. When you start the day with Charles G.D. Roberts, Bliss Carman, Archibald Lampman and Duncan Campbell Scott -- known as 'The Confederation Poets' -- it's hard to watch American TV. Weird to read my name on the frontspiece, "Nancy Griffith, Carleton University, 1967". Even more surreal to read the notations I had made in the margins, the words I had underlined, the insights I had had........all so innocent. Took me back to one of the most fabulous and intimate afternoons ever spent with my daughter, that sunny, summer day we read each other poetry on the back deck from another of my high school text books. When you read a poet who puts an entire universe of emotion into two words, it's hard to hit the keyboard ever again.
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