Pea S. Lewis?

I'm presently tackling my first book of poetry. Now, I have always admired poetry - in the same way that I admired wine until I really gave it a shot. In other words I didn't admire poetry at all. I thought it pretentious and inaccessible. Maybe because I was too lazy to think or to look up obscure references to Greek gods. Maybe that makes me normal - I don't know.

Either way, I stumbled upon a collection of C.S. Lewis' poetry during a recent jaunt to Half Price Books - and it is slowly, methodically tearing down my presuppositions about poetry with astonishing passages like this from the poem entitled "On Being Human":

They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down to the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang - can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.

Not sure just how air-tight the theology is here, but I do know those words resonate with my soul in a deep place. And I think that's what poetry is supposed to do. So, I am giving poetry a chance, just like my Mom told me to do with peas (typically those episodes ended in nausea while stealthily shoveling peas to the floor - so it's not quite a perfect metaphor).

And one music recommendation:
"Eve, the Apple of my Eye," by Bell X1.

Enjoy, lovers.