When I was a youngster I tried many different ways of looking at the world. I remember the first time I tried LSD, it was great by the way, but this is only about roughly three minutes of that whole episode.
It was a beautiful spring night in a college town with friends. One of them who was coincidentally one of the earliest male students to attend Vassar and I were sitting on an apartment building roof looking at the stars and he turned to me and said:
'TERENCE, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.'
Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,
There's brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God's ways to man.
Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world's not.
And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past:
The mischief is that 'twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I've lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.
Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure,
I'd face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul's stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.
There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
—I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.
I was delighted, the recitation was flawless and I made a mental note that I must learn this. The poem is from A Shropshire Lad by A.E. Houseman. Titled LXII it is nearly the last poem in the book and many consider it Houseman's defense of the dark tone of his work. Take some time to enjoy the poem.
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, if you walk for fitness there are billions and billions of different ways to get a benefit, over seven at current count. Just one of them I advise; As you walk recite out loud (not too loud if you're in a crowd) something you have memorized. If you can't recite in full sentences you are pushing too hard.
Good poetry is it's own reward, I see it as ideas expressed using few but powerful, beautiful words. I'll admit committing LXII is a little ambitious so if you would like to start out slow try this piece by Richard Brautigan from 1971:
ATTILA AT THE GATES
OF THE TELEPHONE COMPANY
They said that
my telephone
would be fixed
by 6.
They guaranteed
it.
-K.