I'm taking ModPo, the course on Modern & Contemporary American Poetry, offered via the Coursera platform by University of Penn's Professor Al Filreis. I took the course last Fall and enjoyed it a lot. I've waxed eloquently about its many delights often - though not on this blog - but thought that this time I would participate more in the course forums and discuss the poetry more and even post sometimes on this blog. I think I might be able to make time for this despite a busier work schedule this year since I do not intend to be spending time this year on completing assignments and quizzes in the course, having done all that was necessary and received a "Statement of Accomplishment" to denote that I had successfully completed the course.
After having spent the better part of my time online last evening and this morning with Emily Dickinson's poem, Volcanoes be in Silicy, since Sunday evening has sneaked in and before the week and its many frustrations come in due time, I better spend some time with Walt Whitman, whose all-encompassing openness and big-heartedness was something I took to right away the first time I read parts of Song of Myself (this was before ModPo but ModPo 2013 enhanced the reading and also took me to sections I had not read before.)
"The words of my book nothing—the drift of it everything; A book separate, not link’d with the rest, nor felt by the intellect, But you, ye untold latencies, will thrill to every page..."- Walt Whitman in Shut Not Your Doors, Leaves of Grass, 1900