Well, here I am again, heading off to the first of several Poetry Out Loud gigs. Today, next Thursday, and then finally on March 5, I will be part of the judging team for the northern, southern, and state championships. Today's extravaganza is the northern regional competition, held in Ellsworth, not too far from Acadia National Park. If you don't know what Poetry Out Loud is, you can check the national website for details. Suffice it to say that the event involves poetry, stage recitation, hired entre-acte entertainment, scoring rubrics, high school students, and government agencies. Tom thinks I should watch some American Idol first so that I can hone an appropriate judge persona.

Fortunately, after this wearying event, I will be taking my friends Weslea and Curtis out to dinner at a remarkable dive called Captain Nemo's. It is a shack with a lighthouse, fishing boats parked in the yard, and Budweiser signs in the the low-slung windows. I have been dying to go there ever since I first laid eyes on it. I'm sure that it will make my dalliance with government agencies entirely worthwhile.

Here's a verse about drinking. I doubt this is what Captain Nemo's will be like, but you never know. This poet did once kill an actor in a duel, so things could easily get out of hand. The name "Lyaeus" in the poem refers to Dionysus, Greek god of wine and wild parties.

from The Poetaster

Ben Jonson

Swell me a bowl with lusty wine,

Till I may see the plump Lyaeus swim

Above the brim:

I drink as I would write,

In flowing measure filled with fame and sprite.

I almost typed "spite," which would have worked even better for Jonson, I think. For in the words of The Cambridge Guide to English Literature, "it may be that we are . . . too far removed from Jacobean England and we find it difficult to appreciate Jonson's virtuosity in holding a mirror to his contemporaries. More important, perhaps, is Jonson's lack of kindness; there is not a single character in the whole of his work that we remember with affection."

God save me from such an epitaph. But in truth, Jonson's poems are not always so cold as his plays, as this little piece about the death of his seven-year-old son will prove. I think this is one of the most heartbreaking poems I've ever read; and every time I read it, I pray I will never have cause to write my own version.

On My First Son

Ben Jonson

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;

My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy,

Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,

Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.

O, could I lose all father, now. For why

Will man lament the state he should envy?

To have so soon 'scaped world's, and flesh's rage,

And, if no other misery, yet age!

Rest in soft peace, and, asked, say here doth lie

Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry.

For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such,

As what he loves may never like too much.