Favourite Poet

"The phrase "Renaissance man" tends to get overused these days, but apply it to Shel Silverstein and it practically begins to seem inadequate. Not only has he produced with seeming ease country music hits and popular songs, but he's been equally successful at turning his hand to poetry,short stories, plays, and children's books. Moreover, his whimsically hip fables, beloved by readers of all ages, have made him a stalwart of bestseller lists. A Light in the Attic, most remarkably, showed the kind of staying power on the New York Times chart — two years, to be precise — that most of the biggest names (John Grisham, Stephen King, and Michael Crichton) have never equaled for their own blockbusters.

And there's still more: his unmistakable illustrative style is another crucial element to his appeal. Just as no writer sounds like Shel, no other artist's vision is as delightfully, sophisticatingly cockeyed.

One can only marvel that he makes the time to respond so kindly to his friends' requests. In the following work, let's be glad he did. Drawing on his characteristic passion for list making, he shows how the deed is not just in the wish but in the sublimation."

--------- A blurb by Otto Penzler from his crime anthology Murder for Revenge (1998)

An American poet, singer-songwriter, musician, composer, cartoonist, screenwriter, and author - Shel Silverstein (September 25, 1930–May 10, 1999). This very talented individual strikes me as my favourite poet, because the poems he composed are just so addictive and intriguing. What do you get when you throw creativity, lots of wit, rhymes, stories, adventure and intelligence onto a piece of paper - a work of Silverstein.

It is amazing that Silverstein composes poems without any influences. None at all. No favourite poets. He wrote down what came from his mind. His own style.

When he was a kid in his teens, Silverstein was not good at ball, and could not dance. There goes the girls. Thus, he devoted his time to writing and from then developed a great interest in it and formed his own style of poems. The bewildering thing is, it is said that he read no other poems from distinguished poets, none that he knew of. Amazing, is it not? A teenager producing various mesmerizing short stories and poetry out of nowhere, just solely on his very talented mind. A prodigy indeed. Though some of his work may be filled with profanities, it is solely in the name of wit and realism. The world we are in. Face it.

Silverstein had his own view of how his life started out:

"When I was a kid — 12, 14, around there — I would much rather have been a good baseball player or a hit with the girls. But I couldn't play ball, I couldn't dance. So I started to draw and to write. I was also lucky that I didn't have anybody to copy, be impressed by. I had developed my own style; I was creating before I knew there was a Thurber, a Benchley, a Price, and a Steinberg. I never saw their work till I was around 30. By the time I got to where I was attracting girls, I was already into work, and it was more important to me. Not that I wouldn't rather make love, but the work has become a habit."

— Jean F. Mercier. "Shel Silverstein", Publishers Weekly, February 24, 1975).

Here are some of his works you can enjoy:

Picture Puzzle Piece by Shel Silverstein

One picture puzzle piece

Lyin' on the sidewalk,

One picture puzzle piece

Soakin' in the rain.

It might be a button of blue

On the coat of the woman

Who lived in a shoe.

It might be a magical bean,

Or a fold in the red

Velvet robe of a queen.

It might be the one little bite

Of the apple her stepmother

Gave to Snow White.

It might be the veil of a bride

Or a bottle with some evil genie inside.

It might be a small tuft of hair

On the big bouncy belly

Of Bobo the Bear.

It might be a bit of the cloak

Of the Witch of the West

As she melted to smoke.

It might be a shadowy trace

Of a tear that runs down an angel's face.

Nothing has more possibilities

Than one old wet picture puzzle piece.

Bear In There by Shel Silverstein

There's a Polar Bear

In our Frigidaire--

He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.

With his seat in the meat

And his face in the fish

And his big hairy paws

In the buttery dish,

He's nibbling the noodles,

He's munching the rice,

He's slurping the soda,

He's licking the ice.

And he lets out a roar

If you open the door.

And it gives me a scare

To know he's in there--

That Polary Bear

In our Fridgitydaire.

Whatif by Shel Silverstein

Last night, while I lay thinking here,

some Whatifs crawled inside my ear

and pranced and partied all night long

and sang their same old Whatif song:

Whatif I'm dumb in school?

Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?

Whatif I get beat up?

Whatif there's poison in my cup?

Whatif I start to cry?

Whatif I get sick and die?

Whatif I flunk that test?

Whatif green hair grows on my chest?

Whatif nobody likes me?

Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?

Whatif I don't grow talle?

Whatif my head starts getting smaller?

Whatif the fish won't bite?

Whatif the wind tears up my kite?

Whatif they start a war?

Whatif my parents get divorced?

Whatif the bus is late?

Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?

Whatif I tear my pants?

Whatif I never learn to dance?

Everything seems well, and then

the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

My tribute:

Silverstein,

O'Silverstein,

thy shall say your name.

A legend you shall be,

in thy heart and always will be.

Sources: http://www.wikipedia.com

http://www.famouspoetsandpoems.com

Yahoo! Answers