Lately I’ve been memorizing bits of writing. Nothing too wild; only a few poems from Robert Frost and some paragraphs from Thoreau and Emerson. I’ve gained much more than I would have guessed.

It started off by accident. I grabbed a book of Frost’s verses at one of the Boston Public Library’s book sales. I’d been wanting to have a copy of The Road Not Taken–the only of his poems I knew–in my home for a while so I was delighted at the find. When I got home I flipped to page 105 and read about those two roads in a yellow wood. I was happy and a little proud to see so that most of the lines were still familiar, so I decided to finish the job and memorize the whole thing. I read it a lot over the next few days and now I feel it’s found a home somewhere deep in my mind.

The memorizing itself was fun, but I was unprepared for how wonderful a time I had with the poem after I memorized it. I was able to roll each word over in my head at my leisure. I dwelt on meaning, toyed with cadence, and savor the word choice. It’s a much richer experience than looking at ink on paper.

It’s like music in a way, though not wholly. That I can sing the lyrics to countless songs is hardly unique, but I find I lean on the music to help me recall the words, even if it’s only playing in my mind.

Without music as an aid, memorizing words is harder. The reward though, even in such a short time, is great. A bank in my head of thought-provoking works that I can just sit there and think about.

I have at all times on call my favorite music, audiobooks, and videos. It’s wonderful in a way but it also scatters my attention. The deep focus I can give to memorized words is a gem long-forgotten by me. I like what I see.