Am I Just Old-Fashioned?

I've been thinking about poetry lately. Doesn't everyone? Clearly not. Is poetry dying? Has it lost it's place in the world? Are our children being taught it at all beyond the elementary school "About Me" Haiku? How many high school graduates can recite a poem...let alone one or two. Any at all? These are things I seriously think about. Am I weird?
This is the first time, in all my children's years of school, that any one of them has had to memorize and then recite...for a grade...a poem. This just blows me away. Am I the only one who had to memorize poems in elementary school, middle school, high school, college...and just for fun? I can tell you right now that my husband never had to do it. Not. A. Single. One. Why is this? Why aren't there classes any more in high school called British Lit? American Lit? Poetry? My high school had them. I took them. They have completely enriched my life; just like Mrs. Dunseth, my British Lit teacher, said they would.
Are we losing the beauty of written/spoken language? Why is it that when I read older books or classics, in my book reviews, I gush on and on about the beauty of the prose? Why is it that when I review a new book, I rarely remark on it at all? It's sad.
I just read a really good book written by a Christian author and every time she quoted scripture from the Bible it was from one of about 5 different translations...none of which were the King James Version. One of the things I LOVE about scripture reading is the beauty of the language. The King James Version is poetry to me. I love it. I love to read it aloud. I love to hear my children wrap their tongues around it. The Book of Mormon is also poetry to me. I find all the different translations of the Bible to be distracting and confusing. I think this is the opposite of their intent. This particular author would jump around from translation to translation for different verses. I guess I just assumed that each particular church used one particular version all the time. Maybe not. Is the KJV really that hard to understand?
So here's a question. Is poetry the next thing that is only touched on at school and the rest left to the parents to supplement? Like learning how to count money and tell time? (That is what I was told at a parent/teacher conference.) There just isn't the time anymore to devote to things like that when there are state tests to prepare for. I think it is sad.
I have introduced my children to poetry from an early age. I quote it frequently...usually to the response of "Where did you come up with that??" I do get a little thrill when one of my kids comes to me to say they just saw something/heard something/or read in a book "one of the crazy things you always say." I especially love to see a book of poetry in my children's hands...albeit it is usually a funny one like a Shel Silverstein or a Kenn Nesbitt or Nursery Rhymes (something else rarely taught anymore). One of my children has just discovered the beauty of Robert Frost. Maybe I won't be the only one who will grow up with poems tacked on my walls.
I love how memorizing this poem has caused this particular child...not one who has been naturally drawn to poetry like a few of my other children...to go from just "seeing" this poem as "words" to arrive at "feeling" something "alive". That's the beauty of poetry. There is some sort of organic change that you experience by memorizing. You can dig so much deeper.
So give your brain a workout...memorize a poem...and teach it to your kids. You and they will be better for it. I promise.
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Yep...those are the kinds of things I think about in long, cold January.