I'm Major Jackson, and this is the slowdown.

I always thought that if I learned enough poems by heart, I would stave off memory loss.

I came to this conclusion after watching poet Stanley Cunitz recite a poem at a celebration

of his hundredth birthday.

Following a host of speakers, his daughter escorted him on a stage at the Tribeca Performing

Arts Center.

Before an audience of nearly a thousand people, he initially looked confused, unaware of

the occasion.

When you live as long as Stanley, you too are likely to have as many former students

and admirers show up to your fett.

When she pointed to a book, he reared up out of his bent posture and recited his poem,

touch me.

Stanley was changed, suddenly half his age, his voice, untrambling, strong as he recited

his famous words, summer is late, my heart.

He never looked down at the page.

At the end, the audience stood up in applause.

Close to a decade later, a celebration for another poetry hero challenged my belief about

the long-term benefits of reciting poetry.

When I walked into the state house chamber in Vermont, I made my way to the honoree,

Hallway Canal, whom I knew, not as a student, but a devoted admirer who attended his poetry

readings and once even read alongside him.

I said hello and was met with bewildered stairs.

...