Since I began this poem project, I have had numerous readers suggest favorite poems and poets. The poet most often mentioned is the Canadian Robert Service. I know his poetry well. I began reading Service when I was about 10 years old. In fact, he is probably the first real poet I ever read. My dad had a book called Collected Poems of Robert Service. It had 728 pages of poetry, and I am sure I read every one of them several times. Nancy Noll and Mary Jo Christiansen, two friends of mine in high school, gave me a copy of the book as a gift in 1956 because they knew I liked it so well. It is a treasure. Dad's copy sits on a bookshelf in Florida beside his favorite chair. It is a treasure too.

I thought Robert Service was one of the greatest poets ever. So I was shocked when Miss Friedman, my sophomore English Lit teacher, told me he was a "minor poet." I couldn't believe it. Hadn't these dummies ever read "The Shooting of Dan McGrew?"

Of course, she was right. Service was considered to be a minor poet by the English Lit teachers in those days, and I'm sure he still is, if there still is such a thing as English Lit teachers, assuming they haven't all been replaced by educators versed in helping students with more important skills, like putting a condom on a banana, for example. In fact, the Cambridge Guide to Literature in English states that his "essentially melodramatic verse is considered of comparatively little literary merit." But as I said many years ago to Miss Friedman, "What do they know?" In my opinion, Robert Service is still great. Back off, Shelley!

As always, I had a tough time choosing a poem from so many great ones. My sister recommended "Bessie's Boil." I didn't ask my Dad, but I think he would choose "The Law of the Yukon," although he has always liked "The Cremation of Sam McGee" an awful lot.

I have always loved the poems from Service's book "Ballads of a Bohemian," which tell of his life as a poor, starving poet living in a garret in Paris immediately after World War I, in which he served with the Canadian Army. The poems are separated with entries to his diary, such as: "Ten sous . . . I think one can sing best of poverty when one is holding it at arm's length . . . It is for that I have stayed in my room all day, rolled in my blankets and clutching my pen with clammy fingers. I must work, work. I must finish my book before poverty crushes me . . ."

I couldn't wait to grow up, go to Paris, live in a garret (whatever that was) and starve while attempting to write poems like "Lucille," which begins, "Of course you've heard of the Nancy Lee and how she sailed away on her famous quest of the Arctic flea, to the wilds of Hudson's Bay?" Anyway, I finally chose "The Spell of the Yukon." It is vintage Service. Great fun.