Bearing witness
to our lives
Dear friends,
The two poems from this week’s Poetry Unbound episodes have been with me for years. I first read Dante Micheaux’s “Theologies for Korah” when it was published in Poetry Magazine 10 years ago, and I have had Stewart Henderson’s “How To Speak Love In A Storm?” in my heart since the sunny springtime of 1997, when I bought the book where it’s collected at a festival in Ilfracombe, in the southwest of England.
Both of these poems are attentive to presence. Dante’s lines are addressed to a child at a baptism, and his invitation is to the life of the mind: “Seek you first, girl, the kingdom / of my love, with all your mind. All your mind. Do not / forget your mind.” I love the fire of his address, how he — with “heretic / theology” — speaks through religion to the ways a person can be alive in the world with their intellect, their attention, and their language.
Stewart Henderson’s poem is not tied to a particular ritual. Instead, it is tied to that experience we all know about: the storm, the pain, the grief, the burden. When “there is only chaos” and things collapse on top of us. All of us have experienced this — after a shock, after grief, because of what we carry. The poem does not propose “words and hollow prayers”, but rather accompaniment: “walking backwards with you / into your abandoned years.”
Each of these poems bears witness: Dante’s to a ritual of initiation; Stewart’s to presence in desolation.
My question this week is about bearing witness. Who has borne witness to you, whether in a moment of initiation or joy or pain? Is there something of what they said that remains with you? Or was it more about what they did or didn’t do, or how they were with you? Unfold your story poems of witness in the comments.
I’m sure I’ve told this before, but it’s worth telling again. Fifteen years ago, I was revisiting Australia, where I’d lived in my 20s. I'd loved living there, and on this trip, I felt the connection strongly and could imagine an alternative universe where I’d never left. I was happy, I was sad, and being back in Melbourne came with an ache: Should I ever have left? What would life have been had I stayed there? Two countries, two homes, two sides of the planet, one man.
I was giving a retreat on poetry, and during coffee, a participant asked, “How is it to be back in Australia?” She was in her early 80s, had cornflower-blue eyes I can still recall, and took notes in a small black notebook. I told her I was feeling torn: I loved Australia; I also loved Ireland. She put her hand on my arm. “Being torn isn’t a bad way to live,” she said. And something was recast; what I had thought would tear me apart was reshaped as a way to hold myself together. I do not remember her name, but I remember her.
So, friends: Who has borne witness to you? Tell us — not only the event, but also the weather, the smells in the air, the touch you remember.
I’ll see you in the comments.
The Latest from Poetry Unbound
Episode 7: Dante Micheaux — Theologies for Korah
Episode 8: Stewart Henderson — How To Speak Love In A Storm?
You can also listen on Spotify, poetryunbound.org, or wherever podcasts are found.
Poetry in the World
A list of my events: Online and in the US (Manhattan, Brooklyn, Kingston, and Rhinebeck, NY; Houston, TX; Orlando, FL; Memphis, TN; Notre Dame, IN; Santa Fe, NM) and the UK (Iona, Scotland)
I’m directing an evening workshop on lyric address through Poets House, beginning at 6 p.m. ET. (for more info, click on the date heading.)
February 13, Manhattan, New York
Ada Calhoun and myself will be discussing love in action at St. Mark’s Church in-the-Bowery, beginning at 6:30 p.m. (For more information, click on the date heading.)
February 18, Brooklyn, New York
Join me in celebrating the release of R.A. Villanueva’s newest collection at Liz’s Book Bar at 7 p.m. (For more info, click on the date heading.)
February 19, Manhattan, New York
I’m giving a lecture on storytelling and narrative poetry at The Morgan Library at 6:30 p.m. (For more info, click on the date heading.)
February 21–22, Houston, Texas
Christ Church Cathedral has invited me for two days of events — there will be a retreat exploring conflict, an evening reading and book signing, and a talk on belonging the following morning. (For more information, click on the date heading.)
I’m giving a keynote address at Training Magazine’s annual exposition. (For more info, click on the date heading.)
February 26–March 1, Kingston, New York
I’m leading a weekend retreat workshop called “Poems of Longing”. (For more info, click on the date heading.)
Peter Constantine, Joseph O. Legaspi, Daniel Simon, and myself will be reading to celebrate 100 years of World Literature Today, hosted by McNally Jackson Seaport, beginning at 7 p.m. (For more information, click on the date heading.)
March 25–26, Memphis, Tennessee, and Online
I’m delighted to be returning to Cavalry Episcopal Church for this year’s Lenten Preaching Series. My good friend Marie Howe and I will be in conversation at 6:15 p.m. on March 25, and then I’ll give a talk the next afternoon. (For more information, click on the date heading.)
I’ll be giving the keynote for a symposium at the Raclin Murphy Museum of Art. (For more info, click on the date heading.)
May 31–June 5, Rhinebeck, New York
This spring, I’m leading a six-day workshop at the Omega Institute. We’ll read and examine poems and also write and discuss our own. I’d love to see you there. (For more info, click on the date heading.)
June 27–July 3, Iona, Scotland
Krista and I will be leading a week of conversation (with some musical guests) on Iona, an island off an island off the west coast of Scotland. It is filled, but if you want to be on a waiting list, you can email the Saint Columba hotel by clicking on the title just above here. (For more info, click on the date heading.)
August 9–13, Santa Fe, New Mexico
I’m leading a four-day intensive workshop at Modern Elder Academy called “Poetry as a Common Language”. We’ll read, write, and discuss poems on finding and deepening connection. (For more information, click on the date heading.)
Being Seen
I am an old woman.
I cannot leave my glass house,
Nor can you enter it.
It seems at times it is a
Staring contest
Through the glass.
(I always blink first.)
Time and time again,
I tell you to go. To close
Your eyes to the
Shame of my body.
You shake your head,
A small smile lights
On your lips.
Knobby knees struggle to hold my bulk
A Stooped left shoulder invites a humped back.
Gnarled feet demand limping—
All require
Isolation.
My house is empty.
You take a deep breath,
Lean back into your chair.
Demand I remove my shoes.
Don shorts to reveal swollen knees,
A fitted tank to see my sloping shoulder.
I fold my hands across my chest,
Eyes downcast, I can only
Cry.
I raise blurry eyes
To meet your own.
There's a moment that breaks me whenever I revisit it. On September 4, 2014, my husband and I were prepping coffee in the kitchen. It was a day like any other until the words spilled urgently out of my mouth: "I can never drink alcohol again." My husband paused for a moment, locked eyes with me, and said, "I'll stop with you." Not because he needed to, but because he knew this moment could change everything. And it did. Eleven and a half years later and his understanding, his steady accompaniment, remains the greatest generosity I've ever received.