Delicious Disagreement
“...where the imagination can be ignited toward change and creativity, not toward entrenchment.”
Dear friends,
A few weeks ago, I was talking to my friend Nick about a book that I’d read and loved, a book that — among many other things — had a mystery at its heart. Nick had also read the book. But he had hated it. “It was so damned obvious what the so-called mystery was!” he said. And I said to him that that’s exactly what I loved about it — I felt trusted as a reader that the mystery’s heart was plain from the first chapter, and therefore I could enjoy the delicious language as the book unfolded.
Nick said he felt manipulated. I said I felt titillated. We laughed and talked about other books. And then, later on he said, “I can’t believe you loved that book so much, man.” We laughed again.
Nick is a brilliant reader, and writer, so I loved hearing about his point of view. It didn’t change how much I loved the book, but it was a reminder — again, as if it was needed (but it’s always good to be reminded) — that art does not aim for objectivity. Rather, art’s aim is the space between me and it. What happened in me as I read the book did not happen in him. What caused that? Life, death, everything in between, and the sandwich I’d had for lunch. I was being read by the book as I was reading it.
A book is just a book. Fiction is just fiction (except it’s not; it’s also about truth). But I was struck by how easy it was to enjoy a delicious disagreement with Nick. Not all art is easy to disagree about; not all friends are easy to disagree with; and not all disagreements are straightforward. I’m as much a fan of a deep and delicious disagreement as I am a pleasant and placid one, and much fruitful art and change has come from the reevaluations I’ve made in the after-time of a disagreement.
I continue to find myself in the hinterland between poetry and other forms of public language — be that about conflict, or religion, or polarisation — and while I have no interest in tone policing, I do have an interest in upping the engagement of disagreement to the level where the imagination can be ignited toward change and creativity, not toward entrenchment.
There’s a poem I wrote recently that I sent to a friend. He didn’t get it, and wrote back with a lot of suggested edits. What was clear immediately was that his edits had a deep and brilliant purpose: to help me understand why the poem needed to stay as it was. That wasn’t to the detriment of his powers as a reader, and I love him all the more for the strength of his literary advice, even though I sidestepped that advice this time. A curiosity I have is whether it’s possible for our differences — some mild, some playful, some the stuff of survival — to be influenced by our capacities to have fruitful and serious disagreements in an environment of trust and love.
So that’s my question:
What’s a deep and fruitful disagreement that you live with?
With whom? Is it a trivial or a serious disagreement? Why is this disagreement fruitful in your life? What sustains the trust amidst the disagreement? What does it reveal back to you about you? Is there wisdom from this disagreement that could have wider practice?
I’ll look forward to your stories!
Pádraig
PS: I’m back based in New York for the next few months. There’s online events below, as well as in-person events in Chicago, New York, Iowa, Massachusetts, and elsewhere. I’d be delighted to meet you at some of them.
Poetry in the World
ONLINE:
Strange Stories of the Bible
I’ll be teaching a five-part online course this autumn — 5pm EST, on Sunday nights: October 8, 15, 22, 20, and November 5 — on literary readings of peculiar biblical texts. I approach the art of these stories in deep respect for the artistry of the — mostly anonymous — original writers. This will be an exploration of art, and it’s mostly for those who wish to enjoy a small safari through powerful literature (and come out alive). Registration and details here.
Writing the Wild
On February 6 of next year, I’ll be giving a seminar as part of a workshop guided by Krissy Kludt and beloved guest of On Being, J. Drew Lanham. More details here. (The site says registration is closed, but they’re keeping it open for a few more weeks — just sign up via the waiting list.)
U.S.A.
Printers Row Literary Festival | Chicago, IL
I’ll be interviewing Charif Shanahan on September 9 at the Printers Row Lit Fest in Chicago, 5pm. The exact time will be posted on their website end of August, and we’ll share on Substack then as well. Save the date, and learn more about the festival in the meantime here.
Iowa State University | Ames, IA
On September 14 at 6pm, I’ll give a lecture about “Poetry and Conflict Resolution” at Iowa State University. Would love to meet you if you’re in the area. The event is free, and will be recorded. Find further details here.
And the following day, September 15 at 7pm, I’m giving a keynote on “The Language of Peace.” Details are here, and registration here.
Dominican University | River Forest, IL
In the evening of September 21, I’ll be giving the 10th Annual Caesar and Patricia Tabet Poetry Reading at Dominican University, in River Forest (near Chicago). Would love to see you there, 7pm. More details and tickets here.
Lexington Community Education | Lexington, MA
I’m giving a talk about the “You” of poetry at Lexington Community Education project, on Thursday, October 19 at 7pm. Details and registration here.
SCOTLAND
“Poetry, Spirit and Survival” | Island of Iona, Scotland
I’ll be leading a retreat March 18-23, 2024. While this is currently fully booked, you can join a waiting list for the retreat, or join an early mailing list for future annual Iona retreats by contacting the organizer here.
Can there be real trust and love without disagreement?
I have this theory that disagreement, or the ability to disagree, is a key sign of a truly loving and trust-filled relationship. I was not raised in an environment where I could test this theory out. Mine was a household of fake kindness and what I recently learned has a name, "toxic positivity". The message i absorbed as a child was, if you disagree with me then you don't love me. Family unity at all costs. The cost? No one speaks truth. Love is shallow. There is no real intimacy.
After 30 years of marriage, my partner and I are still learning how to disagree with each other. And our love deepens.
My partner and I often debate a point until I suggest we’re saying the same thing from different perspectives -- at which point I laugh and he grimaces. I love loving someone who cares about the same things from a different angle. When I suggest he’s a pessimist, he says he’s a realist. And when he grins, it’s the best grin.