Short poems
Dear friends,
Thank you for the replies to last week’s question: how brilliant to hear of the forms you turn to — nature, jazz, dance, sonnet. Years ago, during a time of extended meditation through the Ignatian method, I remember looking at a pencil case I owned and thinking that somehow it contained the world.
This week I have a short poem and a short question.
We’ll start with the poem; it’s by Rafiq Kathwari.
On Receiving Father at JFK after his Long Flight from Kashmir
As I fling my arms wide, he extends his hand.
From In Another Country (Doire Press, 2015) by Rafiq Kathwari.
That’s it. Eleven words for the title. Ten for the body of the poem. I love it. On the page of the book in which it’s collected (In Another Country), the entirety of the remainder of the page is empty. I’ve written a more extended essay about this in the first Poetry Unbound book, but what I want to point out today is how — in the ocean of possible interpretations that must, I am sure, be gathering before you — Rafiq Kathwari has presented us with a descriptive title (slightly formalised language in the Receiving) and an unadorned scene (exuberance in fling, constraint in extends).
This could, of course, be a poem about men and affection, but men from many countries are quicker to kiss or embrace a male relative or friend than they are someone of another gender. Maybe the father is exhausted or intimidated by the crowds at the airport. Perhaps there’s some other exhaustion between these two men (we explored another poem of Rafiq Kathwari’s in a Poetry Unbound episode a few years ago).
It is a brilliant poem. And a brilliant book. I recommend Rafiq’s writing entirely.
The reason I wanted to highlight it is because there is something about a poem that does not present its interpretation, or even hint at it. Here we have a title and a scene. There is information: the relationship between these two men, the location, the circumstance (Long Flight from Kashmir). And then there is the unfolding scene, filled with the tension between the open arms and extended hand. No commentary. No interpretive instructions. Simply 21 words describing something.
That’s the invitation this week, friends. Give us a title and a poem — of a single line each — that borrows from the poetic brilliance of Rafiq Kathwari, not giving any hint of how the scene should be interpreted but bringing us into the tension held in language that does not define how the reader should receive the language.
I’ll start:
We Weren’t Allowed Watch Foreign Programmes on the Television When We Were Younger
My father carries his soup to his favourite chair; Homer Simpson’s unmissable he says.
There you go. I wrote the first scene that came to mind. I obviously associated with the father theme in the poem above. But you can go wherever. I’ll look forward to reading your titles and poems — no interpretive instructions, mind!
Poetry in the World
A list of events: Online, in Canada (Hamilton, Ontario), in the US (Minneapolis, MN; Durham, NC), and the Scottish island of Iona
PS: I’ve got two books coming out in early 2025 — Kitchen Hymns and 44 Poems on Being with Each Other. You can pre-order them wherever you buy books.
October 30, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada
I’ll be giving a lecture on literature and health at the Faculty of Health Sciences at McMaster University as part of the Hooker Lecture 2024 series. Details here.
November 2, Minneapolis, Minnesota, US
I’ll be exploring concepts of politics, peace and poetry at an event with the wonderful people of the Loft Literary Center. Details here.
November 3, 10, 17, 24, December 1, Online
Fill your Sunday evenings with peculiarity, poetry, and ancient literature: I’m giving new online lectures on “Strange Stories of the Bible”. Register here.
November 18–19 Durham, North Carolina, US
I’m giving the William Preston Few lecture at Duke University. Details here.
March 10–15 and March 18–23 2025, Isle of Iona, Scotland
I’m holding two Poetry Unbound retreats on the gorgeous Scottish island of Iona; each retreat is the same. Both retreats are booked up, but you can get on the waiting list by contacting the folks at the St. Columba here.
As I Lay Here in My Mom’s Bed Eleven Weeks After Her Passing, I Remember All the Times She Invited Me to Sleep in the Bed Next to Her
And my automatic, cheerful, high pitched response: “no thanks!”
EVERY YEAR MY MOM GIVES ME A BOX OF ANDES MINTS TO PLACE IN MY CHRISTMAS STOCKING.
Last year, she forgot.