Dear friends,
Hallo from Canada. I’m still on the road. This week I’ve gone from Toronto to north of Toronto; from Kingston to north of Kingston. Seven nights. Four beds. Trains and cars. Readings and talks, people met, friends embraced. Copious cups of tea from a hardy camping flask. Where possible, I try to travel light. So I’m packing, unpacking, finding places for laundry, drying, packing, unpacking. Hoisting a bag on my back.
The bag I have is one I love. It’s recycled, made from the tarpaulin of trucks, with the straps made from old seat belts. It’s strong and light. I bought it at the start of lockdown (the previous one had been damaged on a hastily arranged trip back across the world as Ireland shut down). The bag arrived and sat in the back of a wardrobe — like a promise, like a reminder, like a yearning — empty and unused for years during the pandemic.
Packing the bag before I go on a trip is a ritual. Emptying it when I’m finished with a trip is another ritual. Squashing extra books I’ve accumulated, or gifts packed for friends… part of the ritual, too.
T.S. Eliot speaks about the objective correlative in writing… an object that contains emotional currency. I think if I were to write about this trip, I’d write about this bag. Purple and yellow. This morning — after I checked out of my room — the bag sat, like a squat sonnet, at the edge of the room, listening to me giving a talk about poetry. It’s got what’s essential (like me). It’s got a few hidden pockets (like me). It’s functional. I hope it lasts a long time.
(Like me.)
Both poems we chose for Poetry Unbound last week have a strong focus on objects, although in very different styles. Benjamin Gucciardi’s tender poem, “The Rungs,” about a room full of teenagers — who show care for each other when one of them discloses a story that they all have empathy for — finishes with an image of the room, empty now, chairs, and candy wrappers on the floor. It’s the candy wrappers I keep on looking at as that poem ends. And dg nanouk okpik’s poem, “In a Lock of Hair,” presents a litany of images: from conscious memory and from unconscious pre-memory, calling up the narrative DNA of a person’s life: everything from traces of chemotherapy chemicals to the smell of the sea from oceangoing forebears.
Poetry can sometimes rely on simile and metaphor, or powerful allusions to other literatures, or the sounds of language. But other times, it presents us with concrete images: sometimes in a narrative form like Ben’s poem, other times in a sequence of lateral associations like dg’s poem.
So that’s my curiosity this week: What are some images — some obvious, some not-so-obvious — that hold the conscious and unconscious story of your week?
I’ll go first:
That bag. Yes. And a red handkerchief; ironed and folded and placed in my right-hand jeans pocket. Yes. That too. Hearing aids. And Australian postcards. Blank. Unwritten. And smoke too. The smell and the sight.
I’ll look forward to correlating with your objective correlatives.
Pádraig
The Latest from Poetry Unbound
Episodes 05 & 06
You can also listen on Spotify, poetryunbound.org, or wherever podcasts are found.
Poetry in the World
U.S.A.
Returning and Becoming Conference | Asheville, NC
I’ll be in North Carolina this week for a retreat at Kanuga (near Asheville). June 13 (morning and evening) and June 14 (morning). Hosted at an Episcopal Retreat Centre, this conference is open to all. My sessions will examine poetry, language, challenge, and change. Details and registration here.
More U.S.A. events (Rhinebeck, NY) for autumn 2023 further below…
England
The “You” of Prayer; the “You” of Poetry | London
Londoners, join me on June 29 at the Meditatio Centre for an exploration of prayers and poems through the lens of the lyric address — the “you” at the heart of this most intimate of conversations. If you’re unable to join in person, there’s an online option (and a recording will be sent to all who register). 6:30-9pm, details and registration here.
Poetry Unbound at St. Luke’s | Brighton
I’ll next be in Brighton at St. Luke’s Prestonville, for a reading and chat around the Poetry Unbound book. Would love to see you there: June 30, 7pm. Details and registration here.
Poetry Unbound Live at Southbank | London
On July 23, I’ll be at the Southbank Centre in London as part of the Poetry International Festival. In celebration of the recent Poetry Unbound book, there’ll be an opportunity for non-professional writers and poets to submit their poems, to be featured as part of the event (deadline to apply is Friday 9th July, 11:59pm). And, the wonderful Patience Agbabi and Zaffar Kunial will join me on stage for a chat, 5pm. Find out more and apply to take part here.
Save the date
Open Your World with Poetry | Rhinebeck, NY
I’ll be back at the Omega Institute in New York leading another weeklong retreat, October 1-6. Discussions, readings, and writing sessions exploring the place of poetry, craft, language, and form in our lives. Each day, you’ll examine poems — some well known and other lesser known — and explore the artistry behind them. You’ll delve beyond the how of a poem and look at the why of a poem. Why did it need to be written? What does this poem explore about being human? What is the intuition and intelligence of this poem? What is its hunger? There’ll be prompts for you to respond to. Open for all who love writing or reading poetry — or want to! While the format and numbers will be similar to 2022’s event, we will include small groups, and the poems and prompts will be different to the previous year. Details, registration, and information about scholarships here.
A small chain of cloth flags made from my dad’s old shirts.
My wallet is brown. a trifold a type of wallet that is not so popular any more. It is bulky from all the old memories I keep there. One side has my debit card and credit card and ID. The rest is precious mementos. My learners permit, high school ID, random business cards, train ticket to Dublin, store discount for the grocery store I worked at as a kid, St. Patrick Medal, a pale green crystal necklace from an ex that is slowly creating a hole from the inner pocket to the outside. I’ll always carry these things.