The Solitude at the Heart of Human Relationship
"I’m sure you do the same: let parts of you speak to parts of you."
Dear friends,
It’s October, a month that always makes me think of a line from a poem I learned at school that speaks about “October coloured weather” (Patrick Kavanagh’s In Memory of My Father). I relish the days of changing leaves and woolen clothes… at least at the start. By the time late winter comes around, I’m ready for the change again.
Some of you might be familiar with Poetry Unbound and On Being, and others of you may be new here. Before working with On Being, much of my work was in conflict resolution. It was an observation of mine (unscientific, of course, but nonetheless observed over about twenty years of the work) that a capacity to be at peace with your own company can help you when you’re in a situation of differing opinions, or clashing desires. I wrote a poem about it, “How To Belong Be Alone,” animated by Leo G. Franchi.
The way I see it now, the poem was an expression of an ache I had to have a conversation between two parts of me, one wiser part speaking to a more anxious “you.” There’s an intimate knowledge from the speaking voice to the other voice, because they’re both fragments of the same voice, exaggerated for the point of view of art, but also for the point of view of encounter.
I’m sure you do the same: let parts of you speak to parts of you.
Partly why this poem comes to mind is that last week, when asking what advice was given to you, so many of you repeated advice about not being swayed by the crowds, or opinion. Reading your feedback, I was moved, and found myself thinking of how many years it can sometimes take us to learn to be in our own company.
So, by way of an invitation for this week, I’m curious to know if you have a line you repeat to yourself when you’re trying to sink into that necessary solitude that is at the heart of every human relationship: the relationship of yourself to yourself. I often repeat Patrick Kavanagh’s line “Lie at the heart of the emotion. Time / Has its own work to do” to myself. It invites me into the more that an experience might contain or reveal — even when that more is difficult.
The line you repeat to yourself may be from a poem, or it may be from a song, or from a lullaby, or it may be some wisdom you’ve cultivated from yourself, or a sacred tradition, or something your friend said to you once.
We’d love to hear these single-line poems that echo around you when you are settling into your own being with your own being.
Thanks for being here, friends.
Pádraig
PS – The first two episodes of Poetry Unbound Season 6 landed in podcast feeds this past week. We’re delighted to introduce you to (or make your reacquaintance with) “Lost” by the late David Wagoner, and “Gloria Mundi” by Michael Kleber-Diggs. More episodes ahead this week, and every Monday and Friday through mid-December. Listen wherever you get your podcasts.
I’ll be on the road the first half of October, celebrating the launch of Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World in Europe – please come say hello if you’re in the area. The book’s available for pre-order here:
Waterstones in Londontown (Gower St): Tuesday, October 4, 6:30pm local time
Waterstones Norwich (Castle St): Thursday, October 6, 7pm local time
Books Upstairs Dublin (D’Olier St, Dublin 2): Monday, October 10, 6pm local time *** free admission, but do email campaigns@canongate.co.uk to let them know you’re coming (so we can make enough tea)
Crescent Arts Centre Belfast: Tuesday, October 11, 6pm local time
I always hear the lines from Rilke:
“Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final”
I like that a lot.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body. love what it loves - Mary Oliver