Dear friends:
Hallo from Belfast where the weather is pleasantly cool after a few weeks of warmth on the Island of Revelation. I’m just back here for a few weeks before a long stint in New York starting in August. These days I tend to be in NYC more than half the time, if not closer to three-quarters of the time. Growing up in the country (although having been born on the edges of Cork City), I always dreamt of moving to the city. Something about its bustle drew me, still does.
I wonder what words adorn walls where you frequent. I don’t mean the ones put up — and maintained — by city authorities. I mean the words that go up when others aren’t looking.
In a west Belfast suburb where I used to live — an area that had known decades of complication — someone had written “I hate this street”. In a toilet in a pub in Nashville, someone had written “I would help you bury the body”. On another wall in another zone of conflict, someone had stenciled “I ♡ War”. I’ve seen “You are beautiful” in many streets around Ireland and Scotland. And I’ve seen messages of love, vengeance, celebration and territory.
There is something about words on the wall. They speak to us of a fundamental desire of someone to state something.
State. A verb and a noun.
To push the political and legal definition of “state” as noun, a word — or set of words — on a wall wishes to establish a State: something with its own rules, logic, boundaries, understandings. It’s temporary, of course, someone else might come and deface it, amend it, or reframe it. Someone erased “I hate this street” along that street in Belfast, but I still see the place where the paint was, a ghost-state(ment).
There’s a famous piece of graffiti in Dublin, just south of the city centre — see the picture above — that seeks to create a state. Don’t Be Afraid. I take photos of it every time I see it. I love the block letters, the assertion, the almost sacred way that loud language is not erased. Somehow, when I read it, I find myself a citizen of a place that knows two things: there are reasons to be afraid and also reasons not to “be” afraid; the graffiti implores its readers to be something else in the face of fear.
It’s a simple question this week: What public words on walls have you seen? And what state have they affected in you?
Poetry in the World
A list of events: Online; in the US (Keene Valley and Rhinebeck, NY; Kent, OH); England; and the Scottish island of Iona
August 7 at 6-7:30pm (Eastern Time, US), online
I’ll be exploring conflict and change through poetry at an online event in partnership with the International Center for Cooperation and Conflict Resolution at Columbia University. You can register for free here.
August 10–11, Keene Valley, New York, US
I’ll be speaking and sharing at a weekend of events titled “Exploring Spirit and Reconciliation,” held at Keene Valley Congregational Church UCC. Go here to learn about the weekend’s activities and to register.
August 23–25, Northamptonshire, England
I’ll be at the Greenbelt Festival, and, among other events, I will be interviewing the brilliant Jenny Mitchell (whose poem “A Man in Love with Plants” we featured on a Season 7 episode of Poetry Unbound). You can go here to learnabout the festival.
September 19–21, Kent, Ohio, US
I’m looking forward to being part of the 40th anniversary of the Wick Poetry Center at Kent State University, alongside Naomi Shihab Nye, Jane Hirshfield, and Adrian Matejka. You can register here, and find more information about the celebratory events here.
October 6–11, Rhinebeck, New York, US
I’m back for a week at Omega (just two hours north of NYC) for a week of reflection on poetry, poetry prompts, and group discussions. Expect lovely people, gorgeous surroundings and food, and conversations about how poetry opens your world. Learn more 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.
During the pandemic there was a sign outside a restaurant that said, " The vwhole world is short-staffed. Be kind to those who showed up." It has been my prayer whenever I'm on hold, when the line is long, or patience is running thin.
I saw embroidered into the wrapping around the construction staging at the National Museum of Women in the Arts a statement of commitment, seemingly against all odds:
AS LONG AS
GENERATIONS CHANGE
BUT OUR STRUGGLES
STAY THE SAME,
I WILL BE A FEMINIST
Four stories tall and as wide as the building. Red stitching on the grey wrapping. Big and broad across New York Avenue.