Welcoming Season 7 of Poetry Unbound
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Welcoming Season 7 of Poetry Unbound
... and the small things that sustain
Dear friends,
Hallo from the road. I’m in my last few days in Australia — a place that’s been a home of the heart for me for 20 years. Thank you for your delicious and delightful and meaningful responses to the question from last week’s Substack. I took thorough joy in reading through them.
This week — tomorrow, in fact — the latest season of Poetry Unbound starts off. We have 20 episodes, one each on Mondays and Fridays.
There are often questions about how I select the poems. It’s pretty unscientific. But it does require a lot of reading. I reckon I read about 200 books of poems for a 20-episode season. It’s a joy to read widely, attempting to go to corners of the publishing world that I know I’ve not gone before, in order to honour and uplift poems.
I don’t always start out with a theme for a season of Poetry Unbound. Mostly, if there is a theme, it only seems to emerge during the recording process. It isn’t a strict theme, but I think that human encounter is an underground stream that connects many of the poems for this next season: encounter with friends, with the past, with self, with possibility, with change, with risk and delight, and memory. There are delicious explorations of form — pantoums, associative poems, iambic pentameter, and other leftovers from poetry classes in schools! And a mix of emotions, too.
Poetry Unbound started a bunch of years ago when Krista texted me asking if I’d be interested in doing something with On Being about poetry. What we initially thought would be a small, short offering into the podcast world has turned into something that’s been profoundly moving. Moving because we get to read poets and make programmes that — we hope — honour the brilliance of their poems. Moving, too, because of the people who get in touch with us, telling us how they’ve wrapped a particular episode into their lives: listening during a time of transition, making the language or form or insight of the poem into part of their lives.
So, that’s my question this week:
What’s something that you thought would be a small part of your life that’s turned, unexpectedly, into something important.
Before I go, a small story, for no other reason than joy. While in Australia, I’ve often stayed in the home of the writer Julie Perrin. This time, I split my time between my old friend Neil’s place and Julie’s. Julie invited friends for a house concert: 40 people in a room where there were poems and songs and stories shared. People brought food and we celebrated poetry. Some people read stuff they’d written, others read what others had written. Neil’s son came and read a poem of his for the first time, to glorious applause. Poetry and words and sharing and appreciation bringing people together. Looking around at the room as the evening finished, I found myself thinking of the final line of Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “Gate A-4”: “This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”
To human encounter, and to small things that sustain. I’ll see you in the comments,
Pádraig
PS: By way of a shout out to other poetry podcasts, the wonderful Major Jackson hosts the brilliant programme, The Slowdown. Last week they featured a poem of mine that I wrote for my friend Dave, “The Lifeline.” You can listen to it here.
Poetry in the World
Live Reading at Booksmith | San Francisco, CA
The good people at Booksmith are hosting a reading while I’m in town. I’ll be sharing from both Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World and my latest, Feed the Beast. May 29 at 7pm – I’d love to see you. Free admission, registration required. Details here.
Returning and Becoming Conference | Asheville, NC
I’ll be sharing poetry and thoughts at a retreat at Kanuga (near Asheville, NC) on 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.
Welcoming Season 7 of Poetry Unbound
My small encounter has grown into a source of comfort and joy to me as I struggle with fear every day from health issues, money worries, a larger world seemingly in chaos and on fire: A year or so ago I was walking on a wooded trail near my city's medical center and came upon an elderly woman like me walking two small black dogs on a joined leash. She was kind of bent over, but as I approached I could see that she was tall and sturdy and I said Hi and we began to chat. She's 85 years old and walks every day; I'm 75 and do likewise -- we get together now once a week or so to walk together. Unlike so many older people I know, she is still curious and often researches new trails for us to walk in the city. I respond by setting up small adventures for us, always with a walk, usually ending in the trial of a new coffee shop. She is probably the nicest person I've known in years, appreciates dry wit, and tolerates my endless info dumping into her email. We're different in many basic ways -- she's religious and active in her church; I'm not, but she is one of those rare souls who live their religious beliefs rather than proselytize. I have a habit of greeting people I meet on the medical center trail where I walk frequently and usually they respond as we pass; occasionally, as with my newish friend, they stop and we talk.
Over a dozen years ago, walking around my neighbourhood, I noticed a small board outside someone’s house. There was a short poem written on it. I don’t remember the poem but I do remember the small thrill of recognizing a possibility. I could do this! I’d been reading more and more poetry, coming home to it really, after encountering the poetry of the late Bronwen Wallace. She taught me that poetry can be extraordinary even when the subject might seem ordinary. And so much more. I resolved to choose an extraordinary poem each week and put it on a chalkboard outside my house. I did just that. My first poem was Emily Dickinson’’s There Is No Frigate Like a Book. My poetry board has opened up the world of poetry to me. I read deeper and wider. And, wonderfully, I’ve met so many people who read the poems! Some folks walk or drive by just to see the new poem of the week. Every Sunday night - a different poem! Yes, it’s changed my life.