Dear friends,
Last year we made a Poetry Unbound episode based on Adam Zagajewski’s poem “Transformation.” It’s a brilliant poem, translated from Polish by Clare Cavanagh. It’s short, too, so here it is:
I haven’t written a single poem
in months.
I’ve lived humbly, reading the paper,
pondering the riddle of power
and the reasons for obedience.
I’ve watched sunsets
(crimson, anxious),
I’ve heard the birds grow quiet
and night’s muteness.
I’ve seen sunflowers dangling
their heads at dusk, as if a careless hangman
had gone strolling through the gardens.
September’s sweet dust gathered
on the windowsill and lizards
hid in the bends of walls.
I’ve taken long walks,
craving one thing only:
lightning,
transformation,
You.
There are many reasons I chose this poem for that season, the primary of which is that final word “you.” Who? I don’t know. Himself maybe? Or his God? Or the reader? Or a lover he was pining after? All of them. He may have chosen it on the basis of its sound in Polish. It’s entirely possible that the answer is a mystery, that it is the ache of not-knowing that’s at the heart of the you here.
I did some studies on the “you” of poetry for postgrad work. It interests me enormously. You can be tender, accusatory, curious. You can be singular or plural or unknown. People leave messages on the answering machines of people they know are dead, so they can have the opportunity to say you again. The you is often related to the “I” also. Who is it that’s speaking to the you? (It’s for this reason that, where possible, I try to pronounce the I in “I love you”; the naming of the self in relation to the verb and addressee in this intimate, simple sentence feels important.)
“You” can be present in its absence, too. “Don’t forget to shut the door,” for instance, is addressed to a you that’s not being addressed. Anything from affection to aggression can quieten the you in a sentence.
Working in conflict resolution for a long time, I was aware of how important the imagination of the “you” was in the process of compromise, understanding, clear disagreement, negotiation, and arbitration. How I understand myself will also affect how I speak to the you. “Writing wishes to reach someone,” William Waters wrote in Poetry’s Touch. I think sometimes I’m the someone my own you wishes to reach, and not just in writing — in speech, too.
The you seeks a home, which is sometimes the addressed other.
So that’s what I’m curious about this week:
What’s a “you” (in a conversation, an absence, a text message, a letter, a phone call, a tannoy announcement, an accusation, a sensual encounter, a surprise) that is holding your attention as you think about you?
You you you.
I’ll look forward to reading what you say in the comments.
PS: The On Being season continues with wondrousness. This week’s episode is a conversation we’re surfacing from our archive, between Krista and yoga teacher Matthew Sanford. I remember where I was when I first heard this episode: it is gold in its wisdom about the body, intelligence, and memory.
PPS: The Corrymeela Podcast is continuing! We interviewed the brilliant Richard Holloway a few weeks ago, followed by the erudite-and-speaks-in-full-paragraphs Sarah Perry, and the other day, an interview with Ugandan poet-extraordinaire Juliane Okot Bitek went live.
Poetry in the World
U.S.A.
Oklahoma City University | Oklahoma City, OK
This Thursday, the 26th of October, I’ll be giving a poetry reading and lecture at Oklahoma City University. Details and registration (the event is free) are here.
Book Are Magic | Brooklyn, NY
On the 20th of November, I’ll be in conversation with the brilliant Nick Flynn on his new collection of poems, Low. Tickets are $10, and will include either a book copy or giftcard to the bookshop. We start at 7pm ET, and will also be live streamed on YouTube for those who are unable to join in person. Details and registration here.
EUROPE
Journeying Into the Common Good | Patmos, Greece
Together with Krista, Allison Russell, JT Nero, and Joe Henry, I’ll be one of the speakers at a small salon on the revelatory Greek island of Patmos next summer from June 27 - July 7. More details here.
you means so many things, of course. but in this moment, without thought, when you asked I thought of the last text I received from my brother before he died - it read: “lake like the ocean today”. I cherish it. I have taken numerable screen shots of it; so you know, it stays close by in my phone. There is no “you” in it and there is so much you in it. The you is absent in a unit of language but it’s presence is potent. In his 5-word text he said “I’m thinking of you as I look at the lake, it looks so much like the beauty of an ocean and I know you would love it so I took this photo to send to you.” It’s a treasure beyond measure, that text, those 5 words. It tells me he loves me. It is a buoyant bittersweet bridge: before with him here and after, without.
You, u stands like two people
separate at the top, seemingly,
And joined as one below. U.
Ryokan’s poem:
When, when? I sighed.
The one I longed for
Has finally come.
With you now,
I have all that I need.
U. All that I need. The connection of unity at the base of U. How frequently I get lost in the upper reaches of separation, the I I
Of U. All that I need rests in this unity at the base of U. 🏮