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Hey, it's NPR's Book of the Day. I'm Andrew Limbong. The first bit of advice you often get when approaching poetry is you gotta read it out loud. Poetry can be just as much an oral medium as it is a written one, but not always. Raymond Antrobus is on the pod today. He's a poet and he's deaf. And he's got a memoir titled the Quiet An Investigation of Missing Sound. In this interview with NPR's Mary Louise Kelly, he talks about using his deafness as an aid to writing something that makes his poetry better. That's ahead.
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When writer Raymond Antrobus was a child, he had a hard time making sense of the world around him. He struggled to hold conversations. He missed instructions from his teachers. He would get sent off to detention. Everyone assumed he had a cognitive disability. Until one day his mother bought a telephone, a loud phone. When it rang, it was Pier. Everyone in his house seemed to notice but him. That is how Raymond Antrobus learned at 6 years old that he was deaf. Well, he's out with a new memoir called the Quiet An Investigation of Missing Sound. Raymond, welcome.
D
Oh, thanks for having me.
C
So to explain to people listening now, you wear hearing aids. You're also able to hear my questions in part because you have closed captioning going across a screen. That's capturing what I'm saying. You describe this the feeling of living in a world of in betweenness, to use your word, like halfway in the deaf world, halfway in the hearing world, feeling displaced from both. How do you navigate that? How did you learn to navigate it?
D
As a kid, I didn't have any map. I didn't have anything to kind of compare it to because there was no friends or family or network that had a kind of cultural idea of deafness. It wasn't actually until much, much later, when I kind of connected with a creative deaf community in London and met, you know, deaf actors and dancers and poets and performers, that I kind of really Found something to, you know, tap into and understand for myself. But there are so many different factors, you know, that go into developing an identity, race and class, even the way you. You sign. So, you know, I learned to sign B at 11 years old.
C
British Sign Language.
D
British Sign Language is right.
C
Which is quite different from American.
D
It is. It has a different root. So American Sign Language is built on French Sign Language because the first deaf families to go over to America from Europe or came from France, whereas British Sign Language is an indigenous language. It's more than 500 years old, which is as old as Shakespeare.
C
I never knew that. I never knew the origins. Huh.
D
Yeah.
C
You also write so beautifully about the. You just nodded to race, to class, the in betweenness you experienced growing up in London, son of a Jamaican father, a British mother, a black father, a white mother, trying to figure out what world is mine.
D
Yeah. So my dad was a kind of an amateur dj. So when I was a kid and I wasn't yet able to spe fluently, he would play me poems by dub poets, who often themselves were Jamaican and British. And he would ask me to recite these poems. And they were in patois, so. So I could barely speak English in my daddy's egg trying to get me to recite patois. And then he would just be laughing at all of my attempts, and then he would record me trying to say these words. And then he would incorporate some of the poems and some of my attempt at speech into his DJ set. You know, it was. It was a way to make, I don't know, fun and lightness of what was a disability. Something that everywhere else in my life was looked at as something that I was struggling with or something that I was incapable of. But there was something particularly Jamaican about remixing or creating your own style, your own sound. That's kind of what Jamaica as a culture is very good at.
C
Yeah. So I do wanna ask about. I wanna ask about the language that you use to describe your hearing. People always use the term hearing loss. I tell people I have hearing loss. Severe to profound hearing loss. You flip it around and write about deaf gain, about living with the aid of deafness. Do you feel that?
D
I do. I do. So I think about this idea of having a natural deaf disposition, you know, after reading David Wright, a deaf poet from the 1950s and 60s, in his memoir, he talks a lot about the hindrance and the struggle, but he does. There are moments where he kind of touches on this idea that he wouldn't be a poet without his deafness. Like he does credit his deafness with for making him a poet. And he even talks about a term from William Wordsworth where he says, I, music, as in eye. And David Wright resonated with this idea of the eye. The eye, the music of the eye, the sound of the eye. What you're relying on with the I. So, yeah, you know, there's so much play with that.
C
Well, and you've used poetry to explain to the rest of the world how you see the world, how deafness has influenced you. Would you give us a little taste of that? I wonder if you'd read us the first stanza of your poem, Dear Hearing World.
D
Sure. This is Dear Hearing World, and it's after a poem by Danez Smith.
C
Okay.
D
I have left Earth in search of sounder orbits, a solar system where the space between a star and a planet isn't empty. I have left a white beard of noise in my place. And many of you won't know the difference. We are indeed the same volume. All of us eventually fade.
C
Skip ahead. If you would just give me the last two lines.
D
The last two lines are deaf voices go missing like sound in space, and I have left Earth to find them.
C
I keep turning, turning this over in my head. There's anger in this poem. The idea that you had to leave Earth to find something you need speak to that.
D
I wrote that poem when I revisited the deaf school I went to in North London, Muswell Hill. It was a deaf school that was also part of a hearing school. Those two worlds still felt like they were a true representation of what it was like leaving school and being out in the big world where I had to function as. As a hearing person because I've got this clear speech and my hearing aids are quite small, so I can make people forget that I'm a deaf person. I lip read. I'm very sensitive to acoustics of spaces, so I've learned how to navigate sound in this particular way. And it's, you know, a lot of that is a kind of invisible lab labor in. In. In the hearing world. But when you find yourself in deaf spaces, where that sensibility is understood, there's like a relationship that can happen. Right, exactly. You know, and just to say that when you asked about the anger, like, you're right, because I went back to Blotch Nevilles, you know, about 14 years after leaving it, and I saw more struggle. I saw smaller classrooms. I realized that had I been growing up at that point, I wouldn't have even got into that school. I wouldn't have been deaf enough to get into. There's more deaf schools being closed. There's more deaf people being mainstreamed. And so I had to, you know, speak to that. And a lot of anger is sourced in that.
C
Raymond d' Introbus, he is a poet and author of the new memoir the Quiet Ear. Thank you so very much.
D
Thank you for having me. This has been an honor to be heard.
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Podcast Summary: NPR’s Book of the Day
Episode: In his memoir, poet Raymond Antrobus writes of ‘deaf gain’ instead of hearing loss
Date: September 1, 2025
Host: Mary Louise Kelly (NPR)
Guest: Raymond Antrobus
This episode features an illuminating conversation between NPR’s Mary Louise Kelly and award-winning poet Raymond Antrobus about his new memoir, The Quiet: An Investigation of Missing Sound. The discussion delves into Antrobus’s personal journey as a deaf poet, his unique approach to language and sensory experience, the concept of “deaf gain,” and how deafness has shaped his art and perception of the world. Through stories, reflections, and a moving poetry reading, Antrobus challenges assumptions about deafness and explores themes of identity, belonging, and creative expression.
The conversation is intimate, reflective, and deeply insightful. Antrobus speaks with warmth and candor, while Mary Louise Kelly’s questions invite nuanced reflections on identity, resilience, and the gifts of living “in between” worlds. The episode weaves personal narrative, cultural history, and poetry, revealing the richness and complexity of the deaf experience.
Listeners come away with a vivid sense of how Antrobus not only negotiates the boundaries between the hearing and deaf worlds but finds creative power, “deaf gain,” and belonging in that space. The episode stands as a powerful meditation on the value of different perspectives—and the voices we sometimes have to leave earth to find.