← Poetry Unbound
Poetry Unbound
Poetry Unbound Bonus — Walter de la Mare
00:09:16
Host Pádraig Ó Tuama shares “The Listeners” by Walter de la Mare, a favorite childhood poem of his, and offers an audio postscript to Season 10 of Poetry Unbound. Later in 2026, he will bring us more Poetry Unbound to look forward to — find out what and when here. In the meantime, you can listen to past episodes of Poetry Unbound or to new episodes of On Being with Krista Tippett, out now. We invite you to subscribe to Pádraig’s weekly Poetry Unbound Substack, read the Poetry Unbound books and his newest work, Kitchen Hymns, or listen to all our Poetry Unbound episodes.
Loading summary
Transcript1 lines
- [00:03]
A
Hi friends, this is Padre Go toma here. Season 10 of Poetry Unbound has come to an end, and season 11, as well as other delicious things from On Being and Poetry Unbound are to come later on this year. But I wanted to offer you a nugget, a poem I learned off by heart when I was 11, I should say, before I read it for you. I'm recording this at home, so if you hear a siren or a hissing pipe, or a neighbour, or my friend from Ireland who's visiting me in New York, well, that's not way things go. The Listeners by Walter Delamere Is there anybody there? Said the traveler knocking on the moonlit door, and his horse in the silence champed the grasses of the forest's ferny floor, and a bird flew up out of the turret above the traveler's head, and he smote upon the door again a second time. Is there anybody there? He said. But no one descended to the traveler, no head from the leaf fringed sill, leaned over and looked into his gray eyes where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners that dwelt in the lone house then stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight to that voice from the world of men stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair that goes down to the empty hall, hearkening in an air stirred and shaken by the lonely traveller's call. He felt in his heart their strangeness, their stillness answering his cry, while his horse moved, cropping the dark turf neath the starred and leafy sky. For he suddenly smote on the door even louder and lifted his head. Tell them I came and no one answered, that I kept my word, he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, though every word he spake fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house. From the one man left awake ay they heard his foot upon the stirrup and the sound of iron on stone, and how the silence surged softly backward when the plunging hoofs were go. That was the Listeners by Walter de la Mare. We'll also put the poem text up on the Poetry Unbound website so you can read it there. It's in the public domain. I love this poem, the drama of it, the music of it, and the sound. Who are the listeners, and why was this man so compelled? Tell them I came, he said. Like what was it that drove him to have to make this pilgrimage, this declaration? It's almost like he's bearing witness to something that he has to say. I spoke it aloud. It's one of the things I think that the poem knows is that there's things in us that we need to speak aloud, even to the dead. I always want to know how do the horses feel? Ever since I learned this poem, I have been particularly interested in the horses. They're mentioned a few times. His horse in the silence champed the grasses of the forest's ferny floor at delicious alliteration. Fff. But there's something about the horses that makes me wonder. I can hear them, I can feel them. I wonder, were they anxious, were they aware? And was Walter Delamere depicting them in such a particular way? When I was seven, I heard my older sister Anya learning this poem off by heart for school, and I was so transfixed by hearing her say it aloud. And I couldn't wait until I was 11 so I could learn it too. And I would read it every few months in anticipation, which probably says a lot about the kind of child I was. Anyway, thank you for joining me. In all these seasons of Poetry and Bound, you can go back and listen from the start. Some people tell me that they just put it on shuffle and listen to them in any kind of order. It is a thrill to hear and meet so many people who have deepened their love of poetry in the community of Poetry Unbound. There's plenty of material coming from Poetry Unbound and On Being over the next number of months, Krista has a new season of On Being with Krista Tippett out at the moment. There's great discussions with the poets Joy Harjo and Tracy K. Smith and the neuroscientist Gul d' Len and philosopher Rabbi Schai Held also. And then late spring and early summer, I'll share a host of Poetry Unbound in Conversation episodes that have been recorded over the last couple of years at public events. There'll be Fatty Judah and Halle, Liza Ghafouri and Adrian Matejka, to name just a few. There'll be a new season of Poetry Unbound in the autumn time this year. You can keep up to date with everything about Poetry Unbound through the substack. I'll share events and news and there's a bit of poetry shared every week on Sunday morning, as well as a question for the readers and then people respond in the comments. Thanks to everybody involved in Porch and Bound. The whole list comes up after this. Thanks to Walter Dylan, Mayor and the public domain that host his the text of his poem. Thanks to his listeners, his traveler, the birds and the horse in that great poem. Thanks to my older sister for learning it off by heart out loud. Also when I was younger it set something off that kept me alive for years and still keeps me me alive. Thanks friends. I look forward to continued engagements with you. Poetry Unbound is Andrea Prevot, Carla Zanoni, Daryl Chen, Sparrow Murray, Chris Heagle, Bill Sigmund and me, Padre Galtuma. Our music is composed and provided by Gautam Srikishan and Blue Dot Sessions. These episodes were made in New York City on unseen seeded Lenape Land. Special thanks to Will Salwin, Nave Yan and Adam Morell at Digital Island Studios in Manhattan. Thanks as well to Frederick Courtright of the Permissions Company. Poetry Unbound is an independent non profit production of the On Being Project founded and led by Krista Tippett. Poetry Unbound is made possible by a grant from the Henry Luce Foundation. Our other funding partners include the Liana foundation, the Bedale foundation and Engaging the Census Foundation. Poetry Unbound would be nothing without the listening community. Thanks to all who listen, who read and give through our weekly Poetry Unbound substack or directly to On Being. For links to the substack and to find out more about Poetry Unbound books and events, visit poetryunbound.org. The Listeners By Walter Delamere Is there anybody there? Said the traveler knocking on the moonlit door, and his horse in the silence champed the grasses of the forest's ferny floor, and a bird flew up out of the turret above the traveler's head, and he smote upon the door again a second time. Is there anybody there? He said. But no one descended to the traveler, no head from the leaf fringed sill leaned over and looked into his gray eyes where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners that dwelt in the lone house then stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight to that voice from the world of men stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair that goes down to the empty hall, hearkening in an air stirred and shaken by the lonely traveler's call. And he felt in his heart their strangeness, their stillness answering his cry, while his horse moved, cropping the dark turf neath the starred and leafy sky. For he suddenly smote on the door even louder and lifted his head. Tell them I came and no one answered, that I kept my word, he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, though every word he spake fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house from the one man left awake. Aye, they heard his foot upon the stirrup and the sound of iron on stone. And how the silence surged softly backward when the plunging hoofs were gone. That was the Listeners by Walter Delamere. The poem is in the public domain. Thanks to the public domain for hosting the poem.