Taylor Johnson — Pennsylvania Ave. SE

Fri Dec 06 2024

When you look at people who are younger than you — particularly teenagers — does your mind ever take you back to yourself at their age? Taylor Johnson’s poem “Pennsylvania Ave. SE” performs this feat of time travel, going from a glimpse of two boys on bicycles to a haunting sense memory of what was once so yearned for: to be seen, to be wanted, to be free.

Summary

Poetry Unbound: Taylor Johnson — Pennsylvania Ave. SE
Host: Pádraig Ó Tuama
Release Date: December 6, 2024
Publisher: On Being Studios

Introduction

In the December 6, 2024 episode of Poetry Unbound, host Pádraig Ó Tuama delves deep into Taylor Johnson's poignant poem "Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast." This episode offers an immersive exploration of the poem's layers, unveiling its rich tapestry of memories, identity, and the subtle blessings woven throughout.

Exploring Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast

Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast serves as a vessel for reminiscence, tenderness, and introspection. The poem opens with vivid imagery:

"Bless the boys riding their bikes straight up at midnight, touching, if only briefly, holding hands as they cross the light to independence."
— Taylor Johnson, Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast [00:00:XX]

These lines set the stage for a journey through youthful memories, capturing fleeting moments of innocence and the complex quest for independence.

Imagery and Setting

The poem's setting—a midnight ride on Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast—evokes a sense of quiet reflection under the veil of darkness. Johnson's description is both specific and universal:

"From the side the one on the red bike looks like me, his red brown hair loose against the late summer static heat."
— Taylor Johnson, Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast [00:04:25]

This portrayal invites readers to see themselves in the scene, bridging personal experience with collective nostalgia.

Themes and Analysis

1. Identity and Transformation

Ó Tuama emphasizes the poem's exploration of self-identity, particularly in the context of Taylor Johnson's experience as a trans man. The line:

"Bless the boy who was me on his bike because he was a witness to my witnessing and did not turn away."
— Taylor Johnson, Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast [00:07:15]

highlights a pivotal moment of self-recognition and acceptance. Ó Tuama reflects on how Johnson might be speaking back to his younger self, honoring the resilience and authenticity that defined his journey.

2. The Power of Blessings

The recurrent use of the word "bless" serves as a thematic anchor throughout the poem. Ó Tuama interprets blessings not merely as religious invocations but as acknowledgments of sacred, everyday moments:

"A blessing is noticing something small that's happening in the here and now and trying to give a particular importance and something of the sacred to it."
— Pádraig Ó Tuama [00:10:00]

This perspective transforms the poem's scenes into moments of grace, celebrating the subtle yet profound aspects of life.

3. Memory and Reminiscence

The poem beautifully balances the present observation with past memories, blurring the lines between what was and what is:

"This poem is so photographic it almost appears like a reel of reminiscence."
— Pádraig Ó Tuama [00:09:30]

Ó Tuama discusses how Johnson navigates through time, holding onto memories that shape one's identity and understanding of self.

4. Yearning for Independence

The motif of independence is multifaceted, representing both the desire for autonomy in youth and the complex realities of achieving it in adulthood:

"I love the possibilities of seeing these boys in front of him and thinking, what kind of thing would they say? I love you. I'm so sad. Truths that everybody lives with at some point or another or wants to say, but then much more likely catch up."
— Taylor Johnson, Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast [00:06:10]

This duality underscores the universal struggle between longing for freedom and grappling with its consequences.

Conclusion

Pádraig Ó Tuama masterfully unpacks Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast, revealing its intricate layers of memory, identity, and the sanctity of everyday blessings. Through Johnson's evocative language and heartfelt reflections, listeners are invited to traverse their own landscapes of self-discovery and appreciation for the moments that shape us.

Notable Quotes

"Bless the boys riding their bikes straight up at midnight..." [00:00:XX]
"From the side the one on the red bike looks like me..." [00:04:25]
"Bless the girl who was me on her bike because she was a witness to my witnessing and did not turn away." [00:07:15]
"A blessing is noticing something small that's happening in the here and now..." [00:10:00]

Further Resources

To explore more about Taylor Johnson's work, visit On Being Studios and subscribe to the Poetry Unbound Substack newsletter for ongoing conversations and gatherings.

Poetry Unbound is produced by On Being Studios, inviting listeners to open their worlds to poetry through immersive and thoughtful explorations.

Transcript

A (0:00)

Hi friends.

B (0:00)

I've got some news for you. I've got two books coming out in early 2025. 44 poems on being with each Other is a poetry unbound collection with 44 poems and 44 essays. There's poems from Jericho Brown and Mary Oliver and Lucille Clifton in there. And I have a collection of my own poems coming out too.

A (0:18)

It's called Kitchen Hymns.

B (0:19)

You can pre order these wherever you get your books. Online bookshops or even better, your local bookshop. There's more info@poetryunbound.org thanks friends.

A (0:32)

My name is Padre Go Toma and sometimes when I'm looking at a poem, I try to make sure to look at it as if it is at least three things. It's partly coming from the life of the poet. It's also a work of art, like a painting or a photograph or a piece of film. And also you get ways within which somehow the dreamscape of the poem is working on me, the reader, as well as maybe the poet themselves, that they are being brought into something that they don't have complete control over. I like looking at the poem like that because not every poem has to make perfect sense, because that's the whole point. Life can be so strange and so complex and time can do such peculiar things that often we need something that doesn't wrap itself up in a neat bow in order to hold the experience that we have that has led to the need for the poem to be written. Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast by Taylor Johnson Bless the boys riding their bikes straight up at midnight, touching, if only briefly, holding hands as they cross the light to independence. Bless them for from the side the one on the red bike looks like me, his red brown hair loose against the late summer static heat. The boy who was not me, See how I did that? Fixes his mouth to say something I will never hear. I love you or I'm so sad, though more than likely catch up. Bless the boy who was me on his bike because he was a witness to my witnessing and did not turn away, did not make of me a disappeared burned thing, instead nodded as boys do. Bless the distance and the knowing there what my mind makes of these boys. Bless that long hallway I'm always going through. Bless what could be mine or me. Bless the boys I wanted to be or want so. This beautiful poem of reminiscence and tenderness and blessing by Taylor Johnson it seems to occur halfway between something that's occurred and then the way that an occurrence bounces the poet into a memory. I found myself imagining that Taylor Johnson had seen some boys riding their bikes straight up at midnight, touching, and this is the opening line of the poem, and saw one of the boys who looked a little bit like Taylor Johnson had looked like when he was younger. And then from that he began to see through these boys into his own memories of being a younger person. What it was that he held with inside himself when he was younger, what it was that he survived, what it was that he coped with, who it was he was, wished to be, and the truth that he knew about himself. It's a poem filled with yearning, with tenderness, too, even from the second line, touching, if only briefly, holding hands as they cross the light to independence. Presumably independence is just the name of an intersection with Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast, but there's something about the way independence occurs there in the line that makes me think that it's not only the name of a road, but. But that it's also something that any teenager, when they're younger, would wish for as well as anybody who's older can remember wanting. And wanting independence when you're a young person. And then the independence that you have once you've progressed into adulthood can be two very different things. And sometimes you can miss the independence that you yearn for, because independence, when you get it, can sometimes be a much more complicated thing. This poem is so photographic it almost appears like a reel of reminiscence. Somehow, even though it's midnight, I can see everything, maybe by street light. There's the red brown hair loose against the late somewhere static heat. The there's the bikes. And then also there's the way within which Taylor Johnson sees the tableau in front of him and then sees all the things that that tableau holds, all that yearning. The boy who is not me. And then he has in brackets, see how I did that. Fixes his mouth to say something I will never hear. And then he gives three I love you or I'm so sad, or more than likely catch up. I love the possibilities of seeing these boys in front of him and thinking, what kind of thing would they say? I love you. I'm so sad. Truths that everybody lives with at some point or another or wants to say, but then much more likely catch up. At that stage I feel like the poem begins to move away just from what's occurring in front of him and begins to narrate the story of his own life. Bless the boy who is me on his bike because he was a witness to my witnessing and did not turn away. And then he goes on and it takes it even deeper did not make of me a disappeared burned thing. A disappeared burned thing. I wonder what that means. I'm never completely sure if a poem should be read solely through the biography of the particular poet. Sometimes a poet adopts a speaker's voice that might be entirely different to their own. But other times, a poet does write poems that are autobiographical or somewhat autobiographical. Taylor Johnson is a trans man, and I find myself wondering, is this poem a way of speaking back to a boy self that he knew was his own boy self, but that circumstantially or on a level of confidence or on a level of safety, or all of those and more, he wasn't able to speak about bless the boy who is me on his bike because he was a witness to my witnessing and did not turn away. He's praising the boy that he knew himself to be, even though other people might have denied the boy that he was. And then he says, bless the distance and the knowing there. The knowing. What is it that we know about ourselves? There is a truthfulness that this poem is praising. And also this poem is reflecting on the complexity of what it's like to have to wait with time and what it is after time to look back, to hold in yourself all that you knew, but that you weren't able to speak safely. The word bless is repeated so many times in this poem. And what is it? What is a blessing? I have all kinds of associations with it, culturally as well as from my own religious background. Typically, a blessing is something said in the here and now to pronounce some kind of wish for goodness on an event that's occurring in the moment. There can be a way within which people bless a body before a body is laid in a grave or cremated. There can be blessings for the taking of a name or the changing of a name. Of course, there's blessing for ceremonies of marriage as well. And rather than thinking about blessing as where is it coming from? Is there some divine power being called upon? I think sometimes that is missing the point. A blessing is noticing something small that's happening in the here and now and trying to give a particular importance and something of the sacred to it. It's honoring the everyday. Often it's a moment of transition or bravery or something nascent as well. So bless the boys riding on their bikes straight up. Bless them for from the side, the one on the red bike looks like me. Bless the distance and the knowing. Bless that long hallway. Bless what could be mine or me. Bless the boys I wanted to be or wanted this sense of who will I be? Who am I? This sense also of who do I desire? There is a way within which teenagerhood is so exploding with the tension and the yearning that fantasizes really that it will achieve culmination when you get to the grand age of, I don't know, 20 or 90. But what often happens then is once we reach adulthood, we look back to those moments of yearning and praise them and see the courage it took to live in that long ache of self that is those strange years of teenagerhood. Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast By Taylor Johnson Bless the boys riding their bikes straight up at midnight, touching, if only briefly, holding hands as they cross the light to independence. Bless them for from the side the one on the red bike looks like me, his red brown hair loose against the late summer static heat. The boy who was not me, see how I did that? Fixes his mouth to say something I will never hear, I love you or I'm so sad, though more than likely catch up. Bless the boy who was me on his bike because he was a witness to my witnessing and did not turn away, did not make of me a disappeared burned thing, instead nodded as boys do. Bless the distance and the knowing there what my mind makes of these boys. Bless that long hallway I'm always going through. Bless what could be mine or me. Bless the boys I wanted to be or want Satan.