José Antonio Rodríguez Reads Naomi Shihab Nye

Summary

The New Yorker: Poetry Podcast – Episode Summary

Title: José Antonio Rodríguez Reads Naomi Shihab Nye
Host: Kevin Young, Poetry Editor of The New Yorker Magazine
Guest: José Antonio Rodríguez, Poet, Memoirist, and Translator
Release Date: April 17, 2024

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1. Introduction

In this engaging episode of The New Yorker: Poetry Podcast, hosted by Kevin Young, poetry enthusiasts are welcomed into a deep dive with guest poet José Antonio Rodríguez. Kevin introduces Rodríguez, highlighting his accolades, including the Bob Bush Memorial Award from the Texas Institute of Letters and a Discovery Award from the Writers League of Texas. Rodríguez, who teaches in the MFA program at the University of Texas, Rio Grande Valley, sets the stage for an insightful conversation about poetry and its profound impact.

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2. Exploring "World of the Future We Thirsted" by Naomi Shihab Nye

Selection and Initial Impressions:
Rodríguez shares his admiration for Naomi Shihab Nye's work, particularly drawn to the serenity and depth of her poetry. He recalls encountering "World of the Future We Thirsted" in 2019 and being captivated by its expansive title and evocative imagery.

Reading of the Poem:
At [02:37], Rodríguez delivers a poignant reading of Nye's poem:

"World of the future we thirsted.
Stripped of a sense of well being,
we downed our water from small disposable bottles,
casting the plastic to street side..."
(00:02:37)

In-Depth Analysis:
Post-reading, Kevin and Rodríguez delve into the poem's themes of environmental degradation and societal complacency. Rodríguez emphasizes the "quiet desperation" conveyed through the speaker's perspective, juxtaposing everyday actions with looming ecological crises. He highlights the poem's subtle questioning and humility, particularly noting the repetition of "never fear" at the end:

"Never fear. Never fear."
(00:06:11)

Rodríguez interprets this repetition not just as reinforcement but as a reflection of underlying insecurity, suggesting a communal effort to mask fear. Kevin adds that this repetition may paradoxically undermine its convincing power, fostering a sense of vulnerability rather than assurance.

Thematic Exploration:
The conversation touches on the poem's exploration of collective responsibility encapsulated in the "we" of the poem. Rodríguez points out how Nye implicates herself within this collective, fostering a sense of inclusivity rather than othering the reader. This approach makes the poem feel both expansive and intimately personal by its conclusion.

"Were we just assume? And so she implicates the speaker, implicates herself in the we does not separate herself from this we."
(00:06:48)

Rodríguez further discusses the poem's architectural use of sound, noting how different sounds correspond to various thematic elements, such as the "K's" in the first and last stanzas providing a melodic quality that contrasts with the poem's serious subject matter.

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3. Presenting "Tender" by José Antonio Rodríguez

Introduction to the Poem:
Kevin transitions the conversation to Rodríguez's own work, specifically his poem "Tender," published in The New Yorker on August 22, 2022. Rodríguez describes "Tender" as an autobiographical piece that emerged organically, with the first draft closely resembling the final version.

Reading of the Poem:
At [16:48], Rodríguez reads his heartfelt poem:

"Tender,
Tender, thinking of how much my father loved flowering plants
and how much my mother still does, and of how unfathomably hard it
must have been to clothe and feed 10 children with the most meager
of salaries for tending to citrus orchards..."
(00:16:48)

Analyzing "Tender":
Post-reading, the discussion delves into the poem's exploration of familial love, hardship, and resilience. Rodríguez explains his intention to capture the complexity of tenderness within a challenging household, balancing moments of connection with underlying struggles.

"I was trying to braid... the different forms of tenderness within my childhood home because it wasn't always... possible."
(00:22:13)

Kevin praises the poem's structure, noting how the intensity builds towards the end, mirroring the emotional journey from connection to disconnection within the family dynamic. The use of line breaks and couplets is highlighted as a means to convey deep emotional shifts, particularly in lines like:

"Nothing to do but walk away. I swear."
(00:27:32)

Rodríguez discusses the deliberate placement of breaks to emphasize pivotal moments of emotional intensity and the intertwining of personal narrative with broader themes of community and self.

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4. Concluding Insights

Throughout the episode, both hosts and guest share a profound appreciation for the power of poetry to encapsulate complex human emotions and societal issues. Rodríguez's insights into both Nye's and his own poetry offer listeners a deeper understanding of poetic devices, thematic depth, and the delicate balance between personal and collective narratives.

Final Thoughts:
Rodríguez reflects on the universality of personal experiences, emphasizing that while his poems are deeply personal, they resonate with broader human experiences. This connection underscores the enduring relevance of poetry as a medium for exploring and understanding the human condition.

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For those interested in experiencing these poetic works firsthand, "World of the Future We Thirsted" by Naomi Shihab Nye and "Tender" by José Antonio Rodríguez are available on newyorker.com. Nye's recent collections include Everything Comes Next and New Poems, while Rodríguez's forthcoming collection titled The Day's Hard Edge promises to delve further into his evocative storytelling.

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This summary encapsulates the key discussions and analyses from the episode, providing a comprehensive overview for listeners and poetry enthusiasts alike.

Transcript

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[Kevin Young]

Hello, you're listening to the New Yorker Poetry Podcast. I'm Kevin Young, poetry editor of the New Yorker Magazine. On this program, we invite a poet to choose a poem from the New Yorker Archive to read and discuss. Then they read one of their own poems that's been published in the magazine. My guest today is the poet, memoirist and translator Jose Antonio Rodriguez, whose honors include a Bob Bush Memorial Award from the Texas Institute of Letters and a Discovery Award from the Writers League of Texas. He teaches in the MFA program at the University of Texas, Rio Grande Valley. Welcome, Jose. Thanks for joining us.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Thank you for having me.

[Kevin Young]

Now, the first poem you've decided to read today is World of the We Thirsted by Naomi Shihab Nye. What drew you to this particular poem as you were looking over the archive?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Well, first, I'm a big fan of her work, you know, and I've just always marveled at her, the serenity of her poetry and this one specifically. I remember reading it in 2019 when it was published in the New Yorker. I loved the title just from the get go. I thought it was so expansive and mysterious, you know, very commanding, addressing the world of the future. And the imagery is really beautiful and the sentiment and the questioning. There's a kind of humility in the poem that really speaks to me.

[Kevin Young]

Terrific. Let's listen to the poem. This is Jose Antonio Rodriguez reading World of the Future We Thirsted by Naomi Shihab Nye.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

World of the future we thirsted. Stripped of a sense of well being, we downed our water from small disposable bottles, casting the plastic to street side. We poured high potency energy tonics or Coke down our throats. Because this time in history had sapped us so thoroughly and we were desperate. Straws, plastic caps, crushed cans. In a three block walk you could fill a sack, as if we could replenish spirits quickly, pitching containers without remorse. Who did we imagine would pick them up? What did we really know of plastic spirals in the sea, bigger than whole countries? We had never swirled in one ourselves, as a fish might do a sea urchin, a whole family of eels. Did we wish to be invincible, using what we wanted, discarding what we didn't? As in wars, whole cities and nations crumpled after our tanks and big guns pull out. How long does it take to be thirsty again? We were so lonely in the streets, though all the small houses still had noses, mouths, eyes from which we might peer as our fellow citizens walk. Their dogs pause helplessly as the dogs circle trees, tip their heads back for a long slow slug of water or tea, and never fear. Never fear.

[Kevin Young]

That was World of the Future. We Thirsted by Naomi Shihab Nye, which was published in the July 19, 2019 issue of the New Yorker. I loved how you read that, especially helping us hear those breaks had sapped us so thoroughly and we were desperate. It makes it more desperate, I think, that Ann hanging out there and the end especially is so beautiful and unfolding, even as it's talking about this kind of everyday. I don't know if it's horror or is it sort of the experience of the everyday that we know is true and we know there's a future, but also kind of helps us understand what's in danger in that future.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Right, right. There's a kind of quiet desperation. The speaker, you can feel the desperation in the speaker, but the scene that she's describing is the opposite of that. People are just sort of going about their day as if everything's fine, as if there is no plastic in the ocean, as if the bottles are just going to magically be picked up. Right. And that contrast is really fascinating. Very. Just really well rendered. And I love also, of course, yeah, the ending, you know, especially the last line repetition of never fear, Never fear. Because as you know, most of the time I think when we feel the need to repeat something, it is because saying it the first time was not enough. Right. So rather than reinforcing the message, what we're communicating to the listener is a kind of insecurity that it didn't get through the first time.

[Kevin Young]

Sure. Or that's not true. You know, it's like the more you say it, the less convincing it is in a way.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

That's true. Yeah. Yeah.

[Kevin Young]

I think there's something else, too, in the we of the poem. And, you know, someone else might be pointing a finger or sort of a lesser poet would kind of make it less inclusive. And there's something about the culpability of the entire we of the world, especially a world looking at the future, that is really powerful in the poem. And I wonder how you think about the we. Does it shift at all?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Well, I agree. I think that it's always tricky to bring in we because, you know, the reader can resist being lumped in. Right. With whatever's happening in the poem, but the poet just is so filled with a desire to understand rather than to judge or accuse. And so we have the questions, why did you know, did we want to do this? Were we what? You know, did we just assume? And so she implicates the speaker, implicates herself in the we does not separate herself from this we. That is. So. It's the opposite of othering the reader. I think that's part of why it's so welcoming. And the shift, I mean, it becomes. The title is very broad, of course, World of the Future. And then I do think that, at least for me, by the end of the poem, it becomes very personal. It's very, very I. Because it's mentioning, really, the speaker peering out of her home. Right. And watching the people passing by. And it does. It feels very, very intimate by the end.

[Kevin Young]

Well, and the question of the second stanza, which is two questions, really, and there's the long one that starts, what did we really know of plastic spirals in the sea, bigger than whole countries we had never swirled in one ourselves, as a fish might do a sea. Or, you know, there's this kind of oceanography that happens there that ends with war, ends with catastrophe. And I think it's so powerful, and it's from a few years ago, but it's one of these things that is just evergreen as a question. Using what we wanted, discarding what we didn't, as in wars, whole cities and nations crumpled after our tanks and big guns pull out. And then it goes to this other question. How long does it take to. To be thirsty again? What an amazing question. I mean, you know, someone else would just be like, I've hit the biggest thing. I'm talking about catastrophe, world war. But now I'm going to talk about thirst. And I think that shift is so powerful. And for me, that's where a lot of that happens. It becomes intimate, as you're mentioning.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Yes. I mean, that question is a haunting question for sure. How long does it take to be thirsty again? And you're right, it comes right after this big monumental sort of subject matter, of all subject matters. Right. That speaks to, well, one of the big questions about humanity. Right. This drive towards violence versus this drive towards love. For me, that question, how long does it take to be thirsty again? It speaks to the relationship between desire and the quenching of it. And there's the small desires of the literal quenching of thirst and there's the monumental desires of conquest and domination. And the poem just beautifully sort of tackles both.

[Kevin Young]

Yeah, well. And the order of the stanzas is perfect in the sense that it goes from this big. And I think sometimes it's somewhat funny, you know, the humor we haven't mentioned aloud, but there's something funny about. We poured high potency energy tonics or Coke down our throats because this time in history, what had sapped us so thoroughly? So there's this kind of wryness, but even also almost bold back and forth, bright colored neon of that. And then it gets intimate, as you said in the end. And any other order, I think it wouldn't work quite as well because it feels almost like if you were seeing it as a movie, it would be really close, but sort of moving along with someone zooms way out and that's where someone else might stop. But she manages in the poem to zoom back in at the end. I love that.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Me too. And keeps it odd with those strange images, like the small houses that still had noses, mouths and eyes. I just am haunted by that in the best way.

[Kevin Young]

I love that. Yeah. And then eyes from which we might peer as our fellow break citizens walk, their dogs pause helplessly as the dogs, you know, and we don't know what the dogs are going to do. We think they're going to do their business. But then they take a long, slow slug. And that's a great break too, because of course, a slug has other meanings of water or tea and never fear. Never fear.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Yeah. Yeah. It's quite an interesting idiosyncratic poem, but it is, I feel, very. It's very her, you know.

[Kevin Young]

And what do you think about how to make the sounds of the poem? Do you think they match some of the mood we're talking about? Are they more elegant than the topic? Do they. How do they work for us as listeners?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

I feel like the sounds are more. At least for me, they stood out more in the smaller moments rather than sort of like the big moments. In the second stanza, they're more obvious, I feel, in the first and the last stanza, for example, with the straws, plastic caps, crushed cans and a block walk, you could feel all those K's. It's very melodic.

[Kevin Young]

Well, casting the plastic to street side, we poured high potency energy tonics or Coke. You know, there is this undersong that I think we could pass over, and I don't want to because it's so architectural. You know, there is this kind of architecture of sounds in the poem. And then in the second stanza, when it gets big, as you were saying, I would say there. There's all these S sounds, from spirits to remorse, spirals in the sea swirled and even sea urchin, a whole family of eels. These kind of. Kind of a different nomenclature, sense of a family of animals almost that I think also speaks to that kind of human animal that she's trying to wrestle with. And then we end with these more domestic animals, the dog at the end, but also the houses almost are animalistic, or maybe they're peopleistic, humanized.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Right. Or maybe they're both. I mean, I just thought of that since you. Because you highlighted the presence of the animals in the poem. When I heard. When I read noses, mouths and eyes, I thought, okay. The association I made is that our dwellings are expressions of our humanity. And so to destroy them, either by littering and. Or by war, is to destroy ourselves or threaten to anyway.

[Kevin Young]

I love that.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

But it is very mysterious to think of houses. I mean, we've all seen homes that can be anthropomorphized, but it's rare to see it so explicitly done in a poem like this.

[Kevin Young]

Well, and it's also. They still had. Which means that they always did. You know, like, there's a kind of assumption in the poem. And I think there's something about that tone of not just confidence, but also of almost like it's too late. Like there's almost a sense in the poem of history having happened. And that's certainly some of what I think the first stanza has us think about. This time in history had sapped us so thoroughly and we were desperate. Now, there's that humor and the ironies we're talking about, but there is this kind of almost. Is it an acceptance or a defiance, or is it a kind of relinquishing? I'm not saying that that's what we're ultimately left with. I think we're left with questions. But I also think there's a way in which the speaker knows all of this.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

There is a kind of wisdom here for sure. Right. The speaker feels wise in her questioning and her generosity towards the world that is littering and the tanks and the be big guns. It's hard to say. I come back to the last line. Never fear. Never fear. Which reveals fear.

[Kevin Young]

Right.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

It seems to end on a. I feel. I don't know. Not the most positive of sentiments, although there might be a way in which acknowledging fear might be the beginning of acknowledging might be the beginning of righting our wrongs.

[Kevin Young]

Well said. And I think it also implies a kind of future that the beginning declares, but by the middle we worry might not happen. And then by the end, I think the work begins.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Mm, I like that.

[Kevin Young]

Well, let's turn to your poem. In our August 22, 2022 issue, the new Yorker published your poem Tender, which we'll hear you read in a moment. Is there anything quickly, you want listeners to know who might not have read it yet?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

You know, it's interesting you asked me that, because I asked my students that when we're gonna workshop their work. Any comments? You don't have to have any, but. Any comments? No, I mean, you know, it's certainly. I'll say it's autobiographical. I'll say it's one of those poems that came out of me like the first draft was pretty close to the final draft, which is always a beautiful feeling. I guess that's all I'll say.

[Kevin Young]

Here's Jose Antonio Rodriguez reading his poem.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Tender, Tender, thinking of how much my father loved flowering plants and how much my mother still does, and of how unfathomably hard it must have been to clothe and feed 10 children with the most meager of salaries for tending to citrus orchards, for shoveling and irrigating and shoveling again. How he groaned when I removed his work boots at day's end, an exhaustion deeper than any. Well, mom says his boss was a jerk. Nothing ever good enough. On top of everything, that empathy of her for him who'd never listened to her pleas because the priest said all the children God will allow. The priest who never saw her, afternoons, slumped by the kitchen table, a blank stare into somewhere my voice could never reach. Nothing to do but walk away. I swear this is not about the unwanted child or what a therapist called embodiment of the violation, but about the strength and will to cradle the plants outside, the pruning, the watering, the sheltering in found tarps entwine against the coldest nights, to lean into the day's hard edge and still find that reserve of tenderness for the bougainvillea the hibiscus, the.

[Kevin Young]

Blue Morning that was Tender by Jose Antonio Rodriguez hi, I'm Susan Glaser.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

I'm Jane Mayer. And I'm Evan Osnos. And we host the Washington Roundtable from.

[Kevin Young]

The New Yorker's Political Scene podcast. What are some of the topics we like to get into on this show, guys?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Well, I mean, let's point out we have a very tough job in this election year of 2024. You know, for me, it's the fact that we get to deal with this together. So a little bit of a group therapy session. Now for me, what's really fantastic is to get behind the scenes and hear what you guys are picking about what's really going on. Everybody sees the headlines, but you guys fill in the gaps.

[Kevin Young]

Occasionally we get somebody to come on too, and I'm always smarter for it.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

If you get a great historian who.

[Kevin Young]

Can tell you about a presidential election.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

50, 60 years ago, often it can.

[Kevin Young]

Help you understand about what's happening today.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

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[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

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[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

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[Kevin Young]

So powerful to hear you read it.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Thank you.

[Kevin Young]

And I think the poem for me, it almost picks up speed. It starts with these kind of full phrases and end stopped lines, periods. And then it starts to build on itself and that long part after the exhaustion, deeper than any will. Mom says his boss was a jerk. Nothing ever good enough. Period. On top of everything and it's almost like someone's telling you, hey, on top of everything, I'm going to tell you the actual thing that lies behind all of this. Or maybe it's around and unsaid, but also said here. Did that come naturally as part of the writing you said?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Yes, I will say. I feel like the first draft, the phrasing was mostly there when I thought of on top of everything. I was thinking initially specifically on that, specifically having to do with my father's work and the boss and my mother's empathy. But I could, you know, certainly I hope it was always my. It has always been my Hope that the poems sort of build intensity. Right. Generally, maybe not all of them, but certainly this one. They build intensity and complicate the moment just enough before the. You know, the closure.

[Kevin Young]

Well, and I wonder about this idea of that moment. You know, it feels like there's the memory of the flowering plants, but then also this memory of the boots, which I think is so powerful. And that tension, I think, in the poem between rest and pleasure and the, you know, sort of tending, as it were, and then the sort of tenderness of the feeling that the speaker and the mother seem to have for the father enduring this difficult work. How did you pair those? Or is that just naturally how it came? But I want to kind of move past that into sort of thinking about the form, of how the form re. Examines that.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Well, no, I. You know, I was trying to braid, you know, the different forms of tenderness within my childhood home because it wasn't always, you know, obvious and it wasn't always possible. Life was very difficult for everyone in that home in different ways. And so. But there were these moments. And, you know, I was thinking about the moment between the speaker and the mother and the child having to walk away. And the mother's, you know, just exhausted beyond recognition. But I didn't want to start the poem there because I knew that it was bigger than that. And I wanted to start, I guess, in the inverse of it, which is like actual connection, right. And then move towards that moment of disconnection.

[Kevin Young]

1. It starts out with, I think, or I remember, but thinking of how I love that kind of gerund. And that happens toward the end with the pruning, the watering, the sheltering, and even, you know, it's not a gerund, but the blue morning, these kind of sounds, these kind of rhymes that are occurring. And I wondered about that and how. Why start with sort of not the I, but sort of with the thought itself, if that makes sense.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

I could have done it. I'm thinking. Could have started with I'm thinking. But I think thinking is a little bit more welcoming to the reader because starting with I. I mean, I've certainly started poems with I, but not this one. I wanted it to just be a little bit more open and a little bit more. I don't know. Let's just not start with that. That very sort of declaration of the self. Because this poem isn't so much about the declaration of the self, but almost, you know, the opposite of that. It's about community and about the. Anyway, I'll stop right there. It's Back in the.

[Kevin Young]

No, don't stop there. You're on a roll. I want to hear more about community and the self because I think sometimes when people hear autobiographical, they think of only the self. But I think what you're saying is, I want to tell a story that I know, and I want to tell a story that I also want to learn more about. And I also want to tell a story that isn't about just the self, but it's about selves and it's about place and it's about the things that all poems are about. So I wonder about that. How do you zoom out, to use another movie metaphor?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Well, thank you for those comments, Kevin. The idea of the self is always in relation to the other. Always. And so for a speaker in this poem whose struggling with the sense of self, in this case, the best way to try and arrive at that is to look at the world around him and the way the people around him were also struggling with their sense of self and how their struggle with their sense of self informed his sense of self. And so I think that's at the root. That's at the root of why I wrote the poem or why it came to me. And even though the poem is very deep, intimate, very personal, I know that my experiences are never only my own. You know, I am just one example of the lives of so many people who struggle similarly, either materially similarly or psychologically, with trying to build community first within the family. Right. The family unit being our first. Our first community. And so, anyway, I was just. Yeah, I was thinking about that when I. When I was tinkering with the poem. The self is always in relation to the other, always in relation to community, always.

[Kevin Young]

Well said. I love this part of the poem. A blank stare into somewhere. A little rhyme there my voice could never reach. And with those couplets, you have that stanza break, which is almost a gap, a canyon here, I think that's so powerful. Use of form. And then this next line, which, hearing you read it again and read it again, stands out to me all the more. Nothing to do but walk away. Period. I swear, that kind of motion, that movement is so powerful in the poem. Is it a walking. Why is there nothing to do? And it calls back to the beginning thinking, you know, there isn't. Like I felt. Or the speaker, you know, it's nothing to do. It's almost like an activity, almost like a stage direction. How do you see that? Is it a repudiation? Is it admission of this canyon? Is it just turning towards something else? How do you see it in the daylight here?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

I saw it, I think, when. Certainly when I wrote it, I saw it as granted. I'm aware that the reader, of course, you know, just finishes the meaning. And the meaning of the poem doesn't begin and end with me. But my intention anyway was that it was a sort of gesture of defeat. Right. An inability to connect at that moment with the mother who's just. She's just. She's there physically, but she's really gone. And then there's nothing to do but walk away, period. I swear. And I did deliberately put the I swear right there. Because when you read it or when you listen to it, the I swear, at least momentarily, can be attached to the nothing to do but walk away.

[Kevin Young]

Right?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Nothing to do but walk away, I swear.

[Kevin Young]

Right.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

But then you read the next line, and it turns out the I swear belongs to the next line as well. And so I like that movement because I do feel those two lines and that space between them. The nothing to do but walk away, I swear. And this is not about the unwanted child, are probably the most emotionally intense lines of the poem. I wanted to do the break there to sort of signal that. To introduce that powerful following line about being about the unwanted child.

[Kevin Young]

Well, and I think that braiding you so powerfully did there. It's an example, I think, of how you do it in line break and how you do it with form and how these couplets are intertwined with each other. And sometimes I feel like couplets are these stark things, but yours feel like they're really vining around each other. And there's something organic about the feel of them, which I know is something one has to work at. The braiding that I think really mirrors the kind of organic quality of the poem. Is there more of the garden in what feels like it's part of a sequence? I mean, I don't know if you are working on a longer something that this is part of. How does this fit into that?

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

If it does, this poem is included in my next poetry collection. And I feel like it is one of the sort of like the anchor poems of the collection. But other than that, I think that's all I can say. Every poem that I write feels very just a work unto itself. You know, I don't know that I've ever written like a. Like, deliberately written a series of poems. Right. Which I know some poets do. I don't know that I've ever done that. This just felt like it was one of the stories I felt I needed to tell.

[Kevin Young]

Beautiful. Well, thank you for telling that and thank you so much for talking with us today.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Well, no, thank you, Kevin. And thank you for your very kind words about my work. I really appreciate it.

[Kevin Young]

Absolutely. Jose Tender by Jose Antonio Rodriguez as well as Naomi Shihab Nye's World of the We Thirsted can be found on newyorker.com Naomi Shihab Nye's recent books include Everything Comes Next Collected and New Poems. Jose Antonio Rodriguez's forthcoming collection is the Day's Hard Edge.

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You may subscribe to this podcast, the.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

Fiction Podcast, the Writer's Voice Podcast, and the Politics and More podcast by searching for the New Yorker in your podcast.

[Sponsor Voice]

App, you can hear more poetry read by the authors on newyorker.com and on on the New Yorker app available from the App Store or from Google Play. The theme music is the Corner by Christian Scott Attunde Adjua, courtesy of Stretch Music and Rope a Dope. The New Yorker Poetry Podcast is produced by Jill Duboff of newyorker.com with help from Hannah Eisenman.

[Jose Antonio Rodriguez]

You come to the New Yorker Radio Hour for conversations that go deeper with you really want to hear from whether it's Bruce Springsteen or Questlove or Olivia Rodrigo, Liz Cheney or the Godfather of Artificial Intelligence Geoffrey Hinton, or some of my extraordinarily well informed colleagues at the New Yorker. So join us every week on the New Yorker Radio Hour wherever you listen to podcasts from PRX.