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What's up? It's major. Starting this Monday, February 3rd, our next two weeks of episodes will be hosted by the poet and writer Maggie Smith. We hope you enjoy. I'll return to your feeds on Monday, February 17th. I'm Major Jackson, and this is the Slowdown. Are you prone to going down rabbit holes as much as me? Far too often I spend part of my day distracted by a topic that enters my kin. It typically goes like this. I go to my office on campus to retrieve a book. I thumbed through 10 other books. Next thing I know, I am two hours deep into reading about the Moon tidal locking, perigean tides, lunar nodes, and other sundry facts like this one that every planet could potentially have a moon in synchronous orbit, where the Moon is in a stable relative location, getting neither closer to nor farther from its partner, where the two bodies actually share a center of gravity. A noted essayist refers to synchronous orbiting as a narrow passage of permanence that gets me to thinking about relationships and the Moon's antics as the perfect allegory for all kinds of love. And then I think I should write a poem about finding the path, the groove that puts us in perfect harmony with our partner. But then, most likely, the poem would turn on the idea that permanence is an illusion, death is a looming reality for every creature. All good poems about love hint at our transience, which makes poems that mourn the loss of someone the superfood of poetry. We are wiser when we face such truths. Pluto is the only planet in our solar system whose moon, Charon, is locked into its groove. But then again, Pluto is no longer a planet. See what I mean about rabbit holes? I predict someone's job in the future will be to track the digital sources that lead to the writing of a poem. Our computers and servers carry the hidden record of our activity on on search engines, our forays into knowledge, knowledge that spurs art. Though spoken to a single person, today's elegiac poem makes a universal claim about loss. Our hearts, mind and bodies and the memories within render permanent, even conjure, those we once loved. On this side of life, it too remains. By Glenn Maxwell you've gone. I mean, you're gone. You didn't have a say. I don't believe you're anywhere. And while they pray, I picture you. The images push forward, one to stand for all the rest. And when that's sort of done, a voice arrives, a tone of voice, a certain note I almost hear, can almost manage in this throat. And as of now that's that and all I feel is true is you're at peace. Whatever soul they're chanting to once had a voice and face I gave it and it too remains at peace. Only it's now at peace with you. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. This project is also supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts on the web at. Art to get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter and find us on Instagram slowdownshow. The Slowdown is written by me, Major Jackson. Our lead producer is Micah Kilbon and our associate producer is Maria Wartel. Our music is composed by Alexis Quadrado, engineering by Josh Savageo. Our digital producer is James Napoli. Additional production help by Susanna Sharpless, Rebecca Rand and Lauren Humpert. Our executives in charge of APM Studios are Chandra Kavati and Joanne Griffith.
