← The Slowdown: Poetry & Reflection Daily
The Slowdown: Poetry & Reflection Daily
1386: Night of the Living, Night of the Dead by Kim Addonizio
00:06:32
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If your small business has a problem, you could say, just my luck. But you should say like a good neighbor, State Farm is there and we'll help get you back in business. Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there. For 140 years, MultiCare has been in Washington prioritizing long term solutions, partnering with local communities and expanding access to care. Together, we're building a healthier future. Learn more@ multicare.org I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slowdown. I don't watch much television, but I love movies. I love disappearing into a story for two or three hours, losing sense of time and forgetting, for the most part, my own life. I love becoming so engrossed with the characters that I forget their actors that I forget its make believe. I love noticing the use of color and light and I love when the music swells or when it stops and lets the silence become its own score. Seeing a good film is always time well spent, but good means something different to us all. My list of favorite films is pretty varied. It includes quirky indies like Rushmore and Magnolia and terrifying horror movies like the Shining and the Babadook. It might surprise you to know that one of my favorite genres is the zombie movie. I like my zombies fast, like in Train to Busan and 28 days later, and I like my zombies slow, like in the old classics directed by George Romero. In Night of the Living Dead, the zombies shamble so slowly people can run right by them. They seem unable to figure out doorknobs and fence latches and cars. It's black and white, so the gore isn't that gory. The blood and guts are gray. It's still scary, though, because the zombies are seemingly uncontainable. They just keep coming at you. Today's poem has been a favorite of mine for years, and it seemed like the right choice for Halloween. Night of the Living Night of the Dead by Kim Adenizio when the dead rise in movies, they're hideous and slow. They stagger uphill toward the farmhouse like drunks headed home from the bar. Maybe they only want to lie down inside while some room spins around them. Maybe that's why they bang on the windows while the living hammer up boards and and count out shotgun shells. The living have plans to get to the pickup parked in the yard to drive like hell to the next town. The dead, with their leaky brains, their dangling limbs and ruptured hearts, are sick of all that. They'd rather stumble blind through the field until they collide with a tree or fall through a doorway like there the door itself sprung from its hinges and slammed flat on the linoleum. That's the life for a dead person. Wham, wham, wham. Until you forget your name, your own stinking face. The reason you jolted awake is in the first place why are you here? Whatever were you hoping as you lay in your casket like a dumb clarinet? You know better now. The soundtrack's depressing and the living hate your guts. Come closer and they'll show you how much Wham, wham, whammy. Wham. You're killed again. Thank God this time they're burning your body. Thank God it can't drag you around anymore except in nightmares, late night reruns where you lift up the lid and crawl out once more and start up the hill toward the house The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter and find us on Instagram, lodownshow and blueskylowdownshow.org the slowdown is written by me, Maggie Smith. Our lead producer is Micah Kielbon, and our associate producer is Maria Wurtel. Our music is composed by Kyle Andrews, engineering by Derek Ramirez. Our editor is Joanne Griffith, additional production help by Susanna Sharpless, Cece Lucas, Marcel Malakibu, and Lauren Humpert. Our executives in charge are Chandra Kavati and Mark Crowley.
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What is poetry's role when the world is burning? Or so asked Christian Wiman once? These days, that question is no metaphor. In a culture marked by unrest and anxiety, beauty can feel like a luxury or even a distraction. But what if art and poetry are exactly what we need this fall? In no small endeavor, I'm inviting you to consider poetry as survival, as protest, as prayer, and as hope. Our new series, Poetry against the Dark, premieres on October 20th. You'll hear from Joy Harjo, Halle, Liza Kofori, and Padre Gotuma, each showing how poetry can guide us through grief, nurture community, and spark imagination. Because if we are to make it through the fires of our time, perhaps beauty is not optional. It's essential. Follow no Small endeavor on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts.