Transcript
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B (0:17)
Limu is that guy with the binoculars watching us.
A (0:20)
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B (0:50)
I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slowdown. You've probably heard this quote from Fred Rogers of the famous PBS show Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping. Look for the helpers is a phrase I think about a lot. And when I see people sharing on social media or quoting in interviews, I've been seeing a lot of scary things in the news. And I'm looking for the helpers. I'm looking for the people we need in this moment. We need courageous legislators and judges. We need activists and civil rights attorneys. We need skilled doctors and nurses. We need free thinking professors and university administrators. We need climatologists. We need historians. We need urban planners. We need experts in public policy and community organizing. We need all of these helpers right now. But here's the thing. I'm not any of these. I'm a poet. I'm also a parent and an occasional educator and now the host of the only poetry podcast on public media. I'm proud of all of these things and I want to use them to be a helper in my own way. I think we all want to do good with the skills, talents and resources we have. To ask what can a poem do? To help is to gesture toward a bigger question. What can art do? What can literature or music or film or performance or visual art do for us, particularly when we are struggling individually and collectively? I think art can articulate the beauty and horrors of being alive. I think it can make people feel seen and understood and therefore less alone. I think it can bear witness to what our planet is enduring. Today's poem wonders aloud about what it can do to be a helper, and I'd argue, in its articulation, in its witnessing it is a helper. This is a poem by Rachel Dillon. A dead whale can feed an entire ecosystem. But in this poem, nothing dies alone. In the poem I make myself brave. No, I show brave to my body, take both to the ocean. Come hurricane, come rip current, come toxic algal bloom. In March, I drift past the estuary to watch an eight foot dolphin lap the Mill River. Like a cat pacing a bathtub, sick and disoriented, biologists will unspool her empty intestines, weigh her gray cerebellum. She swam a great distance to die alone. I'm sorry I lied. I can't control what lives or dies. I need a place to stow my brain, to hold each moment close as a sand flea caught in my knuckle hairs. Please, someone tell me a poem can coax oil from a sea bird's throat. Tell me what to do with my hands. My hands. What can my hands do now? 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. Find us on Instagram @downdownshow and blueskylowdownshow.org. Hi, it's Maggie. Thanks for listening to the Slowdown. Whether you press play to find calm or vivid inspiration, we're glad you're here. As a public media podcast, we rely on listener support to share these moments of poetry. Please consider donating today@slowdownshow.org donate.
