Transcript
A (0:01)
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B (0:30)
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C (1:05)
I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slowdown. One of the poets I discovered in College was H.D. born Hilda Doolittle. She published under her initials. I took a class on modernism and we read HD and some of her Ezra Pound, T.S. eliot, Marianne Moore, Wallace Stevens and William Carlos Williams. Among I remember being wowed by her poems, which were experimental and strange, unlike anything I'd read before and unlike anything I've read since. One brief poem, Oread has stayed with me since that class almost 30 years ago. Whirl up sea, whirl your pointed pines. Splash your great pines on our rocks, Hurl your green over us, cover us with your pools of fir. The sounds, the way metaphor blends two landscapes, the sea and the forest. The poem thrilled me, and I think HD's work thrills the author of the poem I'm about to share with you too. It addresses her from our contemporary world, and I think it does so with music, strangeness and verve that HD herself would admire. Come Back by Camille Guthrie hey hd, come back. There's trouble all over ruins as you said there as here. I need your flowering vision lady, come with your angels and blank book with your elegant cheekbones, your loquant lines, upswept white hair, lyrical long fingers and dark wool cape. As I'm reading the news help us. We filled the oceans with the plastic crap we like to buy, choked the sea nymphs let loose toxins into the sky. The land is parched, the poles are melting, my friends are canning food and buying guns. I have serious doubts. I have two children. You had one. Perdita, the lost one. We live in the country and drink water poisoned by a chemical factory nearby so people could eat microwave popcorn and make omelets with non stick pans. It's not that bad. Our blood levels are so so. It's my job to protect them, hd. From bullies, traffickers, warmongers. I will write down everything you say. When bombs fell around your family, you seemed so sure in your poems. Walking down a London street thinking of Egypt, of Mary of Ruins, you stepped through a broken wall to see a balm blackened apple tree flowering. It guided you through the blitz. Here when cherry blossoms appear after the winter, I think pretty pink ladies don't catch a disease and die on us. I remember the two towers falling, people pulverized into clouds of dust. We breathed in their particles. A sickly sweet smell smoldering for months that week the skies bore a blue clarity. What can you teach me now? I don't think the petitions I'm signing are helping. Not religious, have no husband. Need advice. Where to now, hd? Come near if you can bear it. I know it's not exactly here as there. We have made our own problems aloud I read your poems and there you stand at the top of the stair holding your book. Your cape falls over me. Hd, tell me what to do. 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 and sign up for our newsletter. Find us on Instagram @downdownshow and blueskylowdownshow.org. Hey, it's Maggie. Every weekday, the Slowdown delivers the creativity and care of poetry to all free of charge, and your support makes it possible. Donating to the Slowdown is easy. Just go to slowdownshow.org donate to make your gift in less time than it takes to listen to an episode.
