Transcript
A (0:00)
Day or night. VRBoCare is here 247 to help make every part of your stay seamless. If anything comes up or you simply need a little guidance, support is ready whenever you reach out. From the moment you book to the moment you head home. We're here to help things run smoothly, because a great trip starts with the right support. And hey, a good playlist doesn't hurt either.
B (0:36)
I'm Maggie Smith, and this is the Slowdown. One of the things I love about poetry, one of the things I look forward to and revel in as a reader and listener, is the way a poet can make the familiar strange. A familiar landscape, thanks to poetic language, can be transformed into something unfamiliar. An ordinary experience can be made extraordinary by the way it's described. As W.H. auden wrote, a poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language. I think one of the reasons we turn to poems is because we are seeking an experience that is not business as usual. We are seeking something new for our hearts and minds to chew on, something transformative even. And specifically, we are seeking an encounter with language that wakes us up to new possibilities in the words, in their sounds and meanings. Today's poem offers us such an encounter. There are words here that were new to me and which may be new to you. Marang Baru, for example, is a religious site in the state of Jharkhand in eastern India. But in this poet's deft hands, even words familiar to me, like empathy, detriments and shudder, are made strange and special on projection. By Rena Shirali the gun to my head is ownership. The gun to my head is I'm taking the word empathy and hanging it as on a laundry line, and watching it waver in wind and not believing in words and also relying on them. Reader. Men and women alike shudder themselves with superstition. Supposing I board the plane, remain suspicious, suspended, some sort of cloud, buoyant, detached for one full day, followed by my arrival in a place not of my mother's dialect, not of my father's kin, armed with language, patrilineal, Marong Baru, flower feast, Nage era. How surely I'd arrive with detriments visible tattoos, hair dyed, lighter at the ends, English a target pinned to the chest, the west, the inescapable truth of my birth. To explain the distance between self and subject is to admit the unlikelihood of myself understanding a given subject. I'm talking, theorizing, understanding. I'm talking my inevitable future failure to embody. Reader, consider the basic elements of this narrative. Dayan oja hunted godly assume telling any story fully involves considering all sides. Here men wield village secrets like weapons catapult accusations through the fields I've read so much about legs and backs ache laden and no choice but to eat padre daily and yet I'm just camera I'm shutter closed I'm protected from light I'm just telling a story to which I'll never know an end. No boarding the plane, no bitter route, no lean season, no poem. 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 @downdownshow and bluesky.downdownshow.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.
