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I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slowdown. Every place has its own music. The beach, the city block, the woods. In the suburbs. The summertime symphony is birdsong, cicadas, car engines, lawnmowers, and kids playing and laughing outside. In the winter, it's tires on the wet, slushy street and snow shovels scraping the asphalt. But the birdsong and sounds of kids playing remain. For a few years, a father and his teenage daughter lived across the street from us, and the daughter played the trumpet. I only knew this because I heard her practicing almost daily, the notes rising from their screened in porch and reaching my office windows. I pictured the notes like balloons floating over the traffic from one side of the street to the other. Sometimes when I walk my dog to the next block, I pass the house where a woman gives piano lessons. Through the open windows I hear kids practicing their scales or trying a simple song, starting again when they make a mistake. The sound of perseverance is beautiful. It always makes me smile. There is music everywhere, played from the stereos of passing cars, sung by unselfconscious walkers wearing headphones. There's the slamming of screen doors, the barking dogs, the occasional siren. And those noises are a kind of music, too. The title of today's poem, Penis Angelicus, is Latin for bread of angels or angelic bread, and it's also the title of a famous hymn. The poem finds the sacred all around Pennis Angelicus by Carol Muskie Dukes. Here, I say, here's a little step we call the bop. Two up and two back, and Rosalina gets it right the first time. Then there's the hustle. If you like traffic. I like the flute heard every morning in the courtyard. I like the tinny transmission from Puccini's formal soul to the portable Aldo carries. I like the two signorinas who sing for nothing. Each night, arm and arm crossing the piazza, the heart shunts out its lifetime supply along lines as precise and irrelevant as the old map of a town nearby, bombed in the war, rebuilt in modern style. Not a sign of the old streets, not a sign of the portals. The blessed mask above heaven in the frescoes has such an air of distraction, all those souls intent on their vanishing difference. Even in the afterworld's imperial gaze, a woman retraces the shape of her child's head over and over with her imagined hands. Maybe the body makes the soul regret its perfect ability. See how the old nun, like a half blind angel, follows the stream of children from the village church. She is guarding each pair of closed eyes, each mouth closed over a bridling tongue on which a sphere of flat dough the host uneasily rests. Then there is the other morning bells, Rosalina on a skateboard. The skate's lame, but it carries her so far, she says, nearly to the old fortification, far as the eye can follow. 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, LowdownShow and BluesKylowdownShow.org. Each day, listeners like you come together to take a pause. With the Slowdown, these small moments come together to form something powerful, a community. After an entire year without federal funding, our community is what keeps the Slowdown here for you. If you value this moment that we share, please make a gift before our budget year ends. Donate now@slowdownshow.org or click the link in the show notes.
Poem: "Panis Angelicus" by Carol Muske-Dukes
Host: Maggie Smith
Release Date: June 25, 2026
In this reflective episode, host Maggie Smith explores the ever-present music of daily life, from suburban sounds to memories of neighborhood musicians. She introduces and reads “Panis Angelicus” by Carol Muske-Dukes, a poem that uncovers the sacred within the ordinary—a theme echoed in the ongoing conversation about poetry’s power to deepen our attention and compassion.
On the universality of music:
“There is music everywhere, played from the stereos of passing cars, sung by unselfconscious walkers wearing headphones... those noises are a kind of music too.”
— Maggie Smith, (01:48)
On the beauty of perseverance:
“The sound of perseverance is beautiful. It always makes me smile.”
— Maggie Smith, (01:33)
On the poem’s guiding idea:
“The poem finds the sacred all around.”
— Maggie Smith, (02:13)
On the persistence of the soul:
“The blessed mask above heaven in the frescoes has such an air of distraction, all those souls intent on their vanishing difference.”
— Carol Muske-Dukes (as read by Maggie Smith), (03:10)
Final poetic image:
“There is the other morning bells, Rosalina on a skateboard. The skate’s lame, but it carries her so far, she says, nearly to the old fortification, far as the eye can follow.”
— Carol Muske-Dukes (as read by Maggie Smith), (04:02)
Maggie Smith’s tone is contemplative, warm, and gently evocative, inviting listeners to pause and notice the unnoticed beauty in their surroundings. The language is poetic yet accessible, fostering a sense of shared discovery.
This episode is a five-minute oasis, encouraging listeners to appreciate the sacred in the ordinary, to notice the music in everyday life, and to reflect on the bonds that tie us together—through poetry and beyond. Maggie’s reading of “Panis Angelicus” is both grounding and uplifting, making the sacred accessible in the simplest moments.