1551: Laurelhurst by David Biespiel

Summary

Episode Overview

Podcast: The Slowdown: Poetry & Reflection Daily
Episode: 1551: Laurelhurst by David Biespiel
Host: Maggie Smith
Date: July 3, 2026

This episode of The Slowdown, hosted by Maggie Smith, centers around the themes of presence, intentional observation, and the grounding power of the analog world—set in gentle opposition to the distractions of digital life. Through her personal reflections and a reading of David Biespiel’s evocative poem Laurelhurst, Smith explores how poetry and mindful attention can help us reclaim deeper connections to our lives and surroundings.

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Key Discussion Points & Insights

The Pull Between Digital and Analog Worlds

(01:02–02:00)

• Maggie Smith shares a recent conversation with a friend (an author of a book about walking) about how digital devices keep us connected but also hold us at a distance from true, in-person connection.
  • “Our devices keep us in touch with loved ones, but they also make it easy for us to not see them in person. They keep us informed of what's happening in the world, but they also keep us from the world.” (01:28)
• Smith expresses a growing personal desire to prioritize real, lived experiences—moments "unfettered by screens."
• She notes the encouraging trend that many young people (Gen Z) are intentionally choosing more offline engagements:
  • “The kids are all right, it seems.” (02:00)

Poetry as a Tool for Attention

(02:01–02:15)

• Smith frames poetry as a medium naturally aligned with a slower, more attentive mode of living.
• She draws a parallel between the experience of a walk (real and metaphorical) and the deliberate, sensory observations in David Biespiel’s poem.

Reading: “Laurelhurst” by David Biespiel

(02:16–06:44)

Maggie Smith delivers a full reading of Laurelhurst, a lush, layered poem centered on memory, grief, and nature’s slow cycles. The poem unfolds in a series of vivid, tactile scenes—a walk around the neighborhood, the act of gardening, recollections of family and the passage of seasons—culminating in a meditation on loss and regeneration.

Notable Imagery & Themes in the Poem

• Intentional Observation: The poem is richly observant, capturing minute details (“sky bluest past the blind eye of the sun,” “the ticking wind in the trees,” “a restless stroke of green on yellow wings”).
• Mourning & Healing: Personal grief intertwines with the rituals of gardening and daily routine (“alone in such an hour, my body is a scar aching behind my neck,” “the day I dug out the garden I felt like weeping”).
• Memory & Renewal: Scenes move from the planting of lettuce as a child to the “rabbits worked the leaves out one by one, like a thought cut in half.” The cycle persists—planting and replanting—mirroring the process of remembering and letting go.

Memorable Quotes from the Poem

• “My eyes begin to see, and I'm sitting in the kitchen, dark at the Formica table, short of breath, my grief as large as a son's.” (04:05)
• “The year I left home I planted lettuce. Gray rabbits waited all afternoon for us to leave, like a fire gone out.” (05:30)

Reflection & Takeaway

(06:45–07:00)

• Smith subtly reinforces the episode’s central message: that slowing down and attending to one’s experience—like walking, gardening, or reading a poem—creates space for both reflection and hope.

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Notable Quotes & Moments

• On Devices vs. Presence:
  • Maggie Smith: “They keep us informed of what's happening in the world, but they also keep us from the world.” (01:39)
• Generational Hope:
  • Maggie Smith: “What’s most heartening, perhaps, is that Gen Z is deliberately choosing to live more of their lives offline—to get out and do things. The kids are all right, it seems.” (01:50)
• On Grief & Healing (from the poem):
  • David Biespiel: “Alone in such an hour, my body is a scar aching behind my neck.” (04:37)
• Memory & Nature (from the poem):
  • David Biespiel: “I remember the pink and white roses, lapping of water in a silver bowl, silver and red tomato cages, blue planters, a wooden fence like a hedge so deep in memory the season bleeds with it.” (05:05)
• On Letting Go (from the poem):
  • David Biespiel: “Gray rabbits waited all afternoon for us to leave, like a fire gone out...the rabbits worked the leaves out one by one, like a thought cut in half.” (05:35)

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Timestamps for Important Segments

• Introduction & Setting the Theme: 01:02–02:00
• Reflection on Analog Living: 01:28–02:00
• Transition to the Poem: 02:01–02:15
• Poem Reading—Laurelhurst by David Biespiel: 02:16–06:44
• Reflection & Closing: 06:45–07:00

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Tone and Style

• The episode maintains Smith’s gentle, introspective, and hopeful voice—encouraging listeners to find “wonder, and joy, and truth” (as outlined in the show’s larger mission) through daily poetry and mindful attention.
• The reading of Laurelhurst is unhurried, allowing the emotional and sensory depth of the poem to resonate.

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Final Takeaway

This episode gently champions the value of slowing down, tuning in to the tangible world, and using poetry as a lens for reflection and connection. Through Maggie Smith’s personal anecdotes and the evocative imagery of Laurelhurst, listeners are invited to reclaim attention from the digital, immerse themselves in sensory experience, and find solace and meaning in the ordinary rituals of living.

Transcript

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[Maggie Smith]

I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slowdown. I was talking to a friend recently who wrote a book about a long journey made mostly on foot, and we agreed Our devices keep us in touch

with loved ones, but they also make

it easy for us to not see them in person. They keep us informed of what's happening

in the world, but they also keep us from the world. More than ever, I feel drawn toward the analog and away from the digital. I'm drawn to real experiences unfettered by screens. My friend and I both want to prioritize experiences that don't require our phones. What's most heartening, perhaps, is that Gen Z is deliberately choosing to live more of their lives offline to get out and do things. The kids are all right, it seems. Today's poem makes its many intentional observations at the pace of a good long walk. Laurelhurst by David Bispiel Young of the hedge with a sky bluest past the blind eye of the sun, the rocks of clouds banked at the horizon behind the ticking wind in the trees now and then the black legged crossing of a shadow, then a restless stroke of green on yellow wings along the hedges the arrow sharp leaves, or along the low silver fences, along bark and sod limbs and stray crows. Everything a little late May still wet full hour from last light that then splotches then ash of stars in the milling rich wet silica sponge of the sky. The moment I can taste the rain gurgling in the air, the gray paste of clouds through the tree limbs like a wash or a stain with the odor of evening traffic, My eyes begin to see and I'm sitting in the kitchen, dark at the Formica table, short of breath my grief as large as a son's. Alone in such an hour, my body is a scar aching behind my neck. Patch of green lawn, newly planted corn, tomatoes, wayside compost deep in the ground. The day I dug out the garden I felt like weeping and later in bed watching the sky pass inside the open windows I slept crooked as a feather poking out of the brim of a hat in the metal wisp of stars in the testimony of dogs asleep on the floor. In the face of conversion that is wind in the window sashes, I remember the pink and white roses lapping of water in a silver bowl, silver and red tomato cages, blue planters, a wooden fence like a hedge so deep in memory the season bleeds with it. The year I left home I planted lettuce. Gray rabbits waited all afternoon for us to leave, like a fire gone out. Next, in the one last good hour of daylight, the furrows of lettuce slanting in the vanishing point of shade, the rabbits worked the leaves out one by one, like a thought cut in half. I can see them bent over, weighted down. Later, at the rust side of summer's end, I'd have planted a new shadow of lettuce leaves which in the evening sank in the dirt like water in a pond.

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 slowdownshow and blueskylowdownshow.org the slowdown is written by me, Maggie Smith. The show is produced by Micah Kielbon and Maria Wurtel. Our music is composed by Kyle Andrews, engineering by Derek Ramirez and Maurizio Tirico. Our editor and digital producer is Jordan Turgeon. Additional production help by Susanna Sharpless, Ruby Sigmund and Lauren Humpert. APM's Director of Distribution is Amy Lundgren and our president is Chandra Kavati.

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