Podcasts about Poetry

Host: Steve Macchia, Guest: Abigail Carroll This episode originally aired on May 4, 2023 as Episode 4 of Season 26. "Poetry is the premise and the tool for submitting myself to beauty." - Abigail Carroll In this concluding conversation of our Summer 2026: Rewind series, Steve Macchia welcomes poet and pastor Abigail Carroll to explore the spiritual significance of beauty, creativity, poetry, and wonder. She shares how God met her through beauty as a child, how she rediscovered her poetic identity after years of silence, and how poetry has become a way of praying, grieving, noticing, and naming God. Together, Steve and Abigail consider what it means to slow down and "submit ourselves to beauty," to allow metaphors to deepen our prayers, and to recognize the creative capacity God has placed within each of us. Whether or not you consider yourself an artist, this conversation invites you to pay attention, receive the beauty around you, and release the creativity God has given you as an offering to him. Join the conversation about spiritual discernment as a way of life at www.LeadershipTransformations.org and consider participation in our online and in-person program offerings. Additional LTI spiritual formation resources can be found at www.SpiritualFormationStore.com and www.ruleoflife.com and www.healthychurch.net.  

What if the Psalms were not only meant to be read but sung aloud? Dr. Michael Ballam explores the Psalms as ancient Israel's hymnbook, sharing personal stories of music's healing power, from a memory-care patient's return to lucidity to a final blessing for a dying father.YOUTUBEhttps://youtu.be/Zd6Y0_FniQMNOW AVAILABLE INSpanish:  @followHIMespañol  French:  @followHIMFrançais  Portuguese:  @followHIMPortuguês    ALL EPISODES/SHOW NOTESfollowHIM website: https://www.followHIM.coFREE PDF DOWNLOADS OF followHIM QUOTE BOOKSNew Testament: https://tinyurl.com/PodcastNTBookOld Testament: https://tinyurl.com/PodcastOTBookBook of Mormon: https://tinyurl.com/PodcastBMBook WEEKLY NEWSLETTERhttps://tinyurl.com/followHIMnewsletter SOCIAL MEDIAInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/followHIMpodcastFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/followhimpodcastPart 1 - 0:00 - Part 1 - Dr. Michael Ballam1:23 Getting reacquainted with the Psalms2:48 Israel's hymnbook4:00 Elohim and reading the Hebrew text5:32 Introducing Dr. Michael Ballam8:43 Come, Follow Me Manual9:09 Psalm 150 and instruments of praise11:33 Music in Jesus's final hours12:34 Psalm 151 and the Dead Sea Scrolls15:36 A memory care story: music restoring memory16:49 Singing for prophets and apostles20:10 “Sing and pray more, talk less”23:35 Turning to favorite Psalms26:37 Psalm 119 and “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet”30:38 Poetry in Isaiah33:00 The story behind “How Great Thou Art”35:02 Elder Cook's funeral38:02 Psalm 130 “Out of the depths”43:08 The story behind “Lead, Kindly Light”44:38 “Amazing Grace” and a testimony45:38 Humor in the Psalms47:18 “The stone the builders refused”49:09 A film project53:38 A Marine's pilot's hymn-singing story54:14 Amanda Barnes Smith and Haun's Mill55:38 Elder Neal A. Maxwell's final months58:09 Music heals and interesting roles1:00:47 Playing the Apostle Paul1:04:21 End of Part 1 - Dr. Michael BallamThanks to the followHIM team:Steve & Shannon Sorensen: Cofounder, Executive Producer, SponsorDavid & Verla Sorensen: SponsorsDr. Hank Smith: Co-hostJohn Bytheway: Co-hostDavid Perry: ProducerKyle Nelson: Marketing, SponsorLisa Spice: Client Relations, Editor, Show NotesWill Stoughton: Video EditorKrystal Roberts: Translation Team, English & French Transcripts, WebsiteAriel Cuadra: Spanish TranscriptsAmelia Kabwika: Portuguese TranscriptsHeather Barlow: Communications DirectorSydney Smith: Social Media, Graphic Design "Let Zion in Her Beauty Rise" by Marshall McDonaldhttps://www.marshallmcdonaldmusic.com

[REBROADCAST FROM June 26, 2026] The prominent beatnik poet Allen Ginsberg would have turned 100 this past June. To commemorate his birthday during Pride Month, we speak with writer Ira Silverberg, and reflect on his legacy as a pioneering gay, Jewish, and socialist writer and iconoclast. Plus we hear from listeners about their favorite Ginsberg poems.   Photo by Neil Libbert/Getty Images: Allen Ginsberg, Poet, Writer, Greenwich Village, New York City 1964.  Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

[REBROADCAST FROM April 24, 2026] From 2019 to 2022, Joy Harjo served as the 23rd Poet Laureate of the United States, the first Native American to serve in that position. Now, Harjo has released a new album, Insomnia and Seven Steps to Grace, which combines her passion for jazz and poetry. The album, out today, is Harjo's debut on the historic Smithsonian Folkways label. To celebrate National Poetry Month, Joy Harjo shares some of her music for an All Of It Listening Party.  Photo by by Melissa Lukenbaugh Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Broadcaster and former footballer Karen Carney OBE has been awarded the Professional Footballers' Association's merit award for her contribution to football. She joins Nuala to explain what winning the prestigious award means to her. The Ministry of Justice has announced the introduction of 'restriction zones' for serious sexual and violent offenders that would confine them to areas just a few miles wide after leaving prison. Government ministers say the scheme is designed to give victims greater freedom but some campaigners want more detail about how they will work and be enforced. To discuss further Nuala is joined by advocate on domestic abuse and stalking, Rhianon Bragg.Siobhan Daniels was a guest on Woman's Hour a couple of years ago as part of Listener Week to talk about her alternative lifestyle, getting rid of her possessions and living a nomadic lifestyle by travelling the country in a motorhome. Now she's back with a new book, Retire and Refire, which chronicles her 4,000-mile solo RV adventure from Canada to Alaska along the Alaska Highway. She tells Nuala about her latest adventures. Parliament returns this week and one of the first items on the agenda for the Liberal Democrats is a bill that aims to ban the possession of sex dolls that resemble children. Currently it's illegal to import them but not to own one in the UK. Munira Wilson MP explains why she wants to change the law and close a 'dangerous loophole', and Nuala also hears from Dr Alex Bailey from the Lucy Faithfull Foundation – an organisation that works to prevent child sexual abuse.'Poetry is everywhere' - that's according to spoken word poet Georgie Jones. Her honest takes on the realities of womanhood, friendship, body image, love and self-doubt have struck a chord with audiences and seen her shoot to fame on social media. Georgie joins Nuala to discuss why spoken word poetry is striking such a chord with women online.Presenter: Nuala McGovern Producer: Olivia Skinner

UFOs were once the stuff of tabloids and conspiracy theories. Today they're the subject of congressional hearings, Pentagon investigations, mainstream news coverage, and a new wave of claims about government cover-ups and alien technology. Adam Kirsch, senior editor at The Atlantic and author of We Want to Believe: How Aliens Went Mainstream and Why It Matters, joins Michael Shermer to ask what changed—and why the idea of extraterrestrial visitors has such a powerful hold on us. They discuss Roswell, UFO "disclosure," eyewitness testimony, government secrecy, alien abductions, Carl Sagan and Contact, the religious impulse behind UFO belief, and the difference between testimony and scientific evidence. The conversation also turns to the serious scientific search for extraterrestrial intelligence: the Fermi paradox, why decades of SETI have found nothing, how rare intelligent life might be, and whether our ideas about aliens ultimately tell us more about ourselves than about anything actually out there. Adam Kirsch is the author of several books of poetry and criticism and a senior editor at The Atlantic. A 2016 Guggenheim Fellow, Kirsch has written for publications including The New Yorker, Slate, The Times Literary Supplement, The New York Times Book Review, Poetry, and Tablet. His new book is We Want to Believe: How Aliens Went Mainstream and Why It Matters.

[REBROADCAST FROM July 2, 2026] The new documentary "Mary Oliver: Saved by the Beauty of the World" reflects on the life and work of the esteemed poet, who published more than 30 collections over the course of her career. Director Sasha Waters discusses the film, and poet Gabrielle Calvocoressi shares what Oliver's poetry means to them. "Mary Oliver: Saved by the Beauty of the World" premiered at the IFC Center on July 2, and will air on PBS on August 25.  Photo by Rachel Giese Brown Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Host Jesse Jackson welcomes writer and musician David Starkey to Set Listing Bruce to discuss Starkey's book On Track: Bruce Springsteen 1973–1987, Every Album, Every Song and his lifelong relationship to Springsteen's recorded work. Starkey shares how growing up between Sacramento and summers in Beaumont shaped his musical tastes, from Johnny Cash and Aerosmith to discovering Springsteen via Greetings and being captivated by Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town. They talk about the current tour, its political tone, Tom Morello's guitar work, ticket prices, and setlist debates. Starkey explains his writing process, what he learned by re-listening (especially the importance of piano), and why 1987 marks an era's end. The conversation also touches on poetry vs. lyrics, Starkey's interview series The Creative Community, upcoming projects, and the “Mary question” from Thunder Road. https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Bruce-Springsteen-1973-1987/David-Starkey/On-Track/9781789524710 00:00 Podcast Welcome 00:39 Meeting David 02:03 Early Music Obsessions 03:44 Family Sounds and Travel 06:59 Johnny Cash Tangent 09:04 Finding Springsteen 10:03 Live Shows and Politics 13:54 Ticket Prices Debate 14:28 Writing and Poetry 18:08 Why This Bruce Book 20:05 Born in the USA Memories 22:14 Researching the Albums 23:53 Why Stop at 1987 25:43 Concert Banter Debate 26:59 River Tour Pacing 27:55 Writing More Personally 29:33 Hot Takes On Songs 30:51 Family Discovers Nebraska 32:06 Biopic Who Is It For 34:35 Bruce Creative Evolution 36:46 Never Repeating Himself 39:41 His Interview Show Origins 41:09 Next Books And Memoir 44:12 Where To Find The Book 45:54 Final Thanks And Signoff 46:24 Podcast Housekeeping Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Author and classicist Daniel Mendelsohn was teaching a university class on Homer's The Odyssey, when his elderly father decided to enrol in it.Daniel became fascinated by the stories of the ancient world as a child and grew up to study the classics and then write books and essays to share his knowledge with the wider world.Eventually he began teaching the Ancient Greek epic, The Odyssey, to first year university students at Bard College in New York State.But when his elderly father Jay asked to sit in on the course, it led to a big change in their relationship.This episode was first broadcast in 2020Further informationAn Odyssey: A father, a Son, and an Epic is published by KnopfDaniel's latest book is The Odyssey: A New Translation This episode was first broadcast in 2020.It explores the Ancient World, Homer, The Odyssey, the Classics, translation, poetry, writing, teaching, parents, family, fathers, students, New York State, memoir, Odysseus, hero, storytelling, siblings, Winnie the Pooh, emotions, love, books.

A poem about a map opens North and South, the first collection of the great twentieth century poet Elizabeth Bishop, and since, maps have been associated with her poetic vision—at once telescoping and binocular—and with the polarities and preoccupations of her work. The map's privileged, sweeping, bird's eye view of the earth is also hand-held, man-made, intimate. Depending on its level of minuteness or obsession, it can contain the tiniest details as well as, let's say, the whole enchilada. And though it purports to be scientific and objective, it is representational and therefore subjective, particular, imaginative, and personal. For several episodes, Wes & Erin will be reading a selection of some of Bishop's most anthologized poems, starting with “The Moose” as expressions of, among other things, her map-like imagination. Upcoming Episodes: Nolan’s adaptation of “The Odyssey”; more Elizabeth Bishop poetry: “First Death in Nova Scotia,” “One Art.” Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. This podcast is part of the Airwave Media podcast network. Visit AirwaveMedia.com to listen and subscribe to other Airwave shows like Good Job, Brain and Big Picture Science. Email advertising@airwavemedia.com to enquire about advertising on the podcast. Follow: Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:11 Erin: Welcome to part two of our discussion of the poems of Elizabeth Bishop. We are currently about. Oh, I'm okay. I'm proud of us. We're just about halfway through the Moose. That's not bad compared to our usual record. We're not halfway through stanza one. We're going. You know, it's about a bus trip. It's encouraging us to pick up the pace a little bit and get to our next stop. So we were just going to pick up with the woman in stanza 13 climbing into the bus. 0:41 Wes: Before you say that, I just want to make one little observation. 0:44 Erin: Oh, sure. 0:45 Wes: Just that we get right as soon as the light goes out, it's then that we get the barking of a dog and the smell of salt. First it's the smell of salt hay and then it's the barking of a dog. So smell is introduced. And is that the first time sound is really introduced in any. You know, we get the bus starting and all that, but I think that's right. It's very visual up to that point, I think. And then as soon as we lose the light, we get these new sensory modalities. The collie just supervised this dog, gives us a nice bark, and presumably we can't even see him. We just hear him. So I just love that. I just. I love the transition into darkness. It's so. 1:26 Erin: Yeah. 1:26 Wes: I don't know how else to say it. 1:28 Erin: Yeah. 1:28 Wes: And it's then that we. This really is the midpoint of the poem because now we're going to make this transition into the world of the bus, I guess. As the woman climbs in, we have 1:41 Erin: the ship's port lantern, as you said, being an indication that it's now nearly or fully dark outside. 1:47 Wes: She says red light swims through the dark. 1:50 Erin: Yeah. I'm assuming that at this point a bus would have some form of illumination, at least for when it's stopped and the doors open for people getting on and off the bus. Right. It would. It would light up on the inside interior. Yeah. 2:03 Wes: Yeah. 2:03 Erin: Or at least maybe it would stop, certainly if it were stopping at a station or a little, you know, whatever those things are called. Those little. Yeah, there's a word for it. 2:14 Wes: We need something to see the freckles by. 2:16 Erin: Right. We need something. Exactly. But wherever they would be stopping would have some form of street light illumination or something of that order. Anyway. 2:26 Wes: But it's interesting you say this, because I didn't picture a bus station at any point in this. And I just imagine people along the side of the road. 2:34 Erin: Right. But if it were a course, it 2:38 Wes: couldn't be that way. 2:39 Erin: Well, I don't think it's a station. I think it would be a stop with a. You know, like a lean to. You know, what are those things that just. 2:44 Wes: Yeah, sure. 2:45 Erin: That just protect you from the elements. 2:47 Wes: Yeah. Bust down. 2:48 Erin: Right. 2:48 Wes: Yeah. 2:49 Erin: And that would probably have at least a street light. But anyway, then we get the moonlight. Maybe my favorite. Oh, it's so hard to say, but maybe my favorite image in the poem is the hairy, scratchy, splintery moonlight and mist caught in them like lambswool on bushes in a pasture. Just. There's nothing. There's no image greater than that. That's unbelievable. 3:13 Wes: There's kind of a more wildness to this. Right. The image now, the hairiness and scratchiness and splinteriness. It's a bit less Domesticated, I guess, than the previous part of the poem. 3:27 Erin: That's a really good point. I hadn't thought of that. Even a suggestion of danger, like the lamb running. 3:34 Wes: I just thought, this is where the hobbits are entering Fangorn Forest. 3:39 Erin: Yes. Yeah, yeah, the New Brunswick. 3:41 Wes: But you go a little bit more. It's a little wilder and more primal. I think once you. Even if you're on a bus, once you get into the woods, there's something different about it. 3:52 Erin: That's right. 3:53 Wes: But yeah, you're right. The idea that the moonlight could get caught in that. That's a great image. 3:59 Erin: Something giving chase to the lamb would cause it potentially to get a little ensnared in the chase. 4:06 Wes: It's as if Lambswool has, you know, a lamb is brushed up on the bramble or whatever and left its will so that. So the moonlight, instead of making this cosmic journey and landing on articulating the environment, has been subordinated to the environment. Right. It's become. It's been captured by these hairy woods. It's caught on it and, you know, a piece of it has come off from being caught on something that's scratchy and splintery. So that. That. Yeah, this is the great reversal. And that's the place where you can really get some good sleeping. Yes, right. 4:44 Erin: Yes. And where dreamy things can happen. 4:47 Wes: Divagation. Yeah, wanderings. 4:51 Erin: I looked that up. Wandering, straying or digressing from a main course, path or topic. So like a digression as long as 4:59 Wes: the bus stays on track. 5:00 Erin: Yeah, that's right. 5:01 Wes: You do whatever you want with your mind. 5:02 Erin: That's right. And the night. I just looked on Google Maps while I was writing my little notes in the margins. And if you were to take a bus today from Great Village to Boston, it would take like 10 hours. So it definitely is a, yikes, full course of the night on this night bus. So I love what happens in stanza 16, which begins in the creakings and noises, an old conversation not concerning us, but recognizable somewhere back in the bus. So I really love that it's grandparents voices, she says, uninterrupted talking. This is where the I becomes an us. And this is a characteristic of a bishop. I think she's rather reluctant to use an I, capital I in a poem. She's more likely to use a we or an us. And here it's as if they're all part of the same family now in the bus and the adults. It's almost like everybody on the bus who isn't a grandparent is a child and the adults in the back are talking and we are all, oh, that doesn't concern us. Just go to sleep. It's none of your business. Just stop eavesdropping on us. Right, so there's some community that's been formed already by the people who are not the grandparents talking. Do you get that impression? 6:20 Wes: Yeah, it's a bit confusing. So, yeah, let's try to figure it out. Because it. So it begins. A dreamy navigation begins in the night. She doesn't say, I started dreaming or they started dreaming or we started dreaming. Although it seems almost like it's collective. Right. So that the bus is dreaming or everyone on the bus is dreaming together, which kind of lines up with the not concerning us later on, the gentle auditory slow hallucination. So that's a very interesting idea. Right. The dream is usually associated with subjectivity. Right. The cogito and Descartes. Right. The dream tells us that we might have trouble distinguishing reality from what's in our own minds. And we in our own minds are very potentially cut off from reality. But it's a. It's an alienated individual position here. The dream is. Seems to be collective. And perhaps it's collective because it's partly real. Right. Is that the conversation? I thought, okay, there's a conversation going on in the back of the bus and it is old people talking. But as you're lying back, you could sort of. You can't hear exactly what they're saying. And you might have that kind of half dream, Right. Where you're. The dream is kind of lined up with or intertwined with what's going on in reality. So she's hearing in the conversation of the old people, her grandparents voices. Is that the way you took this? Or. Or they, they're hearing the grandparents voices or. Yeah. How do we, how do we interpret this? 7:54 Erin: I interpreted it as, you know, people of the age of grandparents having a real conversation. But the idea that one could be having an auditory. I mean, we are given the word auditory slow hallucination. So the idea that there could be an auditory hallucination or kind of half dream of one's own grandparents having a conversation, or it may be superimposed on a real conversation kind of inaudible going on on the bus. I never noticed this before. The G in grandparents is capitalized. So it does seem to sit to suggest the speaker's particular grandparents rather than. 8:30 Wes: Oh, I was going to. I thought you were going to say archetypal grandparents. 8:34 Erin: Oh, yeah, I suppose it could be yeah, it could be read that way, too. I think all of these things are true, right? 8:40 Wes: Yeah. 8:40 Erin: I mean, the image works because of the, shall we say, universal particularity of this experience. 8:47 Wes: The ordinary way to write the poem would be to. And a much simpler way would be to put this in her point of view and not try to put it into a collective point of view. But that seems to be what she's doing. 8:59 Erin: Yes. The effectiveness, though, I think is the. And it could just be the speaker's perception of it, but the atmospheric quality, because everyone on the bus is going to share an experience shortly, but already they are sharing an experience and a kind of atmosphere that they're all listening to the hum and having that. You know, when you're in the car and you. Maybe when you're a kid and you put your ear up against, like, the. The car door or the window or something, and you hear orchestral music. I don't know if you ever had that. I used to always hear classical music when I would put my head up. 9:38 Wes: Yeah, I don't think I have that. 9:40 Erin: All kinds of. And I always think, like, I should write this down. But you always have, like, a hallucination of an orchestra playing songs. Different songs. Sometimes like fantastical songs. Yeah. You know, my particular experience maybe doesn't quite get at the. Yeah. The sense that this is shared. 9:57 Wes: Well, you're put into a kind of dreamy state, and yet you're getting at the auditory hallucination part. I mean, for me, I think, as a child, and this, I think, is very evocative of childhood. It's something about being half asleep or falling asleep. You're on a journey and there are adults in the car and there's some. Maybe some sense of safety, I think is very relevant to this poem. But being ensconced in the world of adults and not quite alone when you do this thing, which is potentially very lonely, which is go to sleep. And of course, a lot of kids don't want to go to sleep because that loneliness factor. But it's a much different experience if you're traveling. You're all on the way to something together. And of course, you're with people who are awake and, you know, are going 10:45 Erin: to be awake, maybe because the kids are falling asleep. Their. Their voices are lowered and softer. And maybe that also contributes Right. To the. The way in which. That lulls the children in the back simply because they're aware of not wanting to talk too loudly. Certainly that would be the case on a bus like this, where they're Having a conversation where they're talking in. In lower voices and maybe actually inducing that calm and hum for sleep in the people, the other people in the bus who aren't talking. 11:15 Wes: And the question is, what are the adults doing with their talk? Right. It's not going to work if your parents are just fighting. In this case, it's the grandparents. Voices are clearing things up and I guess bringing certain things to resolution, coming to terms with these losses. But a lot of it does sound a bit gossipy and not necessarily like the most comforting. 11:39 Erin: Yes. Yeah. 11:39 Wes: Sort of talk we could imagine. Yeah. 11:41 Erin: Well, you know, in a situation like this where you might be a child in this car, could be that you're coming back from whatever, like a, like a late night and then the adults in the car are working through whatever has just happened over the course of the night. And. Oh no, she was the one who had that long. Yeah. Who had the criminal record because of that thing, remember where they. Oh, yeah, yeah. That was like 20 years ago. So you sort of get that. But for an entire family history going back ages and ages, talking in eternity. Deaths, deaths and sicknesses. The year he remarried, the year something happened. Oh, yeah, what year was that? Right. Something about the journey afterwards or maybe away from home. If these people are also. If their home is Nova Scotia and they're departing it, you know, then there's that backwards looking quality where something about the idea of the journey and moving away from the place is giving the opportunity to then take stock and look back. So there's this sort of like dual action happening in the poem where the further the bus goes, the further back they're kind of looking from deaths and sicknesses to then remarriage and then childbirth. Son lost when the schooner found her. 12:58 Wes: These are all very blue collar tragedies, right? 13:00 Erin: Yes. 13:01 Wes: He was arrested for insider trading. 13:04 Erin: No, but I mean, you know, there's a reverse order to what's happening, you know, so we get. We have death, then sickness, then remarriage, then dying in childbirth. So there's a rewind is what I mean. Yeah. 13:17 Wes: Well, we come back in the end to death. The way it's all summed up. 13:20 Erin: Insider trading. Sorry. 13:23 Wes: Huh? 13:24 Erin: Sorry, Just insider trading. That really is funny. 13:31 Wes: And he had an affair. No. A sharp indrawn breath. Half grown, half acceptance. That means life's like that. We know it. Also death, you know, and then the question, what does also death mean there? Death knows it, we also know death. But it, you know, it made me wonder at various points I wondered. Well, Is this an element here of a journey to the underworld or to the afterlife? Maybe it's a job not claiming that that's strong thematic part of this, but maybe a hint of that type of thing. Because the journey, I mean, and it does seem like journeys are good places for this or like when I travel, it produces in me a very different state of mind. And I do find it very calming in a way, you know, especially actually being on the train or something like that, because you're in between two different locations and you maybe you're not caught up in the expectations or the constricting qualities of any particular location. If I'm at home, I have to do this and that work, or if I'm at a destination, then I'm dealing with relatives or I have to be a tourist or something like that. But there's something liberating about being in between two locations. So it does seem like a place for this type of dreamy hallucination or this reflection or this clearing of things up. It's almost like therapy. Right? That's what all of this sounds like. People are talking through their problems, but where is it that they get to in the end here? The half grown, half acceptance. So it's not fully acceptance. It sums things up with this, maybe a degree of resignation. So yeah, I don't know. What do you make of the stanza? 15:15 Erin: Well, they're traveling west significantly. Right. I do take a lot of this to be a kind of, say, pre figurement of death, even though at the same time the fact that they're in the woods, the fact that not to jump ahead too much, the fact that the moose will come out of the woods and appear notably in the middle of the road, there is a suggestion of middle age or middleness, or midway in the journey of our life, I found myself within a dark forest. So I think it works both ways, or perhaps it's working in several ways simultaneously for the various passengers. So maybe the speaker is experiencing something more akin to the Dante esque middle of the journey on the bus. And something about the bus journey is also, symbolically speaking, a kind of final bus journey for some of the other passengers. And that intersection seems significant, but I don't know how, just in the sense that there's a retrospective quality happening or maybe even a reversion to childhood that goes on for the speaker and the other people in the bus by virtue of the propinquity to these old people at the end of their life's journey. Because there is very little about middleness Here, come to think of it, other than the moose appearing in the middle of the road. Right. It seems that the other people on the bus are like children and the grandparents are the adults. 16:50 Wes: I mean, I think part of what's comforting when we're children is that feeling that adults know the answers and that adults know how to cope with all the dangers and have experience doing that and therefore can protect us. The reality, of course, as we realize as we get older, is that that's not true. So what they may have is more of this acceptance that's sort of highlighted in this stanza, which is potentially a good thing, but maybe a double edged sword because it does seem to be a form of dying. It does seem to be a form of the very thing that we want to be protected from. 17:30 Erin: There's also, though, that. What I used to call my mom, the external hard drive. I used to say back before she. 17:42 Wes: She liked that. 17:44 Erin: I think now it would make her sad because she'll say, you know, very openly that she. Her memory is gone. But it used to be that she knew all the, you know, you could ask her who said that at that one. You know, there's that kind of. I mean, that's a sort of jokey, gossipy scorekeeping thing that she would keep tabs on. But there's also just the idea of long memory being the history keeper, the record keeper, the, you know, and there's sort of settling accounts over the course of this conversation. Oh, right, it was that year. Okay. And then this happened and then, then that happened. And that's important too, I think, for, you know, it situates children in a context. Not just say this idea of death that you're referring to, but also how to situate oneself in a life. 18:34 Wes: Right. 18:34 Erin: There's a. There's a sort of frame that the grandparents or the elder relatives have that whole history up until you enter the narrative and where you fit within that. We mentioned in part one a little bit about Bishop's family history just to kind of prefigure the types of story that she inserts, I think very significantly into the poem, particularly about poor Amos who just wouldn't stop praying in the store and had to be. Had to be put away. Right. Of course she does a gender swap, but yeah, we all have family stories like this, of this kind of unruly behavior or madness of some kind or other or some sort of family drama. 19:19 Wes: Yeah. So it's universal. But the way she captures it is very clever with this talk that we don't quite know whether it's just the conversation of the people, the old people at the back of the bus, or whether it's her dream or whether it's both or somewhere in between. They're interlaced, those two things. And that. That interlacing gets at this aspect of universality. Although I think by the time we get to the stanza where she's fantasizing about the grandparents and the featherbed, this, it start. Seems to become inescapably personal, which is why I think of the. The point of view is getting more and more focused. Right. With. With time. Yeah. And potentially it's still universal, but it seems almost like a personal memory. Right. So talking the way they talked in the old feather bed. Right. The way they. Her. Her grandparents presumably in the old feather bed, peacefully on and on. Dim lamp light in the hall, down in the kitchen, the dog tucked in her shaw. Shawl. Yeah, get another. And get another dog here. 20:28 Erin: I love this. 20:29 Wes: The collie, the barking dog. And. Yeah, so this, this stanza is wonderful. And it gets at exactly this thing that you've been talking about, which is the, like, comfort of being a kid overhearing adults talking. It really, despite this talk of death. Right. A reconciliation with death. This is the point. Seems to be the point of view of a child who finds this very comforting. And. Right. She'll say in the next stanza, now it's all right now even to fall asleep, just as on all those nights, the way in which the adult world and the safety of protective figures can make sleep okay to do. And then suddenly that's interrupted. 21:07 Erin: But I love too. I mean, yes, it's so particular, but it also just in this one stanza does so many things in miniature that the poem is doing all along, this telescoping in again to a scene which. Which even as a child, if it were her childhood in particular that she's referencing, she couldn't possibly know or see. She wouldn't be able to see the grandparents in their featherbed. She would have to be picturing them in the featherbed and she wouldn't be able to see the dog in the hall. And also I wonder if this. If the stanza in its operation is kind of doing. I mean, this is just occurring to me now, but maybe it's doing that kind of hallucinatory work that has prior been described where we actually get a remix of, you know, this is the third dog in the poem. But it's also the elements in the stanza are a kind of recapitulation of the light, the red light swimming, the port Lantern becomes the lamp light in the hall. We get the dog barking now becomes the dog curled up in the shawl. And then maybe even because we also get kitchen, maybe the shawl is even a kind of transposition of the table, tablecloth shook out. Right. So there's something actually in the stanza which has that hallucinatory quality that she's describing where these three elements swim in the imagination and then become the lamplight and the dog and the shawl in this half asleep kind of dream space. Maybe that's pushing things too far, but it does seem to be. It's the dreamiest stanza perhaps in the whole poem. Maybe the following one. Now it's all right now even to fall asleep. But this gets interrupted that next stanza. So this one, I think is the real depth of the dreamy or borderline dreamy or hallucinatory moment. 23:00 Wes: Yeah, this is great because it really underlines the way deviation creates the capacity for stasis or for comfort. So the deviation of a bus trip or of the dreaming. Right. Which is movement, which is dynamic and has that momentum, forward momentum that we were talking about, sort of underwrites or grounds this ability to. For stasis, for stopping, for going to sleep, for feeling comforted as a child and safe, I think. And I keep repeating that word because of the. What's going to happen. The use of the word that's going to happen in this poem later. But yeah, I'm not sure if you were saying that explicitly, but that's what came to mind my mind as you were talking. This. The way in which this journey, devigation, motion can ground something that's going to be more static or stationary, which is what we're going to get in the moose. Because it interrupts the. It explicitly interrupts the motion of the bus and the external line of the poem in a way that parallels the comfort that's produced by the dreaming. 24:08 Erin: Yeah. In stanza 22 is where we have that break that you're describing. The moose finally appears. Well, the moose doesn't appear until stanza 23 finally appears. 24:21 Wes: We've been waiting for you. 24:22 Erin: We've been waiting for you. The title has promised that you would come and then here you are. It is foretold of your coming. 24:29 Wes: Comes through the curtains, takes his bow. Right. 24:32 Erin: We get nights, just as on all those nights. And then the moose's appearance, the lights turn on. And that rhyme you get, I mean, it's a very basic, simple rhyme. Right. But there's that sort of sudden jolt which is then also visualized where in the middle of night we have this appearance, this bright because of the headlights on it. Appearance of the moose. And it looms and sniffs at the bus's hot hood, which I'm assuming means that it thinks that the bus might be a boy moose. 25:06 Wes: No. Well, it's a very hot bus, I'll say that. 25:10 Erin: Ow. Ow. 25:14 Wes: That enamel. And it's dented and, you know, depends on if you like bad buses. No, just kidding. 25:21 Erin: Dented from its last encounter with a girl bus. 25:25 Wes: Yeah. It's funny because I wrote in my notes, but was just reading it stanza by stanza. And the previous stanza I'd said, okay to sleep, even with death looming. Looming for all of us, you know, all day one. You know, one day we all die. Blooming in that sense. And then suddenly the moose is looming, standing there, looming. And I thought, whoa, that's really interesting 25:45 Erin: that I. Oh, yes, chose. 25:48 Wes: Chose that word before I even got to the next stanza. Not to give some, you know, obvious rote sort of identification of the moose with death or the experience of the moose as having something to do with that. But obviously they're coming into contact here with something quite primal and important. It's not just, oh, look, there's a nice moose, but is he sniffing or she's sniffing the buses hot hood because she thinks it might be another moon. That hadn't actually occurred to me. 26:21 Erin: I must have been infected with that reading at some point that this was a frisky moose, that it otherwise doesn't seem frisky at all. It seems pretty. Like a pretty staid, respectable moose. 26:34 Wes: But frisky and ditzy. 26:39 Erin: That's right. Hello. 26:41 Wes: What? 26:41 Erin: Oh, look, I seem to be in the middle of the road. Pardon me. 26:46 Wes: So, towering, antlerous, high as a church, homely as a house. We're safe as houses, a man's voice assures us. Perfectly harmless. Which you presume, right, that the. The man making that assurance is. Precedes the idea of it being homely as a house and safe as houses. Even though. So. So she interestingly puts the associations before her associative responses before the actual stimulus. Right. I don't think she's the one who is thinking about how they must be safe and. And he's saying something. I mean, as far as I know. I don't know back then. But you were warned about bison and mooses, right? Or is it mooses or moose? I think we're warned because they don't. They. They seem harmless, but they're not. And so I was quite surprised by this stanza. And I thought this idea, okay, safe as houses. Well, yeah, houses ought to be safe, but they're not always safe. The bus, the moving container of the bus turns out to be, in a way safer and more conducive to reverie and dreaming and all of that. 27:59 Erin: No matter how you slice it, whether you see the moose as harmless, truly, or not so harmless, this has got to be just a little bit of a wink, right? A man's voice assures us. 28:09 Wes: I mean, I think we're definitely meant to be skeptical. 28:12 Erin: Yeah. 28:13 Wes: This perfectly harmless line, it's not there for us to nod our heads in agreement. 28:20 Erin: Oh, yeah, he's right, right, right. I think it's more like, oh, here's another mansplainer. 28:26 Wes: He's moose splaining. 28:28 Erin: Mooseplaining this woman moose to moose splaining. Just out for a good time, having her existence commented upon by another man's voice. Probably a podcaster. One of those male podcasters has a manosphere podcast. 28:45 Wes: Girl mooses are. 28:49 Erin: Then we get these childish again. The passengers are like children and having this childlike response to the appearance of the moose, including. It's awful, plain sad. So much judgment of women's bodies. 29:04 Wes: I mean, they're not good looking creatures. Let's just. They're, you know, put that on the table. Come on. They are in an ugly sort of way. 29:11 Erin: Yeah. I mean, okay, I guess they don't follow, you know, classical proportions. They don't represent the golden mean. 29:21 Wes: They're not into beauty society societal beauty standards. All right. 29:28 Erin: They are like cartoon characters. 29:29 Wes: They're miss Positive is what they are. 29:35 Erin: Well, what I love though, about the description, you know, we get several, I suppose. Yeah. Contradictory descriptions of the moose in a way, because we get homely as a house or safe as houses. We get awful plane. But then she looks the bus over grand otherworldly, so she has some gravitas. She's like a great character actress who. Who may not be beautiful in that leading lady way, but she's Kathy Bates. Yes. Yeah, well, that's maybe a bit insulting to Kathy Bates, who I do think is a very attractive woman, but. 30:19 Wes: Sorry, Kathy. 30:20 Erin: I know, I love her. 30:21 Wes: Come on the show sometime, please. 30:24 Erin: Oh my gosh, I would die. I love Kathy Bates anyway. And then we get curious creatures. Well, first we get the idea that it inspires joy and then we get curious creatures. So there's a. The joy is then immediately undercut by a kind of ambivalence. Right. So there's just all of these descriptions of the moose combine to create a kind of ambivalent portrait, such as it is, of the animal. 30:47 Wes: Are we going to be able to answer this question? Why? Why do they feel the sweet sensation of joy? I mean, I think I would probably feel it. 30:57 Erin: Why? Why do we all feel it? I mean, they have. Well, they've successfully done what I couldn't see a moose in real life. So they're like one up on Erin. Can't wait to go back and tell her we saw moose. Yeah, I've seen certain things. I can't think of a specific example of this, but I've had plenty of instances. Whether it is a wild animal or, I don't know, like a sunset or a really spectacular natural event of some kind or other. You do get that feeling of joy, kind of excitement. 31:28 Wes: Yeah. Unfortunately, most of my encounters with large animals are at zoos. I did see a bear once. I was going to the bathroom. My mom had a house in Front Royal, Virginia, at the beginning of the Appalachian Mountains. And it was up high on a. We called it a mountain, but it was, I guess, more of a hill. But so it was out, you know, it was kind of. There was a bear on the mountain, let's just put it that way. And, yeah, I was going to the bathroom one day and looking out the window. There's a window right. You know, above the toilet. And suddenly there's bear's face looking at me. Wow. What the. So, but that, you know, and. And that was majestic. No, just kidding. That it was. I. It was surprising. 32:13 Erin: Yeah. 32:14 Wes: And there's an element of fear that involved. Even if you're, you know, even if, you know, black bears are harmless and there's a wall between you. Some. Something scary about it. I didn't have time to feel like it's majestic. Yeah. You know, like you have had these experiences in. In nature, but I can't think of a encounter like this. But it. I seem sure that if I had an encounter like this, I would feel exactly the same way. So. Yeah. What is otherworldly about it? What is majestic about it? It's a big, dumb beast. And I say that with love, without any criticism in the sense that. Right. It's an encounter with something primal. And I think we have to take into account the size of the animal as well. I mean, it is interesting to run into a fox or something like that, but it's also a matter of scale here. But. Yeah. What is otherworldly about it? I mean, I think the most. The most obvious part of this is that you know, we have lost something in our humanity and becoming language using creatures and becoming self conscious creatures. And sometimes when we're confronted with an animal like this, we're confronted with that loss. We're not as connected to the environment because of the intermediation of something like language, which poetry of course tries to overcome. It tries to put language into a disintermediating. Sorry to use these business terms. I don't know why this is happening. Into a disintermediation. 33:46 Erin: Actualize. Yeah, yeah. 33:49 Wes: When it. Yeah, right. Synergize it's agenda. Often where language might put distance between us and the world. Poetry, I think, can undo that distance. Like I was saying, with the very vivid imagery, I can undo that distance with figurative language. And maybe that distance is also undone to some extent by the dreaming or the half dreaming hallucinatory state that she was in. And the comfort of that, the return to childhood, which is also a simpler time. I don't know. I'm thinking out loud here. But yeah, I wanted to try to get more at this, you know, the otherworldly status of the moose and the joy that comes from encountering it. 34:34 Erin: I was thinking to myself, is the moose's gaze really clearly encapsulated? And then I thought, yes, she regards us amicably. And then I was like, no, no, that's the passenger who gets on the bus. 34:44 Wes: Right. Does the moose have freckles? Yeah, that'd be an interesting twist, right? 34:50 Erin: But yeah, but there is one. 34:51 Wes: Turned her into a moose. 34:53 Erin: Well, I would think that this would be a more garden variety animal encounter and maybe even a more, to use a word, I don't like, problematic poem in terms of its relationship with the animal. If it were to focus on the gaze of the animal. Because I think that is the thing which is often at the core of these interactions with animals in which we project or hope to have a kind of meaningful encounter. You want to meet the gaze of the animal and in so doing understand it. Right. And of course you don't realize that you're just projecting onto it a kind of maybe mutual regard. She regards us amicably. That you are seeing it and it is seeing you. And there's an acknowledgement and there's this, you know, spiritual encounter that you have with this animal. And all of that, of course, is often quite silly. It's often quite reductive and fanciful and unrealistic. But I am thinking of an encounter that springs to mind is in Utah. I hiked the same trail almost every day. And I Would often hike it late in order to escape the full heat of the desert sun. Which is a little dangerous, right? Because sometimes the sun would be setting and then all kinds of things come out. And one time I was trying to get back to my car before it got completely dark. And what I thought was a wolf, but what must have been a coyote. And the coyotes in Utah are huge. They look like wolves and completely white. Came out from over a hill, crossed my path, turned, looked at me in the eyes for a very long time, turned and went over on the other side of the hill. I mean, curiously, then, of course, I got to the car and I actually found out that a beloved family member, an elderly family member of mine, had passed away. And I said, I think I just saw her. You know, I had this feeling of, like. I don't know, the sense of this connection, inherent connection between these two. This woman who was dear to me and this encounter. But, of course, that's all silliness. And the idea that I was having a sort of interaction through the gate. Some sort of reciprocal. Right. Interaction with this animal was also entirely just my own projecting onto the animal. However, I will say that that's an instance in which I felt fear. But then there was also this, like, joy at the encounter, I think fear because it was dark. Because I wasn't actually sure if this was a wolf because it blocked my path. It was far enough away that I didn't feel as threatened as I might have. But it was definitely a mixed perception. 37:28 Wes: You didn't shoot it and then hang it around your neck. No, because I was thinking. I just suddenly thought of the albatross poem. 37:37 Erin: Rime of the Ancient Mariner. 37:38 Wes: Rime of the Ancient Mariner. And that sort of relationship to the natural world where. I mean, I forget what we said about it, but maybe I said something about envy and wanting to kill the albatross for. Because of its freedom or something like that. I don't. I don't know. But I think it's important because, yeah, this is part of something about the encounter with the natural world. Whether it's a big moose or something else. Yes. Is otherworldly. Strangely enough, it's otherworldly to us, even though it's where we come from. It's uncanny, maybe. And Freud actually, in the German, I think uncanny is sort of like unhomelike is what the German sounds like. And Freud made a lot out of this. I think it's home, but it's a home from which we've become alienated. We're animals, we're something more than animals. And so that primal encounter brings us back to that foundation, that natural foundation in us, but we can't fully come to terms with it. And I think the other aspect of this, I think the death. Right. So there is a link to death. Just. And I was thinking about that when you described thinking of it as seeing. As seeing your departed loved one. Because if we could regress to that animal state, it would be a kind of death. I think that the association with the movement to the pre. Linguistic, natural foundation is something like the movement towards dying, but there's something comforting. 39:07 Erin: Yes. 39:07 Wes: Right. And we encounter that when we encounter the gaze. To have a. Have a gaze returned by an animal like that usually like, like our internal. Our entire psychological structure, what makes us self. Self conscious is the internalization of a human gaze. Right. To the extent that we. We get an animal gaze, I think we are returned to that more primal part of ourselves. And it does seem to me to have something to do with being reconciled to mortality. Right. Which is part of what the function of that dialogue between the elderly people is doing. 39:44 Erin: You're leading me into the one, say, reading of the moose that I wanted to get to. And I just want to say that I think the great thing about Bishop and about this poem and all her poems is that the moose is a moose. It's not a symbol. I hesitate to offer any kind of 40:03 Wes: direct reading, but that's her job on this podcast, though. 40:05 Erin: I know, I know. It's. Yeah. In the letters with Robert Lowell when he's writing to her about her poem at the fish houses, he says, alas, all my fish just become symbols. 40:16 Wes: Ah, very good. 40:17 Erin: I hesitate to reduce. I think what you've just said makes me think that it's the maternal, the mother. 40:25 Wes: Which also brings us back to the house. 40:28 Erin: Yes, the house. Yeah. It's something that comes like the clapboard churches, like clamshells seem to arise out of the ground, if you will, or are directly compared to these native creatures. The houses are then in turn used as comparisons for the moose, the maternal. The idea that this is something that returns us to nature, that this is the encounter that we would have presumably upon death. It's the loved one that is somehow comforting, maternal, and is a female moose. It's moose mom. I don't know. I don't know. Something going on there. 41:04 Wes: Moose mom. 41:05 Erin: Natural and strange at the same time, not us. And I guess that's why I. That's why I mentioned that the story of my grandfather at the beginning, because I don't know why I wanted so badly to see a moose right after my grandfather's death. But there was something, like, logical about it to me. And I was familiar with this poem, but I very much did not have. You know, it was not something that was the forefront of my mind at all. But I think there is this inherent connection, and it's silly. You know, I kind of can't believe I'm saying this, but I do. I do think there is this kind of connection between this desire that I felt to see this animal. Like the particular kind of primordial itch that the moose in particular seems to be scratching for me in that moment. For Bishop, in this poem, something that is at once safe and comforting and from another world, natural in that kind of elemental way. 42:00 Wes: Yeah. 42:01 Erin: That all kind of coalesce in that image. 42:04 Wes: Very good. 42:05 Erin: Okay. I think that's it, Wes. All we're left with is the dim smell of moose and an acrid smell of gasoline. 42:12 Wes: Oh, you know, we should have talked about that. Maybe we can start with that on our next Bishop recording. We'll. We'll begin with the smells, the smells and the significance of that image at the end. 42:25 Erin: Nice. 42:25 Wes: That smellage at the end. 42:26 Erin: Smellage. All right. Thank you. 42:29 Wes: Thank you.

Please enjoy this Summer Salon Series episode of Breaking Form Selects: Rigoberto González Support Breaking Form by reviewing the show on Apple Podcasts here.Aaron's STOP LYING is available from the Pitt Poetry Series. BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE is available from Bridwell Press. James's ROMANTIC COMEDY is available from Four Way Books.  Notes:Rigoberto González was born in Bakersfield, California and raised in Michoacán, Mexico. He earned a BA from the University of California, Riverside and graduate degrees from University of California, Davis and Arizona State University. He is the author of To the Boy Who Was Night: Poems Selected and New (2023), The Book of Ruin (2019), Unpeopled Eden (2013), winner of a Lambda Literary Award, and Black Blossoms (2011), all published by Four Way Books. His other poetry collections include Other Fugitives and Other Strangers (Tupelo Press, 2006) and So Often the Pitcher Goes to Water Until It Breaks (University of Illinois Press, 1999), a National Poetry Series selection. González has also written multiple books in other genres including the novel Crossing Vines (University of Oklahoma Press, 2003), the memoir Butterfly Boy: Memories of a Chicano Mariposa (University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), the critical essay collection Pivotal Voices, Era of Transition: Toward a 21st Century Poetics (University of Michigan Press, 2017), and the book of stories Men without Bliss (University of Oklahoma Press, 2008).Read more about González (and more poems by him) here. Read this essay on González by Darrel Alejandro Holness here. Read this essay penned by González on writing memoir.Watch this short, fabulous interview with Rigoberto González here (~20 min). And watch González read his poem "A Note on Resentment" (~2 min).Poems we read include:"What Smells Dead""Casa""Thinking Stones""Carnivore"

Matt and Eric kick off a 5-week Ethan Hawke run by carpe'ing the f'n diem out of 1989's DEAD POETS SOCIETY - starring Hawke as a shy, insecure lad who's inspired by Robin Williams' zany (kind-of-irresponsible) prep school poetry teacher.

692. Part 1 of our conversation with Patricia Knight Meyer about her adoption. In her gripping memoir, Wonderland: Memoir of a Black Market Adoption, Patricia unravels the complex and harrowing story of her origins within a illegal adoption ring, exploring the deep psychological ripple effects of a childhood built on hidden truths. Raised under the shadow of secrecy, Meyer masterfully weaves personal memory, investigative persistence, and raw emotional vulnerability to illuminate how illicit adoptions break identity apart and how truth can ultimately piece it back together. Her voice brings vital light to the silenced histories of black market adoptees, offering listeners a compelling exploration of belonging, family ties, and the relentless search for self-discovery. Now available: Liberty in Louisiana: A Comedy. The oldest play about Louisiana, author James Workman wrote it as a celebration of the Louisiana Purchase. Now it is back in print for the first time in 222 years. Order your copy today! This week in the Louisiana Anthology. Frank Gee Patchin. Pony Riders in Louisiana.    Tad and Ned were each equipped with a bush-knife, with a horn to each party. Lilly considered that the boys needed no further advice from him, the lads having had experience with bear before this and all being good shots and well-tried hunters at big game.    “Look out that you dont get lost if you get on a chase,” he warned. “One is likely in the excitement of a chase to forget to blaze his trail. It isn't any use to get game if you can't get back to camp with it.” This week in Louisiana history. August 21, 1769. Gov. O'Reilly arrests leaders of revolution that ousted Gov. Ulloa.  This week in New Orleans history. August 21, 1853: During the peak of the Great Yellow Fever Epidemic, the city reported a record 269 deaths in a single 24-hour period. This week in Louisiana. Alexandria Zoological Park Year‑Round Attraction 3016 Masonic Dr. Alexandria, LA 71301 Website: thealexandriazoo.com The Alexandria Zoo is one of Central Louisiana's most beloved attractions, home to more than 500 animals representing 160 species from around the world. Open since 1922 and accredited by the Association of Zoos & Aquariums, the zoo features immersive habitats, a narrated train ride, and family‑friendly amenities throughout its landscaped grounds. Themed Habitats: Explore the Land of the Jaguar, Louisiana Habitat, African Experience, and Australian Walkabout, each designed to showcase wildlife in naturalistic settings. Animals: Tigers, jaguars, lions, crocodiles, monkeys, bears, otters, and more than 500 animals in total. Amenities: Train ride, playground, gift shop, concessions, picnic areas, stroller rentals, and free parking. Hours:  9 a.m.-5 p.m. (seasonal variations possible). Admission Prices: Attractively priced from free to $8.95. Postcards from Louisiana. Original Hurricane Brass Band at the French Quarter Fest.  Listen on Apple Podcasts. Listen on audible. Listen on Spotify. Listen on TuneIn. Listen on iHeartRadio. The Louisiana Anthology Home Page. Like us on Facebook. 

A bilingual Italian-American anthology of poems with some of america's favorite poets. 

Diplomat poet Inran Amirthanayagam writes of love and war in his now adopted country of America. 

“For me, if a poem doesn't swing, it's really not much of a poem,” says Adrian Matejka, author of the collection Be Easy: New and Selected Poems. His work hums with music, from its references to David Bowie, Miles Davis, and others to its infectious rhythms, repetitions, and rhymes. In this lively conversation recorded in 2024 at the Wick Poetry Center in Ohio, he reads several poems, and he and Pádraig Ó Tuama talk about “the imaginary discotheque” that takes place in Adrian's head when he writes, how metaphor and simile offer a third space for his ideas to reach people, and his intense interest in exploring “masculinities” in all their expressions and emotions.    We invite you to subscribe to Pádraig's weekly Poetry Unbound Substack, read the Poetry Unbound books and his newest work, Kitchen Hymns, or listen to all our Poetry Unbound episodes.   Adrian Matejka is the author of many books of poetry, including most recently Be Easy: New and Selected Poems, which was published by W.W. Norton in 2026. He also serves as the editor of Poetry magazine, and he was poet laureate of the state of Indiana from 2018 to 2019.  Find the transcript for this show at onbeing.org. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

[REBROADCAST FROM August 30, 2022] For our Full Bio series, Gene Jarrett, dean of the faculty and English professor at Princeton, discusses the life and work of poet Paul Laurence Dunbar called, Paul Laurence Dunbar: The Life and Times of a Caged Bird.   Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Katie Rizzo holds two master's degrees in science from Yale and the University of Colorado School of Medicine and has spent more than 15 years teaching high school AP Biology and Anatomy.She never thought of herself as a writer. That changed on September 17, 2024, when she lost her firstborn son to substance use disorder.Before her son died, she had never written poetry, but suddenly she had no other language. She began writing as a way to reach him, to somehow connect across that invisible divide.She is still early in this journey, not even two years in, but she is walking it with remarkable honesty and courage.She is sharing her story for a reason. She knows there are other parents living this same reality, grieving a child lost to something the world often stigmatizes and not always feeling there is space to mourn openly. She wants them to know they are not alone.In this episode of Grieving Out Loud, she shares her son's story, what she wants others to understand about loving someone struggling with addiction, and how she is finding healing by telling the truth instead of hiding it.Read more of Katie's writing on her website here. Related episodes:Why 72,000 Deaths a Year Is Not a Success StoryCookies, Grief, and Hope: A Mother's Recipe for Healing After Fentanyl LossA Brain Scientist's Warning Every Parent Should HearSend us Fan MailBehind every number is a story of a life cut short, a family shattered, and a community devastated.They were...daughterssonsmothersfathersfriendswiveshusbandscousinsboyfriendsgirlfriends.They were More Than Just A Number. Support the showConnect with AngelaFollow Grieving Out LoudFollow Emily's HopeRead Angela's BlogSubscribe to Grieving Out Loud/Emily's Hope UpdatesSuggest a GuestFor more episodes and information, just go to our website, emilyshope.charityWishing you faith, hope and courage!Podcast producers:Casey Wonnenberg King & Kayli Fitz

Two poets, collaboraters on poetry, novels, and plays, known for satire and wordplay.

A poem about a map opens North and South, the first collection of the great twentieth century poet Elizabeth Bishop, and since, maps have been associated with her poetic vision—at once telescoping and binocular—and with the polarities and preoccupations of her work. The map's privileged, sweeping, bird's eye view of the earth is also hand-held, man-made, intimate. Depending on its level of minuteness or obsession, it can contain the tiniest details as well as, let's say, the whole enchilada. And though it purports to be scientific and objective, it is representational and therefore subjective, particular, imaginative, and personal. For several episodes, Wes & Erin will be reading a selection of some of Bishop's most anthologized poems, starting with “The Moose” as expressions of, among other things, her map-like imagination. Upcoming Episodes: Nolan’s adaptation of “The Odyssey”; more Elizabeth Bishop poetry: “First Death in Nova Scotia,” “One Art.” Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. This podcast is part of the Airwave Media podcast network. Visit AirwaveMedia.com to listen and subscribe to other Airwave shows like Good Job, Brain and Big Picture Science. Email advertising@airwavemedia.com to enquire about advertising on the podcast. Follow: Twitter | Facebook | Website Transcript 0:11 Erin: A poem about a map opens north and south, the first collection of the great 20th century poet Elizabeth Bishop. And since maps have been associated with her poetic vision, at once telescoping and binocular, and with the polarities and preoccupations of her work. The map's privileged, sweeping, bird's eye view of the earth is also handheld, man made intimate. Depending on its level of minuteness or obsession, it can contain the tiniest details as well as, let's say, the whole enchilada. And though it purports to be scientific and objective, it is representational and therefore subjective, particular, imaginative and personal. Over the next few episodes, we'll be reading a selection of some of Bishop's most anthologized poems, starting with the moose as expressions of, among other things, her map, like imagination. This is Erin O'Luanaigh. And this is Wes Alwan, and you're listening to Subtext. Wes, have you ever seen a moose in the wild? 1:12 Wes: I have not, but I have seen Instagram videos of them and people getting too close, and I've heard that they actually are quite dangerous. 1:23 Erin: Oh, perfectly harmless. 1:24 Wes: As cute as they look. So not safe as houses. Which is a very surprising line, unless you think that houses maybe aren't as safe as they seem or ought to be. But that's something we'll talk about later. How about you? 1:38 Erin: I have not. And I actually, it's become a running joke among certain friends of mine that I haven't seen a moose because I long to see a moose in the wild. This is my dearest wish. 1:52 Wes: Is that the first time anyone said that in history? I long to see. 1:56 Erin: I don't know. 1:57 Wes: It's a good first line for a poem, actually. Why do you long. Long to see a moose in the wild? 2:03 Erin: Really? Maybe because of the poem. I don't know. I just really want to, but I. Maybe this will become significant without getting too personal or maybe with getting too personal. With apologies to the listeners. Ten years ago now, when my grandfather passed that summer, my grandmother wanted to go up to Maine and revisit certain places that she had been with him. And we ended up going to Acadia. And I was so excited to see. Am just. I got it into my head that I had to go to Acadia and see a moose. And I even bought a sweatshirt. I'm not wearing it right now. I looked down to see if I was wearing it. It's the same size and shape as this one. This is a Yankees, 1996 World Series sweatshirt. 2:42 Wes: It's not a Rocky and Bullwinkle sweatshirt, is it? 2:45 Erin: No, no, no. It's an acadia and it has a. It has a mousse on it. And so I bought it the first day that I was there and I was like, this is my sweatshirt and it has a moose on it. And I'm gonna. I'm gonna see a moose. And I did not see a moose. And then I. I bought a moose sweatshirt in, I think Grand Teton, and I was like, I'm gonna see a moose. And I did not see a moose. And then I lived obviously many years in Utah, and things would happen. Everybody knew I wanted to see a moose. And I would go to these trails where you could see moose. And I would like be going up a trail and someone would be coming down saying, there are moose up there. We just saw a moose. You just saw baby moose. I'd get all upsided and I would. I would run up and it was gone and people would taunt me. 3:32 Wes: So you don't want to see like a magic white heart or something like that? 3:38 Erin: No, no, I just want to see him. Even the garden variety moose? No, no. Just a humble moose will hide itself from me when. When it knows that I am after it. 3:49 Wes: Because they are a goofy, right? Are they majestic? Are they goofy looking? Are they both? 3:55 Erin: I think they're both. And I think that kind of qual quality is really well captured in the poem. No, I mean that quality of if not being then looking safe as houses or being a gargantuan size, and yet having. I know this is a female moose, which I believe is called a cow, as opposed to a bull. Right. But the bulls, even their horns have that hand like quality to them. You know, it looks kind of like an outstretched hand. 4:22 Wes: Interesting. 4:24 Erin: Yeah. They're not majestic. 4:25 Wes: Yeah, I think that's important to the poem. It's not some obviously majestic creature, although it is large and there is majesty in it in the poem, but it's not the typical majesty that you can just get from, oh, look at this beautiful animal. 4:41 Erin: Yeah. And this is kind of why I brought up my grandfather. There was some connection for me as I think there is something quite personal going on with the moose at the end, other than the shared experience of everybody in the bus, all of that. Like there's something bigger than us, more than us, and yet familiar in a way. And it's magical in a sense, because to see it is kind of a rare thing. Yet it also comes out of the landscape that she's that she's grown up in and that she's part of. I think there's a. Yeah. A lot of interesting dualities going on. 5:17 Wes: Okay. So maybe you can read the whole thing and then you could give a little bit. Or we could give a little bit of the biographical background because this is a bus trip she actually took. Right. 5:26 Erin: Yeah. 5:27 Wes: The significance of Nova Scotia, which is where she's departing from in the poem and all of that stuff. But. Yeah. Do you want to start by reading? 5:35 Erin: Sure. The moose from narrow provinces of fish and bread and tea, home of the long tides, where the bay leaves the sea twice a day and takes the herrings long rides where if the river enters or retreats in a wall of brown foam depends on if it meets the bay. Coming in the bay, not at home, where silted red sometimes the sun sets facing a red sea and others veins the flats. Lavender rich mud and burning rivulets. On red gravelly roads, down rows of sugar maples, past clapboard farmhouses and neat clapboard churches, bleached ridged as clam shells, past twin silver birches through late afternoon a bus journeys west, the windshield flashing pink, pink glancing off of metal, brushing the dented flank of blue beat up enamel, down hollows, uprises and waits patient, while a lone traveler gives kisses and embraces to seven relatives and the collie supervises goodbye to the elms, to the farm, to the dog. The bus starts. The light grows richer. The fog shifting, salty, thin, comes closing in. Its cold round crystals form and slide and settle in the white hen's feathers in gray glazed cabbages on the cabbage roses and lupins like apostles. The sweet peas cling to their wet white string on the whitewashed fences. Bumblebees creep inside the foxgloves and evening commences. One stop at Bass river, then the economies, lower middle, upper five islands. Five houses where a woman shakes a tablecloth out after supper. A pale flickering gone the Tantramar marshes and the smell of salt hay. An iron bridge trembles and a loose plank rattles but doesn't give way. On the left a red light swims through the dark. A ship's port lantern. Two rubber boots show illuminated, solemn. A dog gives one bark. A woman climbs in with two market bags. Brisk, freckled, elderly. A grand night. Yes, sir. All the way to Boston. She regards us amicably. Moonlight as we enter the New Brunswick woods. Hairy, scratchy, splintery moonlight and mist caught in them like lamb's wool. On bushes in a pasture the passengers lie back, snores some long sighs. A dreamy divagation begins in the night, a gentle auditory slow hallucination in the creakings and noises, an old conversation not concerning us but recognizable somewhere back in the bus, grandparents, voices uninterruptedly talking in eternity, names being mentioned. Things cleared up finally. What he said, what she said, who got pensioned. Deaths, deaths and sicknesses. The year he remarried, the year something happened, she died in childbirth. That was the son lost when the schooner foundered. He took to drink. Yes, she went to the bad when Amos began to pray, even in the store and finally the family had to put him away. Yes, that peculiar affirmative. Yes, a sharp indrawn breath, half grown, half acceptance. That means life's like that, we know it. Also death talking the way they talked in the old featherbed, peacefully on and on, dim lamplight in the hall, down in the kitchen, the dog tucked in her shawl. Now it's all right now, even to fall asleep, just as on all those nights. Suddenly the bus driver stops with a jolt, turns off his lights. A moose has come out of the impenetrable wood and stands there, looms rather in the middle of the road. It approaches, it sniffs at the bus's hot hood, towering antlerless, high as a church, homely as a house or safe as houses, a man's voice assures us, perfectly harmless. Some of the passengers exclaim in whispers, childishly, softly, sure are big creatures. It's awful plain. Look, it's a she. Taking her time. She looks the bus over, grand, otherworldly. Why. Why do we feel. We all feel the sweet sensation of joy? Curious creatures, says our quiet driver, rolling his Rs. Look at that, would you? Then he shifts gears for a moment longer by craning backward. The moose can be seen on the moonlit McAdam. Then there's a dim smell of moose, an acrid smell of gasoline. 11:05 Wes: Thank you. Very nice. It's really great to hear it spoken out loud. Spoken is the wrong word. It's the word read, performed. Do you want to say anything about the form of the poem before I ask you about some of the autobiographical background? 11:22 Erin: Yeah. Short lines, six line stanzas, 20, I believe. 28 stanzas in all. Irregularly rhymed, should we say? Kind of like a lot of bishop, you know, we get A, B, C. Then sometimes not rhymed where you might expect. So the rhymes peek their heads out and then. And then recede. Chatty a little bit in places, lots of repetitions of words. But that. That's something we could talk about More. But, yeah, kind of. Kind of mysterious form. One of the best things I've ever heard or read, I guess, about Bishop was by Michael Hoffman, who wrote quite a bit about her. And he said that it seems as though every time Bishop is writing, whether in form or in a kind of nonce form that she's creating, that she seems to be just inventing every form, like from scratch. You know, there's no blueprint. She doesn't have a familiar style in which she writes or particular kind of verse form that she seems to gravitate to. And when she writes, you know, a sistina or a villanelle or a sonnet or something like that, it seems like she's almost inventing the form as she goes along. And in this instance, there's a real. I keep wanting to say homemade after Crusoe in England. But, yeah, I think that's maybe what he was trying to get at, that homemade quality, that sort of bespoke kind of quality. And in the places where the rhyme goes in and out, I think that's really exemplified. 12:53 Wes: Well, it better be bespoke. She took forever to write it. 12:55 Erin: Yeah, that's right. She started this in, I think, 1946. 13:01 Wes: And then she finished it when this 13:04 Erin: was published in Geography 3. So she finished it in the 70s. 13:07 Wes: Okay. 13:08 Erin: Geography 3 came out in 1977. And this must have been published before then, individually, perhaps in the New Yorker, I think. Oh, geography three is 76. I would say maybe 72 is the date that comes to mind. Don't quote me on that. 13:24 Wes: Do we know why it took her so long? Obviously, she put it down for a couple days here and there. 13:29 Erin: It was the July 15th issue, 1972. So close to the day that we're recording. Why did it take her so long? She just worked on things forever and ever and ever. You see it, if you read. I highly recommend to listeners that they Get Words in Air. A very, very thick book of all the letters between Bishop and her friend Robert Lowell. You see her bringing up things or even mentioning in a description that she's writing to Lowell in a letter, a line that will later show up in a poem. Yeah. Low rate of productivity is great to. 14:08 Wes: You know, I can relate to that. 14:11 Erin: I take it as my model, honestly. Like, you know, live. Live Large and die with a slim Collected is kind of a. 14:19 Wes: Kind of a great Monroe Doctrine. But call it. What's another name? Bishpro. 14:28 Erin: That's right. 14:29 Wes: Is it right that she was forced to complete it because she agreed to read it this is something for deadlines. Right. At Harvard's Phi Beta Kappa ceremony. 14:38 Erin: I didn't know that. I know she read it at that ceremony, but I didn't know that that's what. The impetus for completing it. But that doesn't surprise me. 14:45 Wes: Yeah. So deadlines help every once in a while. 14:47 Erin: Absolutely, absolutely. 14:49 Wes: And then biographically. Right. This is based on a trip that she actually took, and she. She'd been to visit relatives in Nova Scotia and then came back on this bus trip. And the. There really was a moose. There really was a collie. Seven relatives for the rest of it. Yeah, yeah. Seven else. 15:11 Erin: Yeah, yeah. The specificity and all of it's. You know, there is a kind of like a photo realism, not just in the style, but in the. You know, we could sort of be certain that these things happened the way that she is recording them somehow, and yet she's spinning it into something more than just reportage. 15:30 Wes: So she was raised partly by her grandparents in Great Village, Nova Scotia. Right. Her. Her father had died in infancy and her mother was institutionalized. 15:41 Erin: That's right, yeah. 15:41 Wes: She aged at. When she was 5. 15:43 Erin: That's right. 15:44 Wes: So it's important just because. Yeah. The bus is leaving Nova Scotia, but go. Go ahead. 15:48 Erin: Yeah, it is important. She was born in 1911 in Worcester, Massachusetts, and she's buried there. I've seen her grave up there. It has a line or two lines from the bite on her tombstone. All the untidy activity continues. Awful but cheerful. Yeah. So she was born in 1911. Her father died, I think, of Bright's disease when she was 8 months old. And then her mother was institutionalized when she was 5, and she never saw her again. She didn't die until the 30s, I think, while Bishop was at Vassar. 16:23 Wes: Do we know what she was institutionalized for? Mental illness in general? 16:28 Erin: Yes. I don't know exactly what. In a short story of Bishop's, she describes as her. A scream coming from her mother. And whatever was wrong was exacerbated by her husband's death. And so then Elizabeth was left to be raised by her grandparents in Nova Scotia who were quite poor. And I guess she was kind of running around barefoot on the farm and stuff like that. And her father's family were very wealthy, and so when they came up to visit Elizabeth, they were, I guess, horrified by the fact that she was just like, you know, running around, hanging out with farm animals. And they took her to. Back with him to Worcester, and she was very unhappy there. Very ill child. She had asthma and eczema. And really, like, I think almost died of both at one time or other, very unhappy. And then eventually she moved to an aunt's house in, I want to say, in Revere, Massachusetts, and she was a little happier there. And then she went to Vassar, and I've been to the Vassar campus to see various buildings associated with Bishop and also to see. They did a really fabulous exhibition of her postcards at the Vassar Library a couple of years ago, which I really loved, seeing her hand and her little. In jokes and asides and really amazing to see. Anyway, at Vassar, the librarian there set up a meeting between Bishop and Marianne Moore, who became a mentor to her. They were very close. And then also over the course of her life, she was very close with and had an important friendship with Lowell. Hence the enormous book of letters. I have it here. It's so heavy I could barely pick it up. But this is a great book. It's kind of like an epistolary novel. Yeah. And she was. I think it's important to say, too, that she was a lesbian who had a very long relationship with a Brazilian architect named Lota de Mecedo Soares, who was her partner in Brazil for 15 years. She lived down there, known for travel. A lot of her collections, whether it's Geography three, which is the most obvious one, or north and south, have. There are a lot of Brazilian pumps. There are a lot of geographical poems. The first poem in her first collection, north and south, was the Map, which is often read as a kind of ars poetica. She's known for these types of, you know, sweeping landscapes that the moose begins with, and an interest in landscape and in this kind of bird's eye view. But then also you get these telescoping details, like a cinematic close up interspersed. Much is made of that in Bishop, of that kind of vision of hers, and specifically of, I don't know, the idea that she creates these. These beautiful miniatures, which is true, but maybe sometimes can be a little. I mean, she's revered, as she should be, and she's one of the most popular poets and she also has a great ear and she has so many other great things going on. So I don't want to exclusively focus on that kind of visual element, though it's there and it's very rich. 19:43 Wes: So from narrow provinces of fish and bread and tea. That's a very good opener. Why are they narrow provinces? And what is the. What are the fish and bread and tea doing? Fish and bread sounds vaguely like it could be a biblical reference, but maybe it's not. But you add tea. Right. There's something mundane here and perhaps restricted, provincial. And that's what she's going to be departing from. I mean, well, begins with the tides, but. 20:12 Erin: Yeah, right. Yeah, that's right. Narrow in a few kinds of ways. Because there's a strange. Because of the Bay of Fundy, there's almost that like U shaped corridor of land around it. So Nova Scotia is kind of narrow. And then up into. Then there's the narrow isthmus. I don't know, I don't know if I'm using that word correctly. Up into New Brunswick. Yeah, so there's something maybe a little, I don't want to say spiritually narrow, maybe somewhat limited or like practical. Practical and, you know, just the necessities and a place we learn that that is. That maybe has to be stalwart in response to the vagaries of the water around it. The Bay of Fundy, I was reading online, the tide, over the course of just one tide, can rise and fall 50ft because the bay is like a giant funnel. When it goes out, it just leaves this vast, open, muddy plain basically behind it. 21:16 Wes: She portrays this very beautifully. We get the image of the tide retreating and then the flats that are being illuminated by the setting sun as burning rivulets. And then there's almost a transition into the bus ride when she says on red gravelly roads, eventually the subject of that is going to be the bus. Although in the beginning, before we get to the bus, it looks like the rivulets have almost become roads. So you almost get the sense like the tides come in and it's going to go further inward, it's going to go all the way to Boston, but it's going to become the inhabitants of the bus who are much like the herrings. Right. In the first stanza. The herrings on the tides take herrings on long rides. So it's almost as if as the tide comes in, she is caught in the tide and brought along with it towards her destination. 22:08 Erin: That's right, yeah. And the bay itself, the water itself is also like a traveler, you know, you might go to visit it and find it's not at home, it's gone out for on a trip or something. So there's also that connection as well. Whereas the roads are part of this more solid and dependable and the water being fickle and not always depended on to be there. 22:31 Wes: Well, I was going to say there's something very poignant about the way she describes the tides and whether they're in or out. And I can't put my finger on it exactly. It's almost. It's this idea of. Right. Where if the river enters or retreats in a wall of brown foam depends on if it meets the bay. Coming in the bay, not at home. If the tide is in or coming in the river clashes with it in a wall of brown foam. Is that the idea now? And what's the image there? Is it always a wall of brown foam? Well, either way, I just. Something about this idea of. It depends on whether the bay is at home or something like that. It's a poignant image. 23:12 Erin: It is. It's that sense of just. Of disappointment or just missing someone, like a missed opportunity. Seems kind of surprisingly emotionally resonant, considering that she's talking about a tide. 23:25 Wes: And we. You know, it introduces the idea of home and. Which I think will be significant. And later on we'll talk about whether the moose is safe as houses and the reflections of the elderly and all that stuff. But. 23:40 Erin: And boundaries, too, right. You have very slippery boundary between the bay and the. And the sea, between the rivers and the bay that feeds them. And I think that boundary very much plays into the idea of home. And you could say that the bus seems to be a part of that too. Right. Like the bus becomes the home. So there's a little bit of the slippery idea of this transposition of home life into the bus, or the people on the bus all becoming the. We like a family within it. The way that it can literally cross national boundaries. It's going to Boston across the border. 24:18 Wes: Yeah. And then they'll be observing provincial life, I guess, from within the bus. And. And, you know, a woman shaking out an apron, for instance, or home life. But, yeah, I had the same thought to you. The bus. The interior of the bus becomes its own kind of mobile home, I guess. I guess the wall brown foam part. There's that push and pull, or it's a matter of who's doing the pushing. Right. In one case, the brown foam. The wall of brown foam is caused as. As the river pushes on the retreating tide. And the other case, it's the tide pushing back against the river as it comes in. But in either case, there's a clash there. 24:58 Erin: Then there are places, though, where there's blurring of boundaries. Like one of my favorite lines in the whole poem, the idea of the churches as ridged as clamshells. She always takes that. This is much remarked upon among scholars of Bishop. Where you get the thing that's. That's really big, suddenly reduced in size to the handheld, but coming out of the same idiom. You know, both the clamshell and this clapboard church are in a way equally native to Nova Scotia. The brilliance of connecting those two things and fishing being an industry in the area, you know, sort of springing out of the fishing industry. 25:42 Wes: Yeah. And shells are what's left as the tide retreats. Right. As it's as if the houses are just the natural residue of a retreating tide. 25:52 Erin: That's great. 25:52 Wes: From the beginning of the poem, there's a sense of momentum, and almost like you, at least in my case, I felt like I'm on a camera moving over the landscape, and it starts with the tide, and then it moves to the burning rivulets. Right. So now we're hovering over. I don't know what you would call it, a. A tidal plane. Anyway, she calls it the flats. Right. So all the silt, and we're moving along there, and then suddenly we're on a gravelly road. So the sun takes over from the sea. The redness of the sun. And then the bus takes over from the sun. But that's the momentum of the poem is from sea to sun to bus. 26:37 Erin: Yeah. The bus flashes pink. We get lots of pairs of the same word, creating a kind of chime with each other. So we get the windshield flashing pink. Pink glancing off of metal. And we wonder, I suppose, because part of the reason why the roads are red is because of the clay content. Right. Of the road itself. So we get that combination of, like, something red in the road or in the composition of the soil and rock of the area. 27:07 Wes: Laterite, I think, which I only know because of Graham Green, who I've been reading. Oh, and what heart of the matter. He's talking about laterite houses, like. So from the red clay, you can make, you know, homes from as well, and common in Sierra Leone. So he used the word like a hundred times before he finally looked it up. All right. There must be something that's going to not know what he's talking about. I'm like, oh, okay, now I get it. Yeah. 27:41 Erin: So that's the mineral, the. 27:44 Wes: It's reddish. Yeah. Reddish clay type of soil, topsoil or something like that. I should know more about this because I used to write about this, too, when I was writing about transportation and engineering. 27:56 Erin: Right. 27:57 Wes: It's important what kind of soil you're building on. But anyway, I remember nothing about that. But, yeah. So it could be the right word. Who knows? But. But, yeah. So you're getting at the. Yeah. The way the redness of the sun is interacting with the. 28:12 Erin: Yes, it's coming. 28:13 Wes: The redness of the soil. 28:14 Erin: Yeah. And that kind of redness coming from below and above to glint off of the bus. The windshield is flashing pink from the sun and the metal is flashing pink from the road. They're both brushing the dented flank of the blue beat up enamel from one direction or the other, it seems. Yeah. Sort of tunnel of red in which the. In which the bus is traveling. 28:41 Wes: Such a vivid image that she gives us. It made me think, you know, sometimes it's almost better than film. It's more vibrant or more. Don't know how to say it, but I was thinking about this because in some of the philosophy podcasts we do, there are philosophers who deny that we have imagery in our head. Exactly. Or we can never. Which seems true. Right. We can't imagine anything with the vividness that we would have if we actually saw it. But it makes me think when I read a poem like this, but also. And also reading some of the novels I've been reading. Well, there's a special kind of vividness to figurative language that perception can't capture. In some ways it's more. More vivid, definitely. 29:26 Erin: I think the sonic quality of the word, the repeated. Right. It's on the one hand a repeated image, but then it also creates that kind of just the soundscape, makes them feel somehow more synesthetic to say, but somehow more picturable or more tangible or more. I don't know, the pink glancing off metal, the dented flank beat up enamel. You know, there's just. It's like. I think that's contributing to it, to the vividness of the image. And yeah, you talked about momentum, too. I mean, this entire. This whole first sentence is six stanzas long. It ends with. And Akali supervises. So there's also that kind of. Yeah. Locomotive propulsion of the camera work, so to speak, Zooming in and then following the road into the bus. And then the bus arrives to sort of catch again, quite cinematically the scene that's actually happening or the place where the eye, if there is an eye in the poem, actually is the lone traveler embracing these relatives with the collie watching on. So there's a sense in which the I eye of the poem doesn't actually catch up with the speaker until stanza six and the end of this first sentence until we get goodbye to the elms, to the farm, to the dogs. So there's kind of lamination at that moment of the I eye and the capital I. 30:49 Wes: We seem to be gradually getting more of a point of view. Right. It's very omniscient in the beginning, hovering over the landscape. And I think gradually we're going to be getting a her point of view in the bus and then a we. But also just to note, this is one. I think this is the first of three pauses. Right. There's gonna. It's gonna pause here, the bus. The momentum is gonna stop as the bus lets on the lone traveler, which I presume is her. Right. Her saying goodbye. And then there'll be a pause when the amicable freckled woman gets on. She's there because we need everything to be in threes. And then we. Then we're gonna pause for the moose in the very end. I didn't miss anything. Right. There's not other places where we stop? 31:32 Erin: No. I mean, there are, of course, stanzas that end some more definitively than others and stopped with a period. There's a stop at Bass River. Right. So there is a little bit of that kind of start. Stop syntactically. But I think you're right that those are the stops where there's content. 31:49 Wes: Content goes. 31:50 Erin: Yes. And where there's a very particular. Yeah, the content of the bus, except for the moose obviously doesn't get on the bus. But there's a stop that's motivated, let's say, rather than just being described as various stops along the way where we don't know who got on and who got off or whatever. Certainly there's also a movement toward that more personal experience of the speaker. But then there are also things that the speaker couldn't possibly know or you know, because once she's said goodbye to everyone and gets on the bus, then we also get the sort of nature show close ups. The crystals of fog, the lupins like apostles, the sweet peasants clinging. One of my favorite parts, clinging to their wet white string on the whitewashed fences. Again, we get two uses of white right next to each other. Bumblebees creeping in the foxgloves. All things you really can't see from certainly from a moving bus. 32:43 Wes: Yeah, the point of view gets focused very, very gradually, maybe through the whole palm. Maybe it's not fully focused until the very end, but. Yeah. So you're pointing out something important which is at the sort of omniscient point of view is still here in these very. What do you call it when you take a close up with your phone? Macro, ironically. Yeah. These very close up pictures of flora and fauna and very Beautiful. 33:12 Erin: Yeah. They compound and then they get more and more loaded and mysterious. And just when we're about to maybe go over the edge, we get recalled back a little bit. That's at least how I'm reading, for instance, stanza 12, about the ship's port lantern and the boot and the bark of the dog. And then suddenly a woman climbs on the bus. And so we're sort of stopped from going off into some sort of train of thought that you could follow there down a rabbit hole. But I love that stanza on red light swimming through the dark. It reminds me of the last stanza of disillusionment, of 10 o'. Clock. Do you know the old sailor, drunk and asleep in his boots, catches tigers in red weather? I think that's how it goes, the Stevens bomb, because we get the boots and the red light in the ship, so they're probably. No. No real connection there. 34:07 Wes: So all of these little intricate descriptions that she's giving, right. It begins with the light growing richer, which I take it mean, means we're approaching dusk and evening, or we're in dusk and it's evening is approaching and a kind of mini winter, Right. Something. It's a diurnal cycle, but there's a bit of a parallel to something seasonal. Right. So we get crystals forming and the images like sweet peas clinging and the bumblebees inside foxgloves. As evening commences, it's almost like. I don't know if this is true, but it's almost as if we're getting the response of the animals and flora and fauna to the commencement of evening. That's our first indication of it. So I was surprised to see, okay, it's still light out enough for us to see a woman shaking a tablecloth out after supper. And that is beautifully described as a pale flickering. Right. Almost as if that's something like the light reflecting off the enamel bus, or not pink anymore, but just a flickering of pale light and then gone, I suppose. Does that mean that we're now without light? Is that sort of the way nighttime is ushered in by the end of the next stanza? And it's in the next stanza that we see a red light in the dark. Now we have a ship in the dark. So it's almost as if. Yeah, the shaking of the tablecloth is like a magician. Abracadabra. Now it's nighttime, Right? 35:39 Erin: Yeah. I love that. Yeah. You're making me realize how many connections there are to Keats in this poem. Right. There's something Keatsian about it, very. To Autumn, you get the sweet peas clinging on the fence. You get that image of fecundity things on top of other things. You know, the mossed cottage trees and the late flowers for the bees. And then the shaking out of the tablecloth is like the hair lifted by the winnowing wind. Right. Because there's. There's wind, there are flowers and bees. And then there's also, of course, redness and that image of, you know, like the evening. Autumn. Evening redness. And maybe this is. Yeah. Rows of sugar maples. Those could be red as well. If we're in an autumnal landscape, can't be too late because everything is, you know, it's got to be like August, maybe because we have this. Or. No, I guess maybe not. Gray glazed cabbages. I don't know enough about cabbages to know at what point in their development. 36:40 Wes: Yeah. Whatever season it is. I just think that the evening is almost like a mini winter. It gets colder and we see the. 36:46 Erin: Definitely. 36:47 Wes: We see the effects of it. But, yeah, maybe autumn is probably the logical season for. 36:53 Erin: Right. Yeah. And that point. Or that point in the transition from summer to autumn where, I mean, even on a summer night in Nova Scotia, the evening temperature is quite autumnal regardless. And so when the woman climbs on with the market bags, we get. 37:09 Wes: Shall we take a. Shall we? 37:12 Erin: Oh, yes. 37:13 Wes: Let's let the freckled amicable woman on in part two. 37:17 Erin: She'll have to wait. 37:18 Wes: Let's not let her on the bus yet. 37:20 Erin: You have to wait for everyone else to get off before you can get on. It's one of the cardinal rules of public transportation. Okay, we will continue in part two. Thank you. 37:29 Wes: Thank you.

Please enjoy this Summer Salon Series episode of Breaking Form Selects: Ai Support Breaking Form by reviewing the show on Apple Podcasts here.Aaron's STOP LYING is available from the Pitt Poetry Series. BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE is available from Bridwell Press. James's ROMANTIC COMEDY is available from Four Way Books.  Notes:The poet Ai was noted for her uncompromising poetic vision and dramatic monologues which give voice to marginalized, poor, and abused speakers. She  legally changed her name to Ai which means “love” in Japanese. Ai self-identified as Japanese, Choctaw-Chickasaw, Black, Irish, Southern Cheyenne, and Comanche. Her collections include: Cruelty (1973), Killing Floor (1978), Sin (1986), Fate (1991), Greed (1993), Vice: New and Selected Poems (1999) which was awarded the National Book Award for Poetry, and Dread (2003).Read more about her (as well as poems by her) here. Read her obituary in the New York Times here, and this recollection essay by Tamiko Beyer in Kenyon Review here.Watch Ai read from her first book here (~6 min; recording made in November 1974).We discussed Ai in our episode "We Can Shift the Canon"Poems we read by Ai include:"The Hitchhiker" - hear Ai read it here. "Twenty-Year Marriage""James Dean""True Love" 

TheWanderingPaddy Poetry - The Book of Truths. Out Now on Amazon. LOVE AS EXISTENCE, NOT DECORATION available November. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Full episode description What might become possible if you stopped keeping an escape route—and devoted yourself completely to what you love? In this intimate and poetic conversation, Michael sits down with bestselling poet and author Allie Michelle, whose work explores love, loss, creativity, lineage, and the courage to remain fully human. Allie shares the moment she closed her businesses and committed herself entirely to writing—only to receive an unexpected book offer from HarperCollins. As she describes it: “You chose your art, and your art chose you back.” Together, Michael and Allie explore what it means to create in an age of constant distraction; why boredom may be the birthplace of art; and how the parts of ourselves we suppress often return through the people we love. Allie reflects on walking the Camino de Santiago without her phone, becoming “Freedom Wolf,” and moving from being a writer holding a pen to becoming “a pen in life's hand.” They also journey through the unsent words we carry, the courage required to keep the heart open, the wisdom of lineage, and the beauty of making something no one may ever witness—from a pianist playing alone in a forest to an Indigenous flower blessing offered at sunrise. This is a conversation about burning the boats, letting failure deepen the work, loving people beyond our projections, and singing your song even—and especially—when no one is listening. In this episode: Why distraction is the death of art and boredom its birthplace The danger of living like a personal brand How to recognize the work that is truly calling you What Allie learned from a samurai master Burning the boats and abandoning your escape routes Why failure is a comma, not a period The connection between suppressed identity and romantic attraction Reclaiming the wild, “feral” parts of ourselves The practice of identifying your unsent letters Creating as an offering rather than a performance Why sensitivity can become an artist's greatest instrument Honoring endings, impermanence, and the many lives we live Allie closes the episode with a breathtaking poem imagining a life lived in reverse—a reminder to find magic in the ordinary and return to the only moment we ever truly possess: Just here. Just now. Just this. Featured book: Don't Forget to Light the Candles by Allie Michelle. Michael Trainer has spent 30 years learning from Nobel laureates, neuroscientists, and wisdom keepers worldwide. He's the author of RESONANCE: The Art and Science of Human Connection (March 31, 2026), co-creator of Global Citizen and the Global Citizen Festival, and host of the RESONANCE podcast.Featured in Forbes, Inc, Good Morning America. Follow on YouTube

How do you find joy in suffering? That's one of the questions Christian Wiman explores in his poetry and his life.The former editor of Poetry magazine, Wiman is the author of seven books of poetry, including his latest, The Dance. He also teaches at Yale Divinity School. He's been called “the most important Christian writer in America,” though his relationship with God is marked by uncertainty as much as faith. That tension runs through his poetry, where mystical experience, doubt, suffering, and joy continually collide.His understanding of mortality is also shaped by a 20-year battle with cancer. Diagnosed with a rare form of lymphoma and initially given only a few years to live, Wiman has come close to death several times. Yet he speaks about suffering not simply as something to endure, but as a strange territory in which beauty and wonder can sometimes be found.Wiman craves direct experiences of the world, but he finds that writing poetry helps him fully appreciate these fleeting moments of awe and wonder. A frosted hosta, an old candlestick, the trills of a red-winged blackbird—small encounters like these can open onto deeper questions about meaning, eternity, and what Wordsworth called “seeing into the life of things.”—00:00:00 Intro00:02:40 Poetry, Awe and Wonder00:15:10 Twenty Years Battling Cancer00:21:55 Joy in Suffering00:30:45 Seeing Into the Life of Things00:39:40 A Last Poem and Farewell—Links: Book: The Dance Book: Glimmerings: Letters on Faith Between a Poet and a Theologian Book: Zero at the Bone: Fifty Entries Against Despair Yale Divinity School website Profile of sculptor Lee Bontecou Wonder Cabinet is hosted by Anne Strainchamps and Steve Paulson. Find out more about the show at https://wondercabinetproductions.com, where you can subscribe to the podcast and our newsletter.

692. Part 2 of Derby Gisclair's presentation on dueling in old New Orleans. Derby is a New Orleans historian, author, and researcher specializing in 19th-century Gulf Coast culture, social customs, and affairs of honor. Known for his deep archival work, Gisclair unpacks how rituals like dueling under the Dueling Oaks defined Southern gentlemanly culture, local politics, and public life in early New Orleans. Now available: Liberty in Louisiana: A Comedy. The oldest play about Louisiana, author James Workman wrote it as a celebration of the Louisiana Purchase. Now it is back in print for the first time in 222 years. Order your copy today! This week in the Louisiana Anthology. Huey Long. My First Days in the White House.     Today extreme inequalities in the distribution of wealth have closed the doors of opportunity to millions of our children.     Education is a function which the states can handle adequately only if helped by the federal government, and the government ought to see that such benefits of education are extended to all classes of citizens; but here in our beloved America we find inequalities in the benefits of the public schools. Some children are given excellent educational facilities in great, sanitary buildings with ample equipment, with well-fed, well-trained teachers. Other children have poor educational facilities, unsanitary buildings, meager equipment,untrained, poorly-paid teachers. The bitter fruits of these inequalities of opportunity, which endure for generations, must and shall be corrected. This week in Louisiana history. August 14, 1903. Albert Batson hanged in Calcasieu Parish Jail for murder of six members of Welsh family. This week in New Orleans history. August 14, 1812: The first Louisiana State Legislature convened in New Orleans following the state's admission to the Union earlier that year. This week in Louisiana. Northeast Louisiana Children's Museum Year‑Round Attraction 323 Walnut Street Monroe, LA 71201 Website: nelcm.org The Northeast Louisiana Children's Museum is a hands‑on learning space on the Ouachita River in downtown Monroe, offering interactive exhibits for children of all ages. The museum features creative play environments, science‑based activities, and rotating traveling exhibits, making it a favorite destination for families across North Louisiana. Interactive Exhibits: Permanent installations include the Firehouse with a sliding pole, Health Hall where kids can play paramedic, Toddlertown for ages 4 and under, Kids' Cafe, Bubbleworks, and The Big Mouth -- a walk‑inside anatomy exhibit. Special Events: Seasonal programming includes traveling exhibits and the annual transformation into Santa's Christmas Village with ice skating, crafts, and storytime. Hours:Tuesday-Friday: 9 a.m.-4 p.m.Saturday: 10 a.m.-5 p.m.Sunday: 1 p.m.-5 p.m. Admission: $7 per person (ages 2+); group rate $5 for groups of 15 or more. Location: The museum sits on the Ouachita River in downtown Monroe -- look for the purple building. Postcards from Louisiana. The Rock Block Band at Felix's Restaurant and Oyster Bar. Listen on Apple Podcasts. Listen on audible. Listen on Spotify. Listen on TuneIn. Listen on iHeartRadio. The Louisiana Anthology Home Page. Like us on Facebook. 

TheWanderingPaddy Poetry - The Book of Truths. Out Now on Amazon. LOVE AS EXISTENCE, NOT DECORATION available November. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

TheWanderingPaddy Poetry - The Book of Truths. Out Now on Amazon. LOVE AS EXISTENCE, NOT DECORATION available November. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

[REBROADCAST FROM April 2023] Revolutionary Era poet Phillis Wheatley was an enslaved woman who nevertheless became one of the most celebrated poets of her day. Author David Waldstreicher discusses his book, The Odyssey of Phillis Wheatley: A Poet's Journeys Through American Slavery and Independence, as part of our Full Bio series. Cover art courtesy of the publisher Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Lauren Delapenha speaks to Emily Everett about her poems “Supermarketing” and “If You Are Learning English,” which appear in The Common's spring issue. Lauren also discusses her process and revision methods, her time at the Disquiet Literary Program in Lisbon, and how balancing both teaching and writing challenges her. Lauren is a Jamaican poet and English teacher. She earned her master's in creative writing from the University of Oxford, and her work has received an Oxbelly Fellowship, a Helen Zell and Jamaica Poet Laureate's Young Writers Prize for Poetry, a Grindstone International Poetry Prize, and two Pushcart nominations. She currently lives and teaches in Connecticut. ­­Read Lauren's poems in The Common here. Learn more about her work here. The Common is a print and online literary magazine publishing stories, essays, and poems that deepen our collective sense of place. On our podcast and in our pages, The Common features established and emerging writers from around the world. Read more and subscribe to the magazine at thecommononline.org, and follow us on Instagram, Bluesky, and Facebook. Emily Everett is managing editor of the magazine and host of the podcast. In 2025 her debut novel All That Life Can Afford was a Reese's Book Club pick, and her work appeared in The New York Times Modern Love column. Previous publications include the Kenyon Review, Electric Literature, Tin House, and Mississippi Review. She was a 2022 Massachusetts Cultural Council Fellow in Fiction. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

Lauren Delapenha speaks to Emily Everett about her poems “Supermarketing” and “If You Are Learning English,” which appear in The Common's spring issue. Lauren also discusses her process and revision methods, her time at the Disquiet Literary Program in Lisbon, and how balancing both teaching and writing challenges her. Lauren is a Jamaican poet and English teacher. She earned her master's in creative writing from the University of Oxford, and her work has received an Oxbelly Fellowship, a Helen Zell and Jamaica Poet Laureate's Young Writers Prize for Poetry, a Grindstone International Poetry Prize, and two Pushcart nominations. She currently lives and teaches in Connecticut. ­­Read Lauren's poems in The Common here. Learn more about her work here. The Common is a print and online literary magazine publishing stories, essays, and poems that deepen our collective sense of place. On our podcast and in our pages, The Common features established and emerging writers from around the world. Read more and subscribe to the magazine at thecommononline.org, and follow us on Instagram, Bluesky, and Facebook. Emily Everett is managing editor of the magazine and host of the podcast. In 2025 her debut novel All That Life Can Afford was a Reese's Book Club pick, and her work appeared in The New York Times Modern Love column. Previous publications include the Kenyon Review, Electric Literature, Tin House, and Mississippi Review. She was a 2022 Massachusetts Cultural Council Fellow in Fiction. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/literary-studies

Lauren Delapenha speaks to Emily Everett about her poems “Supermarketing” and “If You Are Learning English,” which appear in The Common's spring issue. Lauren also discusses her process and revision methods, her time at the Disquiet Literary Program in Lisbon, and how balancing both teaching and writing challenges her. Lauren is a Jamaican poet and English teacher. She earned her master's in creative writing from the University of Oxford, and her work has received an Oxbelly Fellowship, a Helen Zell and Jamaica Poet Laureate's Young Writers Prize for Poetry, a Grindstone International Poetry Prize, and two Pushcart nominations. She currently lives and teaches in Connecticut. ­­Read Lauren's poems in The Common here. Learn more about her work here. The Common is a print and online literary magazine publishing stories, essays, and poems that deepen our collective sense of place. On our podcast and in our pages, The Common features established and emerging writers from around the world. Read more and subscribe to the magazine at thecommononline.org, and follow us on Instagram, Bluesky, and Facebook. Emily Everett is managing editor of the magazine and host of the podcast. In 2025 her debut novel All That Life Can Afford was a Reese's Book Club pick, and her work appeared in The New York Times Modern Love column. Previous publications include the Kenyon Review, Electric Literature, Tin House, and Mississippi Review. She was a 2022 Massachusetts Cultural Council Fellow in Fiction. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/literature

My guest this week on The Sewers of Paris is David Lauterstein, the founder and CEO of Nasty Pig. You probably know his company for their sexy fetish-infused street wear, so you might not expect that David's background is in writing poetry. But the closer you look at his approach to designing clothing, the more it makes sense — using fabric to build a scene like a writer uses words. David recently published a memoir called Sodomy Gods, chronicling the early days of his company and how its origins lie in a surprisingly wholesome love story.

Today’s conversation with poet Morgan Parker was recorded in-person in 2019 and was Morgan’s second appearance on the show. Both conversations with Morgan are unforgettable, so don’t miss her first appearance in 2017 after you enjoy today’s episode about Magical Negro. Later that same year Magical Negro won the National Book Critics Circle Award in Poetry. Danez Smith, another past guest of this show, said this about it: “2019 justly belongs to Morgan Parker. Her poems shred me with their intelligence, dark humor and black-hearted vision. Parker is one of this generation's best minds, able to hold herself and her world, which includes all of us, up to impossible lights, revealing every last bit of our hopes, failings, possibilities and raptures.” For the bonus audio archive Morgan contributed a reading from her YA novel Who Put this Song on? which joins contributions from Kaveh Akbar, Tommy Pico, Dionne Brand, Nikky Finney, Natalie Diaz and more. To find out about how to subscribe to the bonus audio archive and all the other potential benefits and rewards of joining the Between the Covers community as a listener supporter, head over to the show’s Patreon page. And don’t miss Milkweed Editions bookstore BookShop for even more books to explore.

Robert Moor is a journalist and essayist whose work has appeared in The New Yorker, Harper's, The Atlantic, Emergence, and The New York Times. His first book, On Trails, won the National Outdoor Book Award and the William Saroyan International Prize. He lives in Halfmoon Bay, British Columbia. His new book is 'In Trees'. Topics 00:00 Welcome, and the new SAND course 00:04 A tree is a verb, not a noun 00:06 Branching, brains, and why AI has no roots 00:13 Pruning, gnarling, and the beauty of wounds 00:16 The Bodhi tree at Bodh Gaya 00:19 From On Trails to In Trees 00:22 Tree thinking and the tree of contents 00:27 Intelligence without anthropomorphizing 00:34 Cedars, Haida Gwaii, and deep time 00:38 Branching futures, many apocalypses, and grief 00:47 Hierarchy, the rhizome, and the Korowai 00:52 Rootedness and relationality Robert Moor In Trees: An Exploration (Simon & Schuster, April 2026) On Trails: An Exploration Robert Moor at Hill Nadell Literary Agency Books mentioned Songs for Relinquishing the Earth by Jan Zwicky. Originally hand-sewn by the author on recycled stock and distributed by request; later won the Governor General's Award for Poetry. Between Earth and Sky: Our Intimate Connections to Trees by Nalini Nadkarni The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard The Light Eaters by Zoë Schlanger Thus Spoke the Plant by Monica Gagliano The Secret Life of Trees by Colin Tudge, source of the "big plant with a stick up the middle" definition Indigenizing Philosophy through the Land by Brian Burkhart Sand Talk by Tyson Yunkaporta A Thousand Plateaus by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, source of the rhizome A Secular Age by Charles Taylor, source of the buffered and porous self “Ancient Green” by Robin Wall Kimmerer The Garden of Forking Paths by Jorge Luis Borges A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson People mentioned Patrick von Aderkas, tree biologist at the University of Victoria, who described a tree as "a growth form" Jeff Lichtman, neuroscientist and Dean of Science at Harvard Robert J. O'Hara, who coined the term "tree thinking" Umeek (Richard Atleo), Nuu-chah-nulth hereditary chief and philosopher, author of Tsawalk: A Nuu-chah-nulth Worldview Michael Pollan, on the distinction between sentience, intelligence, and consciousness John McPhee, on structural experimentation in nonfiction Stephen Tamatea King, the first known tree sitter, who climbed totara trees in New Zealand in the 1970s Joanna Macy, "there is no away to throw things to" Places and peoples Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, Haida Gwaii The Korowai of Papua, treehouse dwellers with almost no hierarchy Nuu-chah-nulth communities of Vancouver Island The Bodhi tree at Bodh Gaya, a Ficus religiosa replanted from the offspring of the original Lucy, the Australopithecus afarensis fossil in Ethiopia Purgatorius, the ground-dwelling ancestor of mammalian life From SAND Liberation Psychology: Roots, Memory, and Practice, the new nine-month course with Dr. Samah Jabr, Dr. Eduardo Duran, Linda Thai, Daniel Foor, Dr. Jennifer Mullan, and Dr. Bayo Akomolafe. Scholarships available for 20 to 30 percent of seats. Sila, a nonlinear documentary following Inuit women through 300 years of Danish colonialism, available to watch now The Eternal Song film series Previous episodes with Monica Gagliano and Tyson Yunkaporta Contact SAND podcast@scienceandnonduality.com Support the mission of SAND and the production of this podcast by becoming a SAND Member

Send us Fan MailIn this episode, I'm joined once again by John Michael Greer, this time to discuss his newest Aeon Books volume, The Magical Writings of W. B. Yeats.Together, we discuss Yeats as a poet, magician, and highly-trained occult philosopher, with a special focus on the original 1925 edition of his great work, A Vision. We talk about George Yeats and the automatic writing that helped shape the system, as well as the works of Tolkien and Jung, the nature of Imaginal Realms, creative masks, and much more. It's always a true pleasure to have JMG back on the show, and I hope you enjoy this conversation as much as I did.--Find John Michael Greer online -JMG's works on Bookshop: https://bookshop.org/shop/jmgBuy 'The Magical Writings of W.B. Yeats': https://spirit.aeonbooks.com/product/magical-writings-of-wb-yeats/95401JMG's Dreamwidth page: https://ecosophia.dreamwidth.org/JMG's website - Ecosophia: https://ecosophia.net/---Upcoming Events with JoAnna:Aug. 15, 2026 - 10am-2pm:The Diviner's Path Book Event at The Serpent's Key in Hanover, PA   - https://serpentskeyshoppe.com/Aug. 20, 2026 - 6pm:Free Workshop and Talk at Barnes and Noble in Park Slope, Brooklyn, NY.  - https://stores.barnesandnoble.com/event/9780062217464-0September 4–7, 2026:TempleFest at Prindle Pond Conference Center in Charlton, MassachusettsSupport Coffee and DivinationJoAnna's book, "The Diviner's Path: A Nature-Led Approach to Divination with Tarot, Runes & Pendulums", is now available, from Llewellyn Publishing:https://amzn.to/4e6EXH9Thank you so much for the support the book has already received. If you've read and enjoyed it, even a brief, honest review on Amazon, Goodreads, or the site where you purchased it can make an enormous difference in helping other readers discover the work.Coffee and Divination:https://www.coffeeanddivination.com/Instagram:https://www.instagram.com/coffeeanddivination/Patreon:https://www.patreon.com/c/coffeeanddivinationYouTube: The Coffee and Divination Podcast - YouTubeThank you for listening, and, as always, see you between the worlds...

Retired Butte College instructor Phillip Hemenway has published a collection of his poems, Core Samples

In this inspiring episode of Sisters in Loss, we are honored to speak with Melissa Felix, an author, poet, storyteller, and the founder of Rhoyal Scribe, LLC. Melissa opens up about her unexpected diagnosis of Premature Ovarian Failure (POF) and the profound emotional challenge of grieving a future she always envisioned. For 13 years, she served as a dedicated educator and beloved "school mom," pouring her heart into her students while silently carrying the weight of her own reproductive loss. Melissa shares how she transformed her silent struggle into a powerful voice through writing, ultimately giving birth to her debut poetry collection, Silence Speaks. As a Black woman navigating infertility, she is on a mission to break the stigma, increase awareness, and create safe spaces for honest conversations within Black and Brown communities. Tune in to hear how therapy, online support systems, and the power of the pen helped Melissa find purpose beyond the pain, proving that grief does not have to be the final chapter.

In this week's episode of The Learning Curve, co-hosts Prof. Albert Cheng of Ohio State University and Walter Blanks, Policy and Advocacy Director of EdChoice speak with Carole Boston Weatherford, a New York Times best-selling author of more than 80 children's books and a leading voice in African American children's literature. Weatherford discusses her career writing poetry and history for young readers, including the challenges and rewards of making complex stories accessible through vivid language and imagery. She shares insights into her acclaimed books about Harriet Tubman and Jesse Owens, exploring faith, freedom, perseverance, and racism. Weatherford also discusses her latest book, Black Hands: Builders of Our Nation, which highlights the many contributions of African Americans throughout U.S. history, from the Middle Passage and Black Civil War regiments to HBCUs and the Civil Rights Movement. She explores the Harlem Renaissance and Black literary excellence while discussing how storytelling can help young people understand the people, struggles, and achievements that have shaped America. In closing, she reads a passage from her recent book, Black Hands: Builders of Our Nation.

This episode of Across The Margin : The Podcast features an interview with poet and film producer Janet R. Kirchheimer. Janet is the author of How to Spot One of Us, a collection of poems about the Holocaust and her family (Clal, 2007). She is also the producer of the award-winning film AFTER: Poetry Destroys Silence, a cinematic performance documentary in which contemporary poets, both Jewish and non-Jewish, confront the Holocaust and its aftermath and discuss the responsibility of the spoken word to respond. The first of its kind, where poetry and cinema combine and transcend, AFTER is an exploration of poetry written about the Holocaust and unthinkable trauma in general. In it, contemporary poets talk about the importance and necessity for poetry in a world that still grapples with genocide. Rather than seeing the devastation, AFTER shows how poets respond to catastrophe and write in its aftermath. The film is ultimately about human resiliency, the power and courage to forge new lives, and the value of poetry in looking to the past to help create a better future. Named one of the best films of 2024 by Rogerebert.com, AFTER won Best Feature Documentary at the 2025 Montreal Independent Film Festival. It is a film that, dazzlingly, interlaces sequences of music, archival footage, personal photographs, and documents to offer a modern chronicle of poets examining history and the current day. AFTER serves as both a model and a warning for an increasingly divided and violent planet. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

TheWanderingPaddy Poetry - The Book of Truths. Out Now on Amazon. LOVE AS EXISTENCE, NOT DECORATION available November. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

This week on Next Up to the Mic, we're returning to August 12, 2019, to hear Dan Wilcox read two poems at “The Past in Poetry” reading held at the Olde English Pub in Albany in collaboration with Historic Cherry Hill. +++++ Historic Cherry Hill preserves more than two centuries of Albany history, using family papers, photographs, personal belongings, and the stories of the people who lived and worked there to connect the present with the past. The Past in Poetry invited local poets to do something similar—exploring history through memory, imagination, family, and place. For this episode, we're featuring Albany poet Dan Wilcox. Dan has been a fixture in the Capital Region poetry community for decades. He hosts the Third Thursday Poetry Night at the Social Justice Center in Albany and is a member of the poetry performance group 3 Guys from Albany. He's also a photographer and longtime documentarian of the local poetry scene, joking that he has "the world's largest collection of photographs of unknown poets." His work has appeared in Chronogram, Poetica, Post Traumatic Press, and numerous small-press journals and anthologies. He also publishes poetry through his own A.P.D. imprint, and his chapbook boundless abodes of Albany reflects his longstanding connection to the city and its people. At “The Past in Poetry,” Dan approached history from two different directions. In “Therese's Balcony,” he blends an imagined past with fantasy. Then, in “Where Were the Professors,” he turns his attention to a history he knows firsthand—the early days of Albany's poetry scene. Dan hasn't simply written about Albany's poetry community. For decades, he has been part of it, photographed it, published it, hosted it, and helped preserve its history.

Please enjoy this Summer Salon Series episode of Breaking Form Selects: Lucie Brock-Broido.Support Breaking Form by reviewing the show on Apple Podcasts here.Aaron's STOP LYING is available from the Pitt Poetry Series. BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE is available from Bridwell Press. James's ROMANTIC COMEDY is available from Four Way Books.  Notes:Lucie Brock-Broido was born in Pittsburgh. Her collections include: A Hunger (1988), The Master Letters (1995), Trouble in Mind (2004), and Stay, Illusion (2013), which was a finalist for the National Book Award and the National Books Critics Circle Award. Read more about her, and more poems, here. Read this interview with Elizabeth Metzger on Brock-Broido.Read Askold Melnyczuk's eulogy for LBB here. And read Joelle Biele's review of Stay, Illusion in Harvard Review here.Read LBB"s poem "After the Grand Perhaps"Read about the evolution of the Lady Godiva story here. Poems we read include:"Jessica, from the Well" (Jstor / Virginia Quarterly Review subscription required) -- this version is slightly different than the published version included in A Hunger."Domestic Mysticism""After Raphael""Dove, Interrupted"

Watch the full discussion here: https://renderingunconscious.substack.com/p/ru416-klara-naszkowska-and-ana-tomcic Rendering Unconscious welcomes Drs. Klara Naszkowska and Ana Tomčić back to the podcast! Rendering Unconscious episode 416. On this episode, Klara and Ana discuss their upcoming course "Early Women Psychoanalysts," which will span 14 sessions, starting in September. The course will cover 17 early women psychoanalysts, with Klara focusing on historical and cultural aspects and Ana on clinical applications. Each session will last two hours, including a 10-minute break. The course aims to rewrite and update psychoanalytic history and contemporary thought by integrating these often-overlooked figures' theories and practices, emphasizing the importance of historical justice and the relevance of these women's contributions today. Klara Naszkowska, PhD (she/her) is an educator, research scholar, and writer whose work focuses on the intersections of Jewish women's history, psychoanalysis, Nazi persecution, migration, and memory. She is Professor of Gender, Sexuality, and Women's Studies at Montclair State University (NJ). Ana Tomčić, PhD (she/her) is a cultural historian and psychoanalytic trainee at the Society for Social and Critical Psychoanalysis in Cornwall, UK. Be sure to check out: RU399: EARLY WOMEN PSYCHOANALYSTS WITH KLARA NASZKOWSKA, ANA TOMČIC, CANDICE DUMAS, HÅVARD NILSEN & DÓRA SZABÓ: https://renderingunconscious.substack.com/p/ru399-early-women-psychoanalysts You may find your favorite Rendering Unconscious Podcast episodes and guests here: https://renderingunconscious.substack.com/p/episodes –––––– Fourteen-session online course: Early Women Psychoanalysts Co-taught by Klara Naszkowska and Ana Tomčić Format: 14 Saturdays, spread over the academic year, 12:00-2:00 PM (New York), from September 26, 2026 to June 26, 2027 Includes: Free digital copy of Early Women Psychoanalysts For more information and to register, please visit: https://www.earlywomenpsychoanalysts.com/ Composing with Spielrein: Contemporary Applications of Sabina Spielrein's Work, International interdisciplinary conference, September 5-6, 2026 online. Registration is now OPEN! More info and REGISTER HERE. https://www.spielreinassociation.org/register Conference fee: £10 Second International Conference on Early Women Psychoanalysts The International Association for Spielrein Studies is pleased to announce the Second International Conference on Early Women Psychoanalysts, dedicated to women who engaged with psychoanalysis before the end of World War II. The conference will be held online on April 10–11, 2027. For further details and the Call for Papers please visit: https://www.spielreinassociation.org/conference-early-women-psychoanalysts RU Center news & updates: Our next event is Saturday, August 15th, with the next installment of An Introduction to Psychoanalysis. On Jean Laplanche, queer theory, Heinz Kohut, Self Psychology, Transpersonal Psychology, Abraham Maslow and Stanislav Grof, as well as Israel Regardie, an interesting character at the crossroads of 20th-century psychoanalysis and occultism. https://rucenterforpsychoanalysis.substack.com/p/an-intro-to-psychoanalysis-continues-c7e Rendering Unconscious is also a book: Rendering Unconscious: Psychoanalytic Perspectives, Politics & Poetry vols 1:1 & 1:2 (Trapart Books, 2024): https://amzn.to/4sOqSEu If you are interested in pursuing psychoanalytic treatment or supervision with me, please feel free to contact me directly: www.drvanessasinclair.net/contact/ As always, huge thanks to Carl Abrahamsson for providing the intro and outro music for Rendering Unconscious Podcast. https://linktr.ee/CarlAbrahamsson Links to everything can be found at: https://linktr.ee/renderingunconscious Thank You.

Lords: Kevin Nicholas Topics: Mina the Hollower, game learning/difficulty curves adjusting challenge through options/modifiers Not having a day job any more, the blank page creative block is real. How do i come up with ideas if I don't hate my day job Arcade 1 Up "Hail, Poetry," from The Pirates of Penzance, by W.S. Gilbert https://karenspoetryspot.blogspot.com/2007/11/hail-poetry-by-ws-gilbert.html Wanting to make better food at home BUT within the unique constraints of cooking at home, budget, time, specialised equipment. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkXy12xVnRs https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b38nrUFFpaw Microtopics: The only show on the Internet where topics are discussed. You Are Light. Working with Planetaria. The Game Club. A way to curate and discuss games. Steam reviews that don't count. Completely giving up on tuning your game's difficulty curve and just dropping the tuning parameters in the player's lap. Normie focus testing. Putting the half damage option in the gameplay settings and then putting the no damage option in the accessibility settings. Whether it's still crunch if you're doing it to yourself. Invalidating achievements when the player uses the accessibility options because you still think of them as cheats and want the player to think of them as cheats even as you call them accessibility options. Throwing poop over the wall until the boss dies. Needing a big brother to hand your controller to to play the hard parts. Making all your best prototypes when you're unhappy at your job. Have you heard the good word about PiCoSteveMo? Coming up with a commercially viable prototype ASAP. Making the first thing that comes to mind as quickly as possible and then throwing it away immediately. Becoming a postie so you finally have a day job to hate. Quote-unquote living the dream Why you only get one life in Canabalt. Kids looking at Las Vegas and thinking it looks like bullshit for old people but they still like the feeling of gambling so the play a lot of Binding of Isaac instead. Opening up Pokemon cards packs on Twitch. Opening the pack of Magic cards because you want to feel that rush but you feel nothing because you don't play Magic and don't know what cards are good. Looking for the Magic cards with the coolest quotes on them. Installing a Pac-Man cabinet to liven up your living room's aesthetics. An arcade cabinet that has no controls, it just cycles through the attract modes of various arcade games. Why you want the arcade cabinet to be taller than you are. Putting a tablecloth over the cocktail arcade cabinet when you have your fancy guests over but it keeps making the weird noises so they're like "what's going on down there??" Topic Lords off-season attract mode game jam. Creepypasta attract modes. The four player Avengers arcade game where the attract mode was just the entire running time of Avengers: Age of Ultron. The Minecraft Dungeons arcade machine. Arcade games extruding collectible hero cards. The F-Zero arcade game that you can put your GameCube memory card into to unlock exclusive levels. Zoomers no longer having access to video games because legally they're considered "experiences." Gilbert and Sullivan. Divine Emollient: it's life's moisturizer. Stopping what you're doing to go listen to Pirates of Penzance. Kevin Kline as the Pirate King. Constant emollients on hand. Poetry getting down on one knee and proposing to you. The state of musical theater in the late 1800s. Contexts in which you hear about flowing founts. Poetry's ability to make you want to moisturize. Being into cooking but everyone else suddenly getting way more into cooking. The Mr. Beastification of food Youtube. Using broth from concentrate and it's fine because you don't know any better. Finding new vegetables and trying to figure out how to cook them. Whole spices vs. pre-ground spices. Team Less Time. Why you keep hearing exhortations not to deep fry a turkey. Deep frying gnocchi. Slapped silly by the Fondue Vortex. Which family gets the onion bloomer this week and is eating nothing but blooming onions all week. Relative onion size on different continents. WoW Classic but for fast food.

You can send and text and we love them.. but apparently we cant respond. Sorry!!A daily dose of good news in two minutes time... give or takeLike the podcast, you can support it let's have a coffee …. I mean.. or give me one https://www.buymeacoffee.com/thedavidbeachSupport the showJoin us on Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/groups/awesomenewsdailyor email me at awesomenewsdaily@gmail.com

Poet Maya C. Popa on writing with wonder, the ruthless craft of revision, and building a sustainable life in poetry. You'll learn Why wonder has more in common with the sublime — the beautiful and the terrible — than with simple delight. How a poem loses its charge the moment its ending is visible from the opening line. What “negative capability” asks of a writer stuck in the dark middle of a draft. The question worth asking when the work feels uncomfortable and you're certain something has gone wrong. A ruthless method for finding a poem's true entry point — often buried three-quarters of the way down. When to cut the images you love most, even the ones that took hours to invent. How to write about longing and love without collapsing into confession. Why asking your writing to carry your finances can quietly poison your relationship with it. What to guard at all costs while holding space for other writers. The freedom that arrives once rejection stops meaning anything at all. Resources & Links

Part 1 of Derby Gisclair's presentation on dueling in old New Orleans. Derby is a New Orleans historian, author, and researcher specializing in 19th-century Gulf Coast culture, social customs, and affairs of honor. Known for his deep archival work, Gisclair unpacks how rituals like dueling under the Dueling Oaks defined Southern gentlemanly culture, local politics, and public life in early New Orleans. Now available: Liberty in Louisiana: A Comedy. The oldest play about Louisiana, author James Workman wrote it as a celebration of the Louisiana Purchase. Now it is back in print for the first time in 222 years. Order your copy today! This week in the Louisiana Anthology. Christian Woman's Exchange. Creole Cookery Book. It's a fund raiser for a Christian charity. They still own the Hermann-Grima House, which is now a museum. And they still cook these old recipes there. Epicurean Oysters. Take 3 tablespoonfuls of butter, one of strong, dry mustard; put them in a chopping dish; add pepper and salt; when they commence boiling put in one-half pint of oysters without the liquor; have a hot dish in readiness. Take out the oysters with a fork when cooked, and continue to replace them until all are done. This week in Louisiana history. August 7 1927 Gov. Edwin Edwards born in Marksville, La., son of a sharecropper and a local midwife, a Cajun. This week in New Orleans history. August 7, 1956: The Lake Pontchartrain Causeway officially opened, becoming the longest continuous bridge over water in the world. This week in Louisiana. Visit Louisiana's Old State Capitol Year‑Round Attraction 100 North Blvd. Baton Rouge, LA 70801 Website: louisianaoldstatecapitol.org Louisiana's Old State Capitol is a National Historic Landmark overlooking the Mississippi River, known for its dramatic Gothic Revival architecture and its role in the state's political history. Built between 1847 and 1852, the structure resembles a medieval castle from the outside, while the interior features marble, rich woodwork, and a soaring stained‑glass dome. Today, it houses the Museum of Political History, offering exhibits on Louisiana's governors, the democratic process, and pivotal moments such as the state's 1861 secession and the impeachment proceedings of Gov. Huey P. Long. Architecture: A Gothic Revival 'castle on the river,' complete with towers, battlements, and a cast‑iron spiral staircase. Stained‑Glass Dome: One of the most photographed interiors in Louisiana ' a kaleidoscope of color rising above the central rotunda. Political History Museum: Exhibits on voting, citizenship, past governors, and major legislative events that shaped the state. Free Admission: The museum offers free entry, with guided group tours available Tuesday through Friday and audio tours in four languages. Postcards from Louisiana. The Brass-A-Holics at The French Quarter Fest.

Cricket attracts romantics. Whatever the form, so much of the game's prose is dedicated to reflection and understanding. Whilst many fine writers have penned creative words, poetry isn't as strongly associated. Catching The Light, compiled by authors Nick Hogg and Tim Beard, spans a wide range of contributors, from England's John Arlott to Guyana's John Agard, through to Tim Key and Zaffar Kunial of the modern day. From the joy of taking a single catch to references to the 9/11 terror attacks, the subjects are diverse and intriguing. Publisher Matt Thacker, the brains behind the idea for the collection, joins Geoff Lemon. Buy Catching The Light here https://fairfieldbooks.co.uk/shop/catching-the-light/ Check out the Lord's Performance Centre for activities and courses: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠lords.org/lords/performancecentre⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠  Get 15% off Step One clothes at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠uk.stepone.life/discount/TFW148⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Get tickets to TFW v Wisden @ Wormsley and support The Lord's Taverners ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠uk.emma-live.com/TFWvsWisden⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Could you support the show? You can send us a Nerd Pledge or become a member at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠patreon.com/thefinalword⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, and could win a case of Stomping Ground beer for your trouble. Browse their range at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠stompingground.beer⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Stop snoring with 10% off a Zeus device: use code TFW2026 at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠zeussleeps.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ With Morie Candles you can buy one item, get 30% off the next, with the offer code TFW5. At ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠morie.com.au⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠/discount/TFW5⁠⁠⁠ Get yourself 10% off lovely ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Duncan Fearnley ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠bats and kit with code TFW10 Join England's Test tour of South Africa in 2026 with Gullivers Sports Travel. Learn more or book at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠gulliverstravel.co.uk⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠  ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Get your big NordVPN discount: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠nordvpn.com/tfw⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ or 10% off BIG Boots UK boots and socks at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠bigboots.co.uk/?ref=thefinalword⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Find more at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠finalwordcricket.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Title track by ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Urthboy⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Since it became a state 150 years ago, Colorado's political identity has always been hard to pin down. You might say... it's purplish! But it's also been a leader in things like women's suffrage and civil rights. We explore some of that history today with Purplish. Then, the Colorado River makes life possible for some 40 million people from here to Southern California, but making sure there's enough water to go around is getting harder. Plus, new efforts to preserve the state's wetlands. And, Boulder's "Poetry in the Parks" is part scavenger hunt, part performance. 

Jasmine Mans joins Dr. Thema to speak honestly about the ways we abandon ourselves in relationships and the importance of choosing and loving ourselves. Jasmine Mans is a queer Black poet and performance artist from Newark, New Jersey. Jasmine's debut poetry collection, Black Girl, Call Home (Berkley Penguin Random House) published in 2021 to critical and commercial acclaim, and was named one of the most anticipated books of the season by Oprah, TIME, Vogue, Vulture, Essence, Elle, Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, Refinery 29, Shondaland, Bustle, and Reader's Digest. The collection went on to receive the prestigious Stonewall Honor Award, as well as a BCALA Award in the Poetry category. Jasmine most recently collaborated with the Brooklyn Ballet at the storied Brooklyn Academy of Music, setting her poetry to ballet and classical scores. Jasmine was also a contributor to Nikole Hannah-Jones's The 1619 Project and has co-hosted The Kennedy Center's Arts Across America series alongside renowned author Jason Reynolds. Jasmine began her creative journey with the acclaimed Strivers Row poetry collective, and she continues to perform to sold-out crowds, like the Sundance Film Festival, Broadway's New Amsterdam Theater, and BAM, among many others. Jasmine can currently be heard as the voice of Ulta Beauty's national “Muse” campaign, honoring Black women in the hair and beauty industry. Mixed & Edited by Next Day Podcast info@nextdaypodcast.com