We went to bed last night talking about poetry - not the likelihood of national guard deployment, not which of our neighbors might vandalize our house, but poetry.
Clearly the inaugural moment that stands out in my mind was poet Amanda Gorman, her thoughtful, powerful, playful words that comforted and challenged me. An LA poet, I’m embarrassed to confess I didn’t know about until her appearance on the dais. Less that two years ago she spoke at MOCA, back before the pandemic and I was a regular visitor. How could I miss her?
Every time I encounter poetry in my life it moves me and delights me - yet I rarely seek it out. Maybe it’s the need to hear it that prevent me from picking up texts? Though, when I do, I often find pieces I love to share by reading aloud. Poetry must be spoken. Still, I’m not sure where my ambivalence comes from - too much bad poetry? The need for it to be actively engaged? An arcane medium pushed aside by playlists and podcast? Once again it seems something I ought to engage with and explore in the hopes of a future filled with more poetry and perchance less fear or violence.
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