where are the poets?
past poets in turbulent times are our beacon now.
I scribbled these words onto scrap paper the morning of January 21st 2025. I did not speak them. I did not share them with anyone. They are nothing noteworthy after all. But they are true.
We are in the midst of our country’s humanitarian crisis of my lifetime. If you don’t agree with me, this is not the post for you. Please kindly scroll elsewhere. This one is for the poets. This one is for the poets who agree. For the ones who see.
Poets have always been the truth-tellers. For some reason, our third eye never shut when we were birthed onto this planet. Or it was thrown open during our childhood. We feel, we see, and we cannot look away.
It creates turbulence for us. We do not sit peacefully on this earth. But that is okay. That is our tinder. Pen strikes paper and we flame.
I have been burning for thirty-two years now – bright, brighter, and thankfully not out yet. The words of my heart are sometimes withheld, other times shared. I am a poet after all. I ebb and flow. I am not constant.
Spiral Sense
In response to recent world news, I find myself looking backwards. Fated, damned, ever-evolving – however you call it – humans repeat patterns. To steady myself, I research old poets and writers. I want to know how they lived during their turbulent times.
For Christmas, I received a copy of Maria Popova’s The Universe In Verse — a brilliant book that hooked me with its subtitle “15 portals to wonder through science & poetry.” Through its passage “The More Loving One,” I learned more about W.H. Auden than I have ever known before (Thank you Maria).
Auden lived during World War II and wrote about current events, the cosmos, moral issues, and psychology. His piece September 1, 1939 was a pillar and a balm for society following the Nazi’s invasion of Poland and the start of the war. His piece apexes with “We must love one another or die.”
Immediately I was struck by the timing of my introduction to Auden and his poem. Which led me to wonder, who is writing our balm? Who is fanning their flame during this dark night? Striking the tinder of observation with honest words. We need your work. We need to be kept warm.
So this is my rally cry. I want to know the poets who are delving into their depths, to meet the whole of humanity in this space. Who will not look away. I want to know what you see with your third eye open.
Together, we can build a fire warm enough for conversation, or simply for the weary to rest a while, to remember. We have the responsibility to illuminate the parts of the heart many people cannot access, through the parts of ourselves we cannot shut off. And if the time comes, Lord knows the poets could burn it all down.
Gratitude, etc.
I am indebted to Maria Popova & her work. I cannot recommend The Marginalian and The Universe In Verse enough.
When the news makes me tender, I turn on this song.
I want poets, poets, and more poets!
Beautiful!