In this episode, Fehmida talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to her – 'Still I Rise' by Maya Angelou.
​
Fehmida joined The Poetry Exchange online, via video call, for one of our Lockdown Exchanges. It was in celebration of Manchester Literature Festival, which you can find out more about here:

www.manchesterliteraturefestival.co.uk

You can also find out more about our wonderful guest, Fehmida, and the work she pioneers for women and those who are under-represented in publishing here:

www.fehmidamaster.com
www.masterhousepublishing.com

Fehmida is in conversation with Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.

Fehmida reads 'Still I Rise'.

*****

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou, "Still I Rise" from And Still I Rise: A Book of Poems.  Copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou.  Used by permission of Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

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57. Still I Rise by Maya Angelou - A Friend to Fehmida

In this episode, Lewi talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to him – 'The Horses' by Ted Hughes.
​
Lewi joined The Poetry Exchange online, via video call, for one of our Lockdown Exchanges. It was in celebration of Manchester Literature Festival, which you can find out more about here:

www.manchesterliteraturefestival.co.uk

Lewi is in conversation with Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.

Fiona reads 'The Horses'

*****

The Horses 
By Ted Hughes

I climbed through woods in the hour-before-dawn dark.
Evil air, a frost-making stillness,

Not a leaf, not a bird-
A world cast in frost. I came out above the wood

Where my breath left tortuous statues in the iron light.
But the valleys were draining the darkness

Till the moorline blackening dregs of the brightening grey
Halved the sky ahead. And I saw the horses:

Huge in the dense grey ten together
Megalith-still. They breathed, making no move,

With draped manes and tilted hind-hooves,
Making no sound.

I passed: not one snorted or jerked its head.
Grey silent fragments
Of a grey still world.

I listened in emptiness on the moor-ridge.
The curlews tear turned its edge on the silence.

Slowly detail leafed from the darkness. Then the sun
Orange, red, red erupted

Silently, and splitting to its core tore and flung cloud,
Shook the gulf open, showed blue,

And the big planets hanging
I turned

Stumbling in a fever of a dream, down towards
The dark woods, from the kindling tops,

And came the horses.
There, still they stood,
But now steaming, and glistening under the flow of light,

Their draped stone manes, their tilted hind-hooves
Stirring under a thaw while all around them

The frost showed its fires. But still they made no sound.
Not one snorted or stamped,

Their hung heads patient as the horizons,
High over valleys, in the red levelling rays

In din of the crowded streets, going among the years, the faces,
May I still meet my memory in so lonely a place

Between the streams and the red clouds, hearing curlews,
Hearing the horizons endure.


New Selected Poems by Ted Hughes. Faber & Faber; Main edition (6 Mar. 1995)

58. The Horses by Ted Hughes - A Friend to Lewi

In this special, feature-length episode, pioneering broadcaster, writer and host of On Being, Krista Tippett talks about the poem that has been a friend to her: ‘Good Lord The Light’ by Christian Wiman.

Krista Tippett has created a singular space for reflection and conversation in American and global public life.  She founded and leads the On Being Project (www.onbeing.org)— a groundbreaking media and public life initiative pursuing “deep thinking and moral imagination, social courage and joy to renew inner life, outer life, and life together.” As the creator and host of the Peabody Award-winning On Being radio show, heard on over 400 public radio stations across the US, Tippett takes up the great animating questions of human life: What does it mean to be human, how we do want to live, and who will we be to each other?

In 2014, President Obama awarded Krista the National Humanities Medal at the White House for “thoughtfully delving into the mysteries of human existence. On the air and in print, Ms. Tippett avoids easy answers, embracing complexity and inviting people of every background to join her conversation about faith, ethics, and moral wisdom.”

Krista is also the author of three books at the intersection of spiritual inquiry, social healing, science, and the arts: Becoming Wise: An Inquiry into the Mystery and Art of Living; Einstein’s God: Conversations about Science and the Human Spirit and Speaking of Faith, a memoir of religion in our time.

Krista is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange hosts Fiona Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.

‘Good Lord The Light’ can be found in poet Christian Wiman’s latest collection – ‘Survival is a Style’, from Farrar, Straus and Geroux: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374272050

You can listen to Krista’s extraordinary range of life-expanding conversations through the On Being podcast – which can be found wherever you get your podcasts and at www.onbeing.com. 

The gift reading of 'Good Lord The Light' is by Michael Shaeffer.

*********

GOOD LORD THE LIGHT
by Christian Wiman

Good morning misery,
goodbye belief,
good Lord the light
cutting across the lake
so long gone
to ice —

There is an under, always,
through which things still move, breathe,
and have their being,
quick coals and crimsons
no one need see
to see.

Good night knowledge,
goodbye beyond,
good God the winter
one must wander
one’s own soul
to be.

From 'Survival is a Style' - Farrar, Straus and Giroux (February 2020)

59. Good Lord The Light by Christian Wiman - A Friend to Krista Tippett

In this episode, Jessica talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to her – 'From Blossoms' by Li-Young Lee.
​
Jessica joined The Poetry Exchange online, via video call, for one of our Lockdown Exchanges.

Jessica works as an Audio Producer with Listening Books, an audiobook lending charity for those that find their illness, mental health, physical or learning disability affects their ability to read the printed word or hold a book. You can find out more about this wonderful charity here: 

www.listening-books.org.uk

And tune into their podcast here:

bit.ly/3xPZjxH

You can also listen to our podcast episode: 'Spring and Fall by Gerard Manley Hopkins - Poem as Friend to Vahni' here: 

bit.ly/3gLrYOG

Jessica is in conversation with Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.

Michael reads 'From Blossoms'.

*****

From Blossoms 
by Li-Young Lee

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward   
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into   
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

Li-Young Lee, “From Blossoms” from Rose. Copyright © 1986 by Li-Young Lee. Reprinted with the permission of BOA Editions Ltd., www.boaeditions.org.

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60. From Blossoms by Li-Young Lee - A Friend to Jessica

In this episode, Pete Stones talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to him – 'Old Mary' by Gwendolyn Brooks.
​
Pete joined The Poetry Exchange at the Birmingham & Midland Institute - one of our first in-person exchanges since the pandemic.

He is in conversation with Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Bennett and John Prebble.

'Old Mary' is read by Pete Stones and Fiona Bennett.

*********
Old Mary
by Gwendolyn Brooks

My last defense
Is the present tense.

It little hurts me now to know
I shall not go

Cathedral-hunting in Spain
Nor cherrying in Michigan or Maine.

Reproduced by consent of Brooks Permissions.

63. Old Mary by Gwendolyn Brooks - A Friend to Pete

In this episode, Michael Cooke talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to him – 'Fisherman' by Dennis Scott.
​
Michael joined The Poetry Exchange online for one of our Lockdown Exchanges. We are hugely grateful to Michael for spending this time with us and sharing such a beautiful poem and converastion.

Michael Cooke is in conversation with Fiona Bennett and John Prebble.

'Fisherman' is read by Michael Cooke and John Prebble.

*****

The scales like metal flint his feet, 
their empty eyes like me. 
How gray their colours in the heat! 
Cool as the oily sea. 
 
With gentle hand he slits the heart, 
and the flesh as white as milk 
and the ribboned entrails fall apart 
like the fall of coiling silk. 
 
Some day I too shall fish, and find 
on stranger shores than these 
the ribs and muscles of my blind 
self, rainbowed from the seas. 

From 'Uncle Time' by Dennis Scott, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1973.

69. Fisherman by Dennis Scott - A Friend to Michael

In this episode, India & Samira talk with us about the poem that has been a friend to them – 'On Marriage' from 'The Prophet' by Kahlil Gibran.

India & Samira joined The Poetry Exchange online, via video call, for one of our Lockdown Exchanges.

They are in conversation with Poetry Exchange hosts, Fiona Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.

**********

On Marriage
By Kahlil Gibran

Then Almitra spoke again and said, And
what of Marriage, master?
     And he answered saying:
     You were born together, and together you
shall be forevermore.
     You shall be together when the white
wings of death scatter your days.
     Ay, you shall be together even in the
silent memory of God.
     But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
     And let the winds of the heavens dance
between you.
 
     Love one another, but make not a bond
of love:
     Let it rather be a moving sea between
the shores of your souls.
     Fill each other’s cup but drink not from
one cup.
     Give one another of your bread but eat
not from the same loaf.
     Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each one of you be alone,
     Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.
 
     Give your hearts, but not into each
other’s keeping.
     For only the hand of Life can contain
your hearts.
     And stand together yet not too near
together:
     For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
     And the oak tree and the cypress grow
not in each other’s shadow.

70. On Marriage by Kahlil Gibran - A Friend to India & Samira

In this episode, Maryam talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to her – 'Love Song for Words' by Nazik Al-Malaika, translated from the Arabic by Rebecca Carol Johnson.

Maryam joined The Poetry Exchange online, for one of our Lockdown Exchanges. She is in conversation with Poetry Exchange team members, Al Snell and Andrea Witzke-Slot.  

*********

Love Song for Words
Nazik Al-Malaika

Why do we fear words
when they have been rose-palmed hands,
fragrant, passing gently over our cheeks,
and glasses of heartening wine
sipped, one summer, by thirsty lips?

Why do we fear words
when among them are words like unseen bells,
whose echo announces in our troubled lives
the coming of a period of enchanted dawn,
drenched in love, and life?
So why do we fear words?

We took pleasure in silence.
We became still, fearing the secret might part our lips.
We thought that in words laid an unseen ghoul,
crouching, hidden by the letters from the ear of time.
We shackled the thirsty letters,
we forbade them to spread the night for us
as a cushion, dripping with music, dreams,
and warm cups.

Why do we fear words?
Among them are words of smooth sweetness
whose letters have drawn the warmth of hope from two lips,
and others that, rejoicing in pleasure
have waded through momentary joy with two drunk eyes.
Words, poetry, tenderly
turned to caress our cheeks, sounds
that, asleep in their echo, lies a rich color, a rustling,
a secret ardor, a hidden longing.

Why do we fear words?
If their thorns have once wounded us,
then they have also wrapped their arms around our necks
and shed their sweet scent upon our desires.
If their letters have pierced us
and their face turned callously from us
Then they have also left us with an oud in our hands
And tomorrow they will shower us with life.
So pour us two full glasses of words!

Tomorrow we will build ourselves a dream-nest of words,
high, with ivy trailing from its letters.
We will nourish its buds with poetry
and water its flowers with words.
We will build a balcony for the timid rose
with pillars made of words,
and a cool hall flooded with deep shade,
guarded by words.

Our life we have dedicated as a prayer
To whom will we pray . . . but to words?

71. Love Song For Words by Nazik Al-Malaika - A Friend to Maryam

In this episode, poet Sue Brown talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to her - 'Truth' by Jean 'Binta' Breeze.
​
Sue joined The Poetry Exchange at the Birmingham & Midland Institute and is in conversation with Fiona Bennett and Roy McFarlane.

Sue Brown writes from the heart and the soul. Her words pull from the dialect of her local community, from the long toned melodic speech of preachers and Maya Angelou, from mantras and incantations, from jazz. In her poetry, a lifetime in the making, she is a fighter and a lover, by turns rising up against the oppression that has dominated her peoples’ history, and rising skywards on the warm air of her compassion and her capacity for love. These poems move with a beat that speaks to hearts everywhere. They pulse with life, feeling like they could either be spoken or sung. Feel their rhythm. Feel their profound sensibility. And as Roy McFarlane says in his exuberant introduction to this book – ‘Let Rhythm Chant take a hold of  you.’

'Truth' is taken from Jean Binta Breeze's 'Third World Girl - Selected Poems', published by Bloodaxe Books: www.bloodaxebooks.com/ecs/product/third-world-girl-1005

72. Truth by Jean Binta Breeze - A Friend to Sue Brown

In this special, feature-length episode, we bring you our live event at SkyLines Festival of Poetry & Spoken Word in Coventry, which took place in July 2022. 

Renowned poets Roz Goddard and Rishi Dastidar are in converation with hosts Michael Shaeffer and Roy McFarlane about the poems that have been friends to them, alongside live readings from The Poetry Exchange archive.

Roz talks about 'Pulmonary Tuberculosis' by Katherine Mansfield; Rishi talks about 'Lousy with unfuckedness, I dream' by Amy Key.

We are hugely greatful to Roz and Rishi for joining us for this event and for sharing the poems that have been friends to them so openly and beautifully. Our thanks also to the Belgrade Theatre and SkyLines Festival team, especially Jane Commane for inviting us to be part of the programme and Jason Sylvester and Debbie Harlow for their support on the day. 

Thank you to Amy Key for allowing us to share her brilliant poem - you can find it in Amy's collection 'Isn't Forever' from Bloodaxe Books: www.bloodaxebooks.com/ecs/product/isn-t-forever-1181

Roy also reads 'A Short Story of Falling' by Alice Oswald. Many thanks to Alice Oswald and United Agents for granting us permission to share the poem in this capacity. 'A Short Story of Falling' can be found in the collection 'Falling Awake' (W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2016.

*********

Pulmonary Tuberculosis
by Katherine Mansfield

The man in the room next to mine has the same complaint as I. When I
wake in the night I hear him turning. And then he coughs. And I cough. And after a silence I cough. And he coughs again. This goes on for a long time. Until I feel we are like two roosters calling to each other at false dawn. From far-away hidden farms.


Lousy with unfuckedness, I dream
by Amy Key

each  night  I  count  ghostlets  of  how  my  body  was
wanted  /  behind with deadheading  /  rose hips have
come  /  behind with actions that count only  /  when
the  timing  is  right  /  I  took out  a contract  /  it was
imprudent  in  value  /  behind  with  asepsis  /  hello
microbes  of  my  body  /  we   sleep  together  /  hello
cats  /  I  make  my  bed  daily  /  of the three types of
hair on the sheets  /  only one is human  /  I count the
bedrooms  /  I never had sex in  /  but there were cars
 /   wild    woods   /   blackfly    has    got   to   all   the
nasturtiums  /  you cannot dig  up  a grapevine  /  and
expect shelter to come  /  I am touched by  your letter
/  writes  a  friend  /   you  prevaricate  desire   /   says
message  /  all  this  fucking  / with  no  hands  on  me

Copyright Amy Key. From 'Isn't Forever' by Amy Key (Bloodaxe Books, 2018).

73. SkyLines Festival featuring Roz Goddard & Rishi Dastidar

In this episode of our podcast, Alex Pritchard-Jones talks about the poem that has been a friend to him: Poem in October by Dylan Thomas.

Alex spoke with us online during a day of Exchanges at the Birmingham and Midland Institute. He is in conversation with Fiona Bennett and Roy McFarlane.

Poem in October is read by Alex Pritchard-Jones and Roy McFarlane.

To join us for our live, online event In The Company Of Poems on 3rd November 2022, 7-8pm (GMT), visit https://inthecompanyofpoems.eventbrite.co.uk. Don't miss this night of powerful poems and voices!

*********

Poem In October
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
   And the mussel pooled and the heron
           Priested shore
       The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
       Myself to set foot
           That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.

   My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
   Above the farms and the white horses
           And I rose
       In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
       Over the border
           And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.

   A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
   Blackbirds and the sun of October
           Summery
       On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
       To the rain wringing
           Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

   Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
   With its horns through mist and the castle
           Brown as owls
       But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
       There could I marvel
           My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.

   It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
   Streamed again a wonder of summer
           With apples
       Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
       Through the parables
           Of sun light
And the legends of the green chapels

   And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
   These were the woods the river and sea
           Where a boy
       In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
       And the mystery
           Sang alive
Still in the water and singingbirds.

   And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
   Joy of the long dead child sang burning
           In the sun.
       It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
       O may my heart's truth
           Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.

74. Poem in October by Dylan Thomas - A Friend to Alex

In our latest episode, acclaimed poet, playwright and librettist Glyn Maxwell talks about the poem that has been a friend to him: 'Acquainted with the Night' by Robert Frost.

Glyn is in conversation with Fiona Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.

Glyn Maxwell's volumes of poetry include The Breakage, Hide Now, Pluto, and How The Hell Are You, all of which were shortlisted for either the Forward or T. S. Eliot Prizes, and The Nerve, which won the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize. 

On Poetry, a guidebook for the general reader, was published by Oberon in 2012. The Spectator called it ‘a modern classic’ and The Guardian’s Adam Newey described it as ‘the best book about poetry I’ve ever read.’ Drinks With Dead Poets, which is both an expansion of On Poetry and a novel in itself, was published by Oberon in September 2016.

Many of Maxwell’s plays have been staged in London and New York, including Liberty at Shakespeare’s Globe, and at the Almeida, Arcola, RADA and Southwark Playhouse. 

*********

Acquainted with the Night
By Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. 
I have been one acquainted with the night.


Robert Frost, "Acquainted with the Night" from The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright © 1964, 1970 by Leslie Frost Ballantine. Copyright 1936, 1942 © 1956 by Robert Frost. Copyright 1923, 1928, © 1969 by Henry Holt and Co.

75. Acquainted with the Night by Robert Frost - A Friend to Glyn Maxwell

In this episode, poet Ella Frears talks about the poem that has been a friend to her: The The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.

Ella Frears is a poet and artist based in London. Her debut collection, Shine, Darling, (Offord Road Books, 2020) was a Poetry Book Society Recommendation and was shortlisted for both the Forward Prize for Best First Collection, and the T. S. Eliot Prize for Poetry.  Her latest pamphlet I AM THE MOTHER CAT written as part of her residency at John Hansard Gallery is out with Rough Trade Books (2021). 

Ella was recently named Poet in Residence for the Dartington Trust’s grade II listed Gardens, selected by Alice Oswald. She is a trustee and editor for Magma Poetry and has been Poet in Residence for the National Trust, Tate Britain, The John Hansard Gallery, K6 Gallery, SPUD (the Observatory), conservation organisation Back from the Brink, and was poet in residence at Royal Holloway University physics department, writing about the Cassini Space Mission.  

https://ellafrears.com

Ella is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange hosts Fiona Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.

76. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot - A Friend To Ella Frears

In this episode of The Poetry Exchange, poet Rowena Knight talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to her: 'Grief' by Matthew Dickman. 

Rowena visited us in Durham and is in conversation with Andrea Witzke Slot and Michael Shaeffer. We are hugely grateful to her for sharing her story of connection with Matthew Dickman's poem.

Rowena Knight’s poetry is influenced by her identity as a queer feminist and her childhood in New Zealand. Her poems have appeared in various publications, including Butcher’s Dog, Magma, The Rialto, and The Emma Press Anthology of Love. She was shortlisted for the 2018 Bridport Prize and commended in the 2019 Winchester Poetry Prize. Her first pamphlet, All the Footprints I Left Were Red, was published with Valley Press in 2016. You can find her on Twitter @purple_feminist and Instagram @purple_feminist_

You can discover more of Matthew Dickman's stunning, reverberating poetry at www.matthewdickmanpoetry.com. 'Grief' can be found in the collection 'Mayakovsky's Revolver' from W.W. Norton & Company, 2012.

The reading of 'Grief' is by Andrea Witzke Slot.

*********

Grief
by Matthew Dickman

When grief comes to you as a purple gorilla
you must count yourself lucky.
You must offer her what’s left
of your dinner, the book you were trying to finish
you must put aside
and make her a place to sit at the foot of your bed,
her eyes moving from the clock
to the television and back again.
I am not afraid. She has been here before
and now I can recognize her gait
as she approaches the house.
Some nights, when I know she’s coming,
I unlock the door, lie down on my back,
and count her steps
from the street to the porch.
Tonight she brings a pencil and a ream of paper,
tells me to write down
everyone I have ever known,
and we separate them between the living and the dead
so she can pick each name at random.
I play her favorite Willie Nelson album
because she misses Texas
but I don’t ask why.
She hums a little,
the way my brother does when he gardens.
We sit for an hour
while she tells me how unreasonable I’ve been,
crying in the check-out line,
refusing to eat, refusing to shower,
all the smoking and all the drinking.
Eventually she puts one of her heavy
purple arms around me, leans
her head against mine,
and all of a sudden things are feeling romantic.
So I tell her,
things are feeling romantic.
She pulls another name, this time
from the dead,
and turns to me in that way that parents do
so you feel embarrassed or ashamed of something.
Romantic? She says,
reading the name out loud, slowly
so I am aware of each syllable, each vowel
wrapping around the bones like new muscle,
the sound of that person’s body
and how reckless it is,
how careless that his name is in one pile and not the other.

Copyright: Matthew Dickman. 'Grief' by Matthew Dickman, from 'Mayakovsky's Revolver', W.W. Norton & Company, 2012.

77. Grief by Matthew Dickman - A Friend to Rowena Knight

Join poet Sue Brown as she reads the poem that has been a friend to her: 'Truth' by Jean 'Binta' Breeze.

The recording is taken from our conversation with Sue about the poem and the ways it has been a friend to her during her life. You can listen to the full conversation in episode 72 of The Poetry Exchange podcast.

Wishing you truth and power for International Women's Day 2023 and always.

The Poetry Exchange

*********

'Truth' 
by Jean 'Binta' Breeze

some years after
when the laughter came again
she grew her hair in locks around her head
and lived
simply 
without even a bed    but she

she had stories    that woman
she had stories to tell
and children who listened    well
and she
she hid nothing
made no excuses for self

just let
truth give her voice to the wind

and she would sing sometimes    sing and 
ask a little more time
for memory to swell their heads

the children gathered around her
the more they asked
the more words she was sent
words that crossed all ages
served no laws
words that questioned all they had been taught

so they put her away
one day
she must be mad
the adults say
corrupting young minds
it's obvious    depraved

she grew silent then
her laughter grew thin
then left with the wind

but the children grew up and remembered
one woman who didn't lie
one woman who didn't hide

now they count the hypocrites among them

From 'Third World Girl, Selected Poems', 2011, Bloodaxe Books. Reproduced with kind permission of the publisher.

Truth By Jean 'Binta' Breeze - A Friend to Sue Brown

Poem as friend to Carole Moffat

'Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land'

“I discovered this poem in my late teens after visiting the Laing Gallery and seeing the pre-Raphaelite paintings. For me it’s not about death and grief but rather It’s acted as a force of resilience and survival.”

Carole brought this poem to The Poetry Exchange at Durham Book Festival. www.durhambookfestival.com 

The poem is read by Rebecca Manley and Fiona Lesley Bennett.

*****

Remember by Christina Rossetti
         
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Hear more

Remember by Christina Rossetti

Poem as Friend to Diana Bennett

“I saw this poem on the tube on one of my many visits to see my husband who was in hospital. It was a great boost to my spirits to read this poem during the time of visiting him and to be reminded of all ‘our meetings’ over the years.”

*****

Our Meetings 
By Andrew Waterman

As in the underground there’s no mistaking
the train’s approach – it pushes air ahead,
whirls paper, the line sings – a sort of dread
suffusing longing and my platform shaking
so it is before our every meeting
till you arrive – hear how my heart is beating.

'Our Meetings' is read by Natasha Gordon.

Our Meetings by Andrew Waterman - read by Natasha Gordon

In this episode, you will hear Mary Anne talking about the poem that has been a friend to her: ’I Am Like A Rose' by D. H. Lawrence.

'It is a reminder that you need to be your true self in order to find fulfilment in life – and love, and that you also need to show wonder, mellowness and warmth.'

Mary Anne visited The Poetry Exchange at Greyfriars' Chapel in Canterbury as part of Wise Words Festival in September 2015. We’re very grateful to Wise Words Festival and Workers of Art for hosting and supporting The Poetry Exchange. Do visit them for further inspiration and beautiful encounters with poetry.

http://www.wisewordsfestival.co.uk
http://www.workers-of-art.co.uk

Mary Anne is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members Fiona Lesley Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.

'I Am Like A Rose' is read by Fiona Bennet.

*****

I Am Like A Rose by D. H. Lawrence

I am myself at last; now I achieve
My very self. I, with the wonder mellow,
Full of fine warmth, I issue forth in clear
And single me, perfected from my fellow.

Here I am all myself. No rose-bush heaving
Its limpid sap to culmination, has brought
Itself more sheer and naked out of the green
In stark-clear roses, than I to myself am brought.

3. I Am Like A Rose by D.H. Lawrence - A Friend to Mary Anne

In this episode of our podcast, you will hear Margaret talking about the poem that has been a friend to her: ’Transfiguration' by Edwin Muir.

Margaret visited The Poetry Exchange at The Chapel in St Chad's College as part of Durham Book Festival in October 2015. We’re very grateful to Durham Book Festival, New Writing North and St Chad’s College for hosting The Poetry Exchange. Do visit them for further inspiration!

www.durhambookfestival.com 
www.newwritingnorth.com 
www.stchads.ac.uk

Margaret is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Lesley Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.

'Transfiguration' is read by Fiona Lesley Bennett.

*****

Transfiguration by Edwin Muir

So from the ground we felt that virtue branch 
Through all our veins till we were whole, our wrists 
As fresh and pure as water from a well, 
Our hands made new to handle holy things, 
The source of all our seeing rinsed and cleansed 
Till earth and light and water entering there 
Gave back to us the clear unfallen world. 
We would have thrown our clothes away for lightness, 
But that even they, though sour and travel stained, 
Seemed, like our flesh, made of immortal substance, 
And the soiled flax and wool lay light upon us 
Like friendly wonders, flower and flock entwined 
As in a morning field. Was it a vision? 
Or did we see that day the unseeable 
One glory of the everlasting world 
Perpetually at work, though never seen 
Since Eden locked the gate that’s everywhere 
And nowhere? Was the change in us alone, 
And the enormous earth still left forlorn, 
An exile or a prisoner? Yet the world 
We saw that day made this unreal, for all 
Was in its place. The painted animals 
Assembled there in gentle congregations, 
Or sought apart their leafy oratories, 
Or walked in peace, the wild and tame together, 
As if, also for them, the day had come. 
The shepherds’ hovels shone, for underneath 
The soot we saw the stone clean at the heart 
As on the starting-day. The refuse heaps 
Were grained with that fine dust that made the world; 
For he had said, ‘To the pure all things are pure.’ 
And when we went into the town, he with us, 
The lurkers under doorways, murderers, 
With rags tied round their feet for silence, came 
Out of themselves to us and were with us, 
And those who hide within the labyrinth 
Of their own loneliness and greatness came, 
And those entangled in their own devices, 
The silent and the garrulous liars, all 
Stepped out of their dungeons and were free. 
Reality or vision, this we have seen. 
If it had lasted but another moment 
It might have held for ever! But the world 
Rolled back into its place, and we are here, 
And all that radiant kingdom lies forlorn, 
As if it had never stirred; no human voice 
Is heard among its meadows, but it speaks 
To itself alone, alone it flowers and shines 
And blossoms for itself while time runs on. 


But he will come again, it’s said, though not 
Unwanted and unsummoned; for all things, 
Beasts of the field, and woods, and rocks, and seas, 
And all mankind from end to end of the earth 
Will call him with one voice. In our own time, 
Some say, or at a time when time is ripe. 
Then he will come, Christ the uncrucified, 
Christ the discrucified, his death undone, 
His agony unmade, his cross dismantled— 
Glad to be so—and the tormented wood 
Will cure its hurt and grow into a tree 
In a green springing corner of young Eden, 
And Judas damned take his long journey backward 
From darkness into light and be a child 
Beside his mother’s knee, and the betrayal 
Be quite undone and never more be done.

4. Transfiguration by Edwin Muir - A Friend to Margaret

In this episode of our podcast, you will hear Harry talking about the poem that has been a friend to him: ’Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)' by Frank O'Hara.

Harry visited The Poetry Exchange at John Rylands Library in May 2016. We’re very grateful to John Rylands Library for hosting The Poetry Exchange. Thank you also to City Lights Publishers for kindly granting permission for us to use this poem. Do visit them both for further inspiration:

www.library.manchester.ac.uk/rylands/
www.citylights.com

Harry is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Jacqueline Kington and Michael Schaeffer.

’Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)' is read by Michael Schaeffer and Jacqueline Kington.

*****

Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)
by Frank O'Hara

Lana Turner has collapsed! 
I was trotting along and suddenly
it started raining and snowing
and you said it was hailing
but hailing hits you on the head
hard so it was really snowing and
raining and I was in such a hurry
to meet you but the traffic
was acting exactly like the sky
and suddenly I see a headline 
LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!
there is no snow in Hollywood
there is no rain in California
I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed
oh Lana Turner we love you get up

’Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)' by Frank O'Hara from 'Lunch Poems: Pocket Poets Number 19'. (City Lights Publishers 2014).

13. Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)by Frank O'Hara - A Friend to Harry

In this episode, you will hear the brilliant actor Maxine Peake talking about the poem that has been a friend to her: ’Turns' by Tony Harrison.

Maxine visited The Poetry Exchange at John Rylands Library in May 2016. We’re very grateful to John Rylands Library for hosting The Poetry Exchange. Thank you also to Tony Harrison and Faber & Faber Publishers for kindly granting permission for us to use this poem. Do visit them for further inspiration:

www.faber.co.uk/author/tony-harrison/
www.library.manchester.ac.uk/rylands/

Maxine is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Bennett and Michael Schaeffer.

’Turns' is read by Michael Schaeffer.

*****

Turns
by Tony Harrison 

I thought it made me look more 'working class'
(as if a bit of chequered cloth could bridge that gap!) 
I did a turn in it before the glass.
My mother said: It suits you, your dad's cap.
(She preferred me to wear suits and part my hair: 
You're every bit as good as that lot are!)

All the pension queue came out to stare.
Dad was sprawled beside the postbox (still VR), 
his cap turned inside up beside his head, 
smudged H A H in purple Indian ink
and Brylcreem slicks displayed so folks might think
he wanted charity for dropping dead.

He never begged. For nowt! Death's reticence
crowns his life's, and me, I'm opening my trap
to busk the class that broke him for the pence
that splash like brackish tears into our cap.


’Turns' by Tony Harrison. Taken from ‘Selected Poems’. (Penguin; 3rd Revised ed. edition, 7 Feb. 2013)

14. Turns by Tony Harrison - A Friend to Maxine

In this episode you will hear extraordinary actor Paterson Joseph talking about the poem that has been a friend to him - '5 AM' by Roxy Dunn.

Paterson visited us at The October Gallery in London. We are very grateful to The October Gallery for hosting The Poetry Exchange so warmly. Thank you also to Roxy Dunn for kindly granting permission for us to use this poem. Do visit them for further inspiration:

www.octobergallery.co.uk
https://store.eyewearpublishing.com/products/clowning

Please also feel free to discover a little more about Kiki Dimoula, the Poet behind Fiona's emerging friend, 'The Wrong Arrangement'.

www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/kiki-dimoula

We were delighted to welcome Paterson Joseph into conversation with us. You can find his new book ‘Julius Caesar and Me’, available for pre-order from Bloomsbury here: 

www.bloomsbury.com/uk/julius-caesar-and-me-9781350011199/

Paterson is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members Fiona Bennett and Michael Schaeffer.

'5 AM' is read by Michael Schaeffer 

*****

It's not quite light
am I getting old?
old people wake early
half a croissant is on the desk
like a squashed crescent 
and there's that record I bought 
with the Soviet rocket sleeve

Around the corner in Highbury
Keith's cat has given you fleas
your bags are packed for Antibes
I wonder if I care about the right things
like rabbits dying slowly and Brexit
sometimes I’m secretly unfazed
I feel selfish and middle-aged

I'd like to play this rocket record
but I don't have a record player
the band are from Leeds, is that cool?
I can't work out if this is regret
or just the onset of dullness
I think I'll eat breakfast then sleep till noon
eat the remains of last night's moon

'5 AM' by Roxy Dunn. Printed by permission of Roxy Dunn. Taken from 'Clowning' (Eyewear Publishing, 2016)

17. 5 AM by Roxy Dunn - A Friend to Paterson Joseph

In this episode you will hear Founder of The Poetry Exchange, Fiona Bennett talking about the poem that has been a friend to her - 'A Kite for Aibhín' by Seamus Heaney. 

For more inspiration surrounding Heaney and his work, visit Seamus Heaney Home Place: www.seamusheaneyhome.com

Since making the live recording of this conversation, we have realised an error of pronunciation in the title - the correct pronunciation of 'Aibhín' is ay_veen. Thank you to a careful listener for pointing this out to us.

Fiona founded the project in 2014, with the view of enabling people to explore, discover and voice their friendships with poems, so this is a particularly special episode as it captures her first experience of an Exchange.

The Poetry Exchange team had a wonderful few days together in Carcassonne, South of France last year and it was here that Fiona joined fellow Poetry Exchange team members, John Prebble and Becca Manley to talk about her friend.

'A Kite For Aibhín' is read by Becca Manley.

*****

A Kite For Aibhín
After 'L'Aquilone' by Giovanni Pascoli (1855-1912)

Air from another life and time and place,
Pale blue heavenly air is supporting
A white wing beating high against the breeze,

And yes, it is a kite! As when one afternoon
All of us there trooped out
Among the briar hedges and stripped thorn,

I take my stand again, halt opposite
Anahorish Hill to scan the blue,
Back in that field to launch our long-tailed comet.

And now it hovers, tugs, veers, dives askew,
Lifts itself, goes with the wind until
It rises to loud cheers from us below.

Rises, and my hand is like a spindle
Unspooling, the kite a thin-stemmed flower
Climbing and carrying, carrying farther, higher

The longing in the breast and planted feet
And gazing face and heart of the kite flier
Until string breaks and—separate, elate—

The kite takes off, itself alone, a windfall.


'A Kite for Aibhín'. Taken from 'Human Chain' by Seamus Heaney(Published by Faber & Faber Limited, 2010)

23. A Kite For Aibhín By Seamus Heaney - A Friend to Fiona

In this episode you will hear Lisa talking about the poem that has been a friend to her - 'How Surely Gravity's Law' by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Lisa visited us at John Ryland's Library in Manchester and is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members Fiona Bennett and Michael Schaeffer.

'How Surely Gravity's Law' is read by Fiona Bennett.

*****

How Surely Gravity's Law
by Rainer Maria Rilke

How surely gravity’s law,
strong as an ocean current,
takes hold of the smallest thing
and pulls it toward the heart of the world.

Each thing—
each stone, blossom, child —
is held in place.
Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we each belong to
for some empty freedom.

If we surrendered
to earth’s intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.

So like children, we begin again
to learn from the things,
because they are in God’s heart;
they have never left him.

This is what the things can teach us:
to fall,
patiently to trust our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.

21. How Surely Gravity's Law by Rainer Maria Rilke - A Friend to Lisa

In this episode you will hear renowned actor Andrew Scott talking about the poem that has been a friend to him - 'Love (III)' by George Herbert.

Andrew visited us Battersea, London and is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members Fiona Bennett and Michael Schaeffer.

'Love' is read by Michael Schaeffer.

*****

Love (III)

Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.

‘A guest,’ I answered, ‘worthy to be here.’
Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
‘I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.’
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
‘Who made the eyes but I?’

‘Truth Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘who bore the blame?’
‘My dear, then I will serve.’
‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat:’
So I did sit and eat.

22. Love by George Herbert - A Friend To Andrew Scott

In this episode of our podcast, you will hear Jackie talk about the poem that has been a friend to her: 'Last Post' by Carol Ann Duffy.

We are delighted to feature 'Last Post' in this episode and would like to thank Carol Ann Duffy and Peter Strauss at Rogers, Coleridge & White for allowing us to use it in this way. 

Carol Ann Duffy has just published a collection of poems written over the course of her laureateship, entitled 'Sincerity', which is available from Picador:

https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/carol-ann-duffy/sincerity/9781509893423

She has also edited an anthology, 'Armistice' - A Laureate's Choice of Poems of War and Peace, available from Faber & Faber:

https://www.faber.co.uk/9780571347070-armistice.html

Jackie visited The Poetry Exchange at St Chad's College Chapel in Durham, during Durham Book Festival, in association with Durham University Foundation Programme. We’re very grateful to all our Durham partners for hosting us so warmly.

http://durhambookfestival.com
https://www.dur.ac.uk/foundation.programme/
https://www.stchads.ac.uk

Jackie is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Andrea Witzke-Slot and John Prebble.

'Last Post' is read by John Prebble.

*****

Last Post
By Carol Ann Duffy

'In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.'

If poetry could tell it backwards, true, begin
that moment shrapnel scythed you to the stinking mud…
but you get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood
run upwards from the slime into its wounds;
see lines and lines of British boys rewind
back to their trenches, kiss the photographs from home-
mothers, sweethearts, sisters, younger brothers
not entering the story now
to die and die and die.
Dulce- No- Decorum- No- Pro patria mori.
You walk away.  

You walk away; drop your gun (fixed bayonet)
like all your mates do too-
Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert-
and light a cigarette.
There's coffee in the square,
warm French bread
and all those thousands dead
are shaking dried mud from their hair
and queuing up for home. Freshly alive,
a lad plays Tipperary to the crowd, released
from History; the glistening, healthy horses fit for heroes, kings. 

You lean against a wall,
your several million lives still possible
and crammed with love, work, children, talent, English beer, good food.
You see the poet tuck away his pocket-book and smile.
If poetry could truly tell it backwards,
then it would.

© Carol Ann Duffy 2009

29. Last Post By Carol Ann Duffy - A Friend To Jackie

In this episode, Katharine talks about the poem that has been a friend to her – ‘Dich’ / ‘You’ by Erich Fried.

We are delighted to feature ‘Dich’ / ‘You’ in this episode and would like to thank Verlag Klaus Wagenbach for allowing us to use it in this way.

https://www.wagenbach.de

Katharine visited The Poetry Exchange at St Chad's College Chapel in Durham, during Durham Book Festival, in association with Durham University Foundation Programme. We’re very grateful to all our Durham partners for hosting us so warmly.

www.durhambookfestival.com
 www.dur.ac.uk/foundation.programme 
www.stchads.ac.uk

Katharine is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members,  Michael Shaeffer and Andrea Witzke-Slot.

‘Dich’ / ‘You' is read by Michael Shaeffer.

*****

Dich  
By Eric Fried

Dich
dich sein lassen
ganz dich

Sehen, daß du nur du bist
wenn du alles bist
was du bist
das Zarte
und das Wilde
das was sich anschmiegen
und das was sich loßreißen will

Wer nur die Hälfte liebt
der liebt dich nicht halb
sondern gar nicht
der will dich zurechtschneiden
amputieren
verstümmeln

Dich dich sein lassen
ob das schwer oder leicht ist?
Es kommt nicht darauf an mit wieviel
Vorbedacht und Verstand
sondern mit wieviel Liebe und mit wieviel
offener Sehnsucht nach allem – 
nach allem
was du ist

Nach der Wärme 
und nach der Kälte
nach der Güte 
und nach dem Starrsinn
nach deinem Willen
und Unwillen
nach jeder deiner Gebärden
nach deiner Ungebärdigkeit
Unstetigkeit
Stetigkeit

Dann 
ist dieses
dich dich sein lassen
vielleicht
gar nicht so schwer

‘Dich’ by Erich Fried from 'Es ist was es ist’ © 1983 Verlag Klaus Wagenbach, Berlin

Below is a translation of the poem, published in ‘Love Poems’ by Erich Fried, trans. Stuart Hood, available from Alma Classics. https://almabooks.com/product/love-poems-3/?imprintname=Alma%20Classics  

You
By Erich Fried 

You
to let you be you
all you 
To see
that you are only you
when you’re everything
that you are
the tender one
and the wild one
that wants to break free
and wants to come close 
Whoever loves the half
loves you not by half
but not at all
wants to cut you to size
to amputate
to maim you 
To let you be you
is it hard or easy?
It’s not a matter of how much
forethought and understanding
but of how much love and how much
open longing for everything –
for all
that is you 
For the warmth
and the coldness
for the goodness
and obstinacy
for your wilfulness
and unwillingness
for each of your gestures
for your awkwardness
inconstancy
constancy 
Then this
letting you be you
maybe isn’t so difficult
after all

Fried, Erich. Love Poems (Alma Classics) 

The extract about translation quoted by Fiona on the Intro to this episode is from Kiki Dimoula’s book The Brazen Plagiarist, selected poems translated by Cecile Inglessis Margellos and Rika Lesser published by Yale University Press.

31. Dich / You by Erich Fried - A Friend To Katharine

In this episode, Angela talks about the poem that has been a friend to her – ‘The force that through the green fuse' by Dylan Thomas.

We’re delighted to feature ‘The force that through the green fuse drives the flower’ in this episode and would like to thank Weidenfeld and Nicolson for granting us permission to share the poem in this way.

You can find ‘The force that through the green fuse drives the flower’ in The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas: the Centenary Edition, published by Weidenfeld and Nicolson, copyright holder The Dylan Thomas Trust.

www.discoverdylanthomas.com

Angela visited The Poetry Exchange at Manchester Central Library, as part of the celebrations of International Mother Languages Day in the city.

Many thanks to our partners Manchester Libraries, Archives Plus, The Manchester Writing School at Manchester Metropolitan University and Manchester UNESCO City of Literature. 

https://www.manchester.gov.uk/libraries
http://www.archivesplus.org/about-archives/
http://www.manchesterwritingschool.co.uk/
http://www.manchestercityofliterature.com/

Angela is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Michael Shaeffer and Fiona Bennett.

‘The force that through the green fuse drives the flower' by Dylan Thomas

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

33. The force that through the green fuse drives the flower by Dylan Thomas - A Friend To Angela

In this episode, Yasmin talks about the poem that has been a friend to her – ‘The Guest House' by Rumi.

We’re delighted to feature ‘The Guest House’ in this episode and would like to thank the poem's Translator, Coleman Barks for granting us permission to share the poem in this way. Discover more about him and his work here:

www.colemanbarks.com

You can find ‘The Guest House’ in SELECTED POEMS by Rumi, Translated by Coleman Barks (Penguin Classics, 2004). Reproduced by permission of Coleman Barks.

Yasmin visited The Poetry Exchange at Manchester Central Library, as part of the celebrations of International Mother Languages Day in the city.

Many thanks to our partners Manchester Libraries, Archives Plus, The Manchester Writing School at Manchester Metropolitan University and Manchester UNESCO City of Literature.

www.manchester.gov.uk/libraries
www.archivesplus.org/about-archives/
www.manchesterwritingschool.co.uk/
www.manchestercityofliterature.com/

Yasmin is the Founder and Editor in chief of Halcyon: a creative space aimed at empowering Muslim women. Discover more here:

www.halcyonmaguk.com

She is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Michael Shaeffer and Fiona Bennett. 

Fiona reads the gift reading of 'The Guest House'.

*****

The Guest House 


This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

36. The Guest House by Rumi - A Friend to Yasmin

In this episode, John talks about the poem that has been a friend to him – 'The Death by Heroin of Sid Vicious' by Paul Durcan. 
​
John visited The Poetry Exchange in London. He is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Michael Shaeffer and Fiona Bennett.
​
John is a highly acclaimed film, TV and Theatre Director. Find out more about John and his work here:
​
www.casarotto.co.uk/clients/john-crowley

Fiona reads the gift reading of 'The Death by Heroin of Sid Vicious'.

*****

The Death by Heroin of Sid Vicious
​by Paul Durcan

There – but for the clutch of luck – go I. 

At daybreak – in the arctic fog of a February daybreak –
Shoulder-length helmets in the watchtowers of the concentration camp 
Caught me out in the intersecting arcs of the swirling searchlights. 

There were at least a zillion of us caught out there –
Like ladybirds under a boulder –
But under the microscope each of us was unique, 

Unique and we broke for cover, crazily breasting 
The barbed wire and some of us made it 
To the forest edge, but many of us did not 

Make it, although their unborn children did –
Such as you whom the camp commandant branded 
Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols. Jesus, break his fall: 

There – but for the clutch of luck – go we all.
​

40. The Death by Heroin of Sid Vicious by Paul Durcan - A Friend to John

A gift reading for you, from The Poetry Exchange.

'Small Kindnesses' is read by Sally Anglesea.

*****

Small Kindnesses
By Danusha Laméris

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”

Small Kindnesses by Danusha Laméris

In this episode, Sam talks about the poem that has been a friend to him – 'The Hug' by Thom Gunn.
​
Sam visited The Poetry Exchange in Manchester Central Library, as part of the celebrations of International Mother Language Day in the city.
​
Many thanks to our partners Manchester Poetry Library, Manchester Libraries and Manchester UNESCO City of Literature.
​
www2.mmu.ac.uk/poetrylibrary
www.manchester.gov.uk/libraries
www.manchestercityofliterature.com
​
Sam is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Sarah Butler and Alistair Snell.

Sarah reads the gift reading of 'The Hug'.

*****

The Hug 
​
It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
    Half of the night with our old friend
        Who'd showed us in the end
    To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
        Already I lay snug,
And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side.

I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug,
        Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
         Your instep to my heel,
     My shoulder-blades against your chest.
     It was not sex, but I could feel
     The whole strength of your body set,
             Or braced, to mine,
         And locking me to you
     As if we were still twenty-two
     When our grand passion had not yet
         Become familial.
     My quick sleep had deleted all
     Of intervening time and place.
         I only knew
The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.
​
​
​
Thom Gunn, "The Hug" from The Man with Night Sweats. Copyright © 1992 by Thom Gunn. Used by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC, http://us.macmillan.com/fsg. All rights reserved

44. The Hug by Thom Gunn - A Friend to Sam

In this episode, Adrian talks about the poem that has been a friend to him – 'Fern Hill' by Dylan Thomas.
​
Adrian joined The Poetry Exchange online, via video call, for one of our 'Lockdown Exchanges' that took place as part of City of Literature - a week of conversations, reflections and connections presented by the National Centre for Writing and Norfolk & Norwich Festival.  
​
Many thanks to our partners, the National Centre for Writing and Norfolk & Norwich Festival for enabling this to go ahead in spite of the physical restrictions. Do visit them for more inspiration:
​
www.nnfestival.org.uk
www.nationalcentreforwriting.org.uk

Our thanks also to David Higham Associates and Dylan Thomas Trust for permission to share the poem. For more information about the poet and his work, please visit:

www.discoverdylanthomas.com

Adrian is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Bennett and Michal Shaeffer.

Michael reads the gift reading of 'Fern Hill'.

*****

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
     The night above the dingle starry,
          Time let me hail and climb
     Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
          Trail with daisies and barley
     Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
     In the sun that is young once only,
          Time let me play and be
     Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
          And the sabbath rang slowly
     In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
     And playing, lovely and watery
          And fire green as grass.
     And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
     Flying with the ricks, and the horses
          Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
     Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
          The sky gathered again
     And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
     Out of the whinnying green stable
          On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
     In the sun born over and over,
          I ran my heedless ways,
     My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
     Before the children green and golden
          Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
     In the moon that is always rising,
          Nor that riding to sleep
     I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
          Time held me green and dying
     Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

48. Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas - A Friend to Adrian

In this episode, Stephen Beresford talks about the poem that has been a friend to him – 'Vers De Société' by Philip Larkin. 
​
Stephen visited The Poetry Exchange in London. He is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Michael Shaeffer and Fiona Bennett.
​
Stephen is a highly acclaimed Film, TV and Theatre Writer. Find out more about Stephen and his work here:
​
www.independenttalent.com/writers/stephen-beresford/

Michael reads the gift reading of 'Vers De Société'.

*****

My wife and I have asked a crowd of craps
To come and waste their time and ours: perhaps   
You’d care to join us? In a pig’s arse, friend.   
Day comes to an end.
The gas fire breathes, the trees are darkly swayed.   
And so Dear Warlock-Williams: I’m afraid—

Funny how hard it is to be alone.
I could spend half my evenings, if I wanted,   
Holding a glass of washing sherry, canted   
Over to catch the drivel of some bitch   
Who’s read nothing but Which;
Just think of all the spare time that has flown

Straight into nothingness by being filled   
With forks and faces, rather than repaid   
Under a lamp, hearing the noise of wind,   
And looking out to see the moon thinned   
To an air-sharpened blade.
A life, and yet how sternly it’s instilled

All solitude is selfish. No one now
Believes the hermit with his gown and dish   
Talking to God (who’s gone too); the big wish   
Is to have people nice to you, which means   
Doing it back somehow.
Virtue is social. Are, then, these routines

Playing at goodness, like going to church?
Something that bores us, something we don’t do well   
(Asking that ass about his fool research)   
But try to feel, because, however crudely,   
It shows us what should be?
Too subtle, that. Too decent, too. Oh hell,

Only the young can be alone freely.
The time is shorter now for company,
And sitting by a lamp more often brings
Not peace, but other things.
Beyond the light stand failure and remorse   
Whispering Dear Warlock-Williams: Why, of course—


Philip Larkin, "Vers de Société" from Collected Poems. Copyright © Estate of Philip Larkin.  Reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber, Ltd.

Photo Credit: Rory Campbell Photography

49. Vers De Société by Philip Larkin - A Friend to Stephen

In this episode, Pádraig Ó Tuama talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to him – 'Cuimhne An Uisce' / 'A Recovered Memory of Water' by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, translated by Paul Muldoon.

Pádraig Ó Tuama is a poet and theologian from Ireland whose poetry and prose has been published widely across Ireland, the US and the UK. He presents Poetry Unbound with On Being, a hugely successful podcast where he explores a single poem. Short and unhurried; contemplative and energizing, this podcast had more than a million downloads of its first season. The second season began 28th September 2020, with new episodes released on Mondays and Fridays for twelve weeks.

www.padraigotuama.com
https://onbeing.org/series/poetry-unbound
​
Pádraig joined The Poetry Exchange online and is in conversation with Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.
​
Many thanks to Gallery Press for granting us permission to share the poem in this capacity. Do visit them for more inspiration here:

www.gallerypress.com

Fiona reads the gift reading of 'A Recovered Memory of Water'.

*****

Cuimhne An Uisce / A Recovered Memory of Water 
by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, translated by Paul Muldoon

Sometimes when the mermaid’s daughter
is in the bathroom
cleaning her teeth with a thick brush
and baking soda
she has the sense the room is filling
with water.

It starts at her feet and ankles
and slides further and further up
over her thighs and hips and waist.
In no time
it’s up to her oxters.
She bends down into it to pick up
handtowels and washcloths and all such things
as are sodden with it.
They all look like seaweed—
like those long strands of kelp that used to be called
‘mermaid-hair’ or ‘foxtail.’
Just as suddenly the water recedes
and in no time
the room’s completely dry again.

A terrible sense of stress
is part and parcel of these emotions.
At the end of the day she has nothing else
to compare it to.
She doesn’t have the vocabulary for any of it.
At her weekly therapy session
she has more than enough to be going on with
just to describe this strange phenomenon
and to express it properly
to the psychiatrist.

She doesn’t have the terminology
or any of the points of reference
or any word at all that would give the slightest suggestion
as to what water might be.
‘A transparent liquid,’ she says, doing as best she can.
‘Right,’ says the therapist, ‘keep going.’
He coaxes and cajoles her towards word-making.
She has another run at it.
‘A thin flow,’ she calls it,
casting about gingerly in the midst of the words.
‘A shiny film. Dripping stuff. Something wet.’


From 'The Fifty Minute Mermaid', Gallery Press, 2007.

54. A Recovered Memory of Water by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill - A Friend to Pádraig Ó Tuama

The Poetry Exchange talks to people about the poem that has been a friend to them.

In each episode you will hear a guest talking about their chosen poem and the part it has played in their life, as well as the recording of the poem that we make as a gift for them.

Our podcast features conversations with people from all walks of life, as well a range of special guests.

Join us to discover the power of poetry in people's lives. 

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