Afleveringen
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I love you. I'm glad I exist.
Hi friends,
Todayâs poem is âThe Orangeâ by Wendy Cope*.
At lunchtime I bought a huge orangeâ
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Daveâ
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. Itâs new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. Iâm glad I exist.
As I mentioned, this is the last episode of the Devotions podcast. Thank you so much to everyone who tuned in, I really appreciate it. These episodes will still be accessible on all podcast streaming platforms. See you on the other side.
Love always,
<3 Tara
*from Serious Concerns by Wendy Cope, published by Faber & Faber in 1992. -
Why not / live each day as if it were the firstâ/ all raw astonishment
Happy Sunday! Apologies for being a bit casual (and sniffly) this week :-)
Todayâs poem is âImaginary Conversationâ by the late Linda Pastan*.
You tell me to live each day
as if it were my last. This is in the kitchen
where before coffee I complain
of the day aheadâthat obstacle race
of minutes and hours,
grocery stores and doctors.
But why the last? I ask. Why not
live each day as if it were the firstâ
all raw astonishment, Eve rubbing
her eyes awake that first morning,
the sun coming up
like an ingénue in the east?
You grind the coffee
with the small roar of a mind
trying to clear itself. I set
the table, glance out the window
where dew has baptized every
living surface.
<3 Tara
*from Insomnia by Linda Pastan, published by W.W. Norton in 2015 -
Zijn er afleveringen die ontbreken?
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Is there a vocabulary for thisâone to make dailiness amplify / and not diminish wonder?
Hi friends,
Sorry for the delay in getting this out â thank you so much for your patience. Todayâs poem is âDo You Speak Persian?â by Kaveh Akbar.
Some days we can see Venus in mid-afternoon. Then at night, stars
separated by billions of miles, light travelling years
to die in the back of an eye.
Is there a vocabulary for thisâone to make dailiness amplify
and not diminish wonder?
I have been so careless with the words I already have.
I donât remember how to say home
in my first language, or lonely, or light.
I remember only
delam barat tang shodeh, I miss you,
and shab bekheir, goodnight.
How is school going, Kaveh-joon?
Delam barat tang shodeh.
Are you still drinking?
Shab bekheir.
For so long every step Iâve taken
has been from one tongue to another.
To order the world:
I need, you need, he/she/it needs.
The rest, left to a hungry jackal
he rest, left to a hungry jackal
Right now our moon looks like a pale cabbage rose.
Delam barat tang shodeh.
We are forever folding into the night.
Shab bekheir.
Hope youâre doing well.
<3 Tara
*first published in Narrative in 2015, sourced from Split This Rockâs poetry database. -
Put myself entirely / in the keep of this rainy morning.
Hi friends,
A casual one today, recorded in bed, on my phone. I am usually more meticulous about my recordings and what I say, but let me know if this more conversational format resonates with you.
Todayâs poem is âRainâ by Raymond Carver.* Here it is copied below:
Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.
Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgiveable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.
Happy 2023. Love always.
<3 Tara
*from All of Us: The Collected Poems by Raymond Carver, published by Knopf, 1996. -
afraid, yes, but among you again
Hi friends,
Todayâs poem is âSnowdropsâ by Louise GlĂŒck* Here it is copied below:
Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn't expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring--
afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy
in the raw wind of the new world.
Happy Holidays and best wishes for the New Year :-)
Love always.
<3 Tara
(P.S. Sorry for the quality of this recording â it was recorded on my phone as Iâm still at home with my family and away from my roommateâs fancy microphone. LOL.)
*from The Wild Iris by Louise GlĂŒck, published by Ecco Press, 1992. GlĂŒck won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for this collection in 1993. -
i fold and unfold / my heart a hundred times each / day
Todayâs poem is âUnder The Dayâ by Victoria Chang.* Here it is copied below:
Every day I laugh,
do you hear my mouth lifting?
I fold and unfold
my heart a hundred times each
day so that it doesnât freeze.
I would love to hear some of the ways you fold and unfold your hearts. Please let me know in the comments if youâd like :-)
Have a wonderful week!
<3 Tara
*from The Trees Witness Everything by Victoria Chang, published by Copper Canyon Press, 2022 -
while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite
Hi friends,
This weekâs poem is âPerhaps the World Ends Hereâ by Joy Harjo*. Itâs copied below.
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
Here are some of my favorite poems by Indigenous and Native poets:
âFooling Godâ by Louise Erdich
âThe First Water is the Bodyâ (Extract) by Natalie Diaz
âMapâ by Linda Hogan
And you can also purchase this collection of Native poetry, edited by Joy Harjo.
<3 Tara
*from The Woman Who Fell From the Sky by Joy Harjo, published by W. W. Norton and Company Inc. in 1994. -
when it is August, / you can have it August and abundantly so
Hi friends,
This weekâs poem is âYou Canât Have It Allâ by Barbara Ras*. Itâs copied below.
But you can have the fig tree and its fat leaves like clown hands
gloved with green. You can have the touch of a single eleven-year-old finger
on your cheek, waking you at one a.m. to say the hamster is back.
You can have the purr of the cat and the soulful look
of the black dog, the look that says, If I could I would bite
every sorrow until it fled, and when it is August,
you can have it August and abundantly so. You can have love,
though often it will be mysterious, like the white foam
that bubbles up at the top of the bean pot over the red kidneys
until you realize foam's twin is blood.
You can have the skin at the center between a man's legs,
so solid, so doll-like. You can have the life of the mind,
glowing occasionally in priestly vestments, never admitting pettiness,
never stooping to bribe the sullen guard who'll tell you
all roads narrow at the border.
You can speak a foreign language, sometimes,
and it can mean something. You can visit the marker on the grave
where your father wept openly. You can't bring back the dead,
but you can have the words forgive and forget hold hands
as if they meant to spend a lifetime together. And you can be grateful
for makeup, the way it kisses your face, half spice, half amnesia, grateful
for Mozart, his many notes racing one another towards joy, for towels
sucking up the drops on your clean skin, and for deeper thirsts,
for passion fruit, for saliva. You can have the dream,
the dream of Egypt, the horses of Egypt and you riding in the hot sand.
You can have your grandfather sitting on the side of your bed,
at least for a while, you can have clouds and letters, the leaping
of distances, and Indian food with yellow sauce like sunrise.
You can't count on grace to pick you out of a crowd
but here is your friend to teach you how to high jump,
how to throw yourself over the bar, backwards,
until you learn about love, about sweet surrender,
and here are periwinkles, buses that kneel, farms in the mind
as real as Africa. And when adulthood fails you,
you can still summon the memory of the black swan on the pond
of your childhood, the rye bread with peanut butter and bananas
your grandmother gave you while the rest of the family slept.
There is the voice you can still summon at will, like your mother's,
it will always whisper, you can't have it all,
but there is this.
Have a great Sunday!
<3 Tara -
A gentle introduction + thoughts on poetry
Hi friends!
This is the introduction to The Devotions Podcast. Itâs an entirely new format to me so Iâm sure it will change a bit as time goes on, but I hope you like it. Itâs poetry-centred and episodes will come out every other week.
Referenced in this episode is Audre Lordeâs âPoetry is Not A Luxuryâ.
Have a great Sunday!
<3 Tara
