{"id":137451,"date":"2019-06-20T13:00:04","date_gmt":"2019-06-20T17:00:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=137451"},"modified":"2019-06-20T11:43:52","modified_gmt":"2019-06-20T15:43:52","slug":"poetry-rx-remember-the-sky-that-you-were-born-under","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/06\/20\/poetry-rx-remember-the-sky-that-you-were-born-under\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry Rx: Remember the Sky That You Were Born Under"},"content":{"rendered":"

In our column\u00a0Poetry Rx<\/a>, readers\u00a0write in<\/a>\u00a0with a specific emotion, and our resident poets\u2014Sarah Kay, Kaveh Akbar, and Claire Schwartz\u2014take turns prescribing the perfect poems to match. This week,\u00a0Kaveh Akbar is on the line.<\/i><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

\u00a9 Ellis Rosen<\/p><\/div>\n

Dear\u00a0Poets,<\/em><\/p>\n

My niece is about to graduate high school. She has had to deal with a lot the past few years, including the death of her mother. I\u2019ve watched her grow from an infant into the amazing young adult that she is today. I see how she\u2019s getting ready to navigate all the complexities of life after high school. She is a talented artist and\u00a0poet, and I\u2019m so excited to discover what she does with the rest of her life.<\/em><\/p>\n

I wish that I could protect her from any unhappiness or difficulties, but I know that I can\u2019t, and I realize that our challenges help us grow. Can you please share a\u00a0poem\u00a0to remind her that even though the world can be scary and contains pain, she is strong and resilient?<\/em><\/p>\n

Thank you,<\/em>
\nProud Aunt<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Dear Proud Aunt,<\/p>\n

Throughout my life I\u2019ve always been fascinated by the way in which, in the throes of my most miserable episodes, I tend to seek out anguished art, art indelibly inflected not by joy but by the strain of having lived and lost. It seems like the logical thing would be to mainline uplifting art, children\u2019s baking shows and classic show tunes. But inexorably, when I\u2019m sad, when I\u2019m lost, I find myself searching for other sad, lost voices.<\/p>\n

For a long time I thought this was maybe a particular strain of masochism, native to my own messed-up psychic ecosystem. I really wanted to stick my thumb into the wound, it seemed, really wanted to amplify my despair. Over time, I began to realize that this wasn\u2019t necessarily straight masochism, but rather a desperate leaning into commiseration. I wanted to hear other people say, Yes, I was there, too, and I lived to make art out of it.<\/p>\n

For your niece, I prescribe Joy Harjo\u2019s \u201cRemember<\/a>.\u201d The poem opens:<\/p>\n

Remember the sky that you were born under,<\/span>
\nknow each of the star\u2019s stories.<\/span>
\nRemember the moon, know who she is.<\/span>
\nRemember the sun\u2019s birth at dawn, that is the<\/span>
\nstrongest point of time. Remember sundown<\/span>
\nand the giving away to night.<\/span>
\nRemember your birth, how your mother struggled<\/span>
\nto give you form and breath. You are evidence of<\/span>
\nher life, and her mother\u2019s, and hers.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Your niece has been given a terrible pain to carry. But, you say, she\u2019s also cultivated substantial gifts as a poet and artist. With those, I hope she\u2019ll be able to alchemize her pain into experience, strength, and hope for the people who encounter her work. Yes, I was there, too, and I lived to make art out of it. All is in motion, is growing. All language comes from this.<\/p>\n

\u2014KA<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Dear Poets,<\/em><\/p>\n

I would like to see a poem for a skill I\u2019ve picked up (unwittingly) from my mother: complimenting people in a way that feels insulting.<\/em><\/p>\n

Example: Oh, another new plant? How \u2026 nice.<\/em><\/p>\n

On behalf of daughters everywhere,<\/em>
\nGenetically Passive Aggressive<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dear Passive Aggressive,<\/p>\n

Stop that! No, seriously, here\u2019s Paul Tran\u2019s \u201cScientific Method<\/a>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
Though it couldn\u2019t hold me, I clung to the yellow-face<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
devil as though it was my true mother and I grasped<\/div>\n
the function of motherhood: witness to my suffering,<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
companion in hell. Unlike infants with wire mothers<\/div>\n
I didn\u2019t hurl myself on the floor in terror or tantrum,<\/div>\n
rocking back and forth, colder than a corpse. I had<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
what Master believed to be a psychological base<\/div>\n
of operations. Emotional attachment. Autonomy.<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

The poem orbits Harry Harlow\u2019s famous \u201cwire mother\u201d experiments<\/a>. Tran\u2019s rending lyric suggests that the \u201cfunction of motherhood\u201d is to be a witness to suffering, a companion in hell. In an increasingly hellish world, it is a profound gift to have a mother with whom you can laugh, commiserate, joke. But can the two of you survive without making the lives of others more hellish? Here\u2019s hoping you can find a way to move beyond \u201ccruelty concealed as inquisitition.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2014KA<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Dear Poets,<\/em><\/p>\n

I am hopelessly searching for a way to become spiritual again. Once, poetry provided a way back into my spirituality. However, because of the changes I have undergone, including being far away from home, where it was easy to find spirituality, I\u2019m now struggling. Could you recommend any poetry that speaks to this?\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Yours sincerely,<\/em>
\nPoet in Exile<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dear Poet in Exile,<\/p>\n

My poetry life and my spiritual life have become inextricable, that Venn diagram just one big circle. In writing, I\u2019m granted access to some part of me, or some part of not-me, that is greater than my intelligence, bigger than my experience. The poet Chen Chen writes, \u201cMy poems are braver than I am, but I am constantly trying to catch up.<\/a>\u201d Even the most skeptical writers talk about hours flying by, or such-and-such a phrase \u201cjust coming\u201d to them. It\u2019s hard to speak about what happens when we write without mining the language of the supernatural because so often what we write seems to know, see, hear more than we do.<\/p>\n

For you, I offer Fanny Howe\u2019s \u201cYellow Goblins<\/a>.\u201d It\u2019s a short poem, and it begins:<\/p>\n

\n
Yellow goblins<\/div>\n
and a god I can swallow:<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Eyes in the evergreens<\/div>\n
under ice.<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

It\u2019s a strange, gnomic poem, and the opening couplet, \u201cYellow goblins \/ and a god I can swallow\u201d is among my favorite opening lines by any poet about anything. I have no idea what it means; in fact, I doubt it\u2019s particularly interested in meaning. Maybe poetry itself is a yellow goblin, a god we can swallow. Certainly, it\u2019s a kind of \u201cinterior monologue,\u201d a \u201cvoice,\u201d a \u201cplace to surmise \/ blessedness.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m as confused as anyone about the spirit, but that confusion generates in me a passionate and insatiable curiosity. Luckily, there are millennia\u2019s worth of poems written expressly around, through, and against this curiosity. I hope this bit of Howe\u2019s poetry leads you to the countless other poets wondering and wandering alongside us.<\/p>\n

\u2014KA<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Our poets, brilliant though they may be, would like to remind you that they are only poets. If you or someone you love requires professional help, please consider the resources listed here<\/a>.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Want more? Read earlier\u00a0installments of\u00a0Poetry Rx<\/a>.\u00a0<\/i>Need a poem?\u00a0Write to us<\/a>! In the next installment, Sarah Kay will be answering questions.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Kaveh Akbar\u2019s poems have appeared recently in\u00a0<\/em>The\u00a0New<\/span>\u00a0Yorker<\/span>,<\/em>\u00a0Poetry,<\/em>\u00a0t<\/em>he<\/em>\u00a0New<\/span>\u00a0York Times,<\/em>\u00a0the\u00a0<\/em>Nation,\u00a0and elsewhere. His first book is\u00a0<\/em>Calling a Wolf a Wolf. Born in Tehran, Iran, he teaches at\u00a0Purdue<\/span>\u00a0University and in the low-residency M.F.A. programs at Randolph College and Warren Wilson College.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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