WHEN THERE ARE NO WORDS, THERE IS POETRY: PROUD MUSIC OF THE STORM

WHEN TERRORISM THREATENS OUR TRUST IN OUR WORLD—WE LOOK IN POETRY FOR A WORLD WE CAN TRUST, beginning with Spine Poetry. We’ll not only learn about spine poetry (you have your own right now) but how it can give us spine, have our back, hand it to us, nurture our hearts, and restore our sense of trust in our world. Our Poetry Slow Down is produced by Zappa Johns, out here on the West Coast, and I’m our host, in Eugene, Oregon, Track Capital of the World, by which we all know means the place of poetic feet, go Ducks!–with the news we need, the news we heed, the news without which men die miserably every day . . . in other words, news we can trust to be kind.

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SAVE NEA/NEH/PBS/NPR

ON WHICH SO MUCH DEPENDS: REALLY? THAT’S A POEM? THAT’S WHAT WITHOUT WHICH WE DIE MISERABLY EVERY DAY?

The case for poetry (life and death) at a time when such things are being questioned as unnecessary in our civic life. A show in which I say, all right, let’s see what this poetry is really about when it comes right down to it–my mother’s dying and death. And in the process we’ll hear what nourished me and us–e.e. cummings, Emily Dickinson, Yeats, Eliot, Beckett, Mark Strand, Stanley Kunitz, Shakespeare, James Wright, Mary Oliver, and more.

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POETRY DANCES WITH THE LAW–RESURRECTION ENGINEERING TO RESTORE HETCH HETCHY VALLEY (WE CAN DO THIS!

Live from Berkeley, words on behalf of earth and your own favorite tree and poets!

 

 

 

 

 

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OUT OF THE MUCK AND MUDDLE, MUD AND PUDDLE, WEARY BLEAK WORN BEFUDDLED LIFE, A CROCUS, A SHINING MOMENT! –DEAR MARCH, COME IN!

Dickinson and Eco poets Denshosha? Wetzeng? A talk with Kim Stafford . . .  Emily Dickinson serves as earthling terran hostess for the season and our show today on March 5, for, as she says, “We like March. His shoes are purple.” March, this Versace fashionista dude in a hat, comes panting to her door, and she opens it wide, so glad, takes him upstairs with her, ready for all he has to tell her, and she, because she’s Emerson’s Poet, air-lord, sea-lord, land-lord, to tell us.

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