If â€œeverything is aliveâ€ (Ian Chillag), e=mc2 (Einstein), things â€œmust be sung,â€ â€œsing themselvesâ€ (Emerson), then a) you are alive, b) you are everything, c) you are a song. Weâ€™re all in this together, like penguins and bats, singing our song, to find our way along, know how we belong to each other and this earth. Is your world singing and ringing? Are you? To a tree, and all things, YOU are indispensable, the song, the singer, and Iâ€™m talking toÂ you, O listener for whom I have cast a pod, who has slowed down for the Poetry Slow Down, to consider poetry in our lives, in our every day. It turns out your mother loved it, your father wrote it, your friend frames it, and your colleague memorizes it. Who knew? You thought it was just you, this eccentric resonance with the oddly stated, quirkly reasoned, dapper and dappled language, put into girdles and tuxes, plaid flannel bathrobes, hooded, buttoned, stressed, pressed, wrested, strangling, wrangled, oddly fitting, evocative, provocative, word play that, frankly, for the world at least, is life and death. Poetry? Poetry! And herein lies an answer to that question fretting you all morning: I know how trees matter to me (let me count the ways); but do I, how can I, matter to them, or for that matter, to our world? And youâ€™re not alone. In your existential crisis, youâ€™re with your Poetry Slow Down, our program laying out the case for the need for humans on earth. Weâ€™ve been guilting ourselves lately, our roles in climate change, pollution, species extinction, and so we know we matter in a catastrophic way. But let us consider how we also matter in a redeeming, lifesaving way, a way on which the world depends, and perhaps for which we were brain-wired, purposed. Hear hear! We’ll hear Mary Oliver, Marianne Moore, John Muir, singing, and for things that must be sung, about David Milarch’s Archangel Ancient Trees, and Melbourne’s email trees civic project, Â and more. OurÂ PoetrySlowDown, the news feed you need, the news you heed, the news â€œwithout with men die miserably every day.â€ #poetrynowmorethanever #savedbypoem And if you hear the wind in the willows, thatâ€™s the trees cheering for you, your inner poet, to think on them through the poetic lens. Iâ€™m your host, Professor Barbara Mossberg, and weâ€™re produced by Zappa-that-Zappa Johns.
Â©Â Barbara Mossberg 2018