Transcript

I’m Major Jackson and this is The Slowdown.

Too hot inside: the building A/C out, everyone worn down from extreme temperatures, we sat outdoors, forming a makeshift classroom at a writers’ conference. By midweek, after much laughter and camaraderie, we were bonded beyond acquaintance, which is to say there was trust. Many were there reflecting on a life full of experiences. One had quite an air of elegance about her; she was reserved, poised and shy. She walked alone during our break. After some time, she read her poem out loud, which quieted the room: Bless the teenage boy who said he’d rather kiss a swarm of bees and bless the sorority sisters who shunned me after weight gain, and bless the man who blocked my promotion, and bless the date who said after several cocktails, I was sad as a cardboard box left in the rain.

The poem chronicled a series of hurts that upended assumptions we may have made about her. Many in the workshop teared up as they listened and everyone clapped when she was done. I felt honored that she shared her poem in a space that we all co-created together. Our protection allowed us to enter, without worry of judgment, each other’s universe of anguish and joy.

When I first started to teach poetry, I believed all talk during workshops should be about mastering craft. But I was saved by the poet Toi Derricotte who, in quick reaction once to my critique of a fellow workshop participant as lacking technique, said this: Major, we must learn to craft our emotions, too.

It is a lesson I’ve carried with me. Learning to attune ourselves to hear, no, feel those areas where our friends and family hurt the most is one of the most powerful connections to make as a human being. In this way, the courage of poetry leads to an art that ultimately keeps us in a state of grace.

Today’s fine poem balances humor with hard truth-telling. It revives in me the bravery of boldly saying that which dignifies our existence with clarity.

Mirror, Mirror
by Tom Healy

What do we do when we hate our bodies?
A good coat helps.
Some know how to pull off a hat.

And there are paints, lighting, knives, needles, 
various kinds of resignation,
the laugh in the mirror, the lie

of saying it doesn’t matter.
There is also the company we keep:
surgeons and dermatologists,

faith healers and instruction-givers,
tailors of cashmere and skin
who send their bills for holding

our shame-red hands, raw
from the slipping rope,
the same hands with which we tremble

ever so slightly, holding novels in bed,
concentrating on the organization
of pain and joy

we say is another mirror,
a depth, a conjure in which we might meet
someone who says touch me.

“Mirror, Mirror” by Tom Healy from WHAT THE RIGHT HAND KNOWS © 2009 Tom Healy. Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.