Transcript

I’m Major Jackson and this is The Slowdown.

Are you prone to going down rabbit holes as much as me? Far too often I spend part of my day distracted by a topic that enters my ken. It typically goes like this: I go to my office on campus to retrieve a book. I thumb through ten other books. Next thing I know, I am two hours deep into reading about the moon: tidal locking, perigean tides, lunar nodes, and other sundry facts like this one: that every planet could potentially have a moon in synchronous orbit. Where the moon is in a stable relative location, getting neither closer to nor farther from its partner. Where the two bodies actually share a center of gravity. A noted essayist refers to synchronous orbiting as a “narrow passage of permanence.” That gets me to thinking about relationships, and the moon’s antics as the perfect allegory for all kinds of love, and then I think I should write a poem about finding the path, the groove that puts us in perfect harmony with our partner.

But then, most likely the poem would turn on the idea that permanence is an illusion. Death is a looming reality for every creature. All good poems about love hint at our transience, which makes poems that mourn the loss of someone the superfood of poetry. We are wiser when we face such truths. Pluto is the only planet in our solar system whose moon, Charon, is locked into its groove. But then again, Pluto is no longer a planet. See what I mean about rabbit holes?

I predict someone’s job in the future will be to track the digital sources that lead to the writing of a poem. Our computers and servers carry the hidden record of our activity on search engines, our forays into knowledge. Knowledge that spurs art.

Though spoken to a single person, today’s elegiac poem makes a universal claim about loss; our hearts, mind, and bodies and the memories within render permanent, even conjure, those we once loved on this side of life.

It Too Remains
by Glyn Maxwell

You’ve gone. I mean you’re gone. You didn’t 
                  have a say.
I don’t believe you’re anywhere and 
                  while they pray

I picture you. The images push
                  forward one
to stand for all the rest, and when that’s
                  sort of done

a voice arrives, a tone of voice, a
                  certain note
I almost hear, can almost manage
                  in this throat.

And as of now that’s that and all I 
                  feel is true
is you’re at peace. Whatever soul they’re
                  chanting to

once had a voice and face I gave it
                  and it too
remains at peace, only it’s now at
                  peace with you.

“It Too Remains” by Glyn Maxwell from NEW AND SELECTED POEMS OF GLYN MAXWELL © 2024 Glyn Maxwell, published by Arrowsmith Press. Used by permission of the poet.