Red Letter Poem #153

 The Red Letters

 

 

In ancient Rome, feast days were indicated on the calendar by red letters.  To my mind, all poetry and art serves as a reminder that every day we wake together beneath the sun is a red-letter day.

 

                                                                                                          – Steven Ratiner

 

 

 

 

 

Red Letter Poem #153

 

 

 

 

On March 10, 2020, the Governor of Massachusetts declared a state of emergency in response to the Covid pandemic.  Quickly, much of our country entered lockdown, and it didn’t take long for me to see the devastating effects that isolation was having on households and communities.  Fear is always magnified if you believe you’re facing trouble alone.  People were desperate to find ways of connecting with family and friends.  I decided to use my mandate as Arlington’s Poet Laureate to make a modest contribution: to try to remind us that a greater we still enveloped us all; that we’d been through terrible challenges before and would surely survive this one as well.  Isn’t that one of the essential features of any literature, a tangible continuity?  Ten days later, the first Red Letter poem arrived in several thousand inboxes, thanks to a partnership with seven area arts and community organizations.  The weekly poems were intended to provide comfort, insight and – as all art aspires to achieve – an experience of our bedrock commonality.  I was surprised and delighted by how quickly these Letters were embraced.

 

Since the project was rooted in Arlington, I began by seeking out writers from this community – and I had no doubt which poet I’d ask to be Red Letter #1.  Fred Marchant is not only a highly-esteemed poet – author of five award-winning collections – he is an educator, editor, translator and (most important) the sort of individual whose work is informed by a deep commitment to the spirit of a shared world.  Perhaps the highest compliment I can pay to any poet: I don’t just read Fred’s work, I re-read it.  His books do not sit attracting dust on my shelf.   I return to his poetry most often when I’m needing a clear and deeply humane voice, one that both reassures and challenges – especially important in turbulent times like these, when despair is still only a phone call or a headline away.  The Red Letters has since grown to include poets and readers from across the United States and beyond, spreading most often by electronic word-of-mouth.  Today’s installment will mark the beginning of our fourth year of publication – and I couldn’t have a better voice to mark the occasion than Fred’s, here debuting a new poem from what I sense is a new book beginning to take shape.

 

The literary tradition of an ars poetica involves poems attempting to examine the very definition of the art form.  I think something different is taking place in this piece: Fred has shaped a poem that explores the essential relationship between. . .well, I’m not quite certain.  When I first received “hello/stranger”, I thought it was the writer/reader bond made manifest – a sort of prayer mat we might set out before a cherished text.  On the tenth reading, I thought this might be the poet, in a Whitmanesque gesture, welcoming his own self into a new consciousness, into this ancient poetic and spiritual tradition.  I’ve certainly had many mornings when I’ve awoken, feeling a stranger to my own existence and – thank goodness – sometimes a poem was close at hand to focus my attention and help steer my way back home.  My feelings about this poem continue to deepen, though the questions abound – but one thing is always clear: I have no doubt when reading it that I’m that stranger receiving welcome – just as I have little doubt you will be equally convinced it’s you being addressed.  Making our way through the text, we take notice of that straight spine centering our attention, the lines of the sturdy ribcage we almost imagine swelling with respiration – and, perhaps most satisfying, that gentle voice assuring us that there is no need to feel estranged from this living moment.  Fred’s created here a very American version of zazen, each unscrolling breath illuminated with a bright red initial.

 

 

 

hello

          stranger

 

 

this is where

                 you enter

the poem, you’ll

                 need to take

your shoes off,

                 but not your

socks, sit as you

                 wish, cushion

or not, even on

                 a chair, but

keep the spine

                 and windpipe

aligned, upright

                 enough to draw

a straight path

                 from the base

of your being

                 to the place

the gods like

                 to touch,

that tangled nest

                 of neurons

where you have

                 imagined gods

exist, where you

                 believe in love’s

enduring kindness,

                 and in a decency

greater than mere

                 gratitude, and

as these are kin

                 to reading a poem,

you are welcome

                 here, the key is

under the mat

                 let yourself in

 

 

                          ––Fred Marchant

 

 

 

The Red Letters 3.0

 

* If you would like to receive these poems every Friday in your own in-box – or would like to write in with comments or submissions – send correspondence to:

steven.arlingtonlaureate@gmail.com

 

 

* To learn more about the origins of the Red Letter Project, check out an essay I wrote for Arrowsmith Magazine:

https://www.arrowsmithpress.com/community-of-voices

 

and the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene

http://dougholder.blogspot.com

 

* For updates and announcements about Red Letter projects and poetry readings, please follow me on Twitter          

@StevenRatiner