WEBVTT

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Well, I want to end
with a poem I've

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dedicated to Denise
Levertov, a poet for whom

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I have a lot of respect
not only for her poetry

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but because of her notion of
being a poet in the world.

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I think one of the
things that writers

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have to wrestle with in
this country is at times

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the image we carry
around in our heads

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of writers as somehow removed,
non participatory members

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of society.

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My personal bias
although I think anybody

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ought to be free to do that is
that writers need to actively

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participate in the world.

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Witness.

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She gathers quiet
around her like a shawl

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carried in a worn bag from place
to place, her fingers checking

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often that it's by her side.

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Throughout the day,
she pauses for a spell,

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gathers the familiar
scent and texture round

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her shoulders and elbows.

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Within its folds,
she hears a wail.

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A child's mouth burst open like
his skin exploding in pain.

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Within its folds,
she hears an Earth

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sigh heavily at
mighty trees uprooted,

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blooms shriveled in smoke.

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Carefully she records the
limbs still now in the heat,

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and then she rises,
gathers the stormy power

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of forgotten spirits
to her while we hush.

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And as she speaks to us, we
feel our tongues heavy, hiding,

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unwilling to utter
the truths we know.

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My wish for all of us is
that we have the courage

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to utter the truths we know.

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Thank you.

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I'd be glad to
answer any questions.