The Poetry Exchange

In this episode, acclaimed film, TV and Theatre Director John Crowley talks about the poem that has been a friend to him: 'The Death by Heroin of Sid Vicious' by Paul Durcan. ​BAFTA winner and Tony nominated director John Crowley is internationally acclaimed for his work both on the stage and the screen, with credits including The Goldfinch (2019) and Brooklyn, which was nominated for three Academy Awards (including Best Motion Picture) and won the 2016 BAFTA for Best British Film.John visited The Poetry Exchange in London. He is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange hosts, Michael Shaeffer and Fiona Bennett.Fiona reads the gift reading of 'The Death by Heroin of Sid Vicious'.*****The Death by Heroin of Sid Vicious​by Paul DurcanThere – but for the clutch of luck – go I.At daybreak – in the arctic fog of a February daybreak –Shoulder-length helmets in the watchtowers of the concentration camp Caught me out in the intersecting arcs of the swirling searchlights.There were at least a zillion of us caught out there –Like ladybirds under a boulder –But under the microscope each of us was unique,Unique and we broke for cover, crazily breasting The barbed wire and some of us made it To the forest edge, but many of us did notMake it, although their unborn children did –Such as you whom the camp commandant branded Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols. Jesus, break his fall:There – but for the clutch of luck – go we all.‘The Death by Heroin of Sid Viscious’ by John Crowley - from A SNAIL IN MY PRIME: NEW AND SELECTED POEMS, The Harvil Press, 2011 Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode, Alida talks about the poem that has been a friend to her – 'De Ceder' / 'The Cedar' by Han G. Hoekstra. You will hear the poem in Dutch and in an English translation by Alida herself.Dr. Alida Gersie is a widely published author and world authority on therapeutic story-work, the arts therapies, the uses of the arts in health and popular education. She designed and directed Postgraduate Arts Therapies training programmes at universities in the UK and abroad. Since the 1970’s she has advised leading thinkers on the uses of story to encourage pro-environmental policy and behavioural change. Alida is editor of and contributor to Storytelling for a Greener world: Environment, Community and Story-Based Learning. Stroud: Hawthorn Press, 2014.www.hawthornpress.com/authors/alida-gersie/Our thanks to Meulenhoff for granting us permission to share the poem with you. You can find 'De Ceder' in the original Dutch along with many other works by Han G. Hoekstra at dbnl.org - digitale bibliotheek vor de Nederlandse letteren.Alida is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Andrea Witzke-Slot and Al Snell.Al reads the gift reading of 'The Cedar'.*********De Cederby Han G. HoekstraIk heb een ceder in mijn tuin geplant.gij kunt hem zien, gij schijnt het niet te willen.Een binnenplaats, meesmuilt ge, sintels, schillen.en schimmel die een blinde muur aanrandt,er is geen boom, alleen een grauwe wand.Hij is er, zeg ik, en mijn stem gaat trillen,Ik heb een ceder in mijn tuin geplant,Gij kunt hem zien, gij schijnt het niet te willen,Ik wijs naar buiten, waar zijn ranke, prillestam in het herfstlicht staat, onaangerand,niet te benaderen voor noodlots grillen.geen macht ter wereld kan het droombeeld drillen.Ik heb been ceder in mijn tuin geplant.From 'Panopticum', Meulenhoff, 1946.*********The Cedarby Han G. Hoekstratranslated by Alida GersieI have planted a cedar in my garden’s soil.you too could see it, but it seems you don’t want to.A yard, you snigger, slags and rot,There’s mould that festers on the blinding wall.There is no tree, a drab divider, nothing more. It is there, I say, and my voice now trembles,You too could see it, but it seems you don’t want to.I point outside, where its slender, tendertrunk stands in radiant autumn’s glow, untouched,and way beyond doom’s fickle tricks.No worldly force can erode this vision.I have planted a cedar in my garden’s soil. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this special feature length episode, recorded live at Latitude Festival, musician Nadine Shah and writer & theatre-maker Hannah Jane Walker talk about the poems that have been friends to them.You can find out more about the brilliant work of Nadine and Hannah Jane Walker here: www.nadineshah.co.ukwww.hannahjanewalker.co.ukThis is our first live show episode and features work by Philip Larkin, Elizabeth Alexander, Salena Godden and WB Yeats.Discover more of the brilliant Salena Godden's work and seek out her collection 'Pessimism is for Lightweights' from Rough Trade Books. We had a gorgoues time as part of The Listening Post at Latitude Festival 2019 and are delighted to be sharing it with you through our podcast! *****Days by Philip LarkinWhat are days for?Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over.They are to be happy in: Where can we live but days?Ah, solving that questionBrings the priest and the doctor In their long coatsRunning over the fields.*****Pessimism is for Lightweights by Salena GoddenThink of those that marched this road beforeAnd those that will march here in years to comeThe road in shadow and the road in the sunThe road before us and the road all doneHistory is watching us and what will we becomeThis road is all flags and milestonesImmigrant blood and sweat and tearsBuild this city, built this countryMade this road last all these yearsThis road is made of protest And those not permitted to vote And those that are still fighting to speak With a boot stamping on their throatThere is power and strength in optimismTo have faith and to stay true to youBecause if you can look in the mirrorAnd have belief and promise youWill share wonder in living thingsBeauty, dreams, books and artLove your neighbour and be kindAnd have an open heartThen you're already winning at livingYou speak up, you show up and stand tallIt's silence that is complicitIt's apathy that hurts us allPessimism is for lightweightsThere is no straight white lineIt's the bumps and curves and obstaclesThat make this time yours and minePessimism is for lightweightsThis road was never easy and straightAnd living is all about living alive and livelyAnd love will conquer hate. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode, Farah talks about the poem that has been a friend to her – 'O Captain! My Captain!' by Walt Whitman.Farah visited The Poetry Exchange in London. She is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange hosts, Michael Shaeffer and Fiona Bennett.Fiona reads the gift reading of 'O Captain! my Captain!'Fiona also mentions 'The Brittle Sea' by Paul Henry as part of this epsiode, which is available from Seren Books.*****O Captain! my Captain!by Walt WhitmanO Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You’ve fallen cold and dead.My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode, Yasmin talks about the poem that has been a friend to her – ‘The Guest House' by Rumi.You can find ‘The Guest House’ in SELECTED POEMS by Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks (Penguin Classics, 2004). We would like to thank Coleman Barks for granting us permission to share the poem in this way.Yasmin visited The Poetry Exchange at Manchester Central Library, as part of the celebrations of International Mother Languages Day in the city.Many thanks to our partners Manchester Libraries, Archives Plus, The Manchester Writing School at Manchester Metropolitan University and Manchester UNESCO City of Literature.Yasmin is the Founder and Editor in chief of Halcyon: a creative space aimed at empowering Muslim women.She is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Michael Shaeffer and Fiona Bennett.Fiona reads the gift reading of 'The Guest House'.*****The Guest Houseby RumiThis being human is a guest house.Every morning a new arrival.A joy, a depression, a meanness,some momentary awareness comesas an unexpected visitor.Welcome and entertain them all!Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,who violently sweep your houseempty of its furniture,still, treat each guest honorably.He may be clearing you outfor some new delight.The dark thought, the shame, the malice,meet them at the door laughing,and invite them in.Be grateful for whoever comes,because each has been sentas a guide from beyond. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode, poet John McAuliffe talks about the poem that has been a friend to him – 'Mathios Paskalis Among The Roses' by George Seferis.John McAuliffe was born in 1973 and grew up in Listowel, County Kerry. He has published six collections with The Gallery Press. His first, A Better Life (2002), was shortlisted for a Forward Prize. His fifth collection, The Kabul Olympics, was published in April 2020 and was an Observer Poetry Book of the Month. John McAuliffe’s Selected Poems was published in October 2021.John McAuliffe is Professor of Poetry at the University of Manchester’s Centre for New Writing and Associate Publisher at Carcanet Press. He co-edits PN Review and The Manchester Review, as well as writing for other publications, and he previously worked as chief poetry critic at the Irish Times and as Deputy Chair of the Irish Arts Council.You can find “Mathios Paskalis Among the Roses” from GEORGE SEFERIS: Collected Poems 1924-1955. Bilingual edition, translated, edited, and introduced by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Copyright © 1967, renewed 1995 by Princeton University Press. John is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Bennett and Al Snell.*****Mathios Paskalis Among The Rosesby George SeferisI've been smoking steadily all morningif I stop the roses will embrace methey'll choke me with thorns and fallen petalsthey grow crookedly, each with the same rose colourthey gaze, expecting to see someone go by; no one goes by.Behind the smoke of my pipe I watch themscentless on their weary stems.In the other life a woman said to me: 'You can touch this hand,and this rose is yours, it's yours, you can take itnow or later, whenever you like'.I go down the steps smoking still,and the roses follow me down excitedand in their manner there's something of that voiceat the root of a cry, there where one starts shouting'mother' or 'help'or the small white cries of love.It's a small white garden full of rosesa few square yards descending with meas I go down the steps, without the sky;and her aunt would say to her: 'Antigone, you forgot your exercises today,at your age I never wore corsets, not in my time.'Her aunt was a pitiful creature: veins in relief,wrinkles all around her ears, a nose ready to die; but her words were always full of prudence.One day I saw her touching Antigone's breastlike a small child stealing an apple.Is it possible that I'll meet the old woman now as I go down?She said to me as I left: 'Who knows when we''ll meet again?'And then I read of her death in old newspapersof Antigone's marriage and the marriage of Antigone's daughterwithout the steps coming to an end or my tobaccowhich leaves on my lips the taste of a haunted shipwith a mermaid crucified to the wheel while she was still beautiful. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode, Hannah talks about the poem that has been a friend to her – ‘Of Mutability’ by Jo Shapcott.We’re delighted to feature ‘Of Mutability’ in this episode and would like to thank Faber & Faber for granting us permission to share the poem in this way. You can find ‘Of Mutability’ in OF MUTABILITY by Jo Shapcott (Faber & Faber, 2011). Hannah visited The Poetry Exchange at Manchester Central Library, as part of the celebrations of International Mother Languages Day in the city.Many thanks to our partners Manchester Libraries, Archives Plus, The Manchester Writing School at Manchester Metropolitan University and Manchester UNESCO City of Literature.Hannah is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Michael Shaeffer and Fiona Bennett.*********Of Mutabilityby Jo ShapcottToo many of the best cells in my bodyare itching, feeling jagged, turning rawin this spring chill. It’s two thousand and fourand I don’t know a soul who doesn’t feel smallamong the numbers. Razor small.Look down these days to see your feetmistrust the pavement and your blood teststurn the doctor’s expression grave.Look up to catch eclipses, gold leaf, comets,angels, chandeliers, out of the corner of your eye,join them if you like, learn astrophysics, orlearn folksong, human sacrifice, mortality,flying, fishing, sex without touching much.Don’t trouble, though, to head anywhere but the sky. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode, Angela talks about the poem that has been a friend to her – ‘The force that through the green fuse drives the flower' by Dylan Thomas.We’re delighted to feature ‘The force that through the green fuse drives the flower’ in this episode and would like to thank Weidenfeld and Nicolson for granting us permission to share the poem in this way.You can find ‘The force that through the green fuse drives the flower’ in The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas: the Centenary Edition, published by Weidenfeld and Nicolson, copyright holder The Dylan Thomas Trust.Angela visited The Poetry Exchange at Manchester Central Library, as part of the celebrations of International Mother Languages Day in the city.Many thanks to our partners Manchester Libraries, Archives Plus, The Manchester Writing School at Manchester Metropolitan University and Manchester UNESCO City of Literature.Angela is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange hosts, Michael Shaeffer and Fiona Bennett.*********The force that through the green fuse drives the flowerby Dylan ThomasThe force that through the green fuse drives the flowerDrives my green age; that blasts the roots of treesIs my destroyer.And I am dumb to tell the crooked roseMy youth is bent by the same wintry fever.The force that drives the water through the rocksDrives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streamsTurns mine to wax.And I am dumb to mouth unto my veinsHow at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.The hand that whirls the water in the poolStirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing windHauls my shroud sail.And I am dumb to tell the hanging manHow of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.The lips of time leech to the fountain head;Love drips and gathers, but the fallen bloodShall calm her sores.And I am dumb to tell a weather’s windHow time has ticked a heaven round the stars.And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tombHow at my sheet goes the same crooked worm. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode, Mark talks about the poem that has been a friend to him – ‘Barcarole' by Pablo Neruda - translated by Robert Hass.We’re delighted to feature ‘Barcarole’ in this episode and would like to thank Agencia Literaria Carmen Balcells, City Lights Books and Frederick Courtright for granting us permission to share the poem in this way.You can find ‘Barcarole’ in ‘The Essential Neruda’ - Selected Poems - edited by Mark Eisner, published by Bloodaxe Books in the UK and City Lights Books in the US.*****Barcaroleby Pablo NerudaIf only you would touch my heart,if only you were to put your mouth to my heart,your delicate mouth, your teeth,if you were to put your tongue like a red arrowthere where my dusty heart is beating,if you were to blow on my heart near the sea, weeping,it would make a dark noise, like the drowsy sound oftrain wheels,like the indecision of waters,like autumn in full leaf,like blood,with a noise of damp flames burning the sky,with a sound like dreams or branches or the rain,or foghorns in some dismal port,if you were to blow on my heart near the sea,like a white ghost,in the spume of the wave,in the middle of the wind,like a ghost unleashed, at the seashore, weeping.Like a long absence, like a sudden bell,the sea doles out the sound of the heart,raining, darkening at sundown, on a lonely coast:no question that night fallsand its mournful blue of the flags of shipwreckspeoples itself with planets of throaty silver.And the heart sounds like a sour conchcalls, oh sea, oh lament, oh molten panic,scattered in the unlucky and dishevelled waves:The sea reports sonorouslyon its languid shadows, its green poppies.If you existed, suddenly, on a mournful coast,surrounded by the dead day,facing into a new night,filled with waves,and if you were to blow on my cold and frightened heart,if you were to blow on the lonely blood of my heart,if you were to blow on its motion of doves in flame,its black syllables of blood would ring out,its incessant red waters would come to flood,and it would ring out, ring out with shadows,ring out like death,cry out like a tube filled with wind or weeping,like a shaken bottle spurting fear.So that's how it is, and the lightning would glint in your braidsand the rain would come in through your open eyesto ready the weeping you shut up dumblyand the black wings of the sea would wheel round you,with its great talons and its rush and its cawing.Do you want to be the solitary ghost blowing, by the sea its sad instrument?If only you would call,a long sound, a bewitching whistle,a sequence of wounded waves,maybe some one would come,(someone would come,)from the peaks of the islands, from the red depths of the sea,someone would come, someone would come.Someone would come, blow fiercely,so that it sounds like a siren of some battered ship,like lamentation,like neighing in the midst of the foam and blood,like ferocious water gnashing and sounding.In the marine seasonits conch of shadow spirals like a shout,the seabirds ignore it and fly off,its roll call of sounds, its mournful ringsrise on the shores of the lonely sea. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode, Katharine talks about the poem that has been a friend to her – ‘Dich’ / ‘You’ by Erich Fried.We are delighted to feature ‘Dich’ / ‘You’ in this episode and would like to thank Verlag Klaus Wagenbach for allowing us to use it in this way.Katharine visited The Poetry Exchange at St Chad's College Chapel in Durham, during Durham Book Festival, in association with Durham University Foundation Programme. We’re very grateful to all our Durham partners for hosting us so warmly.Katharine is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Michael Shaeffer and Andrea Witzke-Slot.‘Dich’ / ‘You' is read by Michael Shaeffer.*****Dich By Eric FriedDichdich sein lassenganz dichSehen, daß du nur du bistwenn du alles bistwas du bistdas Zarteund das Wildedas was sich anschmiegenund das was sich loßreißen willWer nur die Hälfte liebtder liebt dich nicht halbsondern gar nichtder will dich zurechtschneidenamputierenverstümmelnDich dich sein lassenob das schwer oder leicht ist?Es kommt nicht darauf an mit wievielVorbedacht und Verstandsondern mit wieviel Liebe und mit wievieloffener Sehnsucht nach allem – nach allemwas du istNach der Wärme und nach der Kältenach der Güte und nach dem Starrsinnnach deinem Willenund Unwillennach jeder deiner Gebärdennach deiner UngebärdigkeitUnstetigkeitStetigkeitDann ist diesesdich dich sein lassenvielleichtgar nicht so schwer‘Dich’ by Erich Fried from 'Es ist was es ist’ © 1983 Verlag Klaus Wagenbach, Berlin*********Below is a translation of the poem, published in ‘Love Poems’ by Erich Fried, trans. Stuart Hood, available from Alma Classics. YouBy Erich FriedYouto let you be youall you To seethat you are only youwhen you’re everythingthat you arethe tender oneand the wild onethat wants to break freeand wants to come close Whoever loves the halfloves you not by halfbut not at allwants to cut you to sizeto amputateto maim you To let you be youis it hard or easy?It’s not a matter of how muchforethought and understandingbut of how much love and how muchopen longing for everything –for allthat is you For the warmthand the coldnessfor the goodnessand obstinacyfor your wilfulnessand unwillingnessfor each of your gesturesfor your awkwardnessinconstancyconstancy Then thisletting you be youmaybe isn’t so difficultafter allFried, Erich. Love Poems (Alma Classics)The extract about translation quoted by Fiona on the Intro to this episode is from Kiki Dimoula’s book The Brazen Plagiarist, selected poems translated by Cecile Inglessis Margellos and Rika Lesser published by Yale University Press. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.