It is easy to dismiss poetry as being disconnected from the human, the everyday, the useful; to deride it for being uppity, dense, or purposefully confusing. What is difficult is encountering the kind of poetry that makes the world clear. Li-Young Lee is a poet of clarity, even if that clarity is admitting to multiplicity and to wonder at the simplest, most difficult facts of life.
Born in Jakarta after his parents fled China, Lee is a poet of witness to exile, loss, family, love, and stitched through it all: the intimacy of faith. Whether that bond appears in his poetry between a father and son, a god and a human, or a body and the air around, Lee dares each of us to open our eyes wider to the world. There is nothing as divine as this life. There is nothing flawed that is not deserving of a poem. Author of six beloved poetry collections, a memoir, and a translation of the Dao De Jing, Lee is a poet whose voice has shaped generations of writers.
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It is easy to dismiss poetry as being disconnected from the human, the everyday, the useful; to deride it for being uppity, dense, or purposefully confusing. What is difficult is encountering the kind of poetry that makes the world clear. Li-Young Lee is a poet of clarity, even if that clarity is admitting to multiplicity and to wonder at the simplest, most difficult facts of life.
Born in Jakarta after his parents fled China, Lee is a poet of witness to exile, loss, family, love, and stitched through it all: the intimacy of faith. Whether that bond appears in his poetry between a father and son, a god and a human, or a body and the air around, Lee dares each of us to open our eyes wider to the world. There is nothing as divine as this life. There is nothing flawed that is not deserving of a poem. Author of six beloved poetry collections, a memoir, and a translation of the Dao De Jing, Lee is a poet whose voice has shaped generations of writers.
As Chris Abani once stated, “The art is never about what you write about. The art is about how you write about what you write about.” Here, we find Abani’s "how" thick with feeling, braided by nimble and swift metaphors, and shaped by mercurial forms. Imprisoned several times for his political writing, Abani does not shy away from the messy reality of exile, both in geography, culture, and memory.
Following the reading, Abani is joined by poet and theologian Pádraig Ó Tuama for a conversation in which he discusses history, West African mythology, and how language continues to change within and around us. Abani reminds that poetry at its greatest, will always resist time.
SAL/on air
It is easy to dismiss poetry as being disconnected from the human, the everyday, the useful; to deride it for being uppity, dense, or purposefully confusing. What is difficult is encountering the kind of poetry that makes the world clear. Li-Young Lee is a poet of clarity, even if that clarity is admitting to multiplicity and to wonder at the simplest, most difficult facts of life.
Born in Jakarta after his parents fled China, Lee is a poet of witness to exile, loss, family, love, and stitched through it all: the intimacy of faith. Whether that bond appears in his poetry between a father and son, a god and a human, or a body and the air around, Lee dares each of us to open our eyes wider to the world. There is nothing as divine as this life. There is nothing flawed that is not deserving of a poem. Author of six beloved poetry collections, a memoir, and a translation of the Dao De Jing, Lee is a poet whose voice has shaped generations of writers.
