John Keats, poetry, and the romance of a short life –On burning brightly and finding artistic validation in death It’s time to revel in some early 19th century English romance with the poster boy of tragedy and posthumous artistic validation.  John Keats, the bright star, was the very personification of a young romantic. He was everything the poet stereotype brings to your mind: boyish, indulgent, fragile, star-crossed, and exceptionally talented. And perhaps there’s a close association because Keats is so widely regarded as one of the greatest poets of all time. His work and, quite frankly, his tragic death, have influenced so many of poetry’s powerhouse writers, like T.S. Eliot, William Butler Yeats, Lord Alfred Tennyson, and as we learned in an earlier episode, Oscar Wilde. So why exactly is Keats such a well-loved literary hero? To answer that, we have to travel back to 18th Century Great Britain. In the middle of London and in the midst of war John Keats was born in London on Halloween in 1795. At that time, London was in the middle of the First Industrial Revolution and, subsequently, in the early stages of an insane population boom.  When Keats was born, the city was home to three quarters of a million people. Its paved roads and sewer systems were brand new. More and more factories were popping up. The city was starting to take shape as an urban metropolis. By the time Keats died, London’s population had doubled. By the mid 19th century, the population had exploded to 3 million people. You can imagine the strain that influx of people had on London’s resources. In the same year Keats was born, women were actually going to prison for rioting over food.  But what I believe is the most remarkable thing about this time period is that John Keats was born into revolution and war.  Just a few years before his birth, America had declared independence and George Washington became its first president, the French Revolution began and King Louis XVI lost his head, and England became entangled in a long series of wars with France. In fact, England was fighting with France for almost all of Keats’s life. Napoleon, yeah that asshole, wasn’t defeated at Waterloo until Keats was 20 years old. A difficult childhood But lets go back to October 31, 1795, when our tragic hero was born. Keats was the oldest of five children. His father Thomas Keats worked as a groom in a horse stable that was owned by the Jennings family. Thomas, who was 31 at the time, and the young Frances Jennings, who was 19, were married in 1794. John was born just a year later. He had three younger brothers, George, Thomas, and Edward. Edward unfortunately died when he was a baby. John’s youngest sibling, his sister Franny, was born when he was eight years old. The family was not wealthy by any means, but they lived a pretty comfortable life. They had enough money to send Keats and his younger brother to school. John and George were sent to a school in Enfield, which was about 15 miles north of London and close to their grandparents home.  A year after starting school, their father was on the way back from visiting the boys and was thrown from his horse. He died from a skull fracture. His father’s death sent John’s life into turmoil.  John’s mother remarried just two month’s after her first husband’s death. That second marriage ended almost as abruptly as it began and the Keats children were sent to live with their grandmother. John was just ten years old when his mother disappeared. These traumatic events pushed John into bouts of depression and extreme anxiety.  At school, he was a fighter and a troublemaker. Keats’s childhood character was described as “always in extremes.” He befriended the headmaster’s son, Charles Cowden Clarke, who remained a lifelong mentor and comrade. He helped Keats in many ways throughout his short life and Clarke was even credited with introducing Keats to Renaissance literature. When Keats was 14 years old, his mother showed back up in his life. She was sick and dying of tuberculosis. In March 1810, she passed away. This would mark the first family death from the disease, also known as “the Keats family curse.” John had great love for his siblings and felt responsible for them, which might, in part, be why he left school and started an apprenticeship with a surgeon. In 1814, when Keats was 17, his grandmother died, leaving John and his siblings with their appointed guardian Richard Abbey.  Unknown to Keats, the Jennings had left John and his siblings a substantial amount of money in a trust. Instead, the money was untouched and the Keats family struggled with povetry and debts.  Following his true passion The time of his grandmother’s death also marked one of Keats’s earliest surviving poems, “Imitation of Spenser.” It was inspired by the work of 16th century London poet Edmund Spenser. John Keats continued writing but his focus was on his studies. He studied medicine at Guy’s Hospital in Central London and even received his apothecary’s license but he grew increasingly depressed about his future. His brother George, once wrote that John feared “that he should never be a poet and if he was not, he would destroy himself.” But for Keats, luck was just around the corner.  Through his old friend Charles Cowden Clarke, Keats received his first big break. In May 1816, Clarke’s friend, poet Leigh Hunt, published Keats’s sonnet “Solitude” in the liberal magazine, The Examiner. That year, Keats decided to leave medicine and pursue poetry.  His guardian, Richard Abbey was furious. Abbey never approved of John’s passion, but continued to loan him money throughout his life. Strongly influenced by his new friendship with Leigh Hunt, Keats published his first book of poetry called Poemsin 1817. He was 21 years old. The book was dedicated to Leigh and contained a collection of long poems and sonnets, including “On the Grasshopper and Cricket,” “To My Brother George,” and “On first looking into Chapman’s Homer.” Discouragement and dissolution Poems was not well received and his publisher was less than happy. Keats then started working with Taylor and Hessey, well-known publishers of poetry and fans of his work. Through Leigh Hunt and his new publishers, Keats was introduced to a circle of writers and artists, including Percy Bysshe Shelley, John Hamilton Reynolds, William Hazlitt, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge.  After Poems was published, John’s younger brother Tom came down with tuberculosis, so he moved to Hampstead, where he and George took care of Tom.  Around this time, he was introduced to Isabella Jones, a women who was an inspiration for his work and likely his first experience with romantic love. It’s said that the earlier version of “Bright star” was actually written for her. In June 1818, Keats accompanied his friend, Charles Armitage Brown, on a walking tour of Scotland and Ireland. During this tour, he caught a bad cold and was too weak to continue. He returned home and tended to his little brother Tom. That winter, Tom passed away. Also in 1818, Keats published a long poem called Endymion that was dedicated to poet Thomas Chatterton. Chatterton had died by suicide at age 17. Critics tore Endymion and Keats a part, saying he should go back to being an apothecary. It’s been said that Keats never fully recovered from this harsh criticism.  Finding himself at Wentworth With his brother George’s move to America, Keats decided to move to Wentworth Place, which was owned by Armitage Brown. It was at Wentworth that he wrote some of his most famous works, “Ode to a Nightingale,” “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” “Ode to Psyche,” “Ode on Melancholy,” and “Ode to Indolence.” Wentworth held even more significance because it was the place where Keats was introduced to Fanny Brawne, the woman who would later become his fiancée, and admittedly, his obsession.  Before his brother Tom’s death, they had met when Fanny was visiting Wentworth. Eventually, Fanny and her mother moved into Wentworth. John and Fanny spent every day together and in June 1819, they reached an informal agreement to be married. John continued to struggle financially and felt he had little to offer her.  He wrote hundreds of letters to Fanny, often when they were living next door to each other. His letters to her are some of the most famous love letters ever written. In one, he says, “I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion — I have shudder’d at it — I shudder no more — I could be martyr’d for my Religion — Love is my religion — I could die for that — I could die for you.” “I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion — I have shudder’d at it — I shudder no more — I could be martyr’d for my Religion — Love is my religion — I could die for that — I could die for you.” Unfortunately, in parallel to his overwhelming love affair with Fanny, Keats was also experiencing the all-too-familiar symptoms of tuberculosis. His coughing and hemorrhaging got increasingly worse.  In July 1820, the last volume of his living work, Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems was published with a better critical reception than his earlier works. That fall, his doctors told him that his life depended on a move to a warmer climate. He set off for Rome in November. On the ship to Italy, he made his last revisions to “Bright Star.” He stopped writing to Fanny, knowing he would never return to London. In Rome, the medical treatment he received contributed greatly to his suffering and rapid decline. He was bled and starved. He requested pain medication, but was refused for fear of him committing suicide.  On February 24, 1821, at just 25 years old, John Keats took his last labored breath. Before his death, he requested that his tombstone not include a name, just a simple phrase: “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” The impact of a short life His death greatly affected his friends and other writers. Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote a poem in his honor called “Adonais.” Later in life, he drowned in a boating accident and when Shelley’s body was found, the only thing in his pocket was a book of Keats poetry. During his life, Keats struggled to sell his work, barely selling a few hundred copies of his books. However, in the centuries since his death, poems like the “Odes” have been hailed as masterpieces, he has become a staple in literary education all over the world, and influential libraries like Harvard and the British Library has clamored for his work.  There are several memorials dedicated to Keats, including the Keats House in Hampstead and the Keats-Shelley Memorial House in Rome. Keats is woven into the fabric of the modern world; his influence is everywhere. Even now, when rising talents die at an early age, like Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Corbain, it is famously referred to as “joining the Keats club.” A closer look: “Bright star” Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the nightAnd watching, with eternal lids apart,Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,The moving waters at their priestlike taskOf pure ablution round earth’s human shores,Or gazing on the new soft-fallen maskOf snow upon the mountains and the moors — No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,And so live ever — or else swoon to death. Keats died a slow, painful death, taken by the disease that took his mother and his younger brother. His short life was sad. Tuberculosis was an extremely common way to go at the time. Autopsies done in Europe in the early 1800s found that more than one-third of deaths were from TB. To me, that is what makes “Bright star” even more impressive. Here was a man who was incredibly aware of his own mortality. He had witnessed first hand what his own death would be like.  Think about the last lines of the poem, “To feel for ever its soft fall and swell… to hear her tender-taken breath.”  Think about how much breathing freely must have meant to Keats. To breathe with ease, without coughing, without blood, without chest pain, fatigue and fever. To see in someone, like Isabel or Fanny, the beauty and timelessness of youth and, more importantly, of their health. What a powerful sentiment. And what a tragic observation to make while counting your last days.  To me, “Bright star” transcends beyond just a love poem. It’s more than that. It is a poem of flesh, of temporality, of awe, of envy, and at the same time it is the most indelible collection of words I can think of. That cross roads of yearning and mortality will never go away.  That’s why John Keats may have died at 25 but he will live forever. That’s why I love Keats and that’s why I love these words. Thank you for reading. 

Gwendolyn Brooks: Poetry, poverty, and a Pulitzer prize What Brooks taught the world about the beauty of community and being a black woman in America Gwendolyn Brooks is an earthy, plainspoken, unpretentious American legend. She won countless awards including a Pulitzer prize and is known around the globe as Chicago’s First Lady of Poetry. She is a big deal. But more valuable than that, she was a teacher who shared her love of poetry with anyone — especially any child — who asked.  Let’s learn more about what made this poet so extraordinary.  A young poet Gwendolyn Elizabeth Brooks was born on June 7, 1917 in Topeka, Kansas. At just six weeks old, her mother Keziah, who was a school teacher, and her father, David, who was a janitor and aspiring doctor moved the family to Chicago. They settled in Chicago’s South Side, in what is now known as the Black Metropolis–Bronzeville Historic District.  The following year, Gwendolyn’s younger brother Raymond was born. Both children had a strong relationship with their parents. Brooks said her father would often sing to them and her mother would play the piano. Art was greatly encouraged in the Brooks house. Her parents nurtured the creativity that she and her brother expressed at early ages —  Gwendolyn with writing and Raymond with painting. Brooks started writing when she was seven years old. She said it was her parents who encouraged her the most, as there just wasn’t an interest in creative writing in schools at the time. Brooks ended up publishing her first poem at age 13. The poem was called “Eventide” and it was published in a popular kids magazine called American Childhood.  By age 16, she had written more than 70 poems.  Her mother pushed Brooks to share her work with well-known writers. At one of his speaking events, Langston Hughes, world famous poet and father of the Harlem Renaissance, read some of her work. He said, “You’re talented, keep writing, someday you’ll have a book published.” Brooks said that was all the encouragement she needed as a teenager. She said, “I knew I would just write and keep writing as long as I was here.” She was so inspired that she kept in touch with Hughes, often exchanging letters and poetry. Hughes had great love and respect for Brooks, helping her get published, recommending her work for awards, and even writing a column about her first book in the Chicago Defender.  Bronzeville and beyond Brooks graduated from Wilson Junior College in 1936 and then went on to work for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). It was at the NAACP where she met her husband, Henry Blakely. He, too, was an aspiring writer. They were married in September of 1939. Brooks said in her autobiography that poetry wasn’t everything and that parties were a big part of her early life in Bronzeville. “My husband and I knew writers, knew painters, knew pianists and dancers and actresses, knew photographers galore. There were always weekend parties to be attended, where we merry Bronzevillians could find each other and earnestly philosophize sometimes on into the dawn, over martinis and Scotch and coffee, and an ample buffet. Of course, in that time, it was believed, still, that the society could be prettied, quieted, cradled, sweetened, if only people talked enough, glared at each other yearningly enough, waited enough.” Life started changing fast for Brooks. In 1940, she gave birth to her first child, her son Henry Blakely III. A year later, she started participating in local poetry workshops. In 1944, two of her poems were published in Poetry magazine, which was a goal of hers since she was a teenager. In 1945, she published her first book of poetry, A Street in Bronzeville. It was like a love letter to her beloved neighbor. The book received great reviews from literary critics and became a catalyst for more success.  The following year, she received a prestigious Guggenheim fellowship. She was also named one of the Ten Young Women of the Year in Mademoiselle magazine.  She published her second book of poetry, Annie Allen, in 1949. Less than a year later, she became the first African American to win a Pulitzer Prize. The prize recognized Annie Allen as a distinguished volume of original verse by an American poet.  In 1951, she gave birth to her daughter Nora.  So here she is, a Pulitzer Prize winner, an established force in the literary world. What could she possibly do next? You guessed it: try fiction.  In 1953, Brooks tried her hand at pose, publishing her only novel, Maud Martha. According to critics, it wasn’t a bad book. But it was really just eclipsed by the popularity of her poems She followed that with two poetry collections, Bronzeville Boys and Girls in 1956 and The Bean Eaters in 1960. In 1962, she was invited by President John Kennedy to read at a Library of Congress poetry festival. She taught her first poetry workshop in 1963. Teaching became a great love of hers. She found great joy in sharing her love of poetry with adults and children alike. She said of teaching that she enjoyed talking with children because they were amazing. Throughout her lifetime, she taught poetry and creative writing at several universities, including Northeastern Illinois University, Elmhurst College, Columbia University, Clay College of New York, and the University of Wisconsin. Brooks became a prominent voice in the black literary community. She said, “I like for blacks to be proud of what they have come from. They need to learn they have much to be proud of.” Her work also became increasingly political as she met and worked with black activists and other outspoken artists in the 1960s. She commented more directly on social issues and reflected the struggles of civil rights. She once remarked about the importance of black activism, “If we don’t pull together, well, we won’t be here to pull at all.” In 1968 , Brooks was named Poet Laureate of Illinois. Also in that year, she published one of her most famous works, In the Mecca. It was nominated for the National Book Award for poetry. An incredible legacy Brooks would go on to write more than 10 additional collections of poetry, a two-part autobiography, and become one of the most highly decorated poets in American history. Her achievements were extraordinary.  She held more than 50 honorary degrees.  In 1976, she became the first African American woman to be inducted into the American Academy of Arts and Letters In 1985, she served as Poet Laureate of the United States and poetry consultant to the Library of Congress. The National Endowment for the Arts honored her with a lifetime achievement award in 1989 and the National Book Foundation did the same in 1994.  There is a junior high in Chicago named after Brooks, a center for African American Literature at Western Illinois University named after her, and there is even a Gwendolyn Brooks Chair in Black Literature and Creative Writing at Chicago State University. Her honors stretch on and on. Seriously, there are too many to list! Brooks continued writing, teaching, giving lectures, and interviewing late into her life. She died at age 83 in her South Side Chicago home on December 3, 2000. Gwendolyn Brooks was real. She was down to earth. She was honest and observant.  Social historian Lerone Bennett Jr. once said that Gwendolyn Brooks’s poems celebrate the truth. He said, “They celebrate the truth of blackness, which is also the truth of man. They reflect the wholeness of a person with deep roots in the soil of her people.” Her voice amplified the ordinary, showing us the beauty in the small. Brooks said it best herself: “If you wanted a poem you only had to look out a window. There was material always walking, running, screaming, or signing.” A closer look at the work & words of Gwendolyn Brooks my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell By Gwendolyn Brooks I hold my honey and I store my breadIn little jars and cabinets of my will.I label clearly, and each latch and lidI bid, Be firm till I return from hell.I am very hungry. I am incomplete.And none can tell when I may dine again.No man can give me any word but Wait,The puny light. I keep eyes pointed in;Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurtDrag out to their last dregs and I resumeOn such legs as are left me, in such heartAs I can manage, remember to go home,My taste will not have turned insensitiveTo honey and bread old purity could love. The hope was real There are some fascinating discoveries you make while listening to and watching interviews with Gwendolyn Brooks. She often told the story of the day she learned she had won the Pulitzer. She couldn’t afford the electricity bill, so they didn’t have lights or power at her house. A reporter called her with the news and said that it would be officially announced the next day. She was nervous because she knew reporters would show up at her house and they wouldn’t be able to plug in their cameras or microphones. She said the next day came and when the reporters showed up, somehow the electricity was on. She never figured out who had paid the bill.  That story and many others reminded me of times in my childhood when money was tight and choices had to be made. Her stories made this incredible literary figure, this titan of poetry more real to me, more relatable.  I can’t understand what it was like to be a black woman in the mid-20th century, in the midst of cultural revolution and civil rights. Honestly, I can’t even begin to fathom it.  But I believe there is something in, “my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell” that speaks to a core experience. I think we can all understand a certain type of hell wrapped up in holding still. As a woman who longs — for better society, for peace, or more personal things. For a family, for a home, for belonging, for purpose — I know how excruciating it is to wait. I read the poem as a painful yet hopeful admittance that the world around Brooks wasn’t right. It wasn’t ready for Gwendolyn as a woman, for Gwendolyn as a black person, for Gwendolyn as a poor person. That hope she tucked away in jars and cabinets.  The hope she spoke about, if people only talked enough, glared at each other yearningly enough, waited enough. That hope was real. And Gwendolyn Brooks was, above all, real.  In fact, she was real cool.  That’s why I love Gwendolyn Brooks and that’s why I love her words.  Thanks for reading.

Oscar Wilde: Poetry and aesthetics Take a closer look at the Irish playwright’s life and the fashionable, indulgent myth he built up around himself

Episode 4 is a real treat because we’re discussing a feminist icon, a Mexican legend, a religious prodigy, and one of the most loved female poets in recent history.  In her lifetime, Juana Ines de la Cruz wrote several plays, poems, and essays. Two volumes of works were published while she was alive. The last reprint of her original works was published in 1725. The first modern edition of her poetry wasn’t published until 1940, some 215 years later.  Love for her work was rekindled in the 20th century and her writing is considered some of the greatest poetry in the modern world. The devotion of Juana Inés de la Cruz Feminist icon, Mexican legend, and one of the greatest poets in recent history No other female poet has made an impact like Juana Inés de la Cruz. She has become a feminist icon, a Mexican legend, and one of the most loved poets in recent history. Juana Inés was a rebel and a prodigy. To understand her work, you first have to understand her life and her world. Daughter of the church Juana Inés de la Cruz was born Juana Ramirez de Asbaje, most likely on December 2, 1648. There is no official record of her birth remaining but there is a baptismal certificate of “a daughter of the church” that lists her aunt and uncle as godparents. What’s a daughter of the church, you ask? Well that’s a lovely 17th century way of saying she was a bastard. Juana Inés was born in San Miguel Nepantla in New Spain, which is now Tepetlixpa in the State of Mexico.   New Spain — 17th century map Her parents were reportedly poor. Her mother, Isabel Ramirez, had six children. Her father, Pedro Manuel de Asbaje, is actually almost a complete mystery. Juana herself says he was a Basque but not much else is known about him. In fact, there are rumors that he could have even been a priest, which would have been a huge scandal at that time. Escandlo! In the 17th century, the Renaissance was taking its last breath and there was a small pause before the Age of Revolutions. But things were far from quiet. When Juana was born, the world was in the middle of upheaval, cultural shifts, the rise of scientific experiment, and of course, wars. Let’s add some familiar context so you can understand just how crazy things were in the 1600s. Shakespeare was penning masterpieces at the same time that Galileo was discovering the moons of Jupiter. Protestants were fighting Catholics in the Thirty Years War, the Ming Dynasty was falling, and England was becoming a republic and then shortly after going straight back to a monarchy. Issac Newton was making some big discoveries, Pocahontas was meeting King James, Peter the Great was rising to power, and the Intellectual Enlightenment was kicking off. That’s a lot! A huge contributor to the chaos and magic of the 17th century was trade. People were making money and making voyages to find crops, precious metals, and humans to convert to Christianity. It was only about 100 years before Juana was born that Cortés was landing on the beaches of Veracruz and becoming BFFs with anyone who hated the Aztecs. In Mexico, or New Spain at the time, as you can imagine, Spaniards had all the power. Bloodlines meant everything back then and people didn’t marry outside of their class. So Juana being a daughter of the Church meant, regardless of her talents or skills, her future was limited.   Juana the prodigy, Juana the rebel Back then, the church was at the center of everything, including the educational system. Women were taught to read the Bible and other religious texts, but rarely taught to write. And when I say women, I really mean women of privilege. Juana Inés is sometimes regarded as this poor, rebellious genius, who, against all odds, got an education and published her writing for the masses. And it is very true that she was a rebel and, by all accounts, a genius. But it’s also true that her grandfather owned a Hacienda and she had shelves of books surrounding her from a very young age. And it’s true that she served time as a lady-in-waiting in a royal court. So even though she was a revolutionary thinker and a trailblazer in her own way, she wasn’t exactly far removed from the powerful elite. So, let’s get back to that incredible genius that she’s known for. It’s said that Juana could read and write Latin by the age of three. By the age of five, she was doing accounting and at eight years old, she was writing poetry about the Lord’s Supper. I was also writing poetry at age 8, but it certainly wasn’t about the Eucharist. Actually I don’t think it was about anything. Let’s forget I said that. Moving on, Juana was a master of Greek logic by the time she hit puberty. She was tutoring other kids in Latin and learning Aztec languages at age 13. At 16, she was sent to Mexico City. What she really wanted was to go to university, but she couldn’t get away with disguising herself as a boy. She ended up impressing Vicereine Leonor Carreto. The wife of the viceroy would become one of her biggest supporters. People at court were impressed by Juana’s mind and her quick wit. When she was 17, the viceroy wanted to test the limits of her intellect, so he invited dozens of men — theologians, poets, philosophers, and others — to question, scrutinize, and challenge Juana. She threw down. Juana’s knowledge was so astonishing that she started gaining a reputation throughout New Spain. People were talking about Juana, dudes were proposing marriage, she was slowly changing minds about women and education. The church as choice Juana Ines had a liberated mind, empowered by knowledge and curiosity. It may have been a surprise to some, but her next step wasn’t to just marry and entertain as the wife of a nobleman. She decided to enter a convent, become a nun, and devote her life to studying. That doesn’t exactly sound like a move aligned with a fiercely independent life, but Juana viewed it as the only way she could have the freedom to continue learning. At the age of 21, Juana Ramirez de Asbaje became Juana Ines de la Cruz, or in English, Sister Joan Agnes of the Cross. She lived as a nun at the Convent of Santa Paula of the Hieronymite in Mexico City until her death. Depending on who you ask, the church was viewed as an angry oppressor and a supportive benefactor in Juana’s fascinating life. The truth is, as always, probably somewhere in the middle. In the convent, it’s said that her cell was actually a well-maintained apartment, complete with servants and a library. She entertained often and corresponded with many elites. One very well-known exchange included that of her biggest critic, Manuel Fernandez de Santa Cruz. He was a bishop who surreptitiously published Juana’s critique of an old sermon in 1690. Then the bishop pretended to be a nun named Sister Filotea and told her to focus on religion, not writing. She responded to the fake nun, defending a woman’s right to an education. In response, the Archbishop of Mexico and many other high-ranking church officials condemned her as wayward. In many of her writings, Juana highlights the hypocrisy of the treatment of women. One of her more famous lines being: “Who sins more: she who sins for pay or he who pays for sin?” She also wrote about the absurdness of people caring what she does with her own mind, remarking that it doesn’t bring anyone harm. By age 45, it seems that Juana stopped writing. Some say she renounced writing and gave away her library of 4,000 books. Others say the church punished her and confiscated everything. In 1695, months before her 47th birthday, Juana Ines de la Cruz died from the plague. Her legacy In her lifetime, Juana wrote several plays, poems, and essays. Two volumes of works were published while she was alive. The last reprint of her original works was published in 1725. The first modern edition of her poetry wasn’t published until 1940, some 215 years later. Love for her work was rekindled in the 20th century and her writing is considered some of the greatest poetry in recent history. Her convent is now a university — the University of the Cloister of Sor Juana. Her face is even printed on the Mexican peso. The legacy of Juana Inés de la Cruz lives on, especially through the modern lenses of feminism, art, and in LGBTQA+ communities. Because Juana wrote often about her female patrons, Vicereines Leonor and Maria Luisa, and their special bonds, some consider her the first lesbian poet in Mexico. A closer look at her work: My Divine Lysis An example of this is My Divine Lysis. Lysis was a pet name for Maria Luisa. In the poem, Juana is expressing her complete adoration of her patron. She is absolutely infatuated. Juana worships her. There is a smile on her face when she talks about possible punishment. This is a woman who will revel in the few moments that this goddess on earth will take to focus on her, even if it means enduring pain and suffering. She doesn’t care. That’s devotion. That’s what Juana Inés viewed as love. We’ve all felt that way, right? Where we look up to this other person, on their pedestal, seeing everything they do and say as perfect. We know in our hearts that they are exactly the right one for us. Juana believed in a romantic world — a world where the prince marries a peasant, where the starving artist becomes adored by millions, and where the perfect love exists — at least while she was writing My Divine Lysis. To better understand the life she lived and the world that built up around Juana makes her words of devotion hit even harder. My Divine Lysis By Juana Inés de la Cruz My divine Lysis:do forgive my daring,if so I address you,unworthy though I am to be known as yours. I cannot think it boldto call you so, well knowingyou’ve ample thunderboltsto shatter any overweening of mine. It’s the tongue that misspeakswhen what is called dominion — I mean, the master’s rule — is made to seem possession by the slave. The vassal says: my king;my prison, the convict says;and any humble slavewill call the master his without offense. Thus, when I call you mine,it’s not that I expectyou’ll be considered such — only that I hope I may be yours. I saw you-need more be said?To broadcast a fire,telling the cause suffices — no need to apportion blame for the effect. Seeing you so exalteddoes not prevent my daring;no god is ever secureagainst the lofty flight of human thought. There are women more deserving,yet in distance from heaventhe humblest of valleysseems no farther than the highest peak. In sum, I must admitto the crime of adoring you;should you wish to punish me,the very punishment will be reward.    

When most people hear Beat Generation, a few big names rise to the surface of their brains. Kerouac, Ginsberg, Corso. But one name sometimes gets buried behind the scenes: Lawrence Ferlinghetti. If you ask him, Ferlinghetti says that he was never a Beat poet. Yet that was the world in which he immersed himself, as a publisher, a writer, a performer, and a book store proprietor. If Ferlinghetti wasn’t a Beat poet, he certainly was the fire that lit the Beat Generation and kept it going through the years. In fact, just a few years ago, City Lights released a 60th anniversary edition of the Pocket Poets Anthology edited by a then 96 year old Lawrence Ferlinghetti. So just who is this reluctant icon and how did he become a catalyst for one of the most prominent American poetry movements? Let’s find out! Lawrence Monsanto Ferling was born on March 24, 1919 in Bronxville, New York. He was the youngest of five children. His father Carlo, was an Italian immigrant who shorten his last name upon arriving in America. His mother Clemence was a native New Yorker. But the truth is, Ferlinghetti never really knew his parents. His father died months before he was born. And shortly after his birth, stricken by grief, his mother was placed in a mental health facility. His aunt, Emily, took him to France and he spent much of his childhood there. In fact, French was his first language.   Emily and Ferlinghetti moved back to New York and fell on hard times. Ferlinghetti ended up staying with well-to-do family and that’s really where his love for literature was fostered. He finished his primary education at a prep school in Massechuttes and ended up studying journalism at the University of North Carolina, at Chapel Hill. After he graduated in 1941, he joined the Navy. You don’t have to be a history buff to know what Ferlinghetti was signing up for. During the second World War, he served on submarines and was even part of the Invasion of Normandy. What it must have been like to see such carnage on the beaches of his adopted home. According to his City Lights biography, he was also on hand to see the aftermath of atomic bomb at Nagasaki. With such raw experiences like these, it’s no wonder why Ferlinghetti became a vocal anti-war activist. But there was a small silver lining from his time in the Navy, because he used the G.I. Bill to further his education, getting a master’s in English Literature from Columbia University and a doctorate in comparative literature from the University of Paris. Which brings us to the most important move of Ferlinghetti’s life. San Francisco. Around 1951, he took a job teaching French to adults in the city. He spent his free time painting and writing critiques of art. Contrary to his impressive educational background, Ferlinghetti believed that art shouldn’t be trapped behind the doors of universities or museums He believed that poetry, especially, wasn’t about literary criticism and stuffy academics. No. Poetry was an artform for the people. It belonged to them, and it belonged to the streets. Alongside Peter D. Martin, Ferlinghetti started a magazine called City Lights in 1953. Soon after, the pair opened the City Lights Pocket Book Shop. It was the first all paperback bookstore in the States. Ferlinghetti describes City Lights as a literary meeting place where people could read, meet, and exchange ideas. Side note: It truly is! It’s one of the most inviting and comfortable book stores I’ve ever walked into. It feels homey and there are plenty of nooks to sit down and read a book without someone bugging you. My favorite room, of course, was the quiet poetry room at the top of the stairs.     The next natural step for Ferlinghetti and City Lights was to venture into publishing. One of the first books was a pocket poet version of Howl by Alan Ginsberg in 1955. Ferlinghetti had heard Ginsberg perform Howl and was mesmerized. It’s said that he sent Ginsberg the very same telegram that Ralph Waldo Emerson had once sent to Walt Whitman, “I greet you at the beginning of a great career.” A year later, Ferlinghetti was actually arrested in San Francisco for selling lewd material. He won that case. Not only did the trial bring newfound attention to Ginsberg and City Lights, but it also put a spotlight on Ferlinghetti’s own writing. In 1958, he published a collection of poems called A Coney Island of the Mind. It remains one of his most popular works to date. What made Ferlinghetti’s work and the work of the Beat Generation so relatable was its emphasis on poetry as oral art and everyday content. For Ferlinghetti and the writers he published, poems were not merely words on a page. Poetry was a performance! It was a feeling. There was musicality in their diction. Their works were often read in front of large crowds in concerts hall, and sometimes even set to jazz music. They spoke about scenes from the street, scenes from the war that was plastered on people’s tv screens, and intimate moments that were specific yet universal.   Over the course of his life, Ferlinghetti has written more than 50 books, include poetry collections and works of fiction. In 1998, he was named San Francisco’s first poet laureate. This year, Lawrence Ferlinghetti celebrates his 100th birthday and an incredible legacy of promoting literature and art in the San Francisco community and beyond. Between my trip to City Lights and this article, I experienced a break up that was tough. It left me severely depressed and made it difficult to find the joy I once did in sharing things I love, like my podcast. When I was at City Lights, I bought a copy of the 60th anniversary pocket poetry anthology. Through the harder days, I kept turning back to one of his poems — “25.” It pushed me to admit that though there is pain…it’s not all the time. Lawrence Ferlinghetti reminds me that although there is darkness, the world truly is a beautiful place. Not only was he an incredible writer himself, but he was also responsible for fostering the careers of so many icons. That’s why I think Ferlinghetti’s contributions to the modern poetry world are unmatched.   More pictures from my trip to City Lights book store:

Rainer Maria Rilke is a poet who is beloved and celebrated for his work by artists everywhere. Better known for an inspiring collection of letters than he is for his own poetry, Rilke is a compelling personality and truly a product of a different time. Let’s get to know Rilke and the world in which he lived, as we dive into this special piece called Her Going Blind. The lonely world of Rainer Maria Rilke, his quest for mentors, and a closer look at Her Going Blind Did you know that one of world’s most beloved poets was not exactly a nice guy? Rainer Maria Rilke is one of the world’s most beloved poets. Rilke is adored by young artists everywhere, has been called a jerk by certain critics, and even revered as a new age philosopher by others. His words have inspired countless writers, filmmakers, musicians, painters, and other artists — even Lady Gaga has a Rilke tattoo. Growing up Rilke Rilke was born in 1875 in Prague, in what was then the Austro-Hungarian empire. His full name was René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke. (Yeah!) His family was German and middle class. His father, an army veteran, worked for the railway and his mother was an upper-middle class socialite. A year before Rilke was born, his parents had lost an infant daughter. So when Rilke came along, his mother gave him a feminine name and dressed him up in girl’s clothes. Later in life, Rilke said that his mother treated him like a little doll. Although it was his mother he could thank for his love of poetry, he blamed her for a childhood filled with dark memories, illness, and fear. At age 11, he was sent to a military boarding school. He hated it. After he was transferred to another school at the age of 16, he was discharged for health issues. He had constant headaches and fevers. In fact, health issues plagued Rilke for the remainder of his life. In 1894, at the age of 19, his first book of poetry, Life and Songs, was published. In 1895, he published his second book of poetry, Lares’ Sacrifice, and enrolled at a university in Prague to study philosophy. A few years later, Rilke moved to Munich to study art history. It was there that he met the woman who would become his mentor, his muse, his lover, and a lifelong friend. When they first met, Lou Andreas-Salomé was 36, married, and a well known literary critic and writer. She was one of the most influential people in Rilke’s life. In fact, Salomé convinced him to change his girly first name to something more masculine, hence “Rainer” — it means wise army in German. Through Salomé, Rilke is introduced to a circle of intellectuals, writers, and artists. In 1899, he accompanies her and her husband to Russia. Salomé sets up a meeting with the world renown author, Leo Tolstoy, in hopes that Tolstoy would mentor Rilke and help him flourish as a writer. The meeting DOES NOT go well. Yikes. But all is not lost. Rilke ends up falling in love with Russia and its people. While there, he writes one of his most famous and well-regarded works during his lifetime: a trilogy called The Book of Hours. When he leaves Russia, he moves into an artist colony in Germany. There he meets sculptor Clara Westhoff. At age 26, Rilke marries Clara and the two have a daughter. Newlyweds Meeting the master Through Clara, Rilke was introduced to the famous sculptor Auguste Rodin. He was enthralled. So much so that he moved to Paris to write about Rodin. Rilke ends up learning much more than he ever imagined from the sculptor. Rodin’s influence marks a pivotal phase in Rilke’s life and especially in his writing. You see, Rilke was a lonely dude. He was constantly looking for a connection and guidance about how to live. You see, Rilke was a lonely dude. He was constantly looking for a connection and guidance about how to live. His work up until that point, although it was popular at the time, it was also metaphysical and esoteric and overly emotional. In Rodin, he finally finds the artistic mentor and direction he’s been searching for. Rodin tells him to get hyperfocused. He needs to forget about everything in life except for his work — don’t induldge in luxries, in relationships — let go of all of that. Rilke eats it up. He leaves his wife and his daughter. He becomes Rodin’s secretary. Rodin tells Rilke to that he needs to get back to basics. When Rodin was young, he would go to the zoo and study animals so that he could later sculpt them. So he tells Rilke to do to the same. At this point, Rilke is referring to Rodin as his master, so he definitely takes the advice and starts writing more objectively. Rilke calls the poems he wrote in this style “thing poems.” Some of the more famous pieces during this period are “Panther” and the “Archaic Torso of Apollo.” Letters from a young poet…to a younger poet It was at this time that Rilke also starts exchanging letters with a young student from his old military school. This collection of ten letters isn’t published until after Rilke’s death and but it becomes his most well-known writing: Letters to a Young Poet. The letters are filled with advice on how to write, how to live as an artist, and why you should ignore the opinions of others. The letters contain what feels like a lifetime of lessons but Rilke was only 26 or 27 when he wrote them. His words were undoubtedly influenced by all that he was learning from Rodin. After he left Paris, Rilke traveled around, following threads of inspiration and benefactors. In 1911, he stayed at Castle Duino for a while and then left to admire paintings by the artist El Greco. In 1914, the sudden outbreak of World War I rocked everything in his world. As you may remember from history class, WWI started when the Austro-Hungarian Archduke, Franz Fernanidad, was assassinated by some Serbs. Austria Hungary wasn’t a fan of that and declared war on Serbia and well, things got crazy. In all of this chaos, Rilke was unable to get back to Paris, so he moved back to Munich. At one point, he gets drafted and has to go to basic training. But Rilke had friends in high places, so he eventually is discharged in 1916. After the war, things were desolate. He was poor and struggled to find a place to live. He gets an invitation to move to Switzerland, so he jumps on the chance to escape the post-war environment of Germany. In Switzerland, he gets back to a creative space and finishes a piece he started working on at Duino. The Duino Elegies are published in 1922 and later that year, he pulishes a collection of 55 sonnets called Sonnets to Orpheus. These two publications are widely considered his best work. A year later, his health problems force a stay at sanitorium and he never fully recovers. He dies at the age of 52 in December of 1926. A closer look at Rilke’s work Rilke’s work may be beloved but the man himself was not always. To many he was seen as narcissistic, opportunistic, and as a womanizer. Rilke was constantly reflecting inward. That’s what makes the thing poems he wrote during his time with Rodin so imperative to his work. “Her Going Blind” was one of these poems. Rilke is outside of his own head, examining another person. He treats the study of this woman at a dinner party with such a delicate, and compassionate eye. Where most people would insert pity and move on, he stops and appreciates the details of her other-ness. Rilke pulls us in alongside him, watching the blind woman navigate a social scenario where she may feel inferior. Yet, he allows us to also see that she has something the others do not. I think without the obsessive self examination that lead up to his time with Rodin, Rilke wouldn’t be able to have that same appreciation. Her Going Blind Translation by Irish poet Seamus Hogan She sat just like the others having tea At first it seemed to me as though she held her cup A little differently from the others She smiled once It almost hurt And as they arose and spoke and slowly as though led by chance — moved from room to room Speaking and laughing I saw her then She followed the others haltingly Like someone who soon must sing and before a crowd Upon her bright and happy eyes was mirror glinted on a pond She followed slowly and needed time As if there was still was something to surmount And yet, beyond the passage over, she would no longer walk but fly

On this, the inaugural episode of the tiff loves words podcast, we dive into a piece by America’s transcendentalist darling, Walt Whitman. To understand the emotion behind these words, we must first understand the time in which they were written and the fascinating man behind the pen. What makes Walt Whitman’s “To a Stranger” so compelling? To understand the emotion behind this poem, we must first understand the time in which it was written and the fascinating man behind the pen. Poetry, like all art, is subject to interpretation. What may be a masterpiece to you, could be unintelligible to another person. As lovers and collectors of art in all forms — music, canvas, writing, street graffiti, the cinema — we accept this unspoken rule. However, how often do we consider what the artist thought and felt? How important is context to our understanding or admiration of a piece of art? Walt Whitman was born in the 19th century during the Second Great Awakening. It was a time of great social change in the United States. Every day life was infused with revolutionary spirit, from the collapsing of empires and the birth of a nation to religious transformation and rapid industralization. America had just declared independence in 1776 and doing its best to shake off colonial influence. In 1789, the country elected its first president and introduced the Bill of Rights. At the time, New York was the center of government activity and the founding fathers were more like folk heroes than politicians. It’s no surprise that Whitman’s father named three of his sons after these heroes: George Washington, Andrew Jackson, and Thomas Jefferson. Whitman was born on Long Island in 1819. He was the second of eight children and shortly after his birth, his family moved to Brooklyn. Whitman’s family was extremely poor and he describes his childhood as “restless and unhappy.” Library of Congress, 1854 At the age of 11, Whitman stopped going to school and got a job to help support his family. He started working in newspapers, which undoubtedly sparked his love of writing. When he was 16, Whitman submitted a few poems to a newspaper. Then, in his early 20s, he tries his hand at teaching and running his own weekly newspaper, the Long-Islander. Neither of these endeavors work out, so he returns to working at at papers and submitting the occasional piece of writing. Whitman starts building a reputation for writing after he publishes serialized fiction pieces in well-known newspapers. Then, in his late 30s, he self-publishes the first edition of Leaves of Grass. The first edition has a very limited run and minimal reception. However, poet Ralph Waldo Emerson gets his hands on a copy and loves it. He writes to Whitman and the two start a friendship. Emerson’s appreciation of his work helps push Whitman and Leaves of Grass into greater fame. Not everyone enjoyed Leaves of Grass at the time, however. Some critics found it “trashy” and “profane.” But it gained Whitman the admiration and friendship of several more writers, including Henry David Thoreau and Amos Bronson Alcott. Whitman, Emerson, Thoreau, Alcott, and others were giants in the transcendentalist movement. Often called the Transcendental Club, these writers focused on spirituality and the connection between body, soul, and the earth. They pushed boundaries. They questioned polite, traditional ideals. Whitman especially was seen as crude because his writing so often celebrated and explored the human body and its link to nature. He was into indulgence, self love, personal satisfaction, and honest reflection. Later in life, Whitman was deeply affected by the Civil War. He volunteered in hospitals, tending to wounded soldiers. He saw first hand the chaos and destruction of war. But, in getting to know these soldiers, he also saw the side of war that is fragility, tenderness, humor, and grace. He sat with them, held their hands, hugged them — whatever comfort and connection he could offer, he did so. Whitman didn’t let what society said was polite or proper get in the way of helping these men. In reading “To a Stranger,” knowing who Whitman was and what he had experienced offers a new lens to his beautiful, poignant words. The poem itself is short — fleeting like the moment in which it describes. That theme of authentic connection and vulnerability is something that drives Whitman throughout his lifetime. In reading “To a Stranger,” knowing who Whitman was and what he had experienced offers a new lens to his beautiful, poignant words. The poem itself is short — fleeting like the moment in which it describes. Whitman is saying: I exist. Our bodies are existing together in this moment. Look into my eyes and see me. We are the same. “To a Stranger” is a longing for and dedication to that connection. That’s what makes this piece so compelling. In a time of social media, our tendency to connect through screens more often than staring into each other’s faces lends “To a Stranger” an even more significant meaning. We need one another and we need that recognition of vulnerability and oneness. Read the poem To a Stranger By Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass copyright 1900 Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me, I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.   Subscribe to the podcast