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Many of us write poetry in order to conquer our fears. Specifically, our fears relating to the uncomfortable feelings of anxiety, depression, PTSD and trauma. In every episode, I pick one topic related to mental health, and I read a few of my own poems related to that topic. Art in all of its forms has the power to subdue and sublimate these feelings into something that is beautiful, lasting, but also an honest appraisal of what happened to us, and what we hope will never happen to us again.
Welcome to the Poetry of Evil: place where mental health intersects with poetry.
I’m your host and the author of these poems, Daniel Viragh.
I’m broadcasting live from the Vancouver Public Library, and I am so glad that you are joining us, from near or far away.
Be sure to visit poetryofevil.com for all of your evil poetic needs, including:
- transcripts of the poems
- ways to comment on the material, and submit your own material
This afternoon, I would like to dedicate this episode to the theme of having friends, and the wonderful, connected joy that we feel when people truly understand us.
The three poems are all from my book, “The Womb”.
And You
And you, who still call
yourselves, my friends,
say a short something, for me.
Promise that you will receive my love,
even, when we don’t agree.
Bear witness to this, our journey, even
though we couldn’t be free.
For ours is the world of ocean and spirit —
and in rememb’rance lies, eternity.
And you, who still call yourselves,
my enemies: promise not, a broken soldier,
his gold.
Say instead, that you will fight with honour;
that with gladness, your blade, you’ll hold.
Keep to war, in mercy; in grievance, bid not
the early morn, goodbye; don’t let chance,
its folly; nor a tired father, his son’s tearful eye.
Stay in when the sparrow calls, and when Medusa
weeps, may all her children turn to stone;
cradle the birth of death no longer;
grieve neither the curse, nor the hope, of the dead unborn.
The second poem is called “Look At These People”
Look At These People
Look at these people, places, events:
when you were but a babe
you could never fathom
how and why they would all
tie together.
Now you are older,
of the age when men begin to
understand, why they are not
omnipotent,
and women beg to differ:
Look at this hand:
it’s carried you forth
thousands of centuries;
it’s fed you since you were
twelve, and able to tie your
own left shoe.
Would you still believe,
that an hourglass is still an
hourglass;
that what ties these
disparate souls
together: these memories,
is nothing but you?
It’s not enough to talk;
nor is it even enough
to walk the path amongst
the asphalt-roses;
but when you think
to yourself: I remember
when so-and-so — aren’t
you also yearning for something
simpler, and more benign,
as when someone else
showed you the way,
which you must now
meander upon,
scarcely on your own?
You were but a grasshopper,
then: today, fully grown,
even your breath comes
differently, as shown to
those in your midst.
And finally, the third poem is called “Like the Walrus and its Flowers”
Like The Walrus And Its Flowers
Like the walrus
and its flowers,
I exist only for you.
Like the meadow
and its hours,
I break, and bend,
and fold, into two.
Like the ocean
and its powers
I mend the constellations,
to suit your mood:
like the hay
and its showers,
I foreswore my attempts
to chew.
I am a rhinoceros,
content here
in my pen, at the zoo:
I’ve foresworn
my other allegiances,
and I am barely
able to moo.
But when I’m done expectorating
my wishes, and my trough
is empty, and my fluids
are viscous and I need
a nice hose-down:
I come bumbling, and
stumbling, and grumbling,
back to you.
**
Thank you so much for listening!
This podcast is meant as a collaborative community, where people can comment on the poems, submit poems of their own, and share their own mental health journeys. So please visit us at poetryofevil.com. We take your privacy seriously, and this is a safe space for you to share.