I’m thinking about going to Washington this spring to see the museum and a play at the Folger. I’ve always wanted to go–they have eighty-two First Folios!–and I think this will be the year. On other trips to D.C. I’ve concentrated on the art museums but it’s time to give the literary side of the city a go. In preparation, I’ve subscribed to the Folger newsletters and podcasts and last week I heard a podcast that was so wonderful that I had to pass it along to you.
For the past several years, the Folger has been undergoing renovations, enlarging and reconfiguring their space. For their expanded garden they wanted a special poem that would appear on the marble berm that encircles the garden. Rita Dove was asked to write the poem. Dove was U.S. Poet Laureate for two terms from 1993-1995, the first African-American to receive that honor. It’s one of many honors she’s been given. She also tells a terrific story on the podcast about how she began to read and enjoy Shakespeare at an early age.
The podcast is wonderful because Dove talks about the difference between writing poetry for the page and writing for marble. She’s interviewed by Barbara Bogaev, who some of you may know as an occasional substitute for Terry Gross. I’ve always liked Bogaev–she has a lovely voice and is an excellent interviewer because she’s a warm and attentive listener. I was skeptical about how the topic could fill a podcast, but I was so wrong. Dove’s insights about how she thought about writing a poem for marble are a revelation. I will never look at an inscription on a building the same way again. And by the way, the poem, shown below, is wonderful; the imagery is just perfect for a garden. Here’s the link to the podcast.
Welcome Poem by Rita Dove for the Folger Shakespeare Library garden
Clear your calendars. Pocket your notes.
Look up into the blue amplitudes,
sun lolling on his throne, watching clouds
scrawl past, content with going nowhere.
No chart can calibrate the hush that settles
just before the first cricket song rises;
no list will recall a garden’s embroidery,
its fringed pinks and reds, its humble hedges.
Every day is Too Much or Never Enough,
so stop fretting your worth and berating
the cosmos – step into a house where
the jumbled perfumes of our human potpourri
waft up from a single page.
You can feel the world stop, lean in, and listen
as your heart starts up again.
–Rita Dove
A Reader's Place 