When students are introduced to poetry, they usually encounter it in its older, more rigid forms and then carry the assumption that all poetry is the same into their adult lives. They feel alienated from poetry, due to the uncomfortable structures imposed on language. Modern poetry, although often neglected in academic settings, has the potential to redefine expectations and reconnect with the modern reader’s imagination.
Modern poets, such as 24th U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón, are working hard to challenge the possibilities of the form. Limón gave a reading in Emory University’s Glenn Auditorium on Feb. 11, as part of the Rose Library’s annual Raymond Danowski Poetry Library Reading Series. The reading contained both Limón’s earlier work and poems from her newest book, “The Hurting Kind.”
Ada Limón reads poetry from her collections at Glenn Auditorium. (Soph Guerieri / Staff Photographer)
Limón shared 15 poems at her reading, which covered an ambitious variety of topics including the implications of political history, humanity’s connection with nature, gender expectations and more. In tackling these complex subjects, Limón often begins with the microcosm of everyday events to explore deeper subject matter. For instance, in the opening poem, “The Leash,” Limón offers striking questions such as, “How can you not fear humanity?” To start, the poem is encumbered with doomsday images of poisoned lands and warfare, yet the narrator finds hope in the naivete with which her dog chases cars. A dog tugging against a leash in an attempt to pursue what could hurt her because all she wants to do is to share her love is precisely the kind of simplistic narrative that is easy to overlook in the face of tragedy.
Additionally, Limón does not hesitate to address the treacherous undercurrents of American politics. “A New National Anthem” first illustrates how the narrator, like many Americans, only experiences the singing of the national anthem in a half-minded way. She coins it, “just a call to the field.” Limón strikes through the reader’s ambivalence by reminding readers that there is an omitted third stanza of the national anthem, which exposes the country’s connection with slavery. Limón goes further in saying, “Perhaps, the truth is, every song of this country has an unsung third stanza, something brutal snaking underneath us.” Limón does not encourage audiences to be permissive but rather pushes them to question the political consequences of ignoring history.
Limón’s ability to incorporate both intricate imagery and interspersing universal sentiments allows audiences to fully embody these experiences while still connecting the poems to their own lives. In “Give me this,” Limón describes a groundhog with sonic whimsicality when she writes, “a liquidity moving all muscle and bristle.” Yet, she also gives the groundhog a connection to every living person in the line, “…she is doing what she can to survive.” Every person is doing what they can to survive, making this a statement that can resonate universally. Each person can appreciate other people simply for their existence, just as the narrator of the poem appreciates the groundhog’s life.
As the reading progressed, Ada Limón described more anecdotes of how her poems came to be. She admitted to her audience that fear was the one emotion she struggled to write, particularly in constructing her book “The Hurting Kind”. For Limón, quarantine was a time to break through old myths. For instance, “Joint Custody” is a reflective poem exploring how families can still experience wholeness, even with the complications of divorce. In “Cyrus and the Snakes,” Limón dismantles how expectations surrounding masculinity can inhibit “deep feelers” from expressing themselves. In “Salvage,” she delves into the feelings that she associates with the climate crisis, specifically tackling imagery involving wildfires. Her subjects range from deeply personal to highly topical, giving prospective readers many opportunities to connect with her work.
Before closing her reading with “The End of Poetry,” Limón talked to the crowd about the importance of finding connection through art, saying that “We can write ourselves back into the world.” This was certainly a fitting statement, as the poem starts by listing off details the narrator observes in her environment, but the narrator’s tone soon becomes more urgent as she confesses to all the things that evoke feelings of desperation and loneliness for her. Making sense of the world through rationality is not enough; a person must live and feel. Limón acknowledges this fact in her final line: “I am asking you to touch me.”
As a poet, Limón encourages her audience to love, feel and experience as deeply as possible, and this often requires vulnerability—the ability to admit to the need for connection. Readers can certainly find this by delving into other people’s experiences and by attending poetry readings, such as Limón’s, which allows for this connection.
