A poem by David Jones, 20th century Welsh poet.

I've found all his other work unreadable thus far, but I'm not giving up.

Look at some of his paintings, if you can.

Color of Dust interview where I first heard this poem:

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/dir-zraw9-25684ab3

Two recitations of this poem for Poetry By Heart:

https://www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/a-a-a-domine-deus

"...Last season's fruit is eaten

And the fullfed beast shall kick the empty pail.

For last year's words belong to last year's language

And next year's words await another voice."

TS Eliot "Little Gidding"

Sometimes you're just minding your own business and a poem jumps out from the bushes and surprises you. In this episode I share a poem that did that to me: "My Mother's Body" by Marie Howe.

Keith Hansen returns to the show with two poems by Stephen Dunn (on a very human theme) and some questions to guide your listening.

"The Worrier"

"Worry"

Enjoy!

Is a solitary walk in the snow desolate or cheering? These poems offer the answer: yes.

"Desert Places"

"Dust of Snow"

Both by the national treasure, Robert Frost.

I offer you “Little Gidding” by T.S. Eliot. This is far side of the deep end, dear listeners! Come on in.

The best part of creating this series was sitting down with others whose lives have been amended by going into that deep. Joining me at the mic for this last quartet is the generous, intuitive reader and friend Colleen Jeffrey.

The end is where we start from...

We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.

I offer you "The Dry Salvages" by T.S. Eliot. This is deep ocean, dear listeners! Come on in.

The best part of creating this series was sitting down with others whose lives have been amended by going into that deep. Joining me at the mic this time is the convivial and keen-minded David Miller. Enjoy!

The bitter apple and the bite in the apple.

And the ragged rock in the restless waters,

Waves wash over it, fogs conceal it;

On a halcyon day it is merely a monument,

In navigable weather it is always a seamark

To lay a course by: but in the sombre season

Or the sudden fury, it is what it always was.

I offer you "East Coker" by T.S. Eliot. This is the deep end, dear listeners! Come on in.

The best part of creating this series was sitting down with others whose lives have been amended by going into that deep. Joining me at the mic this time is the bright, adventuresome, insightful Anna Danese. Enjoy.

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre, The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama And the bold imposing façade are all being rolled away—

I offer you "Burnt Norton" by T.S. Eliot. This is the deep end, dear listeners. Come on in!

The best part of recording this series was sitting down with others whose lives have been amended by going into that deep. Joining me at the mic this time is the articulate, generous, and perceptive teacher and reader Eliot Reasoner. Enjoy.

Footfalls echo in the memory

Down the passage which we did not take

Towards the door we never opened

Into the rose-garden.

My words echo

Thus, in your mind.

But to what purpose

Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves

I do not know. Other echoes

Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?