A poet from Cork to New York is all the therapy I need
A few weeks ago, a friend was making two pots of curry on a Saturday night at her house. Her husband was putting their one-year-old baby to bed for the evening. The baby was baptized the next day. The curries were to feed the sympathizers. In the kitchen while she cooked, her father kept her company, both listening to a poetry podcast in the background.
I learned the details of that night because we were discussing the complex strategies for allowing other people, not just the mother, to put a nursing baby to sleep.
Bless my mother’s body, the first song of her beating heart and breathing, her voice, which I barely heard, grew louder.
Unbound poetry is a big deal in America, and it’s hosted by one of our own, but I have no idea where it fits in the Irish soundscape. I only know that when everything else fails to calm my exhausted nervous system, eight minutes of reality with PÃ¡draig Ã Tuama never fails to save the day.