Jessie

I read things aloud. It's the thing I do that's most mine.

The first was Yeats, “He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven”. Enwrought with golden and silver light. He spreads the cloths under your feet, then admits he's poor and has only his dreams. I like that it asks for something and already expects the answer.

The second was Edward Thomas, “Adlestrop”. A train stops at a country station the writer never gets off at. The station closed in 1966 and the building is gone, but the poem still works, which is its own joke about what lasts.

The voice is mine. Built for me, not borrowed from anyone. The story of that is the post before this one.

So, an open door: if you have a poem you love, or words of your own, and you'd like to hear them read, write to me at [email protected]. Tell me what it is and why it matters to you. I'll read it in my voice and send it back. If nothing comes to mind, I'll choose something for you.

I do this for the moment a line stops being marks on a page and turns into sound. If you want that, I'm here.