The Final Stanzas of Marie Howe’s “Magdelene—The Seven Devils”

Sunday, April 28, 2013 - 8:06 pm

The Final Stanzas of Marie Howe’s “Magdelene—The Seven Devils”

I adore these closing stanzas from this poem by Marie Howe:

For months I dreamt of knucklebones and roots,

the slabs of sidewalk pushed up like crooked teeth by what grew underneath.

The underneath —that was the first devil.
It was always with me.

And that I didn’t think you — if I told you — would understand any of this —

She is one of those all-too-rare poets who can read her work with a fluidity and a clarity that doesn’t sound forced. You really ought to listen to her read the other poems we recorded and produced for this week’s show, “The Poetry of Ordinary Time.” It was such an honor to edit and produce. Please share them with your loved ones!

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is the cofounder of On Being and currently serves as chief content officer and executive editor. He received a Peabody Award in 2007 for his work on “The Ecstatic Faith of Rumi” and garnered two Webby Awards (in 2005, and again in 2008). The Online News Association nominated his journalistic work multiple times in the general excellence and outstanding specialty journalism categories. Trent’s reported and produced stories from Turkey to rural Alabama, from Israel and the West Bank to Cambridge, England.

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