Major Jackson

College of Arts and Sciences

The Poetry of the Moment

“Self-isolation,” says Major Jackson, “is what writers, particularly poets, experience whenever they sit down to write a new poem.” Jackson, the Richard A. Dennis Professor of English and University Distinguished Professor, is ensuring that he and his students seize this opportunity to create meaning out of uncertainty. He says students are finding his classes to be a refuge in which they can reflect on the COVID-19 crisis and express themselves. “They know it’s the job of artists and writers to document this moment. It’s really exciting when young people realize that they do not have to be debilitated, but poetry can be a means by which they come to understand and test the ideas we are now faced with.” With nation-wide events to promote his latest book of poetry, The Absurd Man, on hold due to the coronavirus, Jackson has taken up a challenge from his wife, who is also a poet, to write one new poem each day. “We have always turned to poetry for occasions that mark life,” he says. “There is a kind of exaltedness and clarity to the language that allows us to have some sort of insight about our journey.” Jackson has said that he considers sharing his poetry a kind of spiritual service that gives others the language to understand and process this collective experience. To that end, he offers a poetic dispatch from self-isolation, a favorite of his daily scrawlings. “Invocation” is a prayer of sorts, Jackson’s hope that the inevitable changes born of this crisis will be positive ones.

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Invocation

Down here, we’ve inherited an arcade of stars and want kindness that can stop a bomb. We want intelligence that survives mutations. No more rallies of hate. No more stone mountains just proliferating peaks and the presence of friends like magical wands. We want the father in the park running behind a child pedaling into her future. We want to turn a corner and stumble upon the muted concert of two people in an embrace with entangled eyes. We want to hear a far-away train whistle cast a spell on the coming night. Back in that far-away land, we were nurtured once on a dance floor, blazing in some tribal purity, probably near some bride, probably swirling in sweaty laughter as we reached for the tips of each other’s fingers streaming their ambient light. Such were the new births of ourselves breaching horizons like a sting. This is not the ending we imagined. We want to see each other again: strangers walking through curtains of rain, storms lighting up streets laden with blossoms.

Listen to Professor Jackson read his poem, Invocation, below:

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