Marie Howe

What the Living Do

Before Marie Howe there were poems that I appreciated. And even poems that I appreciated very much. But there weren’t any that I felt with my whole body. That’s why when I was studying fiction at Columbia, I took a poetry class with Lucie Brock-Broido. I wanted to discover what I was missing. Each week we read a collection of poems and then Lucie invited the poet to class to speak with us.

First up was Marie Howe’s What The Living Do. I can still remember reading it in my apartment on East Second Street feeling the cells in my body rearrange themselves. The joy, the grief, the humanity, the holiness, the laughter, the horror, the beauty, the tenderness these poems carried. And the words: simple, unadorned, yet they held so much.

I practically ran to Dodge Hall on Marie’s day. I was the only non-poet in class and that made me shyer than I already am so I barely said a word during the discussion but afterwards I slipped Marie a card gushing (and gushing and gushing) about the magnificent grace of her book and my rearranged cells. She gave a long hug.

I woke up the other morning, reciting the titular poem in the head. My first thought was I must share this with Beyonders. So much is hard in our world these days, like hard-hard, like how do we get through this hard. And yet there is also staggering beauty and delight and hope. To me, Marie’s words hold all this, and more. So I reached out to Marie and she said, yes! Some of you are probably already familiar with this poem—so it’s my hope this serves as a reminder of how life can feel. Some may not yet have read it—I’m hoping it blows open your heart and rearranges your cells the way it did me.

Marie has published three more gorgeous books of poetry: The Good Thief, The Kingdom of Ordinary Time, and Magdalene.

Also: many lines should be indented but unfortunately the formatting won’t allow for that.

Note: I feel like one of the luckiest people on the planet that I get to speak with and publish the work of people I admire so deeply! But it’s a lot (a lot!) of work. In an effort to dodge burnout, I’m taking a small break once a quarter, so next week there won’t be a newsletter. After that, lots of fantastic interviews: Daisy Alpert Florin, Nana-Ana Danquah, Brandon Taylor, Nicole Chung, Emma Gannon, and more! Plus some wonderful guest contributors! See you after the break!

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What The Living Do

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

From What the Living Do, copyright © 1998 by Marie Howe. Used by permission of W. W. Norton. All rights reserved.

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