Autumn is a season made for reading poetry.
The other day a student said poetry always felt a hundred thousand miles away. I know he loves music, so I asked whether he likes rap. He understood at once and smiled.
Much of poetry’s beauty is rhythm — but rhythm is not only formal metre. It is everywhere. Artists try, through every medium, to gather from nature or from the cosmos they sense a rhythm of beauty.
In this windy season that rhythm feels especially close. Quiet down and listen, and you may find it.
