Episode 31: Balance

On this week’s podcast, we review three poems by two authors: “The Riddle of Longing” by Faisal Mohyuddin and “Pyramids” and “American Wedding” by Shayla Lawson. Faisal Mohyuddin teaches English at Highland Park High School in suburban Chicago, is a recent fellow in the U.S. Department of State’s Teachers for Global Classrooms program, and received an MFA… On this week’s podcast, we review three poems by two authors: “The Riddle of Longing” by Faisal Mohyuddin and “Pyramids” and “American Wedding” by Shayla Lawson. Faisal Mohyuddin Faisal Mohyuddin teaches English at Highland Park High School in suburban Chicago, is a recent fellow in the U.S. Department of State’s Teachers for Global Classrooms program, and received an MFA in creative writing from Columbia College Chicago in 2015. Mohyuddin is a lead teacher and advisor for Narrative 4 (narrative4.com), a global not-for-profit organization dedicated to empathy building through the exchange of stories. He is also an experienced visual artist who had the opportunity to participate in his first exhibition in October 2015. Check it out here! We started off our conversation about “The Riddle of Longing” by discussing the singularity and the universality of the speaker’s circumstances. The poem put into perspective the reality that many immigrants and children of immigrants face in countries around the world. The imagery and language employed by Mohyuddin elicit various emotional responses and enforced the idea that, despite loss, life will continue on; and because everything persists, it may often persist in a broken state. Shayla Lawson Following “The Riddle of Longing,” we move on to Shayla Lawson’s first poem, “Pyramids.” Shayla Lawson is, was, or has been at certain times an amateur acrobat, an architect, a Dutch housewife, & dog mother to one irascible small water-hound. Find out more about her here and watch her read here! Then, you’ll want to follow her on Twitter: @blueifiwasnt After spending some time figuring out what an isosceles triangle is, we examine the motivation and intent behind the poem, look at the challenging social commentary, and consider the beautiful balance of blasphemy and reverence. Whatever the message readers might take away from this piece, we were left wonderfully exhausted by the risk and fearlessness displayed in such strong, honest writing. In our final review, we look at “American Wedding” and acknowledge that an author’s writing can be very strong, but it’s always important to find the happy medium between what adds color to our work and what ultimately distracts and inhibits the reader from experiencing the raw goodness of it. The final poem opens up a relatable discussion about relationships, focus, and potential. We close out this episode by discussing other podcasts our listeners might enjoy called “Sleep with Me,” a podcast that’ll put you to bed with a smile on your face, and “Dumb People Town.” Turn on and tune in! Let us know what you think about these three poems and this episode on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook with #riskybusiness! Feel free to also tell us whether you are on Team: “The Earth is Flat” or not!   Present at the Editorial Table: Kathleen Volk Miller Jason Schneiderman Tim Fitts Sara Aykit Sharee DeVose   Engineering Producer: Joe Zang -----------------------------   Faisal Mohyuddin The Riddle of Longing   When to be an immigrant’s Son is to be a speaker of several   Broken tongues, each day Leaves you homesick   For a place you’ve never Touched, nor forgotten, and feel   The ache to know. When there is No one left, you ask the wind   For directions. Your own Voice returns your wish with   A map of your mother’s palms Spoken into threads of blue   Light. Take the long way Home, through the cemetery.   There, kiss your father’s name, Bring back an echo of pain,   And a phlox. When years Later your son finds it crushed   Within a book, he will feel Against his face a warm puff   Of breath, yours, then A wink of green wings behind   His eyes. Strange, that I am Holding two large rocks,   Looking for something else Sacred to smash open.     Shayla Lawson Pyramids   The Jesus I know died on a pole.  He was not a God—he did not want to    be. He told the thief  hanging beside him “Welcome to Paradise,” but all the man could see were pyramids  / cheetahs   thrashing their wild tails like an angry mob.  I mean, what’s the difference between the King   of All Kings & the Lord of Man, & the god of your Last Will & Testament.   In my favorite stripper fantasy, Cleopatra wears spots & scaffolds around you like a vortex.  I lick her cheetah paws   & lap dance into your arms like the baddest deity of your dreams. You enter   me first with a tail I have grown & I am as much an animal as a diamond: solid   hard & pure. The way you say my name in bed. You curse every god you’ve ever met.  What’s   the difference between a woman set loose & a loose woman & a woman who crowns   herself Pharaoh of a country that is not / hers. The Jesus I know is not   the kind of insurgent Jerusalem expects after all that time building the pyramids. You are Sampson   when I pull your hair. I blind your eyes & the pillars of your strength   all crumble like a temple. In this way, I am the god you hail from champagne   flutes to bath -tub baptism. I wonder why, if we are gods ourselves, we   revival —shout the names of men we worship only of necessity. I am only a woman when   I complete you. I disrobe of all my God-given parts. I wake up folded in the shape of breasts & young   men’s jewelry. I know why I love only you & you & me & working out the pyramid -scheme of my gold– / toned profanity.     Shayla Lawson American Wedding   I check out / my reflection laced in bubble foam on the passenger-side window of a faded Mustang I hand-rinse beside   the third bungalow I’ll occupy as a new bride.  The automobile never gets clean and I still wear the veil. A tiny diamond toils around my ring   finger; catches sludge from the bucket as it wipes in water. I get very good at being arranged. I learn more and more about what you make   when you need / to gain less and less. Like television in America, I am wonderful with beginnings. In the faint melody before the rewound   cassette, I hear the three -fold harmony that floated me down the aisle. I carry a Bible & a girl who imagines a marriage like Christ gave   the bride class—I don’t understand when I am given away.  I ask the first boy who ever wanted my hand about our generation   so littered in / tattoo. He tells me ‘people are tired of trying to find ways to keep magic inside them.’   But I have no use for supernatural forces; I question the detail in every ritual.  I am terrified of what might posses me. A month into my very own divorce, I have day dreams   of a needle flood with ink. The permanence :: Imagine my nostalgia. I crush a fountain pen: watch my sole disperse into a deep blue ocean.