Pick up the Poetry Phone for a pick-me-up
Could the power of the spoken word heal our differences of opinion, mend our fractured and polarized world?
In West Acton, behind the railroad tracks to the side of the bike path, stands a bright yellow phone booth — the kind we used to see everywhere and, once upon a time, used. When did they disappear? They were mini prayer houses, tiny retreat spaces from the rain, the wind on an early March morning, or a bad breakup.
This yellow structure bears the wondrous words “Poetry Phone.” Anyone can enter the booth, at any time, lift the handle of the receiver, and hear a poem. Anyone and everyone.
A friend said it looked like a Tardis — a Dr. Who reference to a time-leaping vehicle bigger on the inside than the outside — and that’s exactly what poetry is. A time machine, a flying carpet ride, a world opener. And to hear it spoken — magic.
Imagine our town/world with a phone booth delivering words on every corner. People would stride down the sidewalk and pause, not to study a device and distract from the moment, but to enter it more fully, falling into the sound of ideas, other viewpoints, story. Beauty.
The sound of a voice returns to our mother’s murmurs, to bedtime tales we wish would never end, to the invitation story extends to free our spirits no matter our age.
The sound of a voice reading reminds us of the long lineage of storytelling and pulls us back through the centuries to when we gathered around the fire for warmth and connection.
What would the world look like if returned to that state of telling and listening? Could the power of the spoken word heal our differences of opinion, mend our fractured and polarized world? Would the beauty and the rhythm open our hearts, bring us to each other, heal us? What a wonderful and inexpensive first-aid kit.
Louise Berliner
Independence Road
