Yogic Poems as Poses for Inspiration: a review of Li-Young Lee's visit to Georgetown

Listening to Li-Young Lee read, I felt privy to secrets: he revealed that he wanted to sing, but doesn’t know any songs, that people have been trying to kill him since he was born, that he and his sister died in childhood. Sound ricocheted back and forth between poems. The staccato repetition of “playing” in “After the Pier” and the complementary pairing of “principle” and “potential” in “A Voice’s Gaze” echo familiar “p” sounds, which are reinforced by the repetition of the word “presence” in his poems and the condition of being “present” he insist upon in his work.

I entered our seminar with Li-Young Lee unfamiliar with his work beyond the selected poems we had been given and an abridged understanding of his biography. His words on the page did not move me, and it took some time listening to him speak about his life and work before I grew enchanted under his spell. My captivation connected with him once he began talking about speech as an act that was both life sustaining and life sapping. He proposed, as one speaks, one contributes meaning to life; but as one speaks he or she has less breath and thus less life. He defined a poem as “a musical score for our dying breath”, which I internalized as the most complete poem of brevity I had ever heard.

This turn in our seminar’s focus drew me into Li-Young Lee’s spiritual and philosophical approach to language. He seemed to feel language in a way I crave and emphasized the importance of connection (spiritual, emotional, psychological) only achieved through language. A poem provides an access point to resurrect the aroma of a flower that has lost its scent. He spoke of his reliance on the practice of yoga, and the desire to write yogic poems that feel connected to the present.

I was originally uncertain as to how the words of Li-Young Lee could be yogic for me. It seemed hokey to compare and conflate the poses and positions of yoga with the performance of a poem, but once I heard him read, the connection was instantaneous. I heard his words, and connected with them deeply. I identified the good in falling asleep in a favorite chair with a book I enjoy, but also know spooning is even better. While I lingered on every word, his words inspired creativity in me I had not felt in months. Every verse he completed, I wanted to write. My journal is filled with dozens of first lines inspired not necessarily by the content of Li-Young Lee’s poems, but rather by the dedication and presence with which he shared them.

To extend Lee’s own metaphor of yoga, it was though every poem he read challenged me to reach inside myself to master a new pose. Sometimes having a master set the example provides a reference and a motivation to excel in your own pose. The beauty of yoga is you are only working for yourself, but you benefit from the energy of the bodies striving to achieve presence around you. The sounds of Lee’s poems, inspired me to look inside myself, and the concentration of everyone in the room on the lingual offerings created a buzz of excitement and creativity that suggested to me perhaps Lee’s analysis of breath and speech as strictly life sustaining/life sapping is overly simplistic. It seems his poetry and breath have a property of transferal to inspire the affirmation of life in others.