Reading a poem with someone is not that dissimilar to a spot of star-gazing. A good poem always has that moment (two or three if you’re lucky) where you feel the emotional-cognitive equivalent of hinging the head back, ciliary muscles in the eyes relaxing, pupils widening to take in the vastness of Everything Out There.
This is often accompanied by a sigh of relief as we take a short break from the struggles of Everything In Here.
So kick back and settle down for some star-gazing with myself, Claire Shanahan, and Louis MacNeice.
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There is perhaps nothing as moving and transcendent as having someone read to you something that they truly and utterly love. The atavistic thrill of this activity may (as many atavistic thrills) stem from childhood where a parent, grandparent, or favourite aunt or uncle read to us something that they probably adored when they were young.
