https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/soothing-stanzas-gentle-verses-for-quiet-nights--7155168enArtsCopyright Florentino Arizahttps://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/14aa7665591b8e93ffac0b34d1e87f39.jpghttps://www.spreaker.com/podcast/soothing-stanzas-gentle-verses-for-quiet-nights--7155168Fri, 09 Oct 2026 13:28:45 +0000Florentino ArizaFlorentino Arizafeeds@spreaker.comEach episode of Soothing Stanzas offers a single poem — from a lovestruck scribe in ancient Egypt to Pablo Neruda, Tagore. Poets from the ages and here and now — savored slowly, with warmth and full attention. Together we'll sit with its wisdom, its...false374dfd0b-802f-57a0-8a5c-f656258696deepisodichttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/the-missing-half-three-poets-on-the-search-to-make-us-whole--7566810006127e03-d908-4e04-8b01-969541959c93Fri, 09 Oct 2026 12:08:00 +0000Florentino ArizaWelcome to Season Three of Soothing Stanzas - Vows that Hold. Long before there's a wedding, there's a fundamental question: why do we look for another person at all? Tonight we start at the very beginning of that search — we open with an excerpt from...772false31fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/two-poems-and-a-blessing-all-for-unrequited-love--75522665
I’ve Dreamt of You So Often by Robert DesnosI've dreamt of you so often that you become unreal.Is there still time to reach this living body and to kiss on its mouth the birth ofthe voice so dear to me?I've dreamt of you so often that my arms used to embracing your shadow andonly crossing on my own chest might no longer meet your body's shape.And before the real appearance of what has haunted and ruled me for days and years I would doubtless become a shadow.Oh the shifts of feeling.I've dreamt of you so often that it is doubtless no longer time for me to wake. I sleep standing, my body exposed to all the appearances of life and love and you,who only count today for me, I could touch your forehead and your lips less easily than any other lips and forehead.I've dreamt of you so often, walked, spoken, slept so often with your phantom that perhaps all that yet remains for me is to be a phantom among the phantomsand a hundred times more shadow than the shadow which saunters and willsaunter so gladly over the sundial of your life.XXXBlessing for Unrequited Love by David WhyteSee our website for full text of this poem - (unable to post here due Spotify character limitations)]]>e2a69ee2-1ed5-4b94-8c97-9c05dc68f087Fri, 02 Oct 2026 12:54:00 +0000Florentino ArizaUnrequited Love by Sierra DeMulderYou will be out with friendswhen the news of her existencewill be accidentally spilled all overyour bar stool. Respond calmlyas if it was only a change in weather,a punch line you saw coming.After your fourth shot of...
I’ve Dreamt of You So Often by Robert DesnosI've dreamt of you so often that you become unreal.Is there still time to reach this living body and to kiss on its mouth the birth ofthe voice so dear to me?I've dreamt of you so often that my arms used to embracing your shadow andonly crossing on my own chest might no longer meet your body's shape.And before the real appearance of what has haunted and ruled me for days and years I would doubtless become a shadow.Oh the shifts of feeling.I've dreamt of you so often that it is doubtless no longer time for me to wake. I sleep standing, my body exposed to all the appearances of life and love and you,who only count today for me, I could touch your forehead and your lips less easily than any other lips and forehead.I've dreamt of you so often, walked, spoken, slept so often with your phantom that perhaps all that yet remains for me is to be a phantom among the phantomsand a hundred times more shadow than the shadow which saunters and willsaunter so gladly over the sundial of your life.XXXBlessing for Unrequited Love by David WhyteSee our website for full text of this poem - (unable to post here due Spotify character limitations)]]>910false210fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/a-love-letter-a-prayer-and-a-parallel-universe-three-poems-of-love-and-longing--75350678“Pocket Poem” by Ted KooserIf this comes creased and creased again and soiledas if I’d opened it a thousand timesto see if what I’d written here was right,it’s all because I looked too long for youto put in your pocket. Midnight saysthe little gifts of loneliness come wrappedby nervous fingers. What I wanted thisto say was that I want to be so closethat when you find it, it is warm from me.
Words, Wide Night by Carol Ann DuffySomewhere on the other side of this wide nightand the distance between us, I am thinking of you.The room is turning slowly away from the moon.This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and sayit is sad? In one of the tenses I singingan impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imaginethe dark hills I would have to crossto reach you. For I am in love with you and thisis what it is like or what it is like in words.
That's not now how this works by Trista Mateer
In a universe parallel to this one, you and I stay up some nights, holding hands in bed, worrying about all the versions of ourselves that don’t end up together. Parallel You says, "Somewhere we never even kiss." Parallel Me says, "Somewhere we never even touch." Parallel You supposes that the universe in which we never cross paths must be a kinder one than the universe where we make the effort to love each other and fail at it so miserably that we part ways and never speak again. Parallel Me says, "That universe doesn’t exist." Parallel You says, "That’s not how this works."]]>dacb1009-2c99-4046-88b2-9e4aa2d57876Fri, 25 Sep 2026 08:03:00 +0000Florentino ArizaThree poems, one long-distance ache. Ted Kooser's "Pocket Poem" holds longing in the palm of a hand; Carol Ann Duffy's "Words, Wide Night" stretches it across the dark between two people who can't touch. Trista Mateer's "That's not how this works"...“Pocket Poem” by Ted KooserIf this comes creased and creased again and soiledas if I’d opened it a thousand timesto see if what I’d written here was right,it’s all because I looked too long for youto put in your pocket. Midnight saysthe little gifts of loneliness come wrappedby nervous fingers. What I wanted thisto say was that I want to be so closethat when you find it, it is warm from me.
Words, Wide Night by Carol Ann DuffySomewhere on the other side of this wide nightand the distance between us, I am thinking of you.The room is turning slowly away from the moon.This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and sayit is sad? In one of the tenses I singingan impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imaginethe dark hills I would have to crossto reach you. For I am in love with you and thisis what it is like or what it is like in words.
That's not now how this works by Trista Mateer
In a universe parallel to this one, you and I stay up some nights, holding hands in bed, worrying about all the versions of ourselves that don’t end up together. Parallel You says, "Somewhere we never even kiss." Parallel Me says, "Somewhere we never even touch." Parallel You supposes that the universe in which we never cross paths must be a kinder one than the universe where we make the effort to love each other and fail at it so miserably that we part ways and never speak again. Parallel Me says, "That universe doesn’t exist." Parallel You says, "That’s not how this works."]]>507false29fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/ghosts-and-predators-two-poems-filled-with-ache--75204572Ask Your Doctor If Poetry Is Right for Youby Kelli Russell Agodon
It’s sad but not sad we love the darkness.Ghosts, who let you in? I sworeI locked the door. Even those who can’t touchdrink wine together as the moon risesin their individual glasses. Once I made a datethree years in advance — who lives so optimistically?I want a bottle of difficult love so when I pour it —the universe becomes a chalice of stars. It’s sad but not sad how our wrists are made of poetry.And when I touch the underside of life, I feelits pulse. And I hear it, in the whisper of words— the blood telling the bruise, I am here for you.
I’ve Been Thinking about Love Againby Vievee FrancisI’ve Been Thinking about Love AgainVievee FrancisThose who live to have it andthose who live to give it.Of course there are those for whom both are true,but never in the same measure.Those who have it to give arelike cardinals in the snow. So easyand beautifully lit. Someare rabbits. Hard to seeexcept for those who would prey upon them:all that softness and quaking and blood.Those who want itcannot be satisfied. Eagle-eyed and such talons,any furred thing will do. So easyto rip out a heart when it is throbbing so hard.I wander out into the winter.I know what I am.]]>eb107a07-bb95-45cb-8a6b-1f960fa2735bFri, 18 Sep 2026 08:35:00 +0000Florentino ArizaAn uneasy truth about love: it's rarely given and received in equal measure. Kelli Russell Agodon's "Ask Your Doctor If Poetry Is Right for You" finds tenderness in love's sadness — ghosts pouring wine, a pulse under the skin. And Vievee Francis's...Ask Your Doctor If Poetry Is Right for Youby Kelli Russell Agodon
It’s sad but not sad we love the darkness.Ghosts, who let you in? I sworeI locked the door. Even those who can’t touchdrink wine together as the moon risesin their individual glasses. Once I made a datethree years in advance — who lives so optimistically?I want a bottle of difficult love so when I pour it —the universe becomes a chalice of stars. It’s sad but not sad how our wrists are made of poetry.And when I touch the underside of life, I feelits pulse. And I hear it, in the whisper of words— the blood telling the bruise, I am here for you.
I’ve Been Thinking about Love Againby Vievee FrancisI’ve Been Thinking about Love AgainVievee FrancisThose who live to have it andthose who live to give it.Of course there are those for whom both are true,but never in the same measure.Those who have it to give arelike cardinals in the snow. So easyand beautifully lit. Someare rabbits. Hard to seeexcept for those who would prey upon them:all that softness and quaking and blood.Those who want itcannot be satisfied. Eagle-eyed and such talons,any furred thing will do. So easyto rip out a heart when it is throbbing so hard.I wander out into the winter.I know what I am.]]>527false28fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/waiting--75072499New York Address by Linda GreggThe sun had just gone outand I was walking three miles to get home.I wanted to die.I couldn’t think of words and I had no futureand I was coming down hard on everything.My walk was terrible.I didn’t seem to have a heart at alland my whole past seemed filled up.So I started answering all the questionsregardless of consequence:Yes I hate dark. No I love light. Yes I won’t speak.No I will write. Yes I will breed. No I won’t love.Yes I will bless. No I won’t close. Yes I won’t give.Love is on the other side of the lake.It is painful because the dark makes you hearthe water more. I accept all that.And that we are not allowed romance but only its distance.Having finished with it all, now I am not listening.I wait for the silence to resume.
Transformation by Adam Zagajewski(translated by Clare Cavanagh)I haven’t written a single poemin months.I’ve lived humbly, reading the paper,pondering the riddle of powerand the reasons for obedience.I’ve watched sunsets(crimson, anxious),I’ve heard the birds grow quietand night’s muteness.I’ve seen sunflowers danglingtheir heads at dusk, as if a careless hangmanhad gone strolling through the gardens.September’s sweet dust gatheredon the windowsill and lizardshid in the bends of walls.I’ve taken long walks,craving one thing only:lightning,transformation,you.]]>367813a6-eb0d-4745-808c-556942c8a8b6Fri, 11 Sep 2026 15:23:14 +0000Florentino ArizaTwo poets spend an evening waiting — away from their love, in darkness, in silence, in a private inventory of yes and no — Linda Gregg and Adam Zagajewski, on Soothing Stanzas, Season 2: Love Unrequited. New York Address by Linda GreggThe sun had just...New York Address by Linda GreggThe sun had just gone outand I was walking three miles to get home.I wanted to die.I couldn’t think of words and I had no futureand I was coming down hard on everything.My walk was terrible.I didn’t seem to have a heart at alland my whole past seemed filled up.So I started answering all the questionsregardless of consequence:Yes I hate dark. No I love light. Yes I won’t speak.No I will write. Yes I will breed. No I won’t love.Yes I will bless. No I won’t close. Yes I won’t give.Love is on the other side of the lake.It is painful because the dark makes you hearthe water more. I accept all that.And that we are not allowed romance but only its distance.Having finished with it all, now I am not listening.I wait for the silence to resume.
Transformation by Adam Zagajewski(translated by Clare Cavanagh)I haven’t written a single poemin months.I’ve lived humbly, reading the paper,pondering the riddle of powerand the reasons for obedience.I’ve watched sunsets(crimson, anxious),I’ve heard the birds grow quietand night’s muteness.I’ve seen sunflowers danglingtheir heads at dusk, as if a careless hangmanhad gone strolling through the gardens.September’s sweet dust gatheredon the windowsill and lizardshid in the bends of walls.I’ve taken long walks,craving one thing only:lightning,transformation,you.]]>508false27fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/the-power-of-the-one-less-in-love--74884853Lovers by Stephen DunnTo keep the one you want dig up a footprint of hers and put it in a flowerpot. Then plant a marigold, the flower that doesn't fade. And love her. If she's distant now it's for a reason beyond control. So don't tamper with the impressions left by her body when for the last time she leaves your bed. Just smooth them out and forget her. Who is not vulnerable to a stronger magic (the broken glass, the bullets in a yawn), the terrible power of the one less in love.
Do not ask me for that love again by Faiz Ahmed FaizThat which then was ours, my love,don’t ask me for that love again.The world then was gold, burnished with light –and only because of you. That’s what I had believed.How could one weep for sorrows other than yours?How could one have any sorrow but the one you gave?So what were these protests, these rumours of injustice?A glimpse of your face was evidence of springtime.The sky, whenever I looked, was nothing but your eyes.If you’d fall into my arms, Fate would be helpless.All this I’d thought, all this I’d believed.But there were other sorrows, comforts other than love.The rich had cast their spell on history:dark centuries had been embroidered on brocades and silks.Bitter threads began to unravel before meas I went into alleys and in open marketssaw bodies plastered with ash, bathed in blood.I saw them sold and bought, again and again.This too deserves attention. I can’t help but look backwhen I return from those alleys – what should one do?And you are still so ravishing – what should I do?There are other sorrows in this world,comforts other than love.Don’t ask me, my love, for that love again.


]]>108be204-03f8-4ba7-8827-339c37a8f51dThu, 03 Sep 2026 23:40:32 +0000Florentino ArizaA folk spell for keeping someone who's already gone, and a renunciation of love itself for something larger. Stephen Dunn and Faiz Ahmed Faiz on the different ways devotion gets withheld. Lovers by Stephen DunnTo keep the one you want dig up a...Lovers by Stephen DunnTo keep the one you want dig up a footprint of hers and put it in a flowerpot. Then plant a marigold, the flower that doesn't fade. And love her. If she's distant now it's for a reason beyond control. So don't tamper with the impressions left by her body when for the last time she leaves your bed. Just smooth them out and forget her. Who is not vulnerable to a stronger magic (the broken glass, the bullets in a yawn), the terrible power of the one less in love.
Do not ask me for that love again by Faiz Ahmed FaizThat which then was ours, my love,don’t ask me for that love again.The world then was gold, burnished with light –and only because of you. That’s what I had believed.How could one weep for sorrows other than yours?How could one have any sorrow but the one you gave?So what were these protests, these rumours of injustice?A glimpse of your face was evidence of springtime.The sky, whenever I looked, was nothing but your eyes.If you’d fall into my arms, Fate would be helpless.All this I’d thought, all this I’d believed.But there were other sorrows, comforts other than love.The rich had cast their spell on history:dark centuries had been embroidered on brocades and silks.Bitter threads began to unravel before meas I went into alleys and in open marketssaw bodies plastered with ash, bathed in blood.I saw them sold and bought, again and again.This too deserves attention. I can’t help but look backwhen I return from those alleys – what should one do?And you are still so ravishing – what should I do?There are other sorrows in this world,comforts other than love.Don’t ask me, my love, for that love again.


]]>621false26fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/breathing-sleeping-whispering--74741150Variation on the Word Sleep by Margaret AtwoodI would like to watch you sleeping,which may not happen.I would like to watch you,sleeping. I would like to sleepwith you, to enteryour sleep as its smooth dark waveslides over my head
and walk with you through that lucentwavering forest of blue green leaveswith its watery sun & three moonstowards the cave where you must descend,towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silverbranch, the small white flower, the oneword that will protect youfrom the grief at the centerof your dream, from the griefat the center. I would like to followyou up the long stairwayagain & becomethe boat that would row you backcarefully, a flamein two cupped handsto where your body liesbeside me, and you enterit as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the airthat inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed& that necessary.
The Quiet World by Jeffrey McDanielIn an effort to get people to lookinto each other’s eyes more,and also to appease the mutes,the government has decidedto allot each person exactly one hundred   and sixty-seven words, per day.When the phone rings, I put it to my ear   without saying hello. In the restaurant   I point at chicken noodle soup.I am adjusting well to the new way.Late at night, I call my long distance lover,   proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.   I saved the rest for you.When she doesn’t respond,I know she’s used up all her words,   so I slowly whisper I love youthirty-two and a third times.After that, we just sit on the line   and listen to each other breathe.
]]>9cacd185-26de-483a-8f9d-fe475fce4c94Fri, 28 Aug 2026 23:15:59 +0000Florentino ArizaIn this episode we have two poems - lovers far away, pining - one which offers everything and asks for nothing. The other has almost nothing left to give - a few words. Margaret Atwood and Jeffrey McDaniel on Soothing Stanzas, Season 2: Love...Variation on the Word Sleep by Margaret AtwoodI would like to watch you sleeping,which may not happen.I would like to watch you,sleeping. I would like to sleepwith you, to enteryour sleep as its smooth dark waveslides over my head
and walk with you through that lucentwavering forest of blue green leaveswith its watery sun & three moonstowards the cave where you must descend,towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silverbranch, the small white flower, the oneword that will protect youfrom the grief at the centerof your dream, from the griefat the center. I would like to followyou up the long stairwayagain & becomethe boat that would row you backcarefully, a flamein two cupped handsto where your body liesbeside me, and you enterit as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the airthat inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed& that necessary.
The Quiet World by Jeffrey McDanielIn an effort to get people to lookinto each other’s eyes more,and also to appease the mutes,the government has decidedto allot each person exactly one hundred   and sixty-seven words, per day.When the phone rings, I put it to my ear   without saying hello. In the restaurant   I point at chicken noodle soup.I am adjusting well to the new way.Late at night, I call my long distance lover,   proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.   I saved the rest for you.When she doesn’t respond,I know she’s used up all her words,   so I slowly whisper I love youthirty-two and a third times.After that, we just sit on the line   and listen to each other breathe.
]]>666false25fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/friend-zoned-two-poems-to-soothe-you--74472114What to Say Upon Being Asked to Be FriendsBy Julian T. BrolaskiWhy speak of hate, when I do bleed for love?Not hate, my love, but Love doth bite my tongueTill I taste stuff that makes my rhyming roughSo flatter I my fever for the oneFor whom I inly mourn, though seem to shun.A rose is arrows is eros, so whatIf I confuse the shade that I’ve becomeWith winedark substance in a lover’s cup?But stop my tonguely wound, I’ve bled enough.If I be fair, or false, or freaked with fearIf I my tongue in lockèd box immureBlame not me, for I am sick with love.Yet would I be your friend most willinglySince friendship would infect me killingly.
and the ghazal...
No, I wasn’t meant to love and be loved.... by Mirza Ghalib
No, I wasn't meant to love and be loved If I’d lived longer, I would have waited longer. Knowing you are faithless keeps me alive and hungry. Knowing you faithful would kill me with joy. Delicate are you, and your vows are delicate, too, so easily do they break. You are a laconic marksman. You leave me not dead but perpetually dying. I want my friends to heal me, succor me. Instead, I get analysis. Conflagrations that would make stones drip blood are campfires compared to my anguish. Two-headed, inescapable anguish!—Love’s anguish or the anguish of time. Another dark, severing, incommunicable night. Death would be fine, if I only died once. I would have liked a solitary death, not this lavish funeral, this grave anyone can visit. You are mystical, Ghalib, and, also, you speak beautifully. Are you a saint, or just drunk as usual?
]]>5391cadf-4622-44db-bf63-41f0bf52e285Fri, 21 Aug 2026 17:15:00 +0000Florentino ArizaFriendzoned? Yup - you didn't crash — you were handed a parachute and it was a soft landing. Here are two poets - Julian Brolaski and Mirza Ghalib - five centuries apart, on what it's like once you touch down in the friendzone. What to Say Upon Being...What to Say Upon Being Asked to Be FriendsBy Julian T. BrolaskiWhy speak of hate, when I do bleed for love?Not hate, my love, but Love doth bite my tongueTill I taste stuff that makes my rhyming roughSo flatter I my fever for the oneFor whom I inly mourn, though seem to shun.A rose is arrows is eros, so whatIf I confuse the shade that I’ve becomeWith winedark substance in a lover’s cup?But stop my tonguely wound, I’ve bled enough.If I be fair, or false, or freaked with fearIf I my tongue in lockèd box immureBlame not me, for I am sick with love.Yet would I be your friend most willinglySince friendship would infect me killingly.
and the ghazal...
No, I wasn’t meant to love and be loved.... by Mirza Ghalib
No, I wasn't meant to love and be loved If I’d lived longer, I would have waited longer. Knowing you are faithless keeps me alive and hungry. Knowing you faithful would kill me with joy. Delicate are you, and your vows are delicate, too, so easily do they break. You are a laconic marksman. You leave me not dead but perpetually dying. I want my friends to heal me, succor me. Instead, I get analysis. Conflagrations that would make stones drip blood are campfires compared to my anguish. Two-headed, inescapable anguish!—Love’s anguish or the anguish of time. Another dark, severing, incommunicable night. Death would be fine, if I only died once. I would have liked a solitary death, not this lavish funeral, this grave anyone can visit. You are mystical, Ghalib, and, also, you speak beautifully. Are you a saint, or just drunk as usual?
]]>762false24fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/losing-it-slowly-losing-it-all-at-once--73979821Three Questions - Lang Leav“What was it like to love him? Asked Gratitude.It was like being exhumed, I answered, and brought to life in a flash of brilliance.What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy.It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow. There was a long pause before I responded:It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me—said all at once.”
Love Poem - Tishani DoshiUltimately, we will lose each otherto something. I would hope for grandcircumstance — death or disaster.But it might not be that way at all.It might be that you walk outone morning after making loveto buy cigarettes, and never return,or I fall in love with another man.It might be a slow drift into indifference.Either way, we’ll have to learnto bear the weight of the eventualitythat we will lose each other to something.So why not begin now, while your headrests like a perfect moon in my lap,and the dogs on the beach are howling?Why not reach for the seam in this South Indiannight and tear it, just a little, so the fallingcan begin? Because later, when we crosseach other on the streets, and are forcedto look away, when we’ve thrownthe disregarded pieces of our togethernessinto bedroom drawers and the smellof our bodies is disappearing like the sweetdecay of lilies — what will we call it,when it’s no longer love?
]]>ded8cd31-a7e8-4629-9cdd-a8e8d214a8d0Fri, 14 Aug 2026 09:28:00 +0000Florentino ArizaEvery love starts with a spark. Few stay magical forever. Poets Lang Leav and Tishani Doshi trace the beginning, the middle, and the end — sometimes one-sided, sometimes over before it's ready to be. Three Questions - Lang Leav“What was it like to...Three Questions - Lang Leav“What was it like to love him? Asked Gratitude.It was like being exhumed, I answered, and brought to life in a flash of brilliance.What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy.It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow. There was a long pause before I responded:It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me—said all at once.”
Love Poem - Tishani DoshiUltimately, we will lose each otherto something. I would hope for grandcircumstance — death or disaster.But it might not be that way at all.It might be that you walk outone morning after making loveto buy cigarettes, and never return,or I fall in love with another man.It might be a slow drift into indifference.Either way, we’ll have to learnto bear the weight of the eventualitythat we will lose each other to something.So why not begin now, while your headrests like a perfect moon in my lap,and the dogs on the beach are howling?Why not reach for the seam in this South Indiannight and tear it, just a little, so the fallingcan begin? Because later, when we crosseach other on the streets, and are forcedto look away, when we’ve thrownthe disregarded pieces of our togethernessinto bedroom drawers and the smellof our bodies is disappearing like the sweetdecay of lilies — what will we call it,when it’s no longer love?
]]>542false23fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/the-empty-rooms-of-the-heart-two-poems--73609164The Heart - Brionne Janaehas many rooms doors that open doors that don't. still a lock to pick a key to find or borrow or have carved by the right smith some doors only open when another shuts some never open the locks red with rust and glazed with spider's web sometimes I think I want no doors only arches or windows you have to scramble through when no one's watching you might think it was but it's not a storage space neither holding cell nor jail you have to let the light come and go as it pleases the heart can't be bought or owned it's terribly difficult but not impossible to lose sweet friend I found a room inside my heart I think could suit you a place I hope you will return you can turn the fire on or leave it cool you can shut the shades or leave them open write your poems on the wall or only lie on the floor dreaming
No help for that - Charles Bukowski"there is a place in the heart thatwill never be filleda spaceand even during thebest momentsand the greatest timestimeswe will know itwe will know itmore thaneverthere is a place in the heart thatwill never be filledandwe will waitandwaitin that space."]]>3ba19545-71cc-4dd2-b749-2f3d95456a39Fri, 07 Aug 2026 08:47:00 +0000Florentino ArizaA room built and offered, a room that refuses to fill — two poets on the same ache of longing. Brionne Janae and Charles Bukowski, back to back, on Soothing Stanzas, Season 2: Love Unrequited. The Heart - Brionne Janaehas many rooms doors that open...The Heart - Brionne Janaehas many rooms doors that open doors that don't. still a lock to pick a key to find or borrow or have carved by the right smith some doors only open when another shuts some never open the locks red with rust and glazed with spider's web sometimes I think I want no doors only arches or windows you have to scramble through when no one's watching you might think it was but it's not a storage space neither holding cell nor jail you have to let the light come and go as it pleases the heart can't be bought or owned it's terribly difficult but not impossible to lose sweet friend I found a room inside my heart I think could suit you a place I hope you will return you can turn the fire on or leave it cool you can shut the shades or leave them open write your poems on the wall or only lie on the floor dreaming
No help for that - Charles Bukowski"there is a place in the heart thatwill never be filleda spaceand even during thebest momentsand the greatest timestimeswe will know itwe will know itmore thaneverthere is a place in the heart thatwill never be filledandwe will waitandwaitin that space."]]>449false22fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/a-kind-of-theft-two-poems-and-a-common-ache--73280367
All you who sleep tonight - Vikram SethFar from the ones you love,No hands to left or right,And emptiness above –Know that you aren’t alone.The whole world shares your tears,Some for two nights or one,And some for all their years.

Then, A Longing - Camonghne FelixMy heart is the son of my body and it wants you.Do you know how much that aches? Like a salt bathfor the blistered. Like a cold that haunts the bone.It betrays me and I kneel to it; wouldn’t you call thata kind of theft? A kind of breaking-in? In any unspokenlanguage, shame is a palindrome that riddles me:through the holes, a blue moon whistles nearby,me and all your untouched desires gathering. At nightevery bell is your voice ringing my name. I am alreadywillingly of you, ungainly with consent. May I touchthe clouds of your chest with my fingers? Am I fatedto be the lover who begs?
]]>bc9b2f33-89a9-4175-8f8d-9ebcba5d734bFri, 31 Jul 2026 10:03:00 +0000Florentino ArizaWhat does it feel like to want someone who doesn't really care much about you? In this Season Two opener, we read two poems that ache in different ways — Vikram Seth's "All You Who Sleep Tonight," a quiet, communal address to everyone lying awake...
All you who sleep tonight - Vikram SethFar from the ones you love,No hands to left or right,And emptiness above –Know that you aren’t alone.The whole world shares your tears,Some for two nights or one,And some for all their years.

Then, A Longing - Camonghne FelixMy heart is the son of my body and it wants you.Do you know how much that aches? Like a salt bathfor the blistered. Like a cold that haunts the bone.It betrays me and I kneel to it; wouldn’t you call thata kind of theft? A kind of breaking-in? In any unspokenlanguage, shame is a palindrome that riddles me:through the holes, a blue moon whistles nearby,me and all your untouched desires gathering. At nightevery bell is your voice ringing my name. I am alreadywillingly of you, ungainly with consent. May I touchthe clouds of your chest with my fingers? Am I fatedto be the lover who begs?
]]>666false21fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/song-of-me-and-you-a-poem-by-guan-daosheng--73141601Song of me and you - Guan Daosheng
You and IHave so much love,That itBurns like a fire,
In which we bake a lump of clay. Molded into a figure of you,And a figure of me.
Then we take both of them,And break them into pieces,And mix the pieces with water,And mold again
a figure of you,And a figure of me.
Now I am in youAs much as you are in me. In life we share a single quilt.In death we will share a single coffin. ....
]]>c0ed1133-3c92-437a-a5d7-ba552101bb1aFri, 24 Jul 2026 08:32:00 +0000Florentino ArizaWhen a 12th-century painter learned her husband was considering a second wife, she didn't argue — instead, she wrote a poem about clay, earth and fire. Guan Daosheng's poem - Song of me and you (also called "Married Love") is a 700-year-old meditation...Song of me and you - Guan Daosheng
You and IHave so much love,That itBurns like a fire,
In which we bake a lump of clay. Molded into a figure of you,And a figure of me.
Then we take both of them,And break them into pieces,And mix the pieces with water,And mold again
a figure of you,And a figure of me.
Now I am in youAs much as you are in me. In life we share a single quilt.In death we will share a single coffin. ....
]]>549false19fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/the-loom-of-my-mind-a-poem-by-kabir--73032518The Loom of My Mind: Kabir On the loom of my mind, I weave Your name,To make a garment for you come to me.
My loom has ten thousand threads,And weaves a soul’s robe for You and only youThe Sun and Moon silently watch as I weave Your name;The Sun and Moon silently listen  as I count Your name.This is my wage, for all my labor of day and the night,This wage deposited  in the blooming lotus bank of my heart.On the loom of my mind,  I weave Your name.As I wash these ten thousand threads of my thoughts, making them soft and clean,As I comb the tangled to release my clinging desires.And no more do I weave a garment of pain...For you have come to me
On the loom of my mind, I weave Your name....
]]>c7b03a1b-642c-402a-abe5-58351aad6ddaFri, 17 Jul 2026 18:08:00 +0000Florentino ArizaWhat do you do with love when your beloved isn't in the room? Kabir — the fifteenth-century weaver-poet answers with his own loom: weave their name into everything. Into ten thousand threads, into the day's work, into the long ordinary hours of...The Loom of My Mind: Kabir On the loom of my mind, I weave Your name,To make a garment for you come to me.
My loom has ten thousand threads,And weaves a soul’s robe for You and only youThe Sun and Moon silently watch as I weave Your name;The Sun and Moon silently listen  as I count Your name.This is my wage, for all my labor of day and the night,This wage deposited  in the blooming lotus bank of my heart.On the loom of my mind,  I weave Your name.As I wash these ten thousand threads of my thoughts, making them soft and clean,As I comb the tangled to release my clinging desires.And no more do I weave a garment of pain...For you have come to me
On the loom of my mind, I weave Your name....
]]>597false18fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/love-poem-joseph-brodsky--72911417Love Song by Joseph BrodskyIf you were drowning, I'd come to the rescue, wrap you in my blanket and pour hot tea. If I were a sheriff, I'd arrest you and keep you in the cell under lock and key.If you were a bird, I'd cut a record and listen all night long to your high-pitched trill. If I were a sergeant, you'd be my recruit, and boy I can assure you you'd love the drill.If you were Chinese, I'd learn the language, burn a lot of incense, wear funny clothes. If you were a mirror, I'd storm the Ladies, give you my red lipstick and puff your nose.If you loved volcanoes, I'd be lava relentlessly erupting from my hidden source. And if you were my wife, I'd be your lover because the church is firmly against divorce.
XXX

]]>d32461e2-c86c-4e9e-8062-2c16b526f357Fri, 10 Jul 2026 08:19:00 +0000Florentino ArizaA Nobel Prize-winning poet who survived Soviet hard labour and Arctic exile sits down and writes the funniest love poem a Nobel Laureate may have ever written. A series of increasingly absurd hypotheticals — what he would do if she were drowning, a...Love Song by Joseph BrodskyIf you were drowning, I'd come to the rescue, wrap you in my blanket and pour hot tea. If I were a sheriff, I'd arrest you and keep you in the cell under lock and key.If you were a bird, I'd cut a record and listen all night long to your high-pitched trill. If I were a sergeant, you'd be my recruit, and boy I can assure you you'd love the drill.If you were Chinese, I'd learn the language, burn a lot of incense, wear funny clothes. If you were a mirror, I'd storm the Ladies, give you my red lipstick and puff your nose.If you loved volcanoes, I'd be lava relentlessly erupting from my hidden source. And if you were my wife, I'd be your lover because the church is firmly against divorce.
XXX

]]>527false17fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/against-dieting-a-love-poem-by-blake-morrison--728278570aea9396-2b28-4c76-90e6-a4d0be879bf8Fri, 03 Jul 2026 08:59:00 +0000Florentino ArizaA Yorkshire poet makes a patient, slightly exasperated, entirely heartfelt case against his partner's diet. He has read the books. He has jogged alongside her. He has eaten the 'cardboard' called crispbread. And now he wants to go on record: enough....275false15fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/two-love-poems-one-message--72827861ca6d6029-e266-4535-a673-73852103baa0Fri, 26 Jun 2026 08:33:00 +0000Florentino ArizaTwo short poems — read together in a single episode. The first - An Exercise in Love by Diane di Prima builds a world of quiet, sensory intimacy: moonstones and seaweeds, silk and herons the colour of dawn, love as a daily practice of exchange so deep...448false15fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/eternal-love-a-poem-by-rabindranath-tagore--72827858Eternal Love - by Rabindranath TagoreI may have loved you in many forms, many times, life after life, age after age, forever. Now my soul spins these words to adorn you with a garland of my lovesong And you accept this gift, joyously - and wear in your many forms.life after life, in age after age, forever.
When I hear about the agonies of love lost, I turn to look back into the past, And from this night, you emerge, a bright-star in the darkness of time: An image of what I remembered forever.
You and I have floated here on this stream of love, alongside millions of lovers, sharing the same sweetness of our first meeting, the same distressful tears of our farewell — Our love so old is but a timeless love, it renews and renews forever.Today all of it is here, in its full glory - heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you. The memories of all the loves of the past become one with this love of ours with the songs of every poet, now and forever.XXX]]>e9cd1bfc-3105-4a38-a170-fc8968219b88Fri, 19 Jun 2026 10:11:00 +0000Florentino ArizaWhat if you have loved this person before — in other lifetimes, other ages, other forms — and simply recognise them again? That is the question at the heart of this extraordinary poem by the Nobel laureate Tagore, written in Bengal in 1890 and still...Eternal Love - by Rabindranath TagoreI may have loved you in many forms, many times, life after life, age after age, forever. Now my soul spins these words to adorn you with a garland of my lovesong And you accept this gift, joyously - and wear in your many forms.life after life, in age after age, forever.
When I hear about the agonies of love lost, I turn to look back into the past, And from this night, you emerge, a bright-star in the darkness of time: An image of what I remembered forever.
You and I have floated here on this stream of love, alongside millions of lovers, sharing the same sweetness of our first meeting, the same distressful tears of our farewell — Our love so old is but a timeless love, it renews and renews forever.Today all of it is here, in its full glory - heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you. The memories of all the loves of the past become one with this love of ours with the songs of every poet, now and forever.XXX]]>498false14fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/atlas-a-poem-by-u-a-fanthorpe--72827859]]>a8bf3220-9243-4d38-9c5d-61b4305db7ddThu, 11 Jun 2026 08:00:00 +0000Florentino ArizaMost love poems give you roses. This one gives you WD40 - a rust remover. In seventeen quietly devastating lines, Fanthorpe makes the case that the most heroic love is the kind that shows up, checks the insurance, laughs at your terrible jokes, and...]]>373falsefullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/love-in-the-time-of-climate-change-by-craig-santos-perez--72956032Love in a Time of Climate Change by Craig Santoz Perezrecycling Pablo Nerudas "Sonnet XVII"
I don't love you as if you were rare earth metals, conflict diamonds, or reserves of crude oil that cause war. I love you as one loves the most vulnerable species: urgently, between the habitat and its loss.I love you as one loves the last seed saved within a vault, gestating the heritage of our roots, and thanks to your body, the taste that ripens from its fruit still lives sweetly on my tongue.I love you without knowing how or when this world will end. I love you organically, without pesticides.I love you like this because we'll only survivein the nitrogen rich compost of our embrace, so close that your emissions of carbon are mine, so close that your sea rises with my heat....


]]>7928dc39-1df5-4912-ba6a-f14db7993564Sat, 06 Jun 2026 19:50:00 +0000Florentino ArizaA love poem for a warming world — borrowed from Neruda, rewritten for now. Craig Santos Perez takes the shape of Neruda's Sonnet XVII and fills it with rare earth metals, vanishing species, and rising seas — a love that can no longer pretend to exist...Love in a Time of Climate Change by Craig Santoz Perezrecycling Pablo Nerudas "Sonnet XVII"
I don't love you as if you were rare earth metals, conflict diamonds, or reserves of crude oil that cause war. I love you as one loves the most vulnerable species: urgently, between the habitat and its loss.I love you as one loves the last seed saved within a vault, gestating the heritage of our roots, and thanks to your body, the taste that ripens from its fruit still lives sweetly on my tongue.I love you without knowing how or when this world will end. I love you organically, without pesticides.I love you like this because we'll only survivein the nitrogen rich compost of our embrace, so close that your emissions of carbon are mine, so close that your sea rises with my heat....


]]>436false13fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/i-do-not-love-you-a-sonnet-by-pablo-neruda--72827860Sonnet XVII (I do not love you...) by Pablo NerudaI do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,in secret, between the shadow and the soul.I love you as the plant that never bloomsbut carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;so I love you because I know no other waythan this: where I does not exist, nor you,so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
]]>2d2d3f8b-89dc-449a-8c98-569e22f27e0cFri, 05 Jun 2026 08:00:00 +0000Florentino ArizaHe begins by telling us what this love is not. Not roses. Not fire. Not any of the bright, showy things love is usually compared to. Instead Pablo Neruda reaches downward — into soil, shadow, and secret. Into a love so deep it has no name for itself,...Sonnet XVII (I do not love you...) by Pablo NerudaI do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,in secret, between the shadow and the soul.I love you as the plant that never bloomsbut carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;so I love you because I know no other waythan this: where I does not exist, nor you,so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
]]>295false12fullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/this-love-an-egyptian-poem-from-circa-1200-bc--72827862]]>ee965f60-caed-41b0-a72d-bf93ba845ab0Mon, 01 Jun 2026 04:28:50 +0000Florentino ArizaThis Love — Ancient Egypt, circa 1200 BCThree thousand years before anyone wrote a sonnet, an anonymous Egyptian poet picked up a reed pen and tried to say what love feels like from the inside. And he started with our most basic human needs - food,...]]>249false11full