I'm Major Jackson, and this is the slowdown.

If you write poetry, you are likely to discover yourself.

What you hear, believe, dream.

Poetry is a transcription of your inner life.

It is a magical place where you listen to your hidden thoughts to figure out who you are. Each pushed

key, each written word on a yellow pad, unearths some part of you, possibly many parts of you,

your goofy side, your political self, that part of you that longed for a cozy couch and a good book, or a kiss.

Know thyself goes the ancient maxim at Delphi.

In reading poetry, maybe more compellingly, we discover other human beings, their rituals and customs, their sympathies and affections, how they talk, and the cadence of their breathing enter our bodies.

In a democracy such as ours, made up of people from all walks of life and

backgrounds, hearing the richness of our nation in artful speech proves indispensable in

cultivating compassion. As poet Elizabeth Alexander asked in one of my favorite poems, ours Poetica number

100, and are we not of interest to each other? Well, not its only function, for poetry also

thrives beyond the affairs of societies.

Poetry deepens our appreciation for people.

Their perspectives and life events take central stage.

It's as if they are with us, though not with us.

It can be terrifying hearing the intimate thoughts of one's neighbors,

one's coworkers, and kin. And that's just the beauty of it all. We are vulnerable in the face

of a callous and penetrable world, the softness of our thoughts, the warmth and closeness of our emotions make us real to each other.

Today's poem wonderfully celebrates one of poetry's many powers.

The Presence and Absence by Linda Gregg.

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