Around what has become known as award season, casual conversations are buzzed with Talk of the Year's movies.

This yearly moment of cinematic recognition reminds us just how valuable the art form and the artists who make it are.

Movies are an invitation to live in someone else's shoes, to learn, to experience, to

empathize. We need these skills to nurture a culture of community now more than ever. This

week's episodes explore how poets take up movies as subjects, how the two art forms intertwine to make us feel more closely this life we share.

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

Had you traveled to the Greek island of Sifnose, slightly over a decade ago, you would have found me at a beachside taverna, chatting it up with my wife and the other tourists.

After a delicious meal of chickpeas and mastello, slow braids, lamb, cooked in white wine. I went for a swim.

Not a good idea. The meltymy winds picked up. I stroked my way into the sea, but was pushed further than I wanted.

I had an image of myself pulled down by a shark, utterly irrational. Seared into my brain

is the scene from jaws where a young woman's legs blissfully kick in place. Then the camera

cuts to her being jolted side to side by a great white.

Then the water blushes red.

I played Jaws' famed theme song in my head.

I am not a strong swimmer.

Panicked, I found myself losing breath.

I flailed a bit.

I yelled for hope. No one heard me. I could see Didi laughing at a distance.

Not at me, but a joke made by our new friends. I calmed down and made my way with great effort

to nearby jagged rocks.

Everywhere were urchins.

As I climbed, needles poked into my hands.

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