Poetry Centered

July Westhale: The Truest Sense

• University of Arizona Poetry Center • Episode 56

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July Westhale shares poems that unfold into moments of clarity and questioning. They introduce Carl Phillips’ reflection on truth (“Continuous Until We Stop”), Linda Gregg’s complex and hard-won simplicity (“What If the World Stays Far Off”), and Fanny Howe’s depiction of the human experience underscored by the natural world (“At Baron’s Court”). Westhale closes with a new poem, “I’m Fine, Thanks."

Find the full recordings of Phillips, Gregg, and Howe reading for the Poetry Center on Voca:
Carl Phillips (November 1, 2012)
Linda Gregg (April 22, 1981)
Fanny Howe (April 26, 2012)

You can also enjoy a recording of Westhale reading for the Poetry Center as our summer resident in 2018.

Full transcripts of every episode are available on Buzzsprout. Look for the transcript tab under each episode.

Voca is now fully captioned, with interactive transcripts and captions available for all readings! Read more about the project here, or try out this new feature by visiting Voca.

[GENTLE MUSIC]

JULIE SWARSTAD JOHNSON:

You're listening to Poetry Centered, where we invite a poet to take us by the hand for a tour of Voca, an online archive of recorded poetry from the University of Arizona Poetry Center. Voca is home to more than a thousand recordings of poets reading between 1963 and today. In each episode of the show, you'll hear three poems chosen and introduced for you by a poet. I'm Julie Swarstad Johnson, the Poetry Center's archivist. Thanks for joining us to start this new year with poetry. Our guide into the archive today is poet and translator July Westhale. July's books of poetry include Trailer Trash, Via Negativa, and most recently, moon moon, which came out last May. In 2024, July published Unmade Hearts, My Sor Juana, a work of translation and conversation. July's writing is bold and intelligent. And I find it to be full of astonishing metaphor, simile, and compressed sound that both transform and reveal all at once. In this episode, July brings together poems by Carl Phillips, Linda Gregg, and Fanny Howe, tracing through them questions of truth and the complexity that so often lies behind simplicity. July, we're so grateful you're here. Welcome to the show.[GENTLE MUSIC]

JULY WESTHALE:

Hello, this is July Westhale. And I'm recording this at my desk at home in Tucson, Arizona. The first recording I'd like to share is Carl Phillips reading Continuous Until We Stop. This was recorded on November 1, 2012. The reason I chose this poem is, first, Carl Phillips was a mentor and teacher of mine. And I mean this in that he was a mentor and teacher of mine on the page. For years, I read his poetry and learned from his lyricism. And I was also fortunate enough to take a class with him through Writing by Writers in 2019. Additionally, he was the mentor of another mentor of mine, Kevin Prufer. And as a lyric poet myself, I've always felt in conversation with his work. He's a poet of place, he loves tall grasses, and he speaks very much at the human condition and truths and not truths. This poem in particular has taught me about the transitory space of feeling, and in this case specifically, what we think of when we think of tragedy or grief. Additionally, rereading it now in 2025 or relistening to it now in 2025, it rings even more poignant. The unwillingness to refuse seeming like an inability to refuse really struck me in a kind of normalization of deviance sort of way. They may seem the same, but they're not. And of course, Carl Phillips, in his reliable cadence, manner, beauty, lyricism, always turning it back around to the listener, to the reader, and making us complicit with the world's uncertainties and the negative capability of truth and not truth. He asks us, what does the truth matter now. It would be too clever to say that this is a poem about subjectivity. Rather, I think it is about the truest sense of human emotion and human experience that we can possibly hope to approximate. So again, this is Carl Phillips reading Continuous Until We Stop.[GENTLE MUSIC]

CARL PHILLIPS:

This is called Continuous Until We Stop. But when I came to what I'd been told Was the zone of tragedy-- transition-- It was not that. It was a wildering field. Across it, the light steadily lessening And the tall grasses waving deepened their colors, Blue-green or a greenish blue. Hard to tell exactly. It was like when the body surrenders to risk, That moment when an unwillingness to refuse Can seem no different from an inability to, Though they are not the same, Inability, unwillingness. To have said otherwise doesn't make it true, Or even make it count as true."Yes, but what does the truth matter now," I whispered, stepping further inside What, by then, was night almost. The tamer animals would soon lie down again, And the wild go free.[GENTLE MUSIC]

JULY WESTHALE:

The second recording I'd like to share is Linda Gregg reading What if the World Stays Always Far Off, which was recorded April 22, 1981. The reason I chose this is because Linda Gregg is perhaps one of my favorite American poets, being a California poet, being a poet of solitude, being a poet who has described herself as being lucky enough to always be a fool in love. The person who introduced me to Linda Gregg's poetry was Carl Phillips. So it feels right that she should be in this lineage as a part of this conversation. There is so much to love in this poem. The title first, which is evocative. And it gives you a sense that you think you know what this is going to be about. She starts by asking, "What if the world is taken from me and there is no recognition and my words are unheard?" And the theme of a lack of recognition or being unheard, or being omnipresent in a silent way is repeated throughout the poem, which is a long one. She makes the comparison that Keats wanted to write great poetry, and I am in the orchard all day. She makes the comparison that no one will do the hard work of being in the orchard. So they bring in people who are desperate for it. It's as if Gregg's aware that the speaker, who she introduces as herself at the start of this recording, at a time when she was picking apples in an orchard. It's as if she's aware that her presence in the orchard is temporary. Maybe she is also desperate for work. We don't know. But we do know that she is the only woman that these workers see. We do know that she draws an affinity between her body and their body. And then she breaks from her consideration of the world being taken, of a lack of recognition. And she says "it is very beautiful in the fields under the apple trees all day." And this is a very common Linda Gregg volta, where suddenly she makes a declaration of the incredible beauty and simplicity. And these things are not mutually exclusive. Then she turns back towards the larger question,"What if I continue unnoticed?" And she talks about a pretty rabbit, afraid, running towards the light. She asks the question, "Are you lost if there is no recognition" Is beauty home? Is fear or pain?" What I love about Linda Gregg's work is that it seems very simple and very abundant, and it took me so long to realize that simplicity is terribly complicated and extraordinarily hard-won, that it takes deep knowledge and talent to achieve simplicity, and that it takes a deep, intimate knowing to achieve it and to be able to say it plain. It is very beautiful in the fields, under the apple trees all day. So again, this is Linda Gregg reading What if the World Stays Always Far Off.[GENTLE MUSIC]

LINDA GREGG:

The next poem is a poem that I wrote while I was picking apples in Massachusetts for a living. What if the World Stays Always Far Off What if the world is taken from me, If there is no recognition, my words unheard? Keats wanted to write great poetry, And I am in the orchard all day. The work is too hard, and no one here will do it, So they bring Jamaicans. The men sometimes sing on their ladders, Named Henry and George."Yes, boss," they say The bus brought them late this morning, They not wanting to work because of the cold. They walk slowly through the wet grass."Today we are not happy," they say, going by me. The grass is wet 1 to 3 hours, then dry. Sometimes everything is warm And I wish the man I know would come In his car and make love to me. We do not speak much because of the work, And because I am the only woman. They see no women. Two months here picking apples, Six in Florida, cutting cane. At night, my body is so tired I don't want to make love. I want to be alone and to sleep. It is very beautiful in the fields Under the apple trees all day. I saw two night hawks, White with black wave designs counter to the wings. The boss saw 200 of them fly over this valley once, Going South. What if I continue unnoticed? Foxes, red and gray, woodchuck, A pretty rabbit on the road in the rain, Confused and afraid, running suddenly toward the lights. An apple has all colors, even blue, Much purple and maroon. If there would be no recognition And the world remains far away, The leaves are a duller green than the grass. I pick Macintosh, But there are 40 kinds on the land around, 300 acres near the next town. This is autumn in Massachusetts, not my home. I heard of beauty in New England, And the people came looking for love. Nobody talks to the Jamaicans. They are driven to Safeway In the bus and brought back. I saw one alone, just standing by the woods."I send money to my mother if I feel like it," He said to impress me, about 18. He will cut cane for the first time this year."I hear the bosses are mean," I said."We make more money," He said."It is a longer time." Are you lost if there is no recognition? Is beauty home? Is fear or pain? An old man who drives the truck And has a farm of his own down the road said,"I just help during the harvest. I have everything except apples, lots of squash." It made me happy to know they still say harvest. I am here with them for the harvest, 36, a woman, canning when there's time. It will be very cold soon. Already there are dark rains.[GENTLE MUSIC]

JULY WESTHALE:

The third recording I'd like to share with you is Fanny Howe reading At Baron's Court. This was recorded on April 26, 2012. Fanny Howe was a poet I discovered during my own residency at the University of Arizona's Poetry Center, where I was given unfettered access to the poetry stacks in one of the most spacious, beautiful, and generous fellowships I've ever received as a poet. Her work spoke deeply to me. And when she passed earlier this year, I was bereft. Not because I didn't expect it, I've come to expect mortality, but because I felt a kinship and a connection to her. And when she passed, I felt like a relationship changed into one that became infinitely more personal in the way that those relationships change between the living and the dead. I've never met Fanny Howe, but to read Fanny Howe is to love Fanny Howe and to feel in conversation-- in intimate conversation with her. At Baron's Court is a poem that at first listen or at first read seems simple. There is much to admire in the landscape that seems trampled. It is certainly not described in a way that denotes traditional beauty. The snow is like spittle. The fields are beaten into submission. The houses have no understanding about distinction between humans worth knowing. There are no cats and no mice. It feels like there are no living beings in this poem at all, except the landscape. And that is perhaps underscored by the really great line in this poem where she talks about the weather being "a god more potent than money or war." That weather has the ability to resurrect and crucify. I think one of Fanny Howe's unique strengths in an acreage of strengths and talents is the ability to be able to underscore the human experience with the natural experience of the world. She ends by saying, "nowhere is better than a road without judgment." We feel the judgment of the speaker, or of the eyes of this poem, in the way that we might feel the eyes in The Great Gatsby. It feels like judgment itself. There's an overarching god here. The god is not us at the end of the day. The god is the natural world. So again, this is Fanny Howe reading At Baron's Court.[GENTLE MUSIC]

FANNY HOWE:

The falling snow will melt before 7:00, And no one will know. It lies on the terrace, gnarled letters, raked Bricks, old roses wrought in a cap of ice. No cats, no mice. This is a light morning snow that like spittle, Dribbles on the stones and fades into rivulets, Green, frozen lettuce on the banks A Palestinian flag waves in this small Irish town, The correspondence being children throwing stones. Behold clouds, Irishly low and silver. Weather is a god more potent than money and war Protean, indifferent, it will resurrect and crucify without mercy. The south turns into the north at the border. Structures grow stern and Norman. The fields are beaten into submission. And narrow-lipped stone houses wonder If there are distinctions between humans worth knowing. Nowhere is better than a road without judgment.[GENTLE MUSIC]

JULY WESTHALE:

And now, here is a poem of my own, which is new, in a new collection I'm working on called Worth Doing Badly. I chose this poem because it hasn't been published yet, at the time of this recording. And having spent time with the other poets in these recordings, with Linda Gregg, with Fanny Howe, with Carl Phillips, I have been the recipient of their great gifts and their minds, which always feel a bit like rifling through the personal belongings of someone. I wanted to give the gift of sharing that vulnerability and sharing a poem that is new. Additionally, I feel this poem is in conversation with the themes that we've talked about today, the natural world, the breaking into beauty, the questioning of truths, and the idea that maybe at the end of the day, truth is not that important. This poem is called I'm Fine, Thanks. Perhaps the answer to "How are you?" Should be the deleted audio From one of the takes in Wizard of Oz, When Judy is singing Over the Rainbow, And can barely make it through. Perhaps it should be the exact static sound A record player needle makes When it's just a little bit dirty, The first taste of onions that have been pickled pink, A microdose of a blowjob, Or when a beloved friend splits their face open, Grinning with arugula in their teeth. Perhaps instead of saying,"I'm fine, thanks," We can remind one another That Pembroke Welsh Corgis are born without tails Or that a single Saguaro cactus Can house up to 32 species of birds. If pressed for more information,"How are you really?" The high-pitched sound Sonoran short-nosed bats make For echolocation ought to suffice. Because what are we asking, really, Except "How Is your heart? And is it more blood or more amygdala?"[GENTLE MUSIC]

JULIE SWARSTAD JOHNSON:

You've been listening to July Westhale. And this is Poetry Centered. July, thank you so much for bringing together these poets who you've been in conversation with in different ways, and for offering your own poem from a place of vulnerability. Thanks also for asking us to think anew about that question,"How are you?" So, listeners, how are your hearts? Thanks so much for being here with us and sharing your time with us. This is the first in a new set of episodes, so we'll be back in two weeks with a new episode hosted by Philip Metris. Check out Voca in the meantime to find your own favorite recordings by visiting voca.arizona.edu. Happy New Year, and we'll see you again soon.

ARIA PAHARI:

Poetry Centered is a project of the University of Arizona Poetry Center, home to a world-class library collection of more than 80,000 items related to contemporary poetry in English and English translation. Located on the campus of the University of Arizona in Tucson, the Poetry Center Library and buildings are housed on the Indigenous homelands of the Tohono O'odham and Pascua Yaqui. Poetry Centered is the work of Aria Pahari, that's me, and Julie Swarstad Johnson. Explore Voca, the Poetry Center's audiovisual archive, online at voca.arizona.edu.[GENTLE MUSIC]