On The World
By Brad Aaron Modlin
Welcome to Poets on the Plains, I’m Brad Aaron Modlin
I’m an Associate Professor and the Reynolds Endowed Chair of Creative Writing at University of Nebraska in Kearney, teaching undergrads and in our online master’s degree in creative writing.
I wrote the book Everyone at This Party Has Two Names, (full of awkward parties, self-consciousness and redemptive hope) and my poems have appeared in the Pushcart Prize, Prairie Schooner, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, orchestral scores, quite a bit of the internet--and one of my favorite places of all--my neighbor’s refrigerator.
This poem is one of mine, titled The World
The World
It may seem cocky to call this poem
“The World,” as if I am qualified to speak
about all humanity or the complex
and vulnerable home we share,
but I am referring to The World
Theater where we screen old or artsy films
for five dollars, where I volunteer to ask,
“Do you want your root beer in a small
or large?” as I spill ice chips and kick
them beneath the counter. We don’t take tips, but
we do have a donation jar because The World
is both a nonprofit
and a landmark we’re trying to keep alive.
We need a stronger air conditioner.
Look at the ceiling, and you’ll see
the pendant lamps that make historians
cheer. Touch the oak banister,
and I’ll wipe your prints away at night’s end.
(At The World, we say our oily popcorn
is The Best Popcorn in The World.)
Inside, the ivy carved into the original
proscenium arch says, Hey, look how long
humans can preserve beauty, but in the world
outside The World, someone this minute
is buying a marker for a hateful poster
to brandish at people. Some animal
is the last of their species to fall
in the grass, too rare for us to notice
yet. It’s dark even in daytime
when we show a matinee.
We are surrounded by strangers.
The World chooses films it can afford,
films about cool characters obligated
to express emotions only ironically,
or films about people with budding
self-esteem and desires to run marathons.
When the hero at last admits she can’t
do it by herself and enlists her best
friend’s help, we all applaud. When we
showed the documentary about the pope—
when he said, “How wonderful
it would be while we discover faraway planets,
to rediscover the needs of the brothers
and sisters who are orbiting around us,”
all the non-Catholics in the room cried
audibly. I heard sniffles from three corners.
You can do that in this World
where no one can see if you are hip or tough
enough for all these days require of us.
You can fan yourself with oily fingers
in the increasingly warm air
and—for any reason—
cry as much as you want.
Used with permission
When I moved to Kearney, Nebraska, someone told me a way for a newcomer to make friends was to volunteer at the World Theater –[which is real. Look up Kearney on an online map and the pin will drop right there, across the street from the theater.). —and with a name like that, how could I resist volunteering?
There’s something about a theater—we’re each in the middle of our own life story until we hit pause and share one story all together. “What did you think of the movie?” we ask—it’s a chance for one of my favorite activities: talking to strangers.
That’s what I’m up to in poetry. I’m wanting to ask readers what they think of the story we’re sharing. I’m wanting to talk with someone new about the weather. (be that literal or figurative weather!) I’m wanting a friendly conversation about what we have in common.
So, at my writing desk I’m reading aloud as if talking to someone. I like to write in public, and if I’m not typing in the back row of a movie theater, [which is something I do!’ I’m in a coffee shop where I’m whispering because part of my process is knowing I may be overheard by someone---someone who may even think Hey, that’s true. Those lines understand how complicated our lives are. Those lines recognize our lives are a little bit of this, a little of that.
Because this is one of poetry’s gifts: it contains opposites, it can mean two ideas at once. I hope that’s the case with this poem.
When you first read the lines:
It’s dark even in daytime
when we show a matinee.
We are surrounded by strangers.
Maybe those lines sound lonely. And on the second read, we see maybe yes, we are lonely, and we are surrounded in a good way-- by these people sniffling for some of the same reasons as us. Maybe, like the marathoner, these people need finally to ask for help. Maybe they’re worried about a headline they just saw—and I’ll note that I’m coming to you on the radio, a place where we hear the latest challenging and wonderful stories.
This poem is the first in my next book, which is titled No Earth But This and which alternates between an astronaut crew floating through spacehoping life on another planet will be better, and all of here struggling & celebrating, and doing what we do: telling jokes, handing each other the keychains we drop, apologizing to friends, and thanking the volunteers who sweep up our popcorn.
Thank you for being with us for Poets on the Plains. I’m Brad Aaron Modlin, representing Kearney NE, in the center of the country, and across the street from the World.
POETS ON THE PLAINS HOST
Brad Aaron Modlin has served for eight years as The Reynolds Endowed Chair of Poetry/Associate Professor at University of Nebraska, Kearney, teaching undergrads & in the online grad program. His book Everyone at This Party Has Two Names and his forthcoming No Earth But This are available from Black Lawrence Press. Work has appeared in The Pushcart Prize; Prairie Schooner; Brevity; The Slowdown; The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation; and as the premier episode of Poetry Unbound. Also, orchestral scores, Australian art galleries, Brooklyn public art, & his neighbor’s refrigerator. He has received support from Sewanee, Banff, & the Nebraska Arts Council. He often writes about hope or embarrassment because he believes in human goodness & is very clumsy at the gym.https://www.bradaaronmodlin.com/
