Poets are weirdos—no, really. Often, they are folks who can perfectly explain a feeling, abstraction, state of the world, etc., in a manageable and tangible way. They are weirdos who change perception and open doors to the intangible. They are incredibly intentional creatures and architects of language. THAT’S WEIRD. The Merriam-Webster dictionary has two definitions for ‘weird’ as an adverb.
1: of strange or extraordinary character: ODD, FANTASTIC
2: of, relating to, or caused by witchcraft or the supernatural: MAGICAL
I’d say poets are pretty weird.
There is something genuinely otherworldly about Pádraig Ó Tuama. I fell in love with his work at Calvin in the Artist Collaborative. We had the chance to meet him on his home turf in ‘the North of Ireland.’ He was one of the folks who opened up my world and made it feel okay for me to be gay and spiritual. One way we can access empathy is by comparing what we hear to our own experiences. He helped me process my religious trauma by bearing his own.
So when I saw that my favorite poet would be speaking at Duke, my place of work, I screamed.
My outburst persisted mainly out of excitement but also out of a bit of bewilderment—could Duke be, dare I say it, cool? Don’t get me wrong; plenty of fantastic people have come to show work, teach, speak, sing, and do their thing here. But none until now have I had such a deep appreciation for. Sometimes, I forget that this college has some pretty religious roots—and a divinity school.
When Pádraig opened his time by reciting a poem about an exorcism in this gorgeous gothic chapel, it was pretty magical. I’m unsure what folks in the building expected Pádraig Ó Tuama to discuss, but I’m sure that wasn’t on their bingo card for the evening. As I am tearing up from his striking and intentional words echoing through the rafters, I see folks getting up to leave. Nothing boils my bones more than leaving before something is done. To get to hear about someone’s personal experience of having an exorcism performed on them because of who they love left me raw and thinking of my own experiences with the church’s opinions on my sexuality. With such a personal tie to this poet, I was pissed seeing folks decide to leave the space so quickly into the evening.
Poets are meant to broach tricky topics. THIS IS THEIR THING. I think the audience is intended to greet their discomfort with reflection.
Right?
Am I asking for too much? Are we asking for too much? To be heard and greeted with an open mind?
Sure, there could have been folks who found this triggering or who needed to go to the bathroom. This was a memorable moment for me.
And then.
As some folks walked out, I overheard someone’s last moments in the room, “This was weird.”
WEIRD!?
What about magical? Otherworldly? Transcendent? How about, “This was exactly what I needed.” Which is what my aunt and I said when the evening ended. But after some consideration and a glass of wine, I think poets and poetry are weird. Poetry can make people lean in and get uncomfortable. It can speak to masses, and it can talk to one. It’s for those times you need to be alone, and it’s to be consumed communally. That is weird.
Thank you—Pádraig Ó Tuama and all other poets—for your weird and wonderful words. I needed them to be the person I am today, I know I will need them in these next four years, and all the ones after that.
Izzy Nunez graduated from Calvin in 2022 after studying graphic design and sociology. Today she lives in Durham, North Carolina where she is a graphic designer for Duke University. She is growing to love Durham and all its southern charm even if she complains that its breakfast choices aren’t as good as they are in the Grand Rapids.
