Poetry Of Evil: The Mental Health Poetry Podcast

Welcome to the Poetry of Evil: place where mental health intersects with poetry.

I’m your host and the author of these poems, Daniel Viragh.

I’m broadcasting live from the Vancouver Public Library, and I am so glad that you are joining us, from near or far away. I’m really grateful that the VPL offers its users free of charge the use of podcasting studios and recording equipment.

Be sure to visit poetryofevil.com for all of your evil poetic needs, including:
- transcripts of the poems
- ways to comment on the material, and submit your own material
- and (of course) our store.

Tonight’s theme is “Arrival” and how “arriving” really means noticing that we have been here all along. When the noise finally recedes to a manageable level, we can see that we are capable of vulnerability in front of another human being, and that we can be open to a healthy dose of intimacy.

The War Is Over

Come — take off these sandals;
you’ve walked long enough in caked feet,
let me wash you.

Shed this loincloth, too — in my tent,
you will be safe. Here, have some
milk; take a thread from my yarn;
make yourself a handkerchief. You’ve
cried, yes? You’ve bathed? You’ve
regretted, you’ve commiserated
with those you’ve left? Ah, child.

Nobody even bothered to let you know
that they ran out of ammo seconds after
you left. You were still a babe; we couldn’t
send anyone after you, for fear of cheating
you of your journey. Yes, I know. You feel
cheated anyway. You feel like it was
all in vain.

But no — observe how tonight
the candle feels different in its little
cabinet; notice how it illuminates, not
just the embers, but also your woollen
tapestries and that cup you’re still
holding.

Dear child. You’ve come
home. You are exactly where you
need be. You’ve arrived at the
present. It’s Friday night and
we’re laughing again. Can’t you hear,
in the children’s questions,

those of your own dead mother?

*

I Stand Beside You, Naked Like The Cross

I stand beside you, naked like the cross.
I have removed every filament of cloth,
Which once covered my cicatrices:

Look at how hollow, naïve, and supine
My pale white bones are
As they whisper and plead their way
Past your steady gaze.

I have stood here before
But never this alone:
I have committed every type of sin possible,
Except the one that states
That I should always observe
Modesty and care,
As I speak your Name,
Hallowed as it may be.

As you turn to face me,
My blood freezes
And I implore myself
To keep breathing,

Because the moment you uplift your face,
That’s when you are the most beautiful.

Chagall Tribute

There's a multitude of colours,
And shades and hues and tones:
They blend and smooth and flower,
They make their space, your own.

There's a certain number of colours,
They never go out of style.
They help us heal the darkness,
They help us breathe and smile.

Then there are other colours,
Those that have some pedigree:
They cry and die and after a while,
They are honest, to a degree.

And then there are your colours:
The ones that make you, your own.
They are neither good, nor bad, nor ugly.
They help you wear your crown.

How lucky we are to see them!
How happy we are to be so blessed!
We are neither alone nor are we brutal,
It's just all one big process.

***

Thank you so much for listening!

This podcast is meant as a collaborative community, where people can comment on the poems, submit poems of their own, and share their own mental health journeys. So please visit us at poetryofevil.com. We take your privacy seriously, and this is a safe space for you to share.