How I Read Aloud, 8

[That art I don't know, but I would never have said to Calder, "How perfectly you balance all your mobiles!"]

       When it comes to reading aloud ... When there’s time to prepare a reading, every clue that’s there is valuable, everything that moves an audience’s attention toward important things and away from two obvious facts:  1. these are words and 2. a person is reading to them.  Take the following poem:

I’ll let you in on a secret
about how one should pray the sunset prayer.
It’s a juicy bit of praying, like strolling on grass,
Nobody’s chasing you, nobody hurries you.
You walk toward your Creator with gifts in pure, empty hands.
The words are golden,
their meaning is transparent.
It’s as though you’re saying them for the first time.

If you don’t catch on that you should feel a little elevated,
you’re not praying the sunset prayer.
The tune is sheer simplicity,
you’re just lending a helping hand to the sinking day.
It’s a heavy responsibility.
You take a created day
and slip it into the archive of life,
where all our lived-out days are lying together.
The day is departing with a quiet kiss.
It lies open at your feet
while you stand saying the blessings.
You can’t create anything yourself,
but you can lead the day to its end
And see clearly the smile of its going down.
See how whole it all is,
not diminished for a second.
How you age with the days that keep dawning.
How you bring your lived-out day as a gift to eternity.

       The poem is by Jacob Glatstein, “The Sunset Prayer.”