September 1, 2025 • 13 mins
In this collection of conversations, Ben Palpant, author of Letters From The Mountain, has compiled his intimate, one-on-one interviews with seventeen powerful poets of the 21st century. These conversations cover an entire range of life experience, including grief, hope, culture, the writing craft, family life, and the imagination. Each poet speaks with remarkable candor and joy. Taken together, these interviews are a powerful reminder that poetry remains an essential expression of what it means to be human.
Franz Kafka famously said that "a book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us." And the words and thoughts contained here aim to wake up much that has become silent in each of us. They contain wisdom that may inspire, instruct, and strengthen, confronting us with the reality that words matter, that poetry matters, and that we matter.
You can purchase a copy of An Axe for the Frozen Sea in the Rabbit Room Store.
See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
S1 (00:00):
The following is brought to you in partnership with Oasis Audio.
Welcome to Rabbit Room Press Presents, a podcast series of
great audiobooks, one chapter at a time.
S2 (00:16):
An axe for the Frozen Sea by Ben Pallant. Read
for you by the author. Chapter 12 Lucy Shaw at
95 Lucy Shaw may have difficulty with mobility, but her
mind and heart are as strong as ever, proof of
(00:37):
which is her new book of poetry, Reversing Entropy. I
first encountered Lucy Shaw through one of her essays. Her
writing was insightful yet personable and kind, preoccupied with seeing
everything through God's eyes. At the time, I remember thinking
that if I ever became a writer, I would very
much like to sound like her. To see like her.
(00:58):
At the start of our conversation, I thank her for
teaching me the value of the sanctified imagination. Well, imagination
is a gift, she says. It is something that can
be grown in a good or bad direction. So I
think we have to treat this gift like all of
God's other gifts. We must give it back to God.
How would you say that poetry speaks uniquely to the imagination,
(01:20):
I ask. Poetry is different from mere history or fiction,
she replies. Poetry calls for a different response from the reader.
It asks a reader to enter a room with the
poet beyond facts and information, to a realm of image
making in our heads. Imagination is making pictures in our
minds and allowing God to use that capacity to create
(01:42):
new things, new ideas into the world that comes from
reading and listening. I try to read good writing as
a way to inform my imagination. Putting words onto paper
takes a certain journey of the mind, because you see
something in your head, and somehow you have to put
it into a form that is accessible to the reader.
Being familiar with good language and good poets makes all
(02:05):
the difference to the quality of one's work. What poets
do you return to again and again to inform your imagination?
To inspire you, I ask? There are some wonderful contemporary
poets in the Christian tradition, she says. Scott Cairns is one.
Paul Mariani is another. They write searching poetry and prose
(02:25):
that leads the reader to a new realization. That's how
I want to go about my work, too. I love
it when an image or a metaphor is provided to me,
and I can take that and follow it to a
new arena of understanding. You've shared before that poetry has
always been a part of your life. Was that because
poetry served as a comfort to you? Was it a
(02:46):
way to process life experience from an early age? My
father was a lover of poetry, she replies. He did
not write poetry himself, but he read the Romantics, William
Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge and the like. I remember him
reading them aloud to me, the way the language fashioned
images in my head was formative to my own imagination.
(03:08):
I began writing poems when I was 6 or 7
years old. I didn't realize it was anything special. I
would write them on small pieces of paper and give
them to my dad. He would show them to his friends.
He was just so proud of his daughter and that
was a great encouragement to me. She laughs, recalling her father.
One of the great gifts my dad gave his kids
(03:30):
was that he put us in really good schools, she continues.
Private schools, which took a great deal of money, but
it was worth it because they had the kind of
quality and expectation that called forth good work from students.
The other thing that really affected me was that my
dad was a conference speaker. We lived in Australia, Canada
and the United States, so we were exposed to many cultures.
(03:52):
Australia was especially formative to me. I remember going out
to the mountains, smelling the eucalyptus, letting it fill my lungs,
the great sandy beaches around Sydney. It was a rich childhood,
and the fact that I was in a good school
and I had good teachers, made all the difference in
the world. The world needs more fathers like yours, I say.
(04:14):
It sounds like he invested in you in multiple ways.
Not just financial support, but emotional support, which played a
major role in your hope for the future. I love
the simple picture of your dad sharing his love with you. Yes, indeed.
She pauses. And you know, in particular reading aloud to us.
We didn't have a lot of children's books. Maybe Winnie
(04:36):
the Pooh, but not much more to call on. But
we love to hear words read aloud. My parents would
read really good adult fiction to me. That's how I
learned how words worked. Hearing good literature imprints itself somehow
on the mind with an unexplainable quality. But you know,
I was also shaped by learning different languages. I studied Latin, French,
(04:57):
and I had a minor in New Testament Greek. I
think learning a language can be such an enriching experience.
Words you know, you're touching on an important point here
I say something that recalls to mind several lines from
Naomi Shihab Nye, She writes words. Otherwise it is just
a world with a lot of rough edges. Difficult to
(05:19):
get through and our pockets full of stones. Is that
what you're talking about? Yes, but more in the beginning
was the word, you know, and we were made to
be in relationship with that word, allowing it to seep
into our own lives so that we can speak what
is true and beautiful. It sounds to me like you're
saying it's not just the words under the words I say,
(05:41):
but the word under the words that is most meaningful
to you. Yes, indeed. What would you say are the
stones in our pockets that are weighing us down these days?
And how does poetry minister to people burdened by such stones?
That is a very potent question, she says. In this
life of ours, where politics has taken such a huge
(06:01):
part of our thinking and our understanding, I find it
stretching my soul with anger and frustration. Politics seems to
take the worst of human motivation and human action and
turn it sour. It just eats at my soul, but
at my church, there's such an emphasis on God's Word,
the words of Scripture. So I get good food in
(06:22):
that way. We have to choose whether we will listen
to Scripture or to the ugly words of political strife.
Has all of this taken a toll on your poetry,
I ask? You know, I've been very fortunate to have
had two different husbands over the years who have given
me the freedom to write poetry, to get away and
work on my craft despite whatever is calling for my attention.
(06:43):
It's not easy to be a poet because much of
our society sees poetry as extraneous, an add on that's
not vital, but poetry is vital. It offers us meaningful words,
deep words to overcome the meaningless chatter all around us.
How has community played a role in your career, I ask?
I belong to this wonderful group of people called the
(07:06):
Chrysostom Society. Richard Foster, Madeleine L'Engle and I decided that
we wanted to pull together some of our friends who
were writers to hear each other read and speak, and
then to develop books from those gatherings. I think my
friendship with Madeleine was another true gift to me. For
35 years, we were each other's best friend. She came
(07:26):
from the far left, from the liberal side of the church,
and I came from the far right, and we met
somewhere in the middle. God was so rich in our
understanding of life and of truth. That was one of
the gifts God gave to me. I miss her terribly.
She pauses. Then, as though renewed by memory, she says,
we both lost our first husbands to cancer in the
(07:48):
same year. You know, she was traveling in the middle
of the Atlantic when she had a terrible feeling that
something had happened to my husband, Harold, and that it
was bad. When she landed, she called me right away
to discover that he had died. You know, somehow that
connection was made. We don't understand it, but it is
evidence of our closeness. You and L'Engle share a similar
(08:11):
spirit in your writing, I say. Did you share a
similar hope for what you might have accomplished by the
time your life comes to a close? Yes, she says,
I think you just keep trying to take the picture
in your head and do your best to communicate with
words what that picture is. I have a book of
poetry coming out with Paraclete Press in a few weeks
called Reversing Entropy. I'm just hoping I'll still be alive
(08:33):
so I can see the book and promote it for them.
I look forward to reading the words aloud from the page.
Poetry has a special entry to the mind because it
has a musicality to it. I'm just amazed that God
has given you such strength of heart and mind at
the age of 95, I say. When you look back
over your work, do you feel as though each previous
(08:53):
book was a kind of rehearsal for the next one?
That's a wonderful way of looking at it, she replies,
I suppose so each book is further along in your life,
and hopefully more true to the medium you're writing in.
I hope to be always growing as a writer. I
never feel like I've got it figured out. Poetry is
a kind of grace, both gentle and strong. It should
(09:15):
sharpen our experience of nature, of relationship and the world
around us. I'm so thankful that I live in a
part of the world that has such natural beauty. We
live in a house on a hill and can look
out our living room windows at Washington's Bellingham Bay and
the islands beyond it. We have Mount Baker within an
hour of us. We love to drive up that huge
(09:36):
mountain and see our part of the world. The Pacific
Northwest is indeed a beautiful part of the world, I say.
You know, she continues, I think nature gives us clues
as to what ultimately matters and what is ultimately beautiful.
You know, I don't know how many years I have
to live, but I hope I can live through a
couple more cycles of seasons just because they are so rich.
(09:58):
They speak to me. I'm an amateur photographer. I have
a little camera that allows me to capture beauty. My
husband drives me slowly through the woods around here and
I'll say to him, stop! Stop here. I just saw something.
I want to photograph the buttercups, the cowslips. It's all
so available to us. I don't think we appreciate the
availability of beauty. To us, life is more than the
(10:21):
job we do. More than providing food for your family.
You know, I love writing poetry, and I'm thankful to
bookstores that sell my books. But you don't make a
lot of money from writing poetry. It provides food for
the mind, but not much food for the dining room table.
It's about feeding the soul. And I think nature does
that well, direct from the hand of God. You're reminding
(10:44):
me of the poem How to Be a Poet by
Wendell Berry. I say he writes, accept what comes from silence,
make the best you can of it, and make a
poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came.
It sounds like you find that silence in nature. I
certainly do. I love Wendell Berry. I have a wonderful
(11:07):
collection of his poetry. You've received a lot of praise
for your work over the years, I say, how has
that affected your writing? I'm thinking here of young poets
who want approval, who need some encouragement along the way.
How have you made sure that the praise does not
warp the way you write your poems? Friendships with kindred
spirits are vital, she replies. I have a group of
friends that meet together every week. We talk about God
(11:30):
and about each other. Each person is so unique and
yet we can share what we have in common. The
Chrysostom Society to all this richness, provides perspective. My final
question isn't really a question, I say, but I'm curious
how you would complete the following. Dear poet, I would say,
(11:51):
never give up on the grace of God and keep
meeting together with kindred spirits to push forward imaginative work.
Here's one of my favorite poems by Lucy Shaw, titled
green springing down the hill over the river beside the
(12:11):
dirt track, I walk slowly enough to stop, to listen
for the pale whisper of increment floating from the tassels.
The maiden buds, the nascent leaves lifting their heads. Little
green flames more chartreuse than emerald. Now I hear it clearly.
They are telling their way into being and calling us
(12:33):
to join in. The air is full of green pilgrims
who walk together in this God light. It is the
best season. There is such courage in bursting life. And yes,
I promise it is possible to fulfill God's reason for
thrusting us into full leaf. Rooted in our unique particular ground.
S1 (12:59):
An axe for the Frozen Sea is published by Rabbit
Room Press. The audio book is published by Oasis Audio.
Copyright by Ben Pallant, 2024. By Chris Badeker.
The following is brought to you in partnership with Oasis Audio.
Welcome to Rabbit Room Press Presents, a podcast series of
great audiobooks, one chapter at a time.
S2 (00:16):
An axe for the Frozen Sea by Ben Pallant. Read
for you by the author. Chapter 12 Lucy Shaw at
95 Lucy Shaw may have difficulty with mobility, but her
mind and heart are as strong as ever, proof of
(00:37):
which is her new book of poetry, Reversing Entropy. I
first encountered Lucy Shaw through one of her essays. Her
writing was insightful yet personable and kind, preoccupied with seeing
everything through God's eyes. At the time, I remember thinking
that if I ever became a writer, I would very
much like to sound like her. To see like her.
(00:58):
At the start of our conversation, I thank her for
teaching me the value of the sanctified imagination. Well, imagination
is a gift, she says. It is something that can
be grown in a good or bad direction. So I
think we have to treat this gift like all of
God's other gifts. We must give it back to God.
How would you say that poetry speaks uniquely to the imagination,
(01:20):
I ask. Poetry is different from mere history or fiction,
she replies. Poetry calls for a different response from the reader.
It asks a reader to enter a room with the
poet beyond facts and information, to a realm of image
making in our heads. Imagination is making pictures in our
minds and allowing God to use that capacity to create
(01:42):
new things, new ideas into the world that comes from
reading and listening. I try to read good writing as
a way to inform my imagination. Putting words onto paper
takes a certain journey of the mind, because you see
something in your head, and somehow you have to put
it into a form that is accessible to the reader.
Being familiar with good language and good poets makes all
(02:05):
the difference to the quality of one's work. What poets
do you return to again and again to inform your imagination?
To inspire you, I ask? There are some wonderful contemporary
poets in the Christian tradition, she says. Scott Cairns is one.
Paul Mariani is another. They write searching poetry and prose
(02:25):
that leads the reader to a new realization. That's how
I want to go about my work, too. I love
it when an image or a metaphor is provided to me,
and I can take that and follow it to a
new arena of understanding. You've shared before that poetry has
always been a part of your life. Was that because
poetry served as a comfort to you? Was it a
(02:46):
way to process life experience from an early age? My
father was a lover of poetry, she replies. He did
not write poetry himself, but he read the Romantics, William
Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge and the like. I remember him
reading them aloud to me, the way the language fashioned
images in my head was formative to my own imagination.
(03:08):
I began writing poems when I was 6 or 7
years old. I didn't realize it was anything special. I
would write them on small pieces of paper and give
them to my dad. He would show them to his friends.
He was just so proud of his daughter and that
was a great encouragement to me. She laughs, recalling her father.
One of the great gifts my dad gave his kids
(03:30):
was that he put us in really good schools, she continues.
Private schools, which took a great deal of money, but
it was worth it because they had the kind of
quality and expectation that called forth good work from students.
The other thing that really affected me was that my
dad was a conference speaker. We lived in Australia, Canada
and the United States, so we were exposed to many cultures.
(03:52):
Australia was especially formative to me. I remember going out
to the mountains, smelling the eucalyptus, letting it fill my lungs,
the great sandy beaches around Sydney. It was a rich childhood,
and the fact that I was in a good school
and I had good teachers, made all the difference in
the world. The world needs more fathers like yours, I say.
(04:14):
It sounds like he invested in you in multiple ways.
Not just financial support, but emotional support, which played a
major role in your hope for the future. I love
the simple picture of your dad sharing his love with you. Yes, indeed.
She pauses. And you know, in particular reading aloud to us.
We didn't have a lot of children's books. Maybe Winnie
(04:36):
the Pooh, but not much more to call on. But
we love to hear words read aloud. My parents would
read really good adult fiction to me. That's how I
learned how words worked. Hearing good literature imprints itself somehow
on the mind with an unexplainable quality. But you know,
I was also shaped by learning different languages. I studied Latin, French,
(04:57):
and I had a minor in New Testament Greek. I
think learning a language can be such an enriching experience.
Words you know, you're touching on an important point here
I say something that recalls to mind several lines from
Naomi Shihab Nye, She writes words. Otherwise it is just
a world with a lot of rough edges. Difficult to
(05:19):
get through and our pockets full of stones. Is that
what you're talking about? Yes, but more in the beginning
was the word, you know, and we were made to
be in relationship with that word, allowing it to seep
into our own lives so that we can speak what
is true and beautiful. It sounds to me like you're
saying it's not just the words under the words I say,
(05:41):
but the word under the words that is most meaningful
to you. Yes, indeed. What would you say are the
stones in our pockets that are weighing us down these days?
And how does poetry minister to people burdened by such stones?
That is a very potent question, she says. In this
life of ours, where politics has taken such a huge
(06:01):
part of our thinking and our understanding, I find it
stretching my soul with anger and frustration. Politics seems to
take the worst of human motivation and human action and
turn it sour. It just eats at my soul, but
at my church, there's such an emphasis on God's Word,
the words of Scripture. So I get good food in
(06:22):
that way. We have to choose whether we will listen
to Scripture or to the ugly words of political strife.
Has all of this taken a toll on your poetry,
I ask? You know, I've been very fortunate to have
had two different husbands over the years who have given
me the freedom to write poetry, to get away and
work on my craft despite whatever is calling for my attention.
(06:43):
It's not easy to be a poet because much of
our society sees poetry as extraneous, an add on that's
not vital, but poetry is vital. It offers us meaningful words,
deep words to overcome the meaningless chatter all around us.
How has community played a role in your career, I ask?
I belong to this wonderful group of people called the
(07:06):
Chrysostom Society. Richard Foster, Madeleine L'Engle and I decided that
we wanted to pull together some of our friends who
were writers to hear each other read and speak, and
then to develop books from those gatherings. I think my
friendship with Madeleine was another true gift to me. For
35 years, we were each other's best friend. She came
(07:26):
from the far left, from the liberal side of the church,
and I came from the far right, and we met
somewhere in the middle. God was so rich in our
understanding of life and of truth. That was one of
the gifts God gave to me. I miss her terribly.
She pauses. Then, as though renewed by memory, she says,
we both lost our first husbands to cancer in the
(07:48):
same year. You know, she was traveling in the middle
of the Atlantic when she had a terrible feeling that
something had happened to my husband, Harold, and that it
was bad. When she landed, she called me right away
to discover that he had died. You know, somehow that
connection was made. We don't understand it, but it is
evidence of our closeness. You and L'Engle share a similar
(08:11):
spirit in your writing, I say. Did you share a
similar hope for what you might have accomplished by the
time your life comes to a close? Yes, she says,
I think you just keep trying to take the picture
in your head and do your best to communicate with
words what that picture is. I have a book of
poetry coming out with Paraclete Press in a few weeks
called Reversing Entropy. I'm just hoping I'll still be alive
(08:33):
so I can see the book and promote it for them.
I look forward to reading the words aloud from the page.
Poetry has a special entry to the mind because it
has a musicality to it. I'm just amazed that God
has given you such strength of heart and mind at
the age of 95, I say. When you look back
over your work, do you feel as though each previous
(08:53):
book was a kind of rehearsal for the next one?
That's a wonderful way of looking at it, she replies,
I suppose so each book is further along in your life,
and hopefully more true to the medium you're writing in.
I hope to be always growing as a writer. I
never feel like I've got it figured out. Poetry is
a kind of grace, both gentle and strong. It should
(09:15):
sharpen our experience of nature, of relationship and the world
around us. I'm so thankful that I live in a
part of the world that has such natural beauty. We
live in a house on a hill and can look
out our living room windows at Washington's Bellingham Bay and
the islands beyond it. We have Mount Baker within an
hour of us. We love to drive up that huge
(09:36):
mountain and see our part of the world. The Pacific
Northwest is indeed a beautiful part of the world, I say.
You know, she continues, I think nature gives us clues
as to what ultimately matters and what is ultimately beautiful.
You know, I don't know how many years I have
to live, but I hope I can live through a
couple more cycles of seasons just because they are so rich.
(09:58):
They speak to me. I'm an amateur photographer. I have
a little camera that allows me to capture beauty. My
husband drives me slowly through the woods around here and
I'll say to him, stop! Stop here. I just saw something.
I want to photograph the buttercups, the cowslips. It's all
so available to us. I don't think we appreciate the
availability of beauty. To us, life is more than the
(10:21):
job we do. More than providing food for your family.
You know, I love writing poetry, and I'm thankful to
bookstores that sell my books. But you don't make a
lot of money from writing poetry. It provides food for
the mind, but not much food for the dining room table.
It's about feeding the soul. And I think nature does
that well, direct from the hand of God. You're reminding
(10:44):
me of the poem How to Be a Poet by
Wendell Berry. I say he writes, accept what comes from silence,
make the best you can of it, and make a
poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came.
It sounds like you find that silence in nature. I
certainly do. I love Wendell Berry. I have a wonderful
(11:07):
collection of his poetry. You've received a lot of praise
for your work over the years, I say, how has
that affected your writing? I'm thinking here of young poets
who want approval, who need some encouragement along the way.
How have you made sure that the praise does not
warp the way you write your poems? Friendships with kindred
spirits are vital, she replies. I have a group of
friends that meet together every week. We talk about God
(11:30):
and about each other. Each person is so unique and
yet we can share what we have in common. The
Chrysostom Society to all this richness, provides perspective. My final
question isn't really a question, I say, but I'm curious
how you would complete the following. Dear poet, I would say,
(11:51):
never give up on the grace of God and keep
meeting together with kindred spirits to push forward imaginative work.
Here's one of my favorite poems by Lucy Shaw, titled
green springing down the hill over the river beside the
(12:11):
dirt track, I walk slowly enough to stop, to listen
for the pale whisper of increment floating from the tassels.
The maiden buds, the nascent leaves lifting their heads. Little
green flames more chartreuse than emerald. Now I hear it clearly.
They are telling their way into being and calling us
(12:33):
to join in. The air is full of green pilgrims
who walk together in this God light. It is the
best season. There is such courage in bursting life. And yes,
I promise it is possible to fulfill God's reason for
thrusting us into full leaf. Rooted in our unique particular ground.
S1 (12:59):
An axe for the Frozen Sea is published by Rabbit
Room Press. The audio book is published by Oasis Audio.
Copyright by Ben Pallant, 2024. By Chris Badeker.
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