Hank: Hello and welcome to Dear Hank and John.
John: Or as I like to think of it, Dear John and Hank. I'm back!
Hank: It's the podcast where Hank and occasionally his brother John answer your questions, give you dubious advice, and bring you all of the week's news from both Mars and AFC Wimbledon. John, how you doing?
John: I'm doing well, I'm a little tired. I'm still recovering from the last couple of months, but on the whole I am well. How are you, Hank?
Hank: I'm good. I'm also tired. you can tell by my voice that I...
John: Yeah, it's a tiring time of year for us, Summer. It used to be the time of year when we relaxed and played together, making games of our own creation, me always winning them by changing the rules midway through even though you, despite being younger, were stronger and smarter and more talented. I always held the rules of the game which made me a winner. But these days it isn't a place where we just relax and play games where I make the rules, these days Summer is a stressful time of year where we must play a series of games involving rules made by other people.
Hank: And also Winter, and Fall, and Spring.
John: I feel that Winter, and Fall, and Spring are times when I am home with my family more, and I get to make the rule in my own home, at least with my wife. The children don't get to make rules and it's great fun to control them.
Hank: Do you have a poem?
John: I do have a poem for today. It's called Never Again The Same, it's by James Tate. Hank, I apologize in advance, this isn't the shortest short poem you've ever heard in your life, but I think it's a good one, OK?
Hank: OK.
John: Alright.
"Speaking of sunsets,
last night's was shocking.
I mean, sunsets aren't supposed to frighten you, are they?
Well, this one was terrifying.
People were screaming in the streets.
Sure, it was beautiful, but far too beautiful.
It wasn't natural.
One climax followed another and then another
until your knees went weak
and you couldn't breathe.
The colors were definitely not of this world,
peaches dripping opium,
pandemonium of tangerines,
inferno of irises,
Plutonian emeralds,
all swirling and churning, swabbing,
like it was playing with us,
like we were nothing,
as if our whole lives were a preparation for this,
this for which nothing could have prepared us
and for which we could not have been less prepared.
The mockery of it all stung us bitterly.
And when it was finally over
we whimpered and cried and howled.
And then the streetlights came on as always
and we looked into one another's eyes-
ancient caves with still pools
and those little transparent fish
who have never seen even one ray of light.
And the calm that returned to us
was not even our own."
That's a poem by James Tate, Never Again The Same. More or less the way that I've felt coming home after the last two months of crazy travel and the calm that has returned to me does not even feel my own. Sorry for the long short poem, Hank, but it's a good one right?
Hank: Yeah, it was wonderful. It was definitely not the lyrics to an Elton John song.
John: Yeah, I mean I've noticed that in my absence the short poems have been pretty terrible. Nothing against the many wonderful guest hosts you've had, but they don't have a gift for short poetry.
Hank: Yeah. That's something that you, you know, that you in particular are very good at.
John: So remind me Hank what this podcast is all about. I know it's about AFC Wimbledon and Mars and poetry, but I believe that there is a fourth component.
Hank: Yes, the fourth component is that we answer questions and give dubious advice, John.
John: Oh God, I love dubious advice. Where are we starting today, Hank?