Lessons in Paying Attention from Clint Smith and Lyndsay Rush

The Poets We Return To is a Wednesday series on Ethical ELA, writers reflecting on the poets whose words they return to and the ways those poems continue to work on their lives, teaching, and writing.

We continue today with Stephanie Branson’s essay.

Reclaiming Poetry through Writing Practice:
Lessons in Paying Attention from Clint Smith and Lyndsay Rush

by Stephanie Branson

As a lifelong reader, lover of words, and career English teacher, I’ve encountered more than my fair share of poetry. Many times through my formative years, I lost myself within the verses, stanzas, musings, and meanings of the Great Poets of the Canon, decidedly shutting everything poetry related out of my life. As I have matured in my adult years, whatever that truly means, I have found a new connection and longing with the art of poetry, and most importantly discovered a reflection of myself; a place where my words can live as just my words. This is a place where I do not always second guess ideas, revise and find synonyms, elevate structure and wording to mimic “the greats.” Within the poets of Dr. Clint Smith III and Lyndsay Rush, I have found versions of myself that feel authentically true as both a reader and writer.  

Clint Smith and all of his brilliance in the collections Counting Descent and Above Ground allowed my experiences to be raw, vulnerable, and worthy of sharing. Reading Lyndsay Rush’s debut poetry collection, A Bit Much, revealed that I do not have to alter my voice; I can show up as I am.  The work of both poets gives me permission to accept myself wholly and recognize that my flaws and experiences are the totality of my truest self. 

I encountered the works of both of these poets well into my adulthood as I was attempting to step into my own authorship. Upon meeting both of them on the page, I had been well into my teaching career and trying to establish myself as a functioning adult in society.

I first arrived at Clint Smith’s work as an educator attending the Texas Council of Teachers of English Language Arts State Conference in 2020. I attended as a co-presenter and was excited to learn and absorb as much as I could. As I  walked into the keynote featuring a poet unknown to me, the room was abuzz. Little did I know that walking into this conference session, on January 25, 2020, would forever alter my trajectory as a writer, educator, and a poet.  As I sat and listened to Clint Smith recite works from Counting Descent, I was entranced. Vividly, I recall the moments I first really heard poetry in a way that resonated with my soul as Clint spoke lines from his poem “When Maze & Frankie Beverly Come on in My House”: 

At the end of the song, 

Frankie’s voice begins to fade 
But they keep dancing. She holds
Her hand on the back of his neck,
He pulls her in closer, she looks
At him, kisses him between the sweat
Rolling down his forehead. 
Then they laugh 
& laugh & laugh & laugh
long after the song has stopped. 

Clint has a way with words and moments — he takes the ordinary and the routine and breathes life into them, turning these moments into something raw, authentic, and evocative. He navigates the texture of everyday life vividly, at times through metaphorical comparisons that punch the reader square in the stomach as he ends. Each of his works sings with musicality. Clint has an acute awareness of how language “sounds” as it is being read both on the page and aloud. Most importantly, as an author, he anchors larger systemic occurrences and themes (notably around race, Blackness in America, and his exploration of fatherhood) in granular, personal moments that are evocative for the reader, long after the poem has been read. 

Clint Smith shows listeners and readers what it can feel to really  “sound like a poet” in a world where poetry can be seen as stuffy, academic, and a puzzle to decode. Through his writing and performance of the word, I feel my experiences, as mundane as they may be, can be something worthy of writing about. There is art and beauty in my everyday life, too. 

After reading both of his poetry collections, as well as trudging through some of the hardest moments of my life as a mother, I began to write poetry. Taking Clint’s lead, I turned my everyday experiences into something that combined those lived moments with meditations and reflections. Many of these poems turn into something bigger, almost a commentary on our society or worldview as many poems seem to reveal. Through this new habitual writing practice, I penned this poem: 

Contrasts 

There is a dichotomy between
giving my son a kiss goodnight,
and watching my phone alight 
with another breaking news crisis.

A contrasting motherhood 
-of joy 
-of sadness
-of adoration
-of tremendous fear. 

A notion that I must shelter my son 
from a world
that I never expected to raise him in. 

A push to help him see the good 
in something broken,
but not wholly unrepairable;
a hope that must remain. 

I am walking a tightrope 
of silly bedtime stories,
and living dystopic events
every single day. 

My soul screams 
that he deserves better in this world,
but knows I can only give him 
so much. 

So we do what we can-
we snuggle under the covers,
sing sweet little songs, 
and dream 
for a better tomorrow. 

After my discovery of Clint Smith’s poetry, I took a journey through many contemporary poets and their works. Through this consumption of poets, I found a little brand-new book of poetry written by an author that I was unfamiliar with. Lyndsay Rush’s debut collection,  A Bit Much, was a fresh blend of humorous insights about femininity and the modern woman in this society that “breaks every rule” of poetry known. I devoured this collection. Forcing myself to stop and reflect every few poems, I noticed how frank Lyndsay’s voice and ideas were. That she was just writing about her existence and her unfiltered thoughts about lived truths. I saw myself reflected in these musings about pressures women face, the mental challenges we, as women specifically, work through, and why we even choose motherhood when it is so incredibly hard. 

When I return to Lyndsay’s poems time and time again, I notice how she wields humor as a vessel for truth in much of her work.  She is able to intertwine on-the-nose comedy and easy satire to bridge into the big emotions and ideas that we grapple with every day: self-acceptance, need for human connection with each other, feelings of validation, navigating change. 

What seems very light and surface level suddenly morphs into social commentary with such depth and cutting precision that the initial “punchline” of the banter or joke transforms into a mirror for self-reflection or a window into the true nature of our reality and fundamentals of the human condition. In her piece “Hot Girl Walks” Lyndsay writes, “Hot Girl Walks/Have been happening since the dawn of time:/Through fields/To the well/Down darkened hallways/With signs raised above our heads/… /History (forgive me, herstory) has/ been changed, and made, and/cured and broken/by women all over the world doing/ the hottest thing imaginable:/Walking each other home”.  The simple viral social media trend that many readers are familiar with, the “Hot Girl Walk,” is reframed from a simple act of community and exercise into the timeless story of female solidarity. In just a few short lines, Lyndsay transforms a trivial buzzword seen on TikTok and Instagram to reveal the quiet, historical weight and poignant undercurrent. 

As dissonant as it may initially seem, both Clint Smith III and Lyndsay Rush sit side-by-side on my bookshelf. Though their styles dramatically differ, like placing Louis Armstrong next to Haley Williams on a Spotify playlist, their poetry shares a core tenet: they both teach readers how to pay attention to the everyday moments that require us to dig in, find the gravity within the ordinary, and explore the joyous in the mundane. 

In carrying both Clint and Lyndsay as I walk my own writing journey, I am constantly reminded that poetry isn’t reserved for prestigious scholars or members of the “Canon.” I find my poetry within the walls of my classroom, crossing the doors of my home, and in the solace of my innermost thoughts waiting to find life between the pages of my journal. 

The Poets We Return To continues each Wednesday on Ethical ELA. Explore the series or write about a poet you return to.