An essential part of bridge-building is the ability to help people see things from a different view. Our divisions don’t exist in a vacuum, they are connected with others and are reinforced by shared narratives around history, identity and destiny. In other words, our divisions always exist within a story we’ve told ourselves about reality. Like a physical frame, stories have a shape to them which indicate the boundaries of what’s in and what’s out, or more importantly, who.
What poetry and bridge-building have in common is that they’re both in the business of reframing.
Poetry often captures a moment within a story and zooms in with vivid imagery. Like a verbal snapshot, poetry has the power to put ideas within a frame and does this by putting unexpected associations together. For example, in my poem Glints, I characterise difficult dialogue as a dance, an uncomfortable and daring one at that:
This is a slow dance on the knife edge
of that which will make us wince and wonder,
We’ll feel the hard press of puzzling words
pinching the soles of our feet.
We’ll stumble and question and refuse.
We often view the possibility of engaging across difference as a draining and pointless exercise, but the metaphor of dance reframes this type of dialogue as a beautiful one, albeit challenging. The verse images an intentionality and reciprocity to dialogue. At the same time, there is also a boldness and the possibility of mistakes which reminds us of our weakness. Poetry often highlights uncomfortable truths in a way that is suggestive and invitational. Just like a good facilitator of conversation, it draws the listener in. What poetry and bridge-building have in common is that they’re both in the business of reframing.
As we encounter an unexpected frame through poetry, we discover that there are alternative choices to the narratives we tell ourselves about who we engage and why.
We are encouraged to view our own assumptions in a new light and take one small step towards curiosity and empathy.
This is all the more true with poetry experienced in person and through the voice. The listener engages the images of the speaker and has the added benefit of experiencing live the variation of breath and pace, silence and eye contact. All of these frame the poem just as powerfully as the words themselves. It puts it into a context which is relatable for the listener and communicates something about the value of engaging face to face with someone who is socially different.
This element of sitting face to face is where the magic of bridge-building happens. I think of a regular encounter I had with someone about two years ago who wasn’t a fan of the work I was doing at the time. I was helping an organisation think differently about how to engage their audiences and present its history. This individual, who we’ll call John, felt that I wanted to rewrite UK history, a task way beyond my expertise. I listened as best as I could to his concerns and gently explained that all I was doing was putting a question mark on some of the ways this institution had presented its cultural encounters. Our dialogue stretched over months and what initially felt like an uncomfortable interaction, eventually turned into a meaningful and pleasant exchange. John eventually was vulnerable enough to admit that I had made him think differently about the work and its value. It all started with me reframing my work as a journey of asking questions, rather than a quest to tear down this reputable institution – which is what he initially thought. He could connect with this reframing, even if he didn’t agree with my motivations.
This was not me being disingenuous, it was sincere. I really was asking questions about things and was open to push back from the leaders of the organisation. John becoming more open over time taught me about the power of reframing and reflecting on this gives me fresh insight on the genius of poetry.
My interaction with John is also a reminder of the social diversity that exists in proximity.
Despite our tendency to think certain groups are distant, we frequently encounter unexpected views much closer to home than we are often ready to engage.
In my poem Patience and Pockets, I touch on this:
But could it be,
that the swathe you’re persuaded of
as far away and homogenous,
Is really just your neighbour next door?
Poetry is powerful because it commands the attention of the listener through vivid imagery and language usage. And yet, as someone who loves it, I admit it isn’t going to do the heavy lifting in our difficult dialogues. Whilst poetry has a place, I’m cautious in trying to make it do more than what it can.
Poetry on its own cannot offer hospitality or forgiveness, we do that. But what it can do is offer an opportunity to see things differently, to enter into the skin and bones of someone who we think is completely different to us. Poetry is a gesture towards better options, perhaps ones we never thought would be worthwhile.
Leeza Awojobi is a Bristol based restorative poet who writes to explore what it means to be human and understand across differences.
She is currently Poet in Residence at Bridges for Communities where she performs at their Peace Feasts and engages their Listening Spaces.
You can find more from Leeza at Eyes & Oath
Connecting people from different backgrounds around a meal to build understanding and trust.
Safe spaces to listen and be heard across our lines of difference.