MELISSA BLOCK, HOST:

And finally this hour, we bring you our monthly attempt to create some beauty under a tight deadline. That's the task of our NewsPoet. Each month, we invite a poet to spend a day in our newsroom, listen in on the daily workings of the show and then write a poem about it. Today, Tess Taylor took on the challenge. She's from El Cerrito, California, the author of the collection "The Misremembered World," and she joins me here in the studio to talk about how it went. Tess, what do you think? I know you were - early in the day, you were really anxious for news to happen, and it was a little slow getting going today.

TESS TAYLOR: Well, I was just in awe of how you all work under these conditions where the story is constantly changing around you. Every time it seemed that I would get a lead on something that was going to happen, it would disappear, or it looked like...

BLOCK: Welcome to our world.

(LAUGHTER)

TAYLOR: Exactly. I leave with great respect for what you do.

BLOCK: And what was the process like for you? How did you start writing the poem today?

TAYLOR: Well, I admit that I'd just come back from a week of vacation where I happened to be reading Walt Whitman's "Memoranda During the War," which is where he comes and explores Washington as a, you know, poet-journalist himself. So I guess the adventures of Walt Whitman were in the back of my mind, and I used them to sort of anchor me while everything in this world, including tweeting Martian rovers, possible family that's living on Martian time - that didn't make it into the poem - everything was changing all around me. So I guess just keeping Walt Whitman in my back pocket helped.

BLOCK: So he was your North Star.

TAYLOR: He was my North Star, good old Walt.

BLOCK: Well, let's take a listen to the poem you came up with. It's called "Unstoppable."

TAYLOR: (Reading) "Unstoppable: A Newsroom Poem." The director of "Top Gun" has died. Cuban dissidents were found dead on an unpaved road. A politician from Missouri says rape rarely makes you pregnant. August in Washington - pseudo-quiet season, monuments and domes, a president heading to Nevada while his opponents rally in New Hampshire. Editors trawl late summer's transmissions. A nude congressman jumped in the Sea of Galilee. Does nakedness make this a story? Five percent of raped women get pregnant. A Cuban widow suspects there was foul play.

(Reading) The director of "Top Gun" made kinetic cuts, shot leaping to shot, frame to frame. As in, if she gets pregnant, then she must have liked it. Outside these offices, a brick-faced former brothel will be affixed to a new building for medical lobbyists, and 150 years ago in a few months, Walt Whitman found this city filled with dying soldiers and walked among them, keeping notebooks for impromptu jottings. He kissed both the dying and the dead. He saw the drawn-faced president and by moonlight dreamed the White House full of future poems.

(Reading) Body to body, crafting acts of witness, but do we have reporters on the ground there? Here a digital whiteboard empties, fills - spiders with claws. A tweeting Martian rover. Rape is rape, our current president says. Lights flicker on the mixing board. The naked congressman is sorry. Somewhere beyond this poem, my son is sleeping. We record a story. Circulating, circulated. Near that once-brothel, a bright tractor digs. Real history will never get in the books, Walt Whitman said.

BLOCK: I love the way you faulted Walt Whitman in there. I wonder what he would have made of the naked congressman.

TAYLOR: I do too.

(LAUGHTER)

BLOCK: What were you thinking of when you wove Walt Whitman through with this day's news?

TAYLOR: Well, I think what's really important is that you as journalists are really tied to this day as this day, but as a poet, I get to break the frame of the day and make it something different. And so having a sense that there's this historical perspective that, you know, 150 years ago, we were in a middle of the Civil War, right here in the city, I think, adds a certain dreaminess, a lyricism. I think it's the work of poetry to kind of unsettle the present.

BLOCK: Tess Taylor, thanks so much for coming in and doing this today.

TAYLOR: Thank you so much for having me, Melissa.

BLOCK: That's Tess Taylor, our NewsPoet for this month with her poem "Unstoppable." She wrote that poem while spending the day with us here at ALL THINGS CONSIDERED.

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