William Sieghart is a businessman and a philanthropist. He is also infatuated with poetry, which is why I was sitting at the back of a, mostly full, room studiously listening to his mellifluous voice for an hour, on what must have been the most pitifully weathered day of this academic year. A cynic may have argued Sieghart’s message was rather facile. Human beings are well aware that they neglect poetry – but in doing so are they aware that they deprive themselves of such a powerful and pertinent tool?
Sieghart described his role as the editor of his most recent anthology as akin to that of a herbalist. Poetry helps the body to cure itself; in Sieghart’s words, ‘poems help you feel you are not mad.’ Sieghart outlined his motivation: he wanted to help people find solace, which is why he ran a pharmacy for years that prescribed poems as a form of therapy. The pharmacies were very well received and ultimately led to clamour for publication of the poems he prescribed.
Sieghart’s words were so magnetising as they came directly from the vessel which was beating between his chest. It was as if everybody in the room were being told a legendary or mythical tale by a relative. He had our undivided attention as he detailed how poetry navigated him through traumatic experiences during both adolescence and adulthood. He was moved to tears when he began to discuss the pandemic and the correspondence he received, during, from his readers. The compassion with which he spoke radiated throughout, as other eyes rippled because of his words.
He showed his sagacity when discussing loneliness, it being a common theme dealt with at his pharmacies. He reflected upon the role of social media with sadness – whilst it allows us to share poetry, it is a mischievous force. On our Instagram pages we share photos that allude to lives filled with friends, yet there is an abundance of loneliness in our world. We browse these same Instagram pages whenever we are sitting next to an unfamiliar figure. Why do we not talk to the unfamiliar figure beside us? We may learn that our lives are not incredibly different. This, I think, was the most salient point. ‘Whether you are in leafy Kensington or Liverpool, we all have similar problems,’ was one of many valuable lessons Sieghart learnt from his rather harrowing experience as a quasi-psychiatrist. This was why he so often prescribed Hafiz of Shiraz’s lines: ‘I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being.’
Sieghart argued that poetry can be a progressive force, but to do so it must be less intimidating. He spoke without any ostentation. He was not suggesting every child recite Milton’s epic poems, but rather that we engage with all forms of poetry, including rap music, if we are to make poetry, and thus its readership, more diverse.
All in all, it felt rather significant. I was able to completely escape what had been a rather tumultuous few hours politically, as I was captured by this man’s wonderful passion. This was a remarkable evening, and I would encourage everyone reading to consult, in times of need, The Poetry Pharmacy.