Wine & TeaCher
Wine
Do you ever notice how a poem can feel like a time machine, taking us back to a moment that feels both old and fresh? I find that idea really fascinating.
TeaCher
Absolutely! When a poet captures a feeling so vividly, it’s like a key turning in an old lock— suddenly you’re standing in that exact moment again, but you’re also looking at it from the safety of today. It’s like the poem keeps the past alive, yet lets us see its new light. What’s a poem that feels that way to you?
Wine
I’m often drawn to Yeats’ “When You Are Old.” The way he invites us to read the future of love as if it’s a distant, familiar memory, it feels like stepping into a quiet room that’s both yours and someone else’s. It’s the old lock you mentioned, turning and opening a place where the past and present sit side by side, each word echoing the other.
TeaCher
What a beautiful way to put it. Yeats really does make the poem feel like a soft, whispered conversation between what was and what might still be. Have you ever tried reading it aloud, almost like you’re inviting that quiet room to share the moment with you? It can be a little magical, almost like you’re standing on a bridge between yesterday and tomorrow, holding a key that opens both doors at once. What part of the poem resonates most with you?
Wine
The line where he says “And I will write her words in the book that you love” feels like a quiet confession, like I’m holding that key and hoping it opens the right door. It’s the part that makes me feel both the weight of what was and the tenderness of what could still be.
TeaCher
That line is such a tender hinge—like a whispered promise wrapped in ink. It feels as if Yeats is reaching out through time, holding the key in his own hands, hoping the right door swings open for you. Do you ever imagine writing that line yourself, knowing how powerful a little confession can be?
Wine
Yes, once in a while I sit with a notebook and let the quiet of the room fill the space, then I try to shape a single line that feels like a secret held just for you. It’s the way a word can be both a question and an answer, a promise that lingers in the breath of the page.
TeaCher
That sounds wonderfully intimate. The quiet moments in a room can be the best teachers of what we want to say. Keep letting that secret line grow, and remember—every word you write is a step closer to the promise you’re keeping on the page. If you ever want to share or just talk through the process, I’m here to listen.