Line / Break | Season 2 with Tishani Doshi

Interview Transcript

Ryo Yamaguchi (00:00): Hey everybody. I’m Ryo Yamaguchi, the publicist at Copper Canyon Press. And you’re watching season two of our interview series, Line/Break, which goes off the page and into the home and minds of our beloved poets. I’ve been carrying on the dream, kind of a sharing the dream of my predecessor from season one, Laura Buccieri, of wanting to see more poets represented on the screen, talking shop, answering questions and taking us behind the scenes of how they do, what they do. So in this episode, which is our very first of season two, we have the extraordinary Tishani Doshi. Tishani, thank you for joining us from what must be nearly the exact opposite end of our planet. How’s your day been going today?

Tishani Doshi (00:47): Hi, Ryo. Yeah, things going well, it’s 7:00 here in Tamil Nadu in India. And we had a sudden thunderstorm, very unseasonal in the afternoon. And so it’s nice to have the weather disrupted slightly, but otherwise a good day. Yeah.

Ryo Yamaguchi (01:09): Yeah. That’s wonderful. Yeah. It’s very early here in the morning in Santa Fe, New Mexico. My day is just getting started, but I had a lot of dreams about our conversation that kind of just flooded me, I think, right into this morning. So it’s nice. Well, it sounds beautiful there, kind of in keeping with the spirit of the show, Tishani, I was wondering if you could actually introduce yourself, let us know who you are, any pronouns you want to identify, where you live, the most recent book you’ve published and anything else you might want us to know?

Tishani Doshi (01:44): Sure. So my name is Tishani Doshi. I go by the pronoun, she, her, hers, I published, my last book of poems. It’s called A God at the Door published by Copper Canyon. And yeah, thank you for having, I don’t have a copy with me here. It’s in the city. So yeah, I live outside of the city of Madras in South India, and it’s a pretty remote place on the coast. And I think living by the sea has really informed all my work, poetry, but I also write novels and fiction, essays. So I think for me, this move out of the city about 10 years ago has really been something that has changed the creative direction for me as a writer, I think. Partly because of the environmental sense of living on this very beautiful, but fraught landscape, but also moving out of the city at a time when people were moving in. Now post-pandemic, it’s a little bit different again. And it seems I did a really smart thing by moving out of the city, but, yeah.

Ryo Yamaguchi (03:07): Yeah. Absolutely. Well, you bring up maybe three or four things that I kind of wanted to ask you about, but one of the main ones that I’ve noticed in reading your work and particularly the poems in A God at the Door is this confrontation or sort of intermixing between urban and natural landscapes, wild landscapes. And I was wondering if you consider yourself either a nature or urban poet, or if you don’t make that distinction at all, yeah.

Tishani Doshi (03:39): I shouldn’t say post-pandemic, we’re not post, we’re still-

Ryo Yamaguchi (03:43): Mm-hmm (affirmative). No, of course. Yeah. Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (03:45): … strolling through it.

Ryo Yamaguchi (03:45): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (03:47): Yeah. But it’s really interesting. I’ve never lived in a huge, big city. Madras is a city of eight million people. So that’s big, but it always had this small, compared to other Indian metros. It’s not like the big Bombay or Delhi. It’s always considered the smaller city and I’ve never lived in New York. I lived in London, briefly. So that’s like the big city experience I have, but I’ve never thought of myself as a person who’s wedded to, or in love with the idea of the city. Although when I’ve been there, it’s sort of charming and energizing for two days and then I’m quickly depleted. So I do get it. I get the allure of the city, the architecture, the mass, and how it’s the people that are coming in with their stories.

Tishani Doshi (04:38): I understand all of that, but I’ve always been interested in sort of landscape, in the sort of the margins of the cities. And I think more and more, I don’t know that I separate the idea of nature from us. And I think that cities have their own nature. I know a lot of poets who live in Delhi, who write about the bird that has survived the smog and is on their balcony and that’s their nature. And I think in some ways, we are always trying to make a connection, I suppose, between inner and outer, and the outer is whatever landscape we happen to inhabit, and more and more, I found myself wanting to feel secure in landscape, but increasingly feeling insecure in landscape.

Tishani Doshi (05:30): So being able to find the beauty in it, but struggling with the fact of its vanishing of the dangers of the entire sense of environmental collapse, and yet at the same time, finding moments of joy and beauty as footholds almost as a way of placing oneself in the landscape, because that is the only thing that is available. And that’s how the poem is made in a way with this struggle in mind, I think, between this inner and outer, and between the beauty and the horror in a way or the fears.

Ryo Yamaguchi (06:13): Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I’m just taken to your poem about the elephants in the Okavango Delta. And thinking about the calamity there, but also of course, and you’ve talked so much about this in other interviews, I mean, writing so much about the body and another thing I see a lot in these poems in particular is sort of the body as landscape and the body as the earth and the world, and obviously, creationary elements and motherhood in particular. And yeah, I’m wondering how deliberately you’ve thought about that kind of inside, outside dynamic, even though both as a writer and also as a dancer. And yeah, yeah.

Tishani Doshi (06:57): Mm-hmm (affirmative). That’s a really interesting thing. I’m thinking about it all the time in some way. And of course, our relationship to our bodies change as we grow older and move into different directions in life. And I began dancing quite late in life. I think I was 26 when I started and I didn’t set out to be a dancer, but it certainly has become the bedrock of my writing career, because I wanted to be a writer and a poet before then, but dance came into my life, and then it’s through the sort of discipline of dance that I built up what it means to actually write.

Tishani Doshi (07:44): And partly it’s the sort of daily returning to the theater. So creating a practice, ritual, but also within that that sense of membrane and boundary, right? Like, “Where do we go to create and make the poem?” And so even if you’re not a dancer, even if you’re not using your body in that very particular way, you are still sort of retreating from the world into this space of the poem. And I think I’m really interested increasingly with where we make those spaces, how we make them. And then also, thinking about the idea of the reader, which I never used to think about so much, but where that poem is going to travel to.

Tishani Doshi (08:30): And so the poem also has its own body and the poem is made of language, and language is a house. And so I think in so many ways that poetry is this sense of shelter and you create this house of poetry in a way for yourself, but also for any possible readers. And I think partly it’s because as a reader of poetry myself, I found so much shelter and in a way that it’s a second body, it’s a kind of a place of retreat or reclamation or yeah, just hiding out for a while or nurture. And so these are all ideas that I think of and how all of that in some way comes from this thing that we carry this body, and how far we are from it.

Tishani Doshi (09:23): And I think I have a lot of poems where I’m talking about this disconnect and always, it’s like trying to eliminate that line between inner and outer or trying to access one from the other and saying, “Actually, no, there’s no difference. I am that, and that is I, and I am the cosmos and the cosmos is me.” And this whole tension between individual collective micro, macro. And it’s always shifting. There’s never a sense of, you can never be in that aha moment of complete clarity and wonder for a very long time, but the poem allows you a hint every now and again. And so some poems, lean more into that idea of a kind of wholeness, I would say, and others are really pushing back against it and looking at the cracks and saying, “No, I am so far from myself and from the world. And I’m trying to be with it again.”

Ryo Yamaguchi (10:25): Yeah. Oh, that was so beautifully put, I love this kind of… I mean, what I’m hearing you say is this contraction and expansion of a closeness to yourself. And I also love this idea of that the body is your own shelter, and the poem, the body of the poem is a shelter. That was another way I had sort of written the question was that there’s sort of three bodies in your work. There’s the human body, and the body of the poem, and the body of the earth and the landscape. But as you’re talking about practice and your own relationship with readers, I think it’s a good moment to do something more of our introductory thing. I wasn’t certain, if you had selected some poems maybe that you wanted to read, we kind of jumped right into this interview. And so we didn’t have a chance to check on that, but do you have something you might want to read now or… Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (11:12): Sure. From my book?

Ryo Yamaguchi (11:15): Yeah, absolutely. Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (11:16): Yeah.

Ryo Yamaguchi (11:16): Or something else, too. I mean, whatever-

Tishani Doshi (11:18):
Okay.

Ryo Yamaguchi (11:18): Your choice on that. And only if you’d like to, of course. Yeah. But-

Tishani Doshi (11:23):
Yeah, I’ll do one poem. This is from, it’s the second last penultimate poem in the book it’s called

Survival

Dear ones who are still alive, I fear we may have overthought 

things. It is not always a war between celebration and lament.

Now we know death is circuitous, not just a matter of hiding

in the dark, or under a bed, not even a papoose for our loved 

ones to carry, it changes nothing. Ask me to build a wall

and I will build it straight. When the end came, were you 

watching TV or picnicking in a field with friends? Was the tablecloth

white, did you stay silent or fight? I hope by now you’ve given up 

the fur coat, the frequent flyer miles. In the hours of waiting,

I heard a legend about a woman who was carried off by winds,

a love ballet between her and the gods, which involved only minor

mutilations. How I long to be a legend. To stand at the dock

and stare at this or that creature who survived. Examine

its nest, marvel at a tusk that can rake the sea floor for food.

Hope is a noose around my neck. I have traded in my rollerblades

for a quill. Here is the boat, the journey, the camp. If we want

to arrive we must push someone off the side. It is impossible

to feel benign. How many refugees does it take to build

a mansion? I ask again, shall we wait or run? 

Here is winter, the dense pack ice. Touch it. It is a reminder

of our devastation. A kind of worship, an incantation.

Ryo Yamaguchi (13:45): Just give that just a moment of space there. That was, really staggered me back Tishani. I’m thinking of, you have spoken so beautifully about time in previous talks, and I’m thinking so much in when I’ve been kind of trying to organize this interview of wanting to go kind of in the past and in the future and hearing this poem now, I mean, being a legend, standing at the dock, standing at the end of what feels like the end of something, right. And there is transformation. And I want to talk about that and I know we will, but maybe before we do, I do want to, I’ll keep in the spirit again with Laura’s, with season one and sort of the questions Laura would ask. I love this question. So I want, let’s go back in your life. And I wanted to ask you, I’m wondering when, when do you think, when’s the first time you saw yourself in a book, in a movie, in a piece of music you saw, when you felt yourself in a piece of art, what was that piece of art? Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (14:56): I think, I mean, I can’t remember the first time, that’s such a strangely emotional question. I don’t know why it should be so, but-

Ryo Yamaguchi (15:06): I’ve seen it with others.

Tishani Doshi (15:10): I think it’s this question of recognition, right? It’s this sense of, even though you read something for the first time, it’s a feeling that, you know it, or it sees you, or there’s some understanding which implies a prior relationship. And that’s one of the most beautiful things that literature and language can do is that it brings you in that fashion. And so you read a poem for the first time and you think you are in it in this way. And I think for me, one of the poets who did that for me was the poet Kamala Das, who I read as a young woman. And she wrote these very strong poems about what it meant to be a woman living within an Indian society. And she was considered quite scandalous because she wrote about menstruation and this and that, and love affairs.

Tishani Doshi (16:11): And she also used quite colloquial language. And it was just this sort of sense of, oh, I didn’t know you could write about this or you could write in this way.

Ryo Yamaguchi (16:19): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (16:20): But I think it keeps happening that sense of, it’s never just the one time, because I think another moment I remember is sort of being an undergraduate in North Carolina, in Charlotte, and taking a creative writing class and reading Mark Doty and reading James Tate and Mary Oliver, these American poets and something about language released, something in me, there was this sense of nowness and contemporary fizz that felt very exciting. And I thought, oh, poetry is also this. And I can do this. And even though I’m not American, and I’m not writing about these, maybe some of these topics or themes, or these landscapes, I feel so close to these poets.

Ryo Yamaguchi (17:16): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (17:17): And they are unlocking something new and then it keeps happening and happening and happening. And I think as a reader and as a writer, you go to those experiences for those doors to keep being unlocked, because you want some new opening, you want to keep that sense of recognition. You want that eyes to be opened again and again, in different ways.

Ryo Yamaguchi (17:39): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (17:41): Because it’s so powerful. It’s such an amazing thing, to have that experience.

Ryo Yamaguchi (17:46): Yeah, absolutely. And I wonder if, I hear you saying a little bit and just correct me if I’m misinterpreting this of this idea that you want to continue that recognition, because your self can kind of multiply like your recognition your self, deepens and articulates and the more you proceed through each of those doors.

Tishani Doshi (18:04): It’s about, and I think perhaps it’s to do with voice, it’s to do with hearing and recognizing through a poet’s particular voice. And I think we have these poets, our traveling sort of little shelf of gods and goddesses, our poets that we take with us through our lives and careers and we return to some of them and some of them get abandoned and fall off along the way, but we are always making space. I think, I mean, I would not want to say, okay, this is my altar and that’s it. I’m always thinking what’s a new voice because I think it’s true through the contagion of other voices that we then find new voice in us as a poet, as a poet.

Ryo Yamaguchi (18:56): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (18:57): And, and so it’s sort of selfish in a way, because I think it’s partly to do with saying, I know that I have all these hidden things and I want to be able to bring out this or bring that out. And so sometimes you come across a poet you’ve never heard of, and it’s so exciting if it shifts something in you.

Ryo Yamaguchi (19:22): Yeah. Absolutely. I’m kind of latched onto something you said a little bit earlier that I’m going to paraphrase as the effervescence of the present, that kind of bubbling, excitement and energy. I think that there’s also this very fascinating and productive tension and this is going back to this question of time and where I feel in the poems that you confront the present with the ancient. And I think, and this is maybe in an effort to wrangle the present, to stall it, to slow it. But also as a way of re-articulating re-understanding what’s happening in the present, anyone who looks through the notes section of A God at the Door will see that you’re absolutely responding to news events and to really the cruelties and sufferings of our contemporary age. My colleague Vero, who helped me put together some questions.

Ryo Yamaguchi (20:15): She had a really wonderful question about your use of allegory in poems like Blue Mormon or Mr. Frog and Marilyn Monroe poem. And so I kind of want to ask a little bit about fable and allegory and these kind of ancient feeling stories and the ancient practice of storytelling and how you use that to address the horrors of our contemporary world.

Tishani Doshi (20:37): Yeah. I was thinking as well, about another point of entry, which was reading these old 2000 year old Tamil love poems, which are also eco poems and how that was for me, the sense of wow, because these were poems, which were written 2000 years ago, but they could have been written yesterday, but they’re also from this landscape that I inhabit. And I think as a poet, I’m always interested in the lyric, that sense of the poem existing in its own universe, like sort of unattached to the news and unattached to the time that it’s in, but just sort of springing out from it and existing in this timeless time. Right. I think most people go to poetry for that, or want some sense of that, but that sense of that effervescence that you were talking about that contemporary fizz is also so seductive to me, that sense of poetry’s elasticity of being able to respond to the now that we are living in, which has surely always been beautiful and horrible, not just now, it’s always been in its history.

Tishani Doshi (21:58): And so I think you are always playing with these different time zones as a writer, definitely even as a novelist, but as the poet somehow, because of the smallness of a poem, it’s such a grand endeavor because it seeks to hold so much a poem, it’s really ambitious the poem, I think more so than the novel, which has so many pages to chatter on about this, that and the other. And I think that, in that sense, poems are so magical to me because of exactly this, that they are trying to contain these different registers, always and then I think morality for me has been very important and the sense of fable and allegory and why we have these sort of symbols to represent and this sort of hiddenness of poetry is important because that’s the magic.

Tishani Doshi (22:58): And I think poetry is a kind of magic and it’s about creating these layers and these sort of little screens, if you will. And sort of, sometimes you may not get all of them and you kind of need to read the poem a few times over and more is revealed. But I like that sense of play also, I think more and more, I feel like play is very important and because it’s such a, we are faced with so many serious concerns that it becomes so overwhelming and depressing to write about them.

Ryo Yamaguchi (23:37): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (23:38): It has to be injected with lightness and play in a way to release the poem.

Ryo Yamaguchi (23:45): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (23:46): I don’t know if that answered your question.

Ryo Yamaguchi (23:50): No. Okay. My question and many others, I think I’m very, once again, kind of latched onto as you were describing this, I love this idea of the poem is, I mean, what I kind of conjured immediately was the poems, this child who doesn’t fully understand the powers they wield yet, or something like that. But I love the idea of magic and I had all these, actually these questions about transformation and metamorphosis also, I think, dynamics that happen a lot in the work, but I kind maybe want to pause on that and address something that, this question of play. And so because I’d like to kind of talk a little bit about your craft too. And one, you’ve sort of talked at length and in other interviews, and you’ve talked about the new kind of formal, the visual kind of elements of the poems the center justify, the concrete poems that, there’s the Pliny the Elder poem that looks like a menstrual cup and things.

Ryo Yamaguchi (24:52): Another kind of element of play though, that I kind of want to talk about maybe a little bit more is your ear, your sense of rhythm and also materiality, there so many moments in these poems are so sonically material. They’re great to read out loud. They’re great to kind of chew on and that sort of thing. And I’m curious if you, well, maybe put it this way, are you a slow writer or a fast writer? How long do you linger on lines as you’re constructing these things? Where is that rhythm inside you? Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (25:21): Yeah. I think I’m both slow and fast, sometimes the poem comes arrives in early. But I think, sound is that I’m really glad that you brought up that sense of the sonic element, I really feel that there is a part of poetry where a poem is only alive when it’s read. This is coming from a sort of ancient sort of aesthetic of poetry here in India, where for hundreds of years, poems were only ever spoken aloud. They were memorized and then they existed like that. And then many years, hundreds of years later, somebody wrote them down. So you don’t even know the authorship, it’s kind of a collective effort. Somebody emerges from these poems and we think it is so and so or so and so.

Tishani Doshi (26:23): But there was this real belief that the poem only existed when you spoke it. And then that was the power of the poem. And I think as much as I love the page, and as much as the page for me is this sense of having all the forest of this book, these are the poems, these are the trees in that forest. I like the idea of books and collections very much. I don’t like them to just be messily hanging around. That sense of being able to speak the poem aloud, to memorize the poems. I try to memorize a lot of the poems simply because I feel that once the poem then begins to live inside you in that way, it’s out of the page, it’s inside your body, it’s in your mouth, it’s there in your throat.

Tishani Doshi (27:11): It takes on this other level, almost another persona in a way. So the poem is the same, but it exists in a different level. And I really think that for me the visual thing is a new experiment and I think partly it’s because I’m interested in shape and how things are held. And I think that you can do that with a poem as well, but just in general, poetry is the most elastic of writing forms because of its ability to respond, whether it’s to film or whether it’s with sound and movement. And because I’m a dancer, I just feel that in some ways, poetry has, these are the superpowers of poems that they can exist in such a small way on a page and then become so large when spoken out loud or committed to memory. If you’ve all learned a poem by heart and you know that poem for me Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening, we had to learn that Robert Frost poem. That poem has changed over the years, because I know that poem, that poem now is my poem.

Ryo Yamaguchi (28:33): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (28:34): And so there’s a shift of ownership, and I think I love that about poems that they’re small enough to memorize, and then you can take ownership of them.

Ryo Yamaguchi (28:44): Yeah. I love that sense of ownership. And I often describe to people that I think of poems as pocketable, you can carry them with you through the airport terminal or wherever it is.

Tishani Doshi (28:55): Yeah.

Ryo Yamaguchi (28:56): I think it’s really wonderful. Well, I kind want to move us into this other note of time which is this sense of standing at an end of something. And I think this came up in the poem that you read and it’s also something I just see a lot. And so I kind of want to just ask this frank question, if I can, to you Tishani, which is, what are you afraid of? What are your fears? Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (29:23): Everything, I’m afraid of everything.

Ryo Yamaguchi (29:23): I am too. I mean, just about everything. Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (29:31): I think I’m a writer because of, I think fear and shame. I think those are the two things that made me a poet. And that brought me to writing in the first place. I was a very imaginative child and I was terrified of everything. I mean, I used to think just danger is lurking around every corner. And I remember later in life, maybe when I was in my twenties or something, I remember my mother saying to me, she said, “Tisha, you’re so brave.” I can’t remember the context, and I nearly fell over because this was a woman who had left her little village in North Wales and fallen in love with my father and moved to India in 1969, and done this crazy move across the world because she fell in love with somebody and then lived in India, and then just moved her life there.

Tishani Doshi (30:30): And I always thought she was the brave one. And I just thought it’s so interesting how people see us as being brave or cowardly and how we see ourselves. And certainly, I think as I’ve grown, I’ve known how to manage fear, but the fear is there, but it’s just a question of saying, okay, how are you going to, and you want to be fierce, you want to be strong. You want to be somebody who strides out into the world and says, I have this. And I have poems and I have language. And I believe in X, whatever. And so you want to harness a kind of power and you believe it.

Tishani Doshi (31:12): It’s not a fake thing. That power is real, but I think the fears never go away. And they’re so primal and they’re what make us human, it’s this sense of mortality, death, there it is. The worst fear of all is not just my death, but the death of beloved, the death of planet, the death of things around you and loss. And I think there’s always this sense of lament that is very strong and then all you can do to counter it is to go towards the odds and to go towards praise and go towards joy and go towards beauty, because that is the only thing that will secure us somehow within this limit.

Ryo Yamaguchi (32:09): Yeah, absolutely. And I mean, as you said, I’m thinking of poems and I’m just reciting these titles off the top of my head, but Variations on Hippo, which I think is that one of the main elegies in the book and that idea of loss and mourning as being something that can be sort of beautifully rendered, and again, I think we’re getting back to this kind of idea of the sanctuary space of the poem and yeah. Well, that leads me to, I feel that maybe we’re coming to a little bit of an end here and I kind of see this fork in the road that we can either, let me pose this question to you. We can maybe talk about hope or maybe you just we could hear one more poem. Yeah, whatever you’d like to do. I think. Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (33:00): Well, I don’t know. Hope is such a, it’s a really tricky thing. I think I consider myself a kind of a happy person and an optimist actually.

Ryo Yamaguchi (33:21): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (33:22): But I think it’s because I write that I can say that. I think if I didn’t write, I would be distraught.

Ryo Yamaguchi (33:31): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (33:32): I remember at a reading once I had in an older collection of a book, a poem that I wrote after Elizabeth Bishop, and then about the art of losing and it sort of goes with this whole thing about all the fears, it’s sort of, and it builds and then how the one day you see your parents and then on the mossy grass. And then you know that you have to then jump in into oblivion without your wings, this kind of thing. And then the person came up to me after the reading and said, Wow, you really are pessimistic person. And I said, no, I absolutely am not. The poems deal with loss and the poems are confronting these things, but that is not to submit to it. That is to try and work in this area of transformation that we are trying to convert or make bearable something that is deeply troubling to us.

Tishani Doshi (34:40): The many violences that we endure as people that we are kind of bombarded with. And so the poem is against all that. And the very act of writing a poem is an act of optimism. To imagine that it will reach somewhere that someone’s life may be changed by it, or that someone’s day might be changed by reading a poem that you wrote. So I think that poetry is inherently optimistic, no matter how dire or how filled with lament they may be, because through the act of the poem, it is written with a kind of hope.

Tishani Doshi (35:24): If you had no hope, you could not write the poem, you see. And so hope exists, however tenuous, it’s sort of this sense of always trying to go from one direction and move us into the other and so the poem can move through various stages of emotion, but there will always be a small window where it offers us either laughter or beauty or something that we can hold on, just an image, even if it’s just an image and that’s the thing that stays is an image that the poem gives you. And I think all of that is hopeful to me.

Ryo Yamaguchi (36:14): Yeah. That’s beautiful. Well, Tishani, you’ve given me a lot to hold onto and to hope for. These poems truly do give me hope. And this conversation is so nourishing, so I feel I’m going to have a good day today because of that.

Tishani Doshi (36:28): Good. Well, it was so lovely to talk to you and I’m so glad that we had no electricity breakdown where I am or any tech problems.

Ryo Yamaguchi (36:38): Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (36:39): All good.

Ryo Yamaguchi (36:39): No, everything was very calm, I think. Yeah.

Tishani Doshi (36:42): Yes, all calm, no dogs howling and other dogs. Stray enemy packs. Yeah. No dangers for the moment. It’s peaceful and calm. I’ll go down and make dinner and thank you for your questions. It was really lovely to talk to you.

Ryo Yamaguchi (36:59): Yeah. It was really nice to talk with you. And I’m glad to just kind of share a little bit of your ideas with our readers and the viewers of Line / Break. So here we’re second season, we’re just getting kicked off. So thank you for giving us such a great start.

 

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