Letting go is an art. So, too, is picking up. There’s a space between them, where one word ends and another begins. So, too, letter to letter, line to line, sentence to sentence. And the whole of life and its rebirth. In that space, we make a leap of faith. We’re the ones to close the distance and make sense of what’s in between, what happens in that nothingness, whether it’s etched, or inked, or ingrained. This is what we do as readers on every page. This is what we do when our souls pass over the horizon and come back again.

I’m thinking of this while standing next to Ranjit Hoskote at Redgate in Western Australia. Looking west at the Indian Ocean, we catch sight of waves in the foreground and a dance of swell just behind. Ranjit is on Noongar Country as a guest of Fremantle Biennale and my workplace, Centre for Stories. In his Sanctuary residency here, Ranjit will read poems, give talks, meet people, and help us make those leaps of faith, translating across space so that it resonates. His practice is one of art world curation, poetry, translation, and cultural theorising. From his base in Bombay, he has recently made stops in Barcelona, Bergen, Delhi, and beyond.

• Tags: India, Issue 42, Poetry, Ranjit Hoskote, Robert Wood