>> From the Library of
Congress in Washington, DC. >> Lee Ann Potter:
[Inaudible] it will be. I'm Lee Ann Potter. I direct educational
outreach here at the Library, and it is really a
joy to welcome you to this evening's poetry
reading, and conversation. And if it goes anywhere
as well as our meeting with ththis program features
young people and poetry, which means it's
going to be fun, and it's going to
be interesting. And so naturally the -- I
can say this in this company, the most fun and interesting
divisions in the Library of Congress are responsible
for this program tonight. [Laughter] It's not being
recorded; nobody's going to like get mad at me. And that is the Library's
Young Readers Center, which is part of my division. Not only is it a very
special place in the Library for young people,
but it is also part of a much larger
educational effort to engage audiences
with the Library. And this evening is also brought
to you by the library's Poetry and Literature Center. And my colleague, Robert
Casper, would be here, but he's on travel in Kentucky with the current
US Poet Laureate. So I'm going to say a
little word about that. The Poetry and Literature Center
is home to the US Poet Laureate. And our current Poet
Laureate, Tracy K. Smith, will finish up her first
term with an event -- mark your calendars, on
Thursday, April 19th. So it's literally you may
want to mark your calendars. To find out more about the
Poetry and Literature Center, poetry at the Library or -- and/or to watch Tracy's opening
reading featuring a certain youth poet laureate who
will soon grace this stage, you can visit the
Library's website and go to the poetry division by
just hitting the slash poetry. Tonight's program is also
brought to us in partnership with Urban World New York City. Tonight, we are fortunate
to have Michael Cirelli, the executive director with us. In 20Mayor's Office,
and New York City Votes, the National Youth Poet
Laureate Program began. It aims to identify and
celebrate teen poets who exhibit a commitment
to artistic excellence, and to civic engagement, youth
leadership, and social justice. The National Youth Poet Laureate
Program works in collaboration with local youth literary
arts organizations across the country,
and is championed by our nation's leading
literary organizations that include the Academy
of American Poets, the Poetry Society of America,
Penn Center USA, Cave Canem, and the Library of Congress. Now, to kick off our program, [pounding sounds] we have
a very special guest, who is fun and interesting, too. [Laughter] She is our
current national ambassador for Young People's Literature --
how is that, Jacqueline Woodson; I get to introduce her. She is a four-time
Newbery Honor Medalist, a Coretta Scott-King
book award winner, a former young people's
laureate. And her platform as our
national ambassador is "Reading = Hope x Change
(What is Your equation?)." She is encouraging young
people to think about, and think beyond the
moment they are living in, the power they possess, and the
impact that reading can have on showing them ways in which
they can create the hope and the change they want
to see in this world. Please join me in
welcoming Jacqueline Woodson [ Applause and Cheering ] >> Jacqueline Woodson:
I threw on my Ascot because I forgot my medal. [Laughter] They're sending
it to me so I can have it for tomorrow's ceremony. And I'm bummed I don't
have it for tonight; but I'm so grateful to be here. I'm so grateful to be back
in the company of Amanda, who I adore, and to
meet the final -- new Poet Laureate finalist. This is so exciting, especially
coming off of yesterday and the walkout, and the
power young people have to change the world. So thank you, thank
you, thank you. Thank you for showing up, and
showing out, and showing us. So Amanda Gorman is a, poet, a
community leader and a speaker from Los Angeles, California,
and she's 19 years old. And she's so phenomenal. And I love that she's
wearing my sorority colors. In April of 2017, she was named
the Inaugural National Youth Poet Laureate of
the United States. Gorman was also the
Inaugural Youth Poet Laureate of Los Angeles, and I remember
her then, and announced as a finalist for the National
Youth Poet Laureate title at the -- at Kennedy Center
in the summer of 2016. In her capacity is the
LA Youth Poet Laureate, she worked with the L.A.
Commission on Human Relations to develop youth programs, conduct a countywide
library tour, and she published her
first collection of poetry, "The One For Whom Food Is Not
Enough" with Penmanship Books, which also is phenomenal. Gorman is the founder
and executive director of the organization
One Pen One Page, which promotes literacy
among youth through "Creative Writing
Program", an online magazine and advocacy initiatives. She has been a HERLead
fellow in Washington, D.C. HERLead global
delegate in London at the Trust Women Conference, and a United Nations
youth delegate. She has introduced
Secretary Hilary Clinton at the 2017 Global Leadership
Awards, was celebrated by First Lady Michelle
Obama at the White House -- we miss them both so much
[laughter], and performed at the Library of Congress with
US Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith. Oh, man, and it goes on;
her fabulosity goes on. [Laughter] She has been honored
with a special resolution from the L.A. -- from
the Los Angeles Board of Library Commissioners, an outstanding community
service award by the city of Los Angeles, and
certificates of recognition for her leadership by the California State
Assembly, and mayor's office. Her work has appeared in
the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times,
the Washington Post, the Huffington Post, elle.com,
and award-winning anthologies. Her literary awards
include national recognition from scholastic arts and
writing awards, and young arts, a 2017 OZY Genius
Grant recipient. She is currently directing a
virtual reality film exhibit, which I'd love to
hear more about. And she is a sophomore
at Harvard University. She's so badass. [Laughter] Here's Amanda. [ Applause and Cheering ] >> Amanda Gorman:
I'm sorry, you all, I thought that was going
to be two sentences. [Laughter] Thank you
so much for having me. It's always a pleasure to
return to this Library, which is my favorite, to speak
alongside Jacqueline Woodson, who's just a queen, a hero,
all of the above and more; and also to welcome
our five finalists for the Youth Poet Laureate
of United States position. So I have the honor of both
reading, and also introducing. So I'm going to read two
poems for the occasion, and then I'll bring up
our amazing finalists, who I know you would
love to meet. And I'm going to start with
a piece called "Waiting with the Gourd Moon",
that I wrote as a coda to Black History Month
for the New York Times. [ Paper Sounds ] "'Waiting with the Gourd Moon.' I dream of the world in
its existence before me. I am child shrinking
to white fetus, then minimized to a grain. Then I fold into nothingness. And in this form, I lightly
trace the scars [inaudible] scraped into the god blue
back of the Atlantic, until I find myself sitting
between a brown elder's legs, while he tosses tails
up to a gourd moon. Market women [inaudible]
to a blossoming sun. We stomp the ground
to night palpitations from heavy height skid drums as
[inaudible] a plum purple sky. The majesty of a village settles
upon me like the dust of stars. I sing out for my ancestors,
not knowing their names. I cry for them not
knowing the losses. I dream of them not
knowing if they dream of me. I inhale them, the
beads making the necks, the vases crowning the skulls,
lips sliding open and welcome. My sisters, I call to you. My brothers, I ask of you,
toss your stories at me. Fling your love to me
with upturned lips. Let me walk with you. Let me talk with you. Let me watch when you laugh. Hang back your head face
stretching up to the clouds as if you're eating
the sweetest sunset. Let me hear the brown grass sing
below while flames leap high. Let me dance, dance with you
until the music cracks us out of our bodies like nuts. I want to come home to you, you
who sketch ancient brown rhythms in my chest, you who drag
hieroglyphs with your feet and milk sands you,
who resurrect houses and pharaohs while your
voice climbs the silver rungs of stars, you who wind
the Nile around my wrists and stretch my smile wide as
the Sahara, you who hum heritage with the womb of flesh within
you, you who open your palm like buckets, waiting
tenderly to receive me. I am co, and we will be reborn
into a world without change, where redemption is
greater than Emancipation, where [inaudible] both
plump fruits swelling from my people's laughter
in the glory of our roots." [ Applause ] Great; and I'm going to read
a poem that I semi-apologize because I know some of
you have heard it before. It is the poem that I had the
honor to read as an introduction to our current US Poet
Laureate Tracy K. Smith. And it's called "In This
Place (An American Lyric)". "There's a poem in this place
in the footfalls, and the halls, and the quiet beats
of the seats. It is here at the curtain of day where America writes a lyric
you must whisper to say. There's a poem in this place, in
the heavy grace, the lined face of this noble building
collections burned and were born twice. There's a poem in
Boston's Copley Square where protests chants tear
through the air like sheets of rain, where love of the many
swallows hatred of the few. There's a poem in
Charlottesville with tiki torch of string, a ring of flame
tight around the wrist of night, where men so white they
glean blue seen like statues where [inaudible] that long
wax burning ever higher, where heather higher
blooms forever in a meadow of resistance. There's a poem at the
great sleeping giants of Lake Michigan defiantly
raising its big blue head to Milwaukee and Chicago,
a poem begun long ago blaze into frozen soil
strutting upward and aglow. There's a poem in Florida,
in Puerto Rico, in East Texas where streets swell
into a nexus of rivers, cows afloat like modeled
buoys in the brown, where courage is now so common that 23 year old Jesus Contreos
[phonetic] rescues senior citizens from floodwaters. There's a poem in my Los
Angeles [inaudible] wide as the Pacific tide where
a single mother swelters in the windowless
classroom teaching black and brown students in Watts
to spell out their thoughts so her daughter write
like this poem for you. There's a lyric in
California where thousands of students march for blocks
and document it, and unafraid when my friend Rosa finds
the power to blossom and deadlock her spirit, the
bedrock of her community. She knows hope is like a
stubborn ship gripping a dock of truth that you can't stop a
dreaming or knock down a dream. How could this not be her
city, su nacion, our country, our America or American lyric to
write to, a poem by the people, the poor, the Protestants, the
Muslim, the Jew, the Native, the immigrant, the black, the
brown, the blind, the brave, the undocumented, and
undeterred, the woman, the man, the albino, the trans, the ally
to all of the above and more. Tyrants fear the poet. Now that we know it,
we can't blow it. We owe it to show it, not slow
it, although it hurts to sew it when the world [inaudible] below
it, hope, we must bestow it like a wick in the poet
so it can grow, lit, bringing with it new
stories to rewrite, the story of a Texas city
depleted but not defeated, a history written that
need not be repeated, and nation composed,
but not yet completed. There's a poem in this
place, a poem in America, a poet in every American
who rewrites this nation, who tells a story worthy of
being told on this minnow of an Earth to breathe, hope
into [inaudible] of time, a poet to every American
who sees that a poem penned
isn't a poet's end. There is a place where
this poem drowns. It is here. It is now in the yellow
song of dawn's bell where we write an American lyric
we are just beginning to tell." Thank you. [ Applause ] Now, I have the pleasure of
introducing our finalist. First up, we have Milla Kudas. Give us a round of
applause for her. [Applause] Thank you;
on this day [phonetic]. Milla Kudas is the Los
Angeles Youth Poet Laureate, a national finalist
representing the Western Region. Her work has been
featured in a PR, PBS, Huffington Post, and BuzzFeed. Her social impact spans
numerous organizations, including Young People
Creating Change, CA Arts, an equality summit, the Bigger
Picture Project, Rise Up, Cheers for Queers,
Poets for Progress and Get Lit, among others. Next, we have Patricia Frazier,
who's joining us on the stage. She is the Chicago Youth
Poet Laureate [applause] -- yes, a round of applause, and a national finalist
representing the Midwestern Region. She is a member of
Assata's Daughters, Young Chicago Authors,
and Chicago Beyond. Her awards include Congressional
Black Caucus fund scholar, Davis Peta [phonetic]
scholar, Young Arts and National Spoken
Word Merit winner, and Walgreen's Expressions
winner, among many others. Next, we have Rukmini
Kalamangalam, who is the Houston Youth
Poet Laureate [applause], and national finalist
representing the Southwest Region. Her work has appeared in
the Houston Chronicle, and the Houston School
District Press. And her awards and appearances
include the Young Leaders Institute, National
Honor Society, Teach for America's Diversity
Gala, Houston Poetry Festival, and the National
Book Festival, among, of course, many others as well. Next, we have William Lohier, [applause] who is the New
York City Youth Poet Laureate, and national finalist
representing the Northeast Region. He is the vice president of -- sorry, Stuyvesant Black
Students League, the Speech and Debate Teams lab leader,
editor of Kid Spirit Magazine, a Federal Hall fellow,
a Seeds of Peace fellow, and a Champion Briefs
Institute fellow among, as we have gotten used
to, many other honors. [Laughter] Last but not least,
we also have Cassidy Martin, who is the Nashville
Youth Poet Laureate -- [ Applause ] And national finalist
representing the Southeast Region. Her poetry has appeared
across Nashville through the National
MCA Poetry in Motion, and in the National
Arts Magazine. Her work in the community
includes organizations such as the National Public
Library, Southern Word, Big Picture ambassadors,
Second Harvest, and the Pencil Foundation,
among, you guessed it, many others. [Laughter] So to kind of go
over who's going to be reading for us, we're going to have
Milla Kudas, then we're going to have Rukmini, then we're
going to have Cassidy join us with William, and then
Patricia to close us off. Are you guys ready? >> Yes. >> Amanda Gorman:
Woo, let's do it. [Applause] [ Background Sounds ] >> Milla Kudas: Hello. >> Amanda Gorman: Hello. >> Milla Kudas: First I want to
thank the Library of Congress, and thank Urban Word,
as well as Amanda for that fabulous introduction. I'm going to just do two poems. I'm going to start with a
sonnet, and then I'm going to go into another poem. So the sonnet is "A
Sonnet for a Moth". "Your wings, honey-dipped
between shoulder blades, unscrewed, left open on
marble counters, crystallized as a capsule of toothpaste,
a motel memoir for an out-of-towner
in my own backyard, flying towards a light dim as
dusk wherever warmth radiates. You alwayto eradicate
the smoke in your mouth. The Shirley Temple tongues
tangled stems no spider bites my neck. The such a [inaudible] playing
gentle, the cherry drowns. You do not care to check. Dare unthread me head
first into the flame. I see a moth wink, and
think of your name." So that's my sonnet [applause],
my one and only sonnet. [Laughs] And now
this is my next poem. And I wrote this for CUPSI,
which is happening April. It's a poetry slam. I'm very excited for it. "Hey, I'm gay, and
not up for debate. I'm gay, lesbian,
Libra, lascivious. I'm gay as a wolf
flannel on a summer day. I'm so gay. In third grade, my best friend
and I would sneak kisses peck for peck at the playground's
corner. Our parents called it
confusion, experimentation, like my desire could be
dissected, cut down to cuticle. I'm gay like -- woo, I'm gay
like I swallowed my sexuality until sophomore year, found it
again staring into Amy's eyes at lunchtime, earbuds
draped around her neck, the cranberries echoing
in her collarbones. I'm gay like I write
poetry, really gay poetry, with my trimmed fingernails
and chipped polish existing in the blur between platonic
cuddling and intimacy. I'm gay like Willow
Rosenberg post "Werewolf", like Buffy really slays. I'm gay like middle school,
softball and musical theatre, an unending emo phase. I'm gay like turtlenecks and
dodging texts, like nose-ring and undercut, like
everyone's a little eager to reduce me down to trend. I mean, I get it, flannel
goes out of season, but some of you all would
rather a rope than a bowtie, than a necklace with
my girlfriend's name. But I still sport button-ups at
all my family holiday parties, hoping the collar will cover my
love's letters because I'm gay. Like grandma still
doesn't get it. No matter asks me how many
times she asks about the boys and I don't give her
a straight answer, she says the reason I
haven't met someone yet is because I go to a
women's college. And the love almost leaps from
my lips I'm gay like almost, like lips, like the
closet is cracked open. But some days I have
to lock myself in, put my best fem forward
at the job interview, the Megabus terminal,
my grandpa's funeral. I'm gay like every time gay, the men in my life take it upon
themselves to amend and say, "Well, what about Ben,
what was that then?" [Laughter] I'm gay like my
only straight friend just came out so she would've
known sooner if not for the folks always photo
shopping her wedding pictures. I'm gay like my girlfriend
boiled me a bath from the hot water
stopped working, made warmth out of winter. We l I forget each intersection
kiss is a death wish. But I'm gay like privilege,
search party and headline. Like not everyone
is made into martyr, like not every casket comes
with a feature film full of rainbow flags, but the
casualties keep coming. And we prefer to live loving,
we prefer to love living. And I'm gay like still here, singing the mountain
goats glitter faced on the subway turning
dismal to dazzle, death into trend,
love to the end." Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Good job. >> Rukmini Kalamangalam: Hi,
thank you for all being here. I'm really honored to be
a part of this program, to be here with all of
these amazing people. I'm going to read
two poems today, and they're both after cities. The first one is for Houston,
and the second is for Banaras, which is where my
family lives in India. "After Harvey." "The first rain after the
hurricane, we held our breath. Imagine what it would feel like
to be drowning again so soon after the taste of stolen air
replaced the salty gasping of rising tides. The first rain after
the hurricane, we were ready before the flash . Snarling and slavering
in red Wellington boots, they watched us with hungry
eyes, snout sniffing the air for threats from the
sky and each other. The first rain after the
hurricane, the water washed away as quick as it had come, leaving
the streets dark and empty, and water still priced
1.99 a gallon. We scoured the clouds for
signs of false promises. The first rain after
the hurricane, we tethered our homes together,
waited to become chains of floating memories, prayed
for a second chance at survival, our heads still bowed
as the rain evaporated, leaving only stillness behind." [ Applause ] My second piece is about
my hometown in India. And it's the holy city
because it has the intersection of two holy rivers. But there's also
a place where -- as Hindus, we cremate our dead, and so there's a
place along the river where you just see
fire lining the banks; and this is a poem
about that scene. "The city is burning, or
maybe it's just the stars, the river caught
between her banks. I can't tell. The haze is a curtain covering
the open kitchen window when the smoke alarm
screams, 'Mama, [foreign language], Mama.' If the holy city burns
and he lights a cigarette from the ashes, will
he be spared? The temple spills soot
like a blackened mouth, like teeth falling out
of the old man's head when he spits, splat. Tobacco turns the sands of
the riverbank to liquid rust. queuing for cremation
delight in the warmth. The city of lights is
burning and the reflection in God's glasses looks
like sacrifice, salvation. Did you know that anyone who
dies in Banaras is saved, that -- did you know that this
time the line at the gates of heaven is so long it trails
back to Earth, bodies stacked like firewood waiting
to be collected, only the dead poor tied down
with bricks at the bottom of the river can
breathe through the smoke and close press of people. The river is cool to the
touch and they long for heat, bloated fingers strain to,
Muslim [foreign language]." Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Cassidy Martin: Hi, guys. >> Hello. >> Cassidy Martin: So this
first piece is for a culture that I had to look up and
relearn in order to remember it. So "I was named after Butch
Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I was basically born into the
backyard of a Mennonite farm where we would wash each other's
feet at the end of the day, and then we would eat watermelon
smiles down to the rind. We would spit the
seeds in the grass so the chickens could
eat them later. And every morning we had
to check the henhouse, but not me because I would
be over there screaming when mothers would expand
their wings in warning like Mennonite mothers would
pinch children when they run with eggs, the ones you had
to collect in the morning and eat before the sun woke up. The hens would peck
at my fingers that were smaller than her beak. We would use sticks and poke
them under their bellies so they would give us
breakfast in the morning. We would eat not at
a dining room table, but a long wooden bench with
hen-stitched tablecloths. We would slip our prayers
into each other's palms and offer them to God for
a meal made from scratch. This gets fluffy golden
brown, and the ground on a southern farm feels
like home, like mud pies, like fireflies in mason jars. But this pretty picture
of painted isn't acrylic. It's water-colored by night. Our oldest cousin would
commend us to lock our doors because sometimes boy
cousi'd think that it's okay to touch a six year old with
brown hair and tangled limbs. And my oldest cousin
would always tuck the halo of my baby hairs
back into my bonnet, which was really a prayer cap
that we wear at all times, because we believe that we
should always be ready to pray. I grew up in a home where
men like my father only had up to an eighth grade
education, but my mother told me that he was the smartest
man she had ever married. And the black cowboy hat in the
back of her closet that she used to keep I would fit
if I had it now. But now I am the product of
public school and poverty. I am the product of
homegrown tomatoes and plucky powdered fingers. I am the product of, 'Yes,
ma'am,' and, 'No ma'am, instead of 'Yeah, huh, what, weaving its way
into my vocabulary. And no matter where I
come from, and no matter where I was raised, I will always remember
Southern fresh soil or Southern slick city streets. It don't matter because I
was raised by the South." [ Applause ] This was one of my first
takes at a page poem, [laughs] which I discovered
to be really fun, actually. "Bystanders are streetlights
that watch headlights kiss, crashing lips as life stops. They are the closets that hold
tangled purple and blue limbs, breath that rips from lungs, and
salty cheeks that caress paint. They are the toilets
that carry dry heaves, like the lock hugs the
refrigerator and the cabinets. They are the drawer
that cradles the belt. They are the eyelids
that never shut. They are the journals that
hold poems of everything, of everything, and
never, ever tell. They are window seals
that don't breathe. They are doors that don't eat. They are jeans that
lay against red lines and never dye their color,
never dip into the irises of haunted eyes, too scared the
poltergeist might follow them home, might crack open
their jaw if their lips, it will become nightmare. Bystanders are death, they are
mute, they are streetlights that never, ever blink." [ Applause ] >> William Lohier: Hi, everyone. >> Hey. >> William Lohier: I just
want to say I'm so honored and privileged to have the
opportunity to be able to speak to a roomful of people. And I think especially now
in the time that we live in providing this platform for young people is
more important than ev [ Applause ] And this is a poem that
I wrote in response to yesterday's walkout
by high school students. "Yesterday, one month after the
deadliest high school shooting in American history, students
across the country marched for stricter gun laws. The same day, after suing
the state of Florida for raising the age
to buy assault rifles, the NRA's Twitter account ,
'I'll control my own guns. Thank you.' And the question becomes,
'Why do we march?' When school shootings have
become an American promise, when the Second Amendment
[inaudible] bullets into bodies. We were not taught that
students could become soldiers at any time. A well-regulated militia being
necessary to the security of a free state, the right
of the people to keep and bear arms shall
not be infringed. We march because those words
are worth more than our lives, because those who defend
them do not know our names, how our mommas know to hold
us close when pistols rejoice in the night like
martyrdom is the best some of us can expect in life. We march because. Because the other day,
we had a lockdown drill, and as my back was pressed
against the wall away from the window, I was
waiting for shots to ring out, blunt like the promise of freedom the way
politicians take NRA money and give us back bodies. We were not taught
the sound of gunshots. We have never been
asked to write eulogy. We march because as I write
this poem, I want to be worrying about tests, and homework,
and acne, and grades, and it's frustrating that
this poem sounds like an ode to assault rifles, that my
grandmother prayed I would survive in case of
a school shooting, that an Austin sixth grader
wrote his will in case of a school shooting,
that 'in case of a school shooting' has
become a justification, but not justification
enough for stricter gun laws because someone, someone in America says they
love their guns. And my body becomes a canvas,
becomes a false prophecy, and I flash back to police
siren, to red, white, blue, red, white blue, and I say in my
head over and over again, 'Hands up, don't shoot. Hands up, don't shoot.' We march because I learned
long before high school to fear bullets, before
Columbine, before Sandy Hook, before Stoneman Douglas. We march because
today, I did not die. Today, I was not shot, not
crucified, not martyred, not made poster, or hashtag
'not afraid', didn't crouch down on my classroom today. Today, I didn't have to run,
or hide, or mourn a friend. We march because
today, I knew that one of those things could
happen at any time. They've happened before. We are not marching
to take your guns. We are marching for our lives. So watch us because there
is power in our footst. And the streets will ring with
it long after we are gone." [ Applause ] And this second poem
I wrote for my dad, and it's called "I
See Mountains." "I watch as the white woman
won't sit next to my dad in the subway, won't be seen in the space a black man has
left behind, won't be possessed by the ghosts he
carries with him. She scans the car
for another seat, one with fewer nooses attached,
looking everywhere but at him, everywhere but at the empty
seat next to him that beckons with open arms, ignoring it
as if it were white privilege, as if it were unclean, as if there was ever could
sit while a white woman stood. I wonder if she is
suddenly aware of her whiteness the
same way I am aware of my father's blackness;
how he carries space with him anywhere he goes,
a well so full of blood, and light, and magic,
and everything black that it is overflowed. How dirty he must feel
contaminating the seats next to him, his pride
planting explosives in the orange plastic skin so bright it requires a
three-foot radius tongue a skyscraper that could
collapse at any moment. And I think she must
recognize the risks associated with the air around his
body, how fragile it is, how precious breath is
in a black man's lungs. She stands with the
seat in front of her as I watch standing next to
her, and I want her to sit to cast aside the fire hoses and German shepherds
her mind has rejected. I want her to recognize that
when she ignores this seat, she ignores The Promised Land. I want her to see my dad the way
I see him, as holy, as human, as strong as he is fragile. And she smiles, reads her
book, continues to stand like George Wallace at
the schoolhouse door. And my dad winks at me
as if he sees the miracle in what has just occurred,
that a white woman gives up her birthright,
stands for a black man, recognizes that he
takes up so much space in this world she
cannot possibly find room to disrespect it. And I do no; bright
as the mountaintop where no trees can
grow, only flowers, that only black men
have ever set foot on. So I think my father
moves mountains with him, has climbed them, tamed them. And he will sit for now enjoying
the space that he has earned." Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Patricia Frazier:
How are you all doing? >> Good. >> Patricia Frazier: Again,
thank you to Urban Word. And I'm just so blessed, and
honored, and highly-favored to ever imagine performing
somewhere like this, so thank you so much. This first poem is called "He Got Me Flowers Today"
[inaudible] Tracy K. Smith; for Mama and Auntie Julie. "Birds stab greedy beaks
into trunk and seed, spill husk onto the heap where
my dreaming and loving live. Tracy K. Smith." "My fleeting body is
a vase of flowers, love is the brass knuckle. He tells me he loves me. He is sorry. He is dirty water. Regardless, I am still alive. I am still alive
on borrowed time, kitchen under the hot comb, my body a permed
attitude, a cracked vase. Love is the second home, a
plan B, a planned parenthood. My body is the vase. The vase is a casket for a rose, because even a dead
thing needs a home. Love is the rose handled thorn
first, the vase is my house, framed for my brief body. I make sure to leave room for
fist, their straining knuckles. My body pedals into a casket of
water, the water is a dirty man. The man is time I borrowed. My body is a rose,
fish out of water. Love is the alternative. But a living thing does
what it can to survive. My stem escaped and
ran away with a sink. A man tried to catch
me and drowned." [ Applause ] And then the second
poem is for my city, because people throw
dirt on Chicago so often that I feel we might
end up under it. It's after Jayne Cortez. "I am Windy City. Here is my tomato head baton
scattered badge in blue. I got my cousin's ears of corn
gentrifying in the melting pot, my mouth a mercury lake. I baptized John Baptiste
in a bonfire. I am Windy City of red
meat, stockyards of men in factories inside my belly,
a jungle of segregated joints. Rub my navy pores with the
blood of Betadine boys, making steel and stealing it. I am Windy -- [makes sounds]
making steel and stealing it." Sorry, you all. "I am Windy City of
Cabrini Green giants. Hear my Newport throat
croak an eight-hour workday, a Haymarket rally
in the projects, pipe bomb at Pullmans
Pied Piper. I work for no one. I am Windy City of bloody
gums, my teeth a collection of [inaudible] earrings,
which are kind of for the rest of
Gringo, Illinois. My boys cleanse the white city
with a storm of gunpowder tears. I am Windy City only dressed
in white on Valentines for all my lovers [inaudible]
at the hands of Chiraq, a man I don't know who
keeps trying to wife me. Chiraq is [inaudible]
peeping toms who have a license
to strip search. Chiraq turned churches
into resale gun stores. Chiraq attracts songs
[inaudible] sung into the wrong ear, Chiraq city
of lost, boys under the hood. Chiraq could never take my
face value of royal flush in Chicago River, my
Leaning Sears Tower of Pizza, my Heineken and soul food
[inaudible] tap dancing barefoot my hotheaded friends. My confetti flesh comrades,
come, break bread with me." Thank you. [ Applause and Background
Talking ] >> Michael Cirelli: Can
we hear a little bit more for these incredible
poets that you just heard? [ Applause ] I don't know how
they're going to do it, but the judges are
judging right now. The winner will be
announced on April 28th. But we're just keeping this
group of young people together for the next year, because
they're just equally as talented and powerful. So we're going to get
into a conversation. Before we get into
the conversation, I just want to thank the folks that helped put this
together, of course. Please give it up for Anya, the
Library of Cong, [inaudible] and Sasha who have been here
to help us out, and of course, Jackie Woodson has always
been generous, never said no when we've asked her to come and
stand up for these young people. So it's an honor to
have Jackie again, Brooklyn in the house,
of course. And we have a staff member Urban
Word here with us who wears so many hats, I don't even
know what her title is, but she coordinates
this program, she coordinates these
young people, and she holds up about 41 cities in
this national network. So give it up for Shannon
Mateski [assumed spelling] right over here. [ Applause ] So before I get into it, just to
give you a little bit of history about the program; this
program was started in 2008 in New York City. And the idea behind it was
that young people had spaces like the [inaudible] and poets
cafes, the Apollo theaters of the world, and young people
were doing powerful, creative, politically charged,
and important work. And the idea was that we wanted
these young people to be able to be in spaces that they
were not traditionally offered access to. So when we envisioned where we
wanted these young people to be, it was originally like City
Hall, and it was a vision that really helped us
create a program that wanted to celebrate young people that
were not only great poets, but great leaders that were
interested in social justice and social impact, that were
interested in civic engagement and really working
in their communities. So that's the model
by which we use as the framework
for this program. So everyone that you see here
tonight, as you could tell from their bios, along with being incredible artists
is an incredible leader; they've done so much. Fast forward to about four
years ago, we got a new mayor in New York City and his
name is Bill de Blasio. And we had the incredible
opportunity where the Youth Poet Laureate
at the time of New York City, Romney Romana [phonetic],
was invited to speak at -- perform a poem that she
wrote for that event at de Blasio's inauguration. So it was an incredible moment because there was only a
few people asked to speak; it was her, and Harry
Belafonte, and Bill Clinton. And [laughter] she
stole the show. The New York Times
wrote about it. And we -- there was
a lot of press. After that a lot of our partner
organizations were in a network of probably 60-plus
organizations that do this work in their communities,
and they wanted to know how they
could replicate that. And we actually have
folks from DC, Words Beats and Life here tonight that hosted the DC
Poet Laureate Program. So we decided that we wanted
to make this program something that we could launch
in different cities. A few years ago at the twilight
of the Obama administration, we were invited to the White
House to meet Michelle Obama. And it was an incredible
opportunity, but what had to happen was that we
needed five finalists. We needed to kind of
get this local program that had city youth poet
laureates across the country to something where we were
going to sort of matriculate it up to a national
Youth Poet Laureate. So we quickly hustled
together all of our efforts, we named our inaugural group of
five finalists, and got to go to the White House; and, you
know, the rest is history. This past April, Amanda
was awarded the title of the first national
Youth poet laureate. And now we have our first
set of new finalists for the second Youth
Poet Laureate. So it's been an incredible
journey that gives you a little
backdrop of the program. I want to get into
the conversation. Let's -- I want to start -- yes I'll have a question
for everybody, and then prepare your
questions because I want to open it up to the audience. So I want to start
with Patricia, since the mic is still
hot from your flames. The question that I have
is really about Chicago. I love your poem
about the Windy City. And right now Chicago, you
know -- it's been for a while, but the art that's coming out of
Chicago, the poetry, the music, the theater, it's, you know,
in my opinion, probably one of the most culturally
artistically vibrant cities, even politically active
cities that we have. It's really a touchstone
for, you know, what we should be doing in
terms of art and politics. And I just want to
know how that city and that scene inspires
you and your work. Do you feel supported
by it, or are you sort of rogue doing this
incredible art on your own? So tell us a little
bit more about that. >> Patricia Frazier: Definitely
more supported than rogue. [Laughter] I think that
growing up in Chicago has kind of been bittersweet, because
for so long growing up I had to watch people on the TV screen
tell me about the neighborhood that I lived in, and
the neighborhoods that my friends lived in. And I think a long time we spent
asking politicians and our mayor to do the work of repairing
the image of the city, but after a while we just
kind of realized that this is of people's resistance;
this isn't going to work without the people. So a lot of our work, and
a lot of my work is kind of based upon disproving
narratives that are said about us, and not exactly
counteracting them, because like the thing about
stereotypes is they are true, right, like some of
these things are true, Chicago does have
a violence problem, Chicago does have a
gun violence problem, but also Chicago is
so many other things. So I think I'm just constantly
inspired by the people that I'm so lucky to work
with, especially more in the political
campaigning of things. I work with this group
called "Assada's Daughters", and where Assada's
Daughters is different from other organizations
is normally -- and organizations that politically organize they
take what I like to call like "pretty diversity", you know,
black people that look good on a poster board, black people
that look good on a podium. And Assada's takes kids
out of the neighborhood, which is Washington Park, and
teaches them how to organize, and teaches them how to
speak up for themselves. Because sometimes
the person who needs to be speaking doesn't always
look like, you know, one of us. Sometimes it looks like my uncle
who has a felony and who listens to Gucci Mane, and
does all these like different things, right? Those stories matter, too. So that's what I try to do, I
try to write about those people because they're more
important than the narrative that is being shown of Chicago. >> Wow. >> Michael Cirelli: [Inaudible]. So I'm going to pass it over
to Cassidy just, you know, learning about your background, which you shared a little
bit about, and, you know, even talking with
you and getting to know you a little bit,
I'm always interested in -- because it's something
that we don't see as much with young poets, is the
interplay between faith and poetry, or how faith
informs your poetry, or how poetry informs
your faith. You can take it however
you want. But I'd love for you to
elaborate a little bit around just the ideas
of faith and poetry. For some people,
poetry is their faith. And for you, you have multiple
manifestations of how you, and how that intersects with
your story, your back story. So you want to shine a little
more light on that for us? >> Cassidy Martin: Sure,
I'm always happy to talk about God; you already know. So [laughter] when you love
from -- this is from personal -- I know we're in a government
place, I don't care, but, you know, from a personal
-- when you love God, you see Him in everything
you do. And it's -- but my
take on poetry and God, the way they interweave doesn't
just come from me saying, "Oh, I love God," then,
"I love poetry." I kind of feel like poetry
has the spirit of Him. It's welcoming, it's loving, it's expression,
it's caring for. Like my mentors, I will
say they're godsend because they take care of me;
they feed me, they clothe me, they take me to birthday
parties and weddings and stuff. So it's like everything
that's come out of poetry have been
opportunities, have been family, and I feel like that is
the channel that God put me through to be able to
speak through poetry. And then by doing that, I
feel like I speak for Him. I speak for not just my
god, but a greater purpose, which is something that
everyone can relate to, whether they are
religious or not. So I feel like every
one of us up here, whether we have the
same religion or not, we have a message, and poetry is
how we get that message across. And I'm thankful for
God for everything. But the opportunities
that He's given me through poetry have just been
the apex of my entire life. And to be honest -- well
a lot of teachers say -- I will say one thing,
a lot of teachers say that if they can reach
one student per year, then their job is -- then they've reached their
goal, that's their job. Well, for me, was one person. It was [inaudible] I
was Youth Poet Laureate, and I was a finalist, but
I didn't get the title. That was the first year
we had ever done it. I had got it the second
year, but the first year, I was just a finalist. I didn't get it. I was very upset. I wanted to quit because
I didn't have a drive. I was , I don't know." But at the end of the day,
there was this one girl who came up to me, and she said, "I -- " and the poem was about
abuse, very extensive abuse. And she came up to me and
she said, "Thank you so much for saying what I have
always wanted to say." And I just can't -- me personally, I just
can't explain anything like that other than God. Like I just can't;
like there's no way. There's no way that that wasn't
something that He put in my life to tell me to keep going. So I mean, He's the
reason why I do it, and that is the reason
why I love Him. It's a tradeoff relationship. [Laughter] >> Michael Cirelli: Thank you for sharing that;
that's great to hear. [ Applause ] So I'm going to go
to William now. So William, you were so adamant
about reading these two poems. And I really appreciate
the sense of urgency. And me, you know,
being from New York, I've gotten to hear you a bunch. And just you always
have a sense -- a "poetics of urgency" I like
to call it, around your work. It seems like everything
you write is like fresh off the press,
which is very hard to do, and you do it so
sincerely and powerfully. So I want you to talk a
little bit about your process, and how you manage to
keep up with, you know, a very busy school schedule, because I know you're all
overachievers, and being able to crank out these poems that
literally were about stuff that happened yesterday. >> William Lohier:
Yes; yes, sure. So let me first talk about
these two poems specifically, and my process writing
them, and performing them in front of you today. So when I first put together a
portfolio of perspective poems that I wanted to read here, I
think all of them got rejected. [Laughs] So two poems that
I hadn't really wanted to read were the ones
that were selected. And I emailed Michael and I
said, "These are not the poems that I feel it is
important to say. These are not the poems that
I want a group of people in the Library of Congrelk a
lot about political things; I talk a lot about race. And I think Michael was
talking earlier about how it's so important to have youth, people who are traditionally
excluded from the national narrative
in this type of setting. But I was -- I asked myself,
"What is the point of being here if I cannot be fully
here and fully present, if I have to leave parts of my
identity outside of the room?" So I thought that was so
important to me, and especially with the poem "Why We March". I mean, obviously, I'm
really passionate about it. And I thought especially
given this platform, and given the location, it is
something that I have to say. And in terms of my
process; so I'm super busy, after this I'm going
to take a train home, I'm going to get
home at like 1:40, and I have to go
to school tomorrow. So it's safe to say that I don't
have a lot of time to write. And I think that in some weird
convoluted way helps my poetry, because when I do write, I know
that I'm going to have two, three hours and I have
to say what I want to say in those two, three hours. So when I sit down and write,
I'm not fooling around, I write what I think is true,
I write what I want to say, and I write what I
think it's important for other people to hear. Because I think my voice, and
all the voices of the people on this stage are so
important, especially right now. And so when we write, it's
so important that, one, we have people who
listen to us and, two, that we be fully present,
and that we bring all of ourselves to the table. [ Applause ] >> Michael Cirelli: So I think that dovetails really
nicely into Milla. So I'm going to ask
you a question. You know, I get to see a
lot of the applications from the students
across the country. And one of the real
components to this work is that they submit a
poetry portfolio, but they also submit a CV. And that sort of ouir
social justice work, their organizational work, their
schoolwork, their accolades. And it seemed -- what's really
amazing to me is Los Angeles, of all places, which is so huge
and spread out and everything, is a chore to get
somewhere in Los Angeles because I spent a lot of time
on the West coast and LA myself; everything is a hassle
to get anywhere. But at the same time, the
CVs from the kids in LA are like ridiculous, yours included. So and that says a lot about,
you know, parents, resources, what's going on in these
communities, kids having to go to places to do things in LA,
you have to make a real effort. And I want to know sort of the
intersection between, you know, the efforts that you've made
in your life to do things and be a part of all of
these incredible groups that you're proud
of and, you know, connecting it with your work. Does one drive the other? You know, explain that synergy
between yourself as a poet, and yourself as a person that's
just really involved in a lot of stuff in the community. >> Milla Kudas: For one thing, I think that Los Angeles
Public Transit does all right. [Laughter] Maybe not the
best, I'll give it that, but it does do all right. And I think also I had some
really, really great friends in high school -- because I'm
currently living right outside of Boston, and I go
to Wellesley College. But when I was in Los Angeles, I
did have some wonderful friends. And like the one person in the
friend group who did have a car and did drive was also really
passionate about poetry, and so certain missions
that we both really cared about we'd go together. But I think as far as the
intersection between my work and also like my work in
communities, I think they're one in the same in a lot of ways. And it goes back to
what Cassidy was sayi, the idea that sometimes
when I'm saying a poem, when someone comes up to me
and says like, "I needed that," that feels like I'm
doing the work. But I think that's
always not enough. Sometimes that's emotional
labor and that's work, but you also have
to go So I'm part of Young People Creating Change. And like we put on open mic so that we're not
always the only people up there saying things. We want to invite other youth
to tell their stories as well. And I think when you're so
passionate and when poetry kind of consumes your life,
it just doesn't stop, and it's a beautiful,
wonderful thing that I would never, ever change. So it doesn't feel like a lot
until like you check your watch and it's like 10:00 and
you realize you haven't like drank water, because you've
been just like going everywhere and you've been on the train. But then you have friends and
support systems around you who make drinking water a
think you are reminded of. So yes that's all
I've got to say. >> Michael Cirelli:
Awesome, awesome, cool. [ Applause ] Awesome; and I'll be asking a
more poetry-related question for Rukmini. What I really love about your
work is that whether it's a poem about Houston, or a poem
about a city in India, it sounds like it could
be in the same place. You know, and that's a real
skill as a poet and an artist to be able to have
such a definitive voice that anything you're talking
about feels like it's coming from the one singular
voice of the poet. So I wanted you to explain a
little bit how you managed to do that incredible feat of talking
about family, background, Houston, Texas, being
-Harvey, so and how you melt that into a singular poetic
voice that has that consistency that I love about your work. >> Rukmini Kalamangalam: Sure. I think one thing that really
informs it is that I am that singular being, right,
there are so many things that are incorporated in my
life because we've moved a lot. So I was born in the UK, I grew
up for six years in Scotland, and then, you know, we
moved to the United States. And there's always been
this sense of like -- you know, my parents always
tried to instill in me the sense that I'm a global citizen, and
that it's my responsibility to not only speak out for
the places that I'm from, and the places that I'm living
in, but also all the places that I am connected to. And so I think that
I've been trying to explain myself
for a very long time. And that's where the voice comes
from, I think, is this idea that I am a whole bunch of
different things, but primarily, people see me as
Indian-American. And you know, the idea that
I've often been, you know, the only Indian-American,
the only Asian-American, so you're always trying to
speak up for that voice. But at the same time, you
know, you're a diverse person, you have varied interests, and you encompass a lot
of different things. And so for me, it's the
idea that my identity as a global citizen, as a
person of many cultures, informs my beliefs on a
lot of different issues. So I try to bring that
part of me to everything that I said on the page. >> Michael Cirelli:
Awesome; thank you. [ Applause ] Thanks. A question for Amanda. >> Amanda Gorman:
No; I don't want to go, they've done so well. [Laughter] >> Michael Cirelli: There
are so many I can ask. You know, I feel like a voyeur
of just this incredible ride that Amanda's gone on since
she was named the finalist at the Kennedy Center to
go into the White House, to being named the Youth
Poet Laureate of the US. I watched her rap on Hot 97. I saw her on a billboard
in Times Square, making her first
presidential address, you know, 20 years plus before
she'll be the president. [Laughter] And I've seen her
on so many pieces of press that we can't even keep
up as a small organization with like three or
four staff members. So tell us a little
bit about the journey, but also tell us what was --
what are some of the highlights? You don't have to name
just one because I know that would probably be hard. But what were some of your
favorite moments this past year as being the first ever
National Youth Poet Laureate? >> Amanda Gorman: I'm sorry,
there are so many emotions going on right now, one
feeling of like inadequacy because we have geniuses
on the panel. Like let me say something as
intellectually like powerful. Yes; I mean, it's
been a crazy ride. And when I try to explain to
people, it's not just the ride of like this year, but I think
of it as kind of voyeur journey of ever since I met
Michael Cirelli, when I was first named
LA Youth Poet Laureate, and being on that ark of not
only the growth of myself as a poet, but growing also
with us as an organization and seeing the fantastic
spread of this program, and seeing how much people
believe in the power of youth and poetry when combined. So in that regard, it's so
difficult to choose highlights. And I've kind of split them
in two; I've split them in like the half in which people
easily recognize, for example, meeting Michelle Obama like
period, dot, and new paragraph; [laughter] you know, and the
amazing things I've been able to do whether it's writing
within New York Times, or being able to give a state of the union address
on MTV for 2036. I was checking my calendar,
I'm like, "You know it's not that near yet, but
sure, we can do this." And so those are some
great highlights. But for me the moments
that keep me going, the moments that rejuvenate me,
and why I do my work is kind of like a lot of the moments
I think all of us have talked about on the panel, it's that
person who comes up to you after the performance
or after the reading, and tells you the story. And I mean, one of the things
that I continually deal with is growing up,
having a speed impediment, and it coming back in
moments when I'm most nervous. So you can imagine going live
on MTV is kind of a moment when I'm a bit nervous
about what I'm about to do. And, you know, trying to
make decisions of how I want to navigate that; do I want
to change the way I speak, do I want to change the way
in which I present myself? And when I was named
US Youth Poet Laureate, I made conscious decision to
not erase those scars of myself, and to not erase that process
that I've had of dealing with an auditory
processing disorder, dealing with a speech
impediment while being a speaker who travels around the country. And time and time again, I will
get onstage and tell my story. And especially that -- I remember that first night when I was named US
Youth Poet Laureate at Gracie Mansion there was
a girl who came up to me with her mom, and she
was like six years old, and she has these big brown
eyes, and she starts talking to me about how she has that same exact auditory
processing disorder that I have and a speech impediment. But because of me,
she's inspired to write and share her voice. And I don't think
highlights get better than that, I really don't. And it's not that I'm trying
to convert people to poets. I'm not trying to make all the
little children that I meet with become published authors. That's not my duty. But my duty is to make
them believe in themselves. And that has been t [ Applause ] >> Michael Cirelli: I think we
want to open up some questions. If you all have any questions,
it would be a good time to offer some of those up. It's probably not going to
be many opportunities to be with the five finalists
and their current -- the first ever National
Youth Poet Laureate, so anyone have a question? >> [Inaudible] out of curiosity
for the five finalists, what did you imagine
having access to this platform would allow
you to do, in terms of -- as you all said, having your
voices heard [inaudible], I wonder how you imagine
this responsibility and this opportunity allowing
you to be a representative for young people in general,
your cities, and your nation? >> Cassidy Martin: Okay; so -- I don't know if this
is on, but that's okay. To answer that question,
that was actually one of the essay questions. We had to write an essay
saying [laughter] what -- we had to write an essay saying
like, "What do we want -- as a Youth Poet Laureate, what
-- it's what do you want to -- basically what she said, that's
the question we were asked. [Inaudible Comment] >> Cassidy Martin: Oh, good,
you can read mine then, because I'm about to summarize
it for you right now, okay? >> Michael Pirelli:
So everybody get in on this because [inaudible]. >> Cassidy Martin: Go
ahead, I'm not scared. Okay, look, this is what I say. [Laughter] I -- when I first
became the Youth Poet Laureate of Nashville, the first
year that I was, you know, it was very new, and so
I recognized that because of this title, I could go into
government official places with an official meaning and
reason for why I was there, and people would listen
to me because of that. But I will always defend
this statement to the death that I don't care
what title I have, I am going to be
doing the same thing that I would be doing
without that title. But the title amplifies
your voice. So the fact that this title was
created is the whole reason we even have this opportunity. But whether you have
a title or not -- and this is my personal mission
, it doesn't matter who you are, it doesn't matter what your
name is, if you have a purpose, be driven and do that purpose. And it doesn't matter
what happens, or what people call you, if that's what they remember you
by, it's like Maya Angelou said, "People will not always
remember what you said, but people will always remember
how you made them feel." And that's the true mission, not
to win a title, but to get kids like us up here in the future. [ Applause ] >> Patricia Frazier:
Yes, all of that. [Laughter] But also for
me, I think some of it -- a lot of it is personal. I've lost so many friends,
and so much of my family. And something -- and
I lost my grandma like a couple of months ago. And something that she
always made apparent to me, and apparent to everybody
was that it's so, so important to be loud. Sometimes I was embarrassed
of my voice, embarrassed of being loud, but
then I think about the fact that if I'm not writing
poems, what girl -- like how are you going
to know that girls -- black girls from the projects
and ghetto girls exist, and can be educated, and
can be socially-conscious and all of these things? And I think that it's
really important that -- like you said, all of us are
on this stage because each one of us has a certain
identity that closes a gap in the narrative of what
an American looks like. So that's why like
that's so important to me. Like you said, regardless
of the title, I'm going to be doing
the same exact thing. But I don't know, like
besides Tiffany Haddish, what like black woman who's
just belligerent, and ghetto and about her people is
on platforms like this, or on platforms like this. And it's also super important
to me because I think that ordinary people deserve
biographies, too, right? So often, when we write about
people, we write about people who we think like, from
a hierarchical position, and to defeat the hierarchy
of what you see going on in America right now, especially with who our
president is, and who we have in office, we have to understand that sometimes we don't need
a white [inaudible] male to be the forefront, or to be
moderating the conversation, or to be the speaker
on the table. Sometimes we need a queer woman, sometimes we need queer black
women, sometimes we need -- like all of us represent
a different image of what America is; and that's
why I think that regardless of who wins, I would be proud
of any one of us because all of us are not the same narrative
that you see every single day. And like I said, for me, I
just want to amplify the voices of the people that I've
lost and tell their stories. That's why so many of my poems
are not just specifically about politics, but the politics
of the people, the politics of my mom, the politics of my
Auntie Julie, and the politics of these ordinary people
who people aren't going to remember their
names, but they're going to remember their stories. And they're going to
remember, "Hey, I exist, but I have to remember I'm
in a bubble, and there are so many people out there in the
world like me who exist too, and who are human too." So yes. [ Applause ] >> Rumkini Kalamangalam:
Yes, definitely. I feel that because as an
Asian-American slam poet, I don't see a lot of Asian
American slam poets, you know? [Laughter] We're taught in our
communities that the best way to go unnoticed and to
get ahead is to be silent, and to let people
do what they want, and then do your thing
in the background. And I'm so tired of that
narrative defining our community, you know,
and defining who we are, and how we move up in life. It's like so many of our,
you know, images that we hold up as successful end
up turning their backs on Asian American people who
don't follow in that line, who don't want to become
doctors, who don't want to become lawyers or eng, you
know, activists and who want to stand in solidarity
with other people of color, and other marginalized
movements. And that is what is
important to me as, you know, part of this platform
is that, you know, the title of Youth Poet Laureate
of a city or a region, or, you know, a country
brings poetry to the mainstream in some sense. You know, it brings people
who are attracted by success to listen, and to listen to
what we have to say as people who are, you know, often
dismissed as alternative. And so for me, a large part of
this is inspiring other girls who -- other, you know,
Asian-American girls who didn't feel like their
voices were big enough to [ Applause ] >> William Lohier: And I think
I totally agree with everyone -- with what everyone
else has said. And I think it's
really important to note that for every single one of
us here, there are hundreds and thousands of youth
that are not on this stage that don't have the
opportunity to be here. And so I think it's the
obligation I think that a lot of what the Youth Poet
Laureate does is public, is in front of other people, but so much of that
is behind the scenes; is working with those
organizations, is helping the youth
in their communities who don't have the kind of
platform that they have. [ Applause ] >> Milla Kudas: So ditto,
ditto, ditto, ditto. I also think that -- I talk
a lot about how I feel -- like maybe this could be an LA, that a lot of the activism
you see sometimes is very performative in that
people will go up on a stage and do a slam poem, and
this could be my own slam team sometimes. They'll like do a poem about
like women empowerment, and then after practice
will say something to me that I will not stop
thinking about for two weeks. And it will just be like
they do it for the scores, but they don't really do
it in their communities; they don't really communicate
with the people around them. And so my mission is
to create poetry spaces that are both accessible, and
also are held accountable, in that I want to
see more people -- like we were talking about, we all represent a different
narrative, but there are so many more narratives still. And I want to invite
those narratives to the stage to speak as well. And then I think in
terms of creating like a tangible change is like
when you're given a platform like that like share
a GoFundMe page. Like get conversations
circulating so that we can start a grander
discussion than just my voice. And then outside of that,
I'm also really gay. [Laughter] And I want to do --
I identify as fem non-binary, and I feel like a lot of times, I have to like tame this
non-binary part of myself, and like kind of silence
the whole gender exploration that is going on in my brain. And I want to not only be a
role model for other people who are just as confused
about their gender as I am, but also learn from other people
and be able to create these com, and rather I feel empowered to
be as much as myself as I can be so that I know that other
people feel that same way. So yes. [Laughter] >> Cassidy Martin: Also, [applause] like one more thing
-- I want to say one more thing. I think I can speak for all
five of us, all six of us, all seven of us to say that
like just because we're up here, we have a title, the real work
isn't just getting upon stage or standing up at Library of
Congress and spitting a poem. It's actually going,
and teaching them. The work that is combined
just from five of us up here is a whole -- is a
year's worth of blood, sweat, and tears from teenagers,
from college students, who actually go in the community
and do things besides get up on stage and write poems. We help kids write
their own poems. And that is what's important,
and that is the mission. [Applause] >> Michael Cirelli: Thank
you for that question. If you want to support
a local organization, Mozzy founded an
organization called "Words Beats & Life"
that does this work. So please support your
local communities. Just a little shout-out
for "Words Beats & Life". I think we have time
for one more question, right, so who wants it? >> I don't have a question, but
I would like to make a comment. I'm loving the new generation. [Inaudible] the issue
and the one I'm hearing that makes the difference is
you're not just encouraging the young people, you're encouraging
the whole [inaudible] keep doing it. It's encouraging and
don't just sit in a box, do what you're doing,
[inaudible]. [ Applause ] >> Michael Cirelli: Anyone
else, quick question? >> Milla Kudas: What's
your favorite color? [Laughter] >> Michael Cirelli:
What's your favorite food? I'm going to invite
Leanne back up for a couple of closing remarks, and
we'll get out of here. And we're all heading to Ben's
Chili Bowl if anyone wants to come with us, so they've got
to go there if they're in D.C. So thank you very much,
and thank you poets. >> Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Jacqueline Woodson:
You didn't know it, but they were writing poetry
while they were presenting to us, and I was
writing it down. So you're going to have
to humor me here, okay? This is a poem that I
have created inspired by your words, so be kind to me. I don't do this every day. [Clears Throat] "I am disproving
narratives that aren't true. I am happy to talk about God. I speak for a greater purpose. I am passionate. I am a global citizen. I speak for places
I'm connected to. I have to say what I want
to say, what I need to say. We have a messa, we
foster community, we empower the voices of others. You are showing up, showing
out, and showing us." Thank you. [ Applause and Background
Talking ] And thank you all
for being here. They were fabulous. [ Applause ] >> This has been a presentation
of the Library of Congress. Visit us at loc.gib.
