Poetry Slam: 2019 National Book Festival

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>> Rob Casper: All right. Are you all ready for a Poetry Slam? [applause] Really? [applause] You're going to have to do better when Elizabeth Acevedo gets up here. I'm Rob Casper, I'm the head of the Poetry and Literature Center at the library of Congress, and I am thrilled and delighted to welcome you to the 6th Annual National Book Festival Book Poetry Slam. [ Applause ] Before I tell you about the slam, I wanted to say that The Library of Congress is thrilled to have this event here at the Convention Center every year. We hope you come back, we hope you check out all sorts of events next year and in years to come. And we hope you come to the library, it's an amazing building, the Jefferson Building where the Poetry and Literature Center is located. We're thrilled and honored and excited to host the First Native Poet Laureate of the United States, Joy Harjo on Thursday September 19th. [ Applause ] So, some and see her. you can check us out online at loc.gov/poetry. It's going to be historic, but of course tonight is going to be historic too. So, this years Poetry Slam has a strong connection to our very first slam back in 2014, which featured D.C. Slammers. The D.C. Youth Slam Team is back this year of course, and big thanks to Split This Rock for all their support with the slam. Split This Rock, come on. [ Applause ] Of course, there's a wealth of slam talent in the region that we want to highlight, so this year we have slammers from the youth poetry team from Dew More Baltimore. [ Applause ] As well as the Rise Youth Poetry Team from Phenix Youth Project in Salisbury Maryland. [applause] They know how to cheer in Salisbury. I'm going to do this little thing, please indulge me because I want to just say how special all these teams are. We asked each team to fill us in on their mission and let us know their thoughts about attending the slam. So, let me just say, Split This Rock sponsors of the D.C. Youth slam team wrote, "Split This Rocks mission is to cultivate, teach, and celebrate poetry that bears witness to injustice and provokes social change. Indeed. Split This Rock champions young voices, seeing them as key agent in moving culture forward. Split This Rock is excited to participate in The National Book Festival because it is an opportunity to widen youth platforms, deepen engagement with local and national literary communities, and of course have fun." So, let's give it up for Split This Rock. [ Applause ] Here's what [inaudible] Youth Project had to say, "[inaudible] Youth Project encourages youth to use their creative talents to impact social change in their community. The Rise Youth Poetry Team is excited and ready to experience this years MBF. The team hopes to bring back memories and inspiration to share back on the Eastern shore." So please, give it up for [inaudible] Youth Project. [ Applause ] And finally, Dew More Baltimore wrote, "We develop safe space, build writing skills, and teach youth how to advocate about issues that impact them on a daily basis. We are excited about participating in this years MBF Youth Slam and celebrating the power and purpose that story telling can play in the lives of young people." Dew More Baltimore, everyone. [ Applause ] So, I have one last duty before I get back up on the stage to hand out the prizes for Third, Second, and First Place, and that is to introduce our Emcee. Six years ago, at the first Youth Poetry Slam we asked a very promising young poet to take on the role. Well, I'm delighted to say, she's back and now she's a major poet and writer. Elizabeth Acevedo is the New York Times Best Selling Author of The Poet X, and With the Fire on High. [applause] Where are you Elizabeth? There you are. Come on. As you all probably know, The Poet X won the 2018 National Book Award for Young People's Literature. Elizabeth has also been the recipient of the Printz Award for Excellence in Young Adult Fiction, the CILIP Carnegie Medal, the Boston Globe Hornbook Award, and the 2019 Pure Belpre Author Award for celebrating, affirming, and portraying Latinx culture and experience. A National Poetry Slam Champion, and former Head Coach of the D.C. Youth Slam Team, she is also a proud resident of the district. Please, join me in welcoming her to the stage. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Good afternoon. >> Audience: Good afternoon. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Don't be dry, [laughter] don't do that. This is going to be such an exciting evening. I am delighted to be here. I have not hosted a slam probably since 2014, [laughter] and so I am so hyped that this is the one that I get to be a part of and to usher these poets who are about to come on to the stage. But there's a couple of things that need to happen first, so I'm going to explain the structure of the night, I'm going to let you know your job, because you are not just hear to like, sit quietly and listen, and like pat, pat on your hand, like you've got to roll as well. And I'm going to start off with your role, right? Because you can't be extra shy when the poets come on to the stage, right? We are talking about poets who are going to come up to talk about the issues they care about, about things that have happened to them, about what they find most important in the world and in their lives. And so, I'm going to need you to show them a lot of love. So, if a poet comes up to this stage and they are shy, and they are scared, and they are nervous, and they don't know what kind of reception they're going to receive. When I call their name, how are you going to respond? [applause] Okay, [applause] okay. >> Audience Member: Let's go. [applause] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay. I mean, that was all right, that was all right. [laughter] Let's say, the youngest member of your family is about to touch on this stage, and they've got a flame poem, that joint is everything, right? And you are the person that's going to have to hype them up, they are so scared, they were in the back crying. How are you going to ensure that the youngest member of your family gets all the love they receive so they can do that poem to the best of their ability? [applause] Okay, okay, okay. [applause] Word, word, word, word, word. [applause] That was better, that was good. You're going to have to maintain that same energy for approximately twelve rounds, so keep it up, [laughter] I believe in you, you've got this. All right? There are going to be twelve poems you hear, before each one of those poems, you're going to do that, including the Sacrificial Poet, which I'm going to explain right now. So, here is the structure of this Poetry Slam. It is two rounds, the first round is going to be a poem that is on theme, all of the writers, all of the poets you're going to see received notice that they had to write a poem that had something to do with storytelling, or literacy, or books, or at some capacity is related to this festival, and that can be anything from a story they heard, to a interaction they've had with the Educational System. It can be broad, but it has to be related. That is the first round, and there are six poets who are going to do all of the poems related on that. The second round is an open round, it is where the poet is going to get on stage and they're going to do whatever poem they have on their heart today, or whatever they feel like sharing with you all in this space in particular. Make sense? >> Audience: Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Before any of those poets come up here though, we're going to have to have a Sacrificial Poet. That is a poet, some folks giggle because you haven't been to a slam before, but this, I'm about to let you in on the cuteness, slash, the severity, the savageness, of what it is to have a Poetry Slam, because we don't let anybody get on stage without spilling blood. Right? We've got to make sure that our judges know what they are about to hear. We've got to make sure that the bar is set as high as possible. So, we invite a poet to the stage that is not a part of the slam, and they are just here to perform the poem so that we can all get our temperature check, so we are prepared when the poets come up. So, there are going to be technically seven poets, although one of them will not be repeating because they are just here to calibrate the judges. All right let me make sure I've got all of my stuff together. We do have judges. >> Audience Member: Yea. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: We do have judges and they are fantastic, and I'm going to tell you about them in a second, but first, the rules. The rules are, all the poems have to be three minute approximately. We're going to be generous with that three minutes, but poets, three minutes. [laughter] Don't make me come on stage and like Apollo you out. Make sure you do your three minutes. We are going to make sure that all of it is original work, you are not reciting someone else's poem. And you are not allowed to use a costume or a prop. You are not allowed to do a team poem, we're not going to have extra people come on this stage, it's just you and this mic. All right, we're good? >> Audience: [cheering] Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: So now, I'm going to introduce you all, although they really don't need introduction. Here are the three literary figures that we have called upon to ensure that they do the best they can, right? To really listen to the poems, and show generosity to these poems, and score these poems. These three judges are going to hold up a score card from 0 to 10 after every single poet is done. I will then read those scores out loud and we will determine the score that the poet received overall. This is an incredibly hard job, right? And our judges are going to be mindful that a 0 is like, this is the worst poem you've ever heard, they insulted your mama, [laughter] they insulted your great aunt, they said your cooking ain't nothing. [laughter] Like this is, you've got to really be like, that is just terrible, right? That's a 0. A 10 though, right? Because sometimes people will be real quick with their 10's. You've got to hold you 10's close, [laughter] right? You've got to be mindful of your 10. You're 10 is like, man, I just had a sweet potato pie that smacked me across the face, I had one of those days where like I woke up and I thought I had to go to work, but then realized it was Saturday and I got to sleep in. [laughter] That joyous moment where you're like, this is going to be a good day. If that poem invokes that feeling in you, where you're like, I could hear this, again, and again, and again, that is a 10. Everything else is probably somewhere in between. [laughter] Aight, we're good on that? Word. So, your judges for tonight, the people who have this illustrious job. The first writer is Raina Telgemeier. [applause] Clap it up for Raina. [applause] Yeah, yeah. [applause] And I'm going to read official bios, because I don't like it when people just be making stuff up on the spot, so I'm going to go ahead and get the words right for Raina. With more than 15 million books in print, Raina is one of the most critically acclaimed and successful graphic novelists of her generation. She is the Number 1 New York Times bestseller creator of Smile and Sisters. [applause] Give it up for that. [applause] That number 1 spot ain't easy. >> Audience: You should know. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: I'm trying, [laughter] I'm trying to know. [laughter] She has received, for more than four years, received a Boston Globe-Horn Book Honor, as well as the Eisner Award for the Best Publication for Teens. And Sisters received the Eisner Award for Best Writer/Artist. Telgemeier is also the creator of Drama, a fictional graphic novel that was named An American Library Association Stonewall Honor Book and is also a Number 1 New York Time bestseller. Ghost was her awarded, was awarded the 2017 Eisner Award for Best Publication for Kids. Her recent book is Share Your Smile: Raina's Guide to Telling Your Own Story. Clap it up for Raina. [ Applause ] This next writer is incredibly prolific and one of my favorite writers of all time, Julia Alvarez. [ Applause ] Julia Alvarez left the Dominican Republic for the United States in 1960, at the age of 10. She is the author of six novels, three books of Non-Fiction, three collections of poetry, and eleven books for children and young adults. Alvarez has taught and mentored writers in schools and communities across America, most recently as a writer in Residents at Middlebury College, until her retirement 2016. She is a cofounder and convener of Boarder of Lights, a collective of activists committed to promoting peace and solidarity between the Dominican Republic and Haiti. In 2009, her novel, In the Time of the Butterflies was elected by The National Endowment for the Arts for its National Big Read Program. Please, clap it up for Julia Alvarez. [ Applause ] This next writer, Teri Ellen Cross Davis is the author of Haint. She is the winner of the 2017 Ohioana Book Award for Poetry, she is a Cave Canem fellow and works as the poetry coordinator for the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C. She puts on some of the most amazing events that this city sees, so I need you all to put your hands together for somebody who was local to this city, Teri Ellen Cross Davis. [ Applause ] All right audience, that's my spiel, that's the most you're going to hear me speak all night. >> Audience Member: Awe. [laughter] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Right now, we are about to have the first poet come up. On deck we have Destiny Butler, so Destiny I need you to be ready. But right now, and audience, y'all gonna, y'all gonna show up, right? >> Audience: Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay. I'm going to make sure I have my name right. Hold on, give me one second. I've got a lot of papers. Where's my, on deck Destiny Butler, but right now, the first poet of the night. Sacrificing to ensure that this slam goes well, please put your hands together for Jordan Shabani. [assumed spelling] [applause] Keep on clapping until Jordan is on stage. [ Applause ] That's the lowest its' going to go, is that okay? >> Jordan Shabani: Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: [inaudible]. [ Applause ] >> Jordan Shabani: Thank you. To you my drowning looks like swimming, crazy, insane, and the audience of my story thinks I am to blame. Why are you not eating? Why are you so flaky? Why are you so moody? Telling me to think of happy thoughts, like I'm not trying, like I can control the way it feels. Simple tasks become tragedies, my home shipwrecked across my kitchen table, conversation safety jackets I don't wear. I try to maintain relationships, but I am submerged. How did I get to this point where moments fade in and out, casual chaos lives within and about? Every breathe means I'm one step closer to the end of the day, so I stop holding it, pray I don't wake up each morning. My mind foggy with questions lighthouses can't cut through. Why do I feel this way? Is it because of an unloving mother? She tells me she loves me every day, so then why do the monsters like to dwell in my head, cast shadows that make me believe that I'm better off dead. I wish I could tell you what having depression feels like, but like water, it shapeshifts, turns mole hill to mountain. An emotional rollercoaster I did not line up for, cannot get off of. Fluctuates like the tide, anxiety moves me like a current, swaying me into a fear induced frenzy, a leg that won't stop moving. You think it, a tectonic plate causing a tsunami leaving a population of one. It causes me agony, causes me grief, causes me worry, I lie awake and I worry, in sleepless days, in restless nights. Imagining reality as a phantom silence, the only constant, yet in here it echoes. When lights are low, I'm once again left alone. Siren song beckons me in to the deep and I follow. I think if I was smarter and just a tad bit wittier, if I was smaller and just a tad bit skinnier, then I would be fine, but sadly life just isn't that kind. I think happiness wasn't meant to be, happiness was meant for someone who worked harder than me. And I know this is something that you might not understand, because it's something that you haven't witnessed firsthand. I remember how things were, genuine feeling didn't have to cultivated, I laughed because I meant it. I was close to everyone that I loved, but I am drained of what I once was. Excitement, now an obligation. Smiles, plastered on a face waiting to cry, and the voices in my mind occupy the space where comfort lived. I am no longer the captain of my own ship, walking the plank to dive headfirst into waters filled with creatures of my own creation. Just because they aren't tangible doesn't mean they aren't there, that I can't feel them wrap around me, pull me down into the deep. Lifeless, losing consciousness. I wave my hand for help, but all you see is, Hello. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Keep it going for Jordan. [ Applause ] Judges, this is the most time I am going to give you. This the sacrificial poet, everything that you hear after this will be determined according to how you felt about this poet. So, score from low to high. For Jordan, we have an 8. >> Audience Member: Listen to the poem. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: If you all hear a score that you're not feeling audience, you're allowed to yell, listen to the poem, [laughter] that is allowed. If you hear a score you really like, you are allowed to cheer. You are a part of this slam. The second score is also an 8. [cheer] And the third score is a 9.4. [ Applause ] On deck, representing Rise Poetry, we have Haven Crestal. [assumed spelling] But right now, coming to the stage, please put your hands together for Destiny Betler from Dew More, [applause] Destany butler from Dew More Baltimore. [ Applause ] I'm going to raise it a little bit, okay? Is that okay? [ Applause ] >> Audience Members: I'm a be more poet, a be more poet, so I traveled around the world trying to see more poets. Y'all ain't never seen nothing like a be more poet. [ Applause ] >> Destany Butler: They say the Bible is the most read title in the world, so my father makes himself god. Says, himself good at seasons, let's his cold fronts meet his warm fronts, and leaves me to be and weather the storm. Believes he is raising hell. Sees me, a burning bush, a manifestation of himself, sees my tears like the Red Sea. Parts them as passageways for his charm and the devil may care but my father doesn't. For the devil has no place in this church. I'm in his home, I may be the spirts, but my father carries on, leaving me to carry his sins. And I sometimes agree that my father is a god. The only way I can understand myself be crucified, while I'm constantly burned at the steak. See, I'm usually burned by his mistakes, and I often see my father like the Earth. The way he makes mountains out of his moled, freckled body, then lets himself avalanche. Leaves me in the rubble, leaves me holier than thou and maybe that's why I'm never whole around him. See, my father has a spine like a roadway, says he can manage the curves, says there's no need in whining about the winding path his body has become, says here. Sciatica and slipped discs are more like speed bumps and stop lights. So, my mother tells me, I'm not an architect, I'm not here to fix his faulty construction. But I remind her that Jesus was a carpenter, and if he could find a way to walk on water, then maybe I could find a way to make my father love his daughter. So, on the first day I build hope and watched my home be destructed, and I wept like Jesus, and in a way, I realize I am like Jesus. So, I ask my god, why had he forsaken me? And in a way I didn't know whether I should praise him for creating me or rebuke him for never raising me. See, I just wanted to be his Lazareth, but my father knows himself a decaying temple, a house soon to be divided. My father knows the Israelites walked 40 years through the desert, but if the road to being a good father would take his last 40 steps, see, that is not a trip that he can chance. But my father is a circle of a man, believing that all begins and will end with him. Soon my father will not be able to walk, either way I don't think he wanted to step in the right direction. So today, I become an atheist, realizing I can no longer praise a man whose praise belongs only to himself. Can no longer care for a man who cares more about himself than his daughter. See, I have never been that kind of savior. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: People always ask me if I'm going to write a sequel to The Poet X, and I'm like, nah, I wrote the poem. Like, I wrote this book about a young woman who discovers slam, and then I come to a slam like this and I'm like, I might have to, right? [laughter] Because I'm just so moved by like what y'all do and what y'all represent, that like, I'm inspired y'all, so thank you so much. Right now, from low to high, we have an 8.5, [applause] a 9.3, and a 9.5. [applause] But give it up for the poet. [ Applause ] On deck, representing the D.C. Youth Slam Team, we have Amina Fatima. [assumed spelling] But coming to the stage right now, please put your hands together for Haven Crestal. [ Applause ] Is this okay? Lower? Can you just step up so I can see? >> Haven Crestal: [inaudible]. [ Applause ] Being mixed has its perks, its ups and downs. But schooling and education is slightly harder to bare, especially when the two races I'm mixed with are stereotyped as anger and aggression. Yes, we've all heard at least one poem that was about African American culture, but at this point, there's so many of them. The African American side of me feels mocked and almost ashamed because of these people, while the Hispanic side of me doesn't really care much of it. What the Hispanic side of me does care about is that just because I'm half Hispanic people assume I can translate anything in Spanish for them. [laughter] I always tell them I know the basics, [inaudible], [laughter] [speaking foreign language]. It gets really annoying, back to the whole schooling education part. For my sisters and I, being different tons of brown, you're all from the same mom, confuses others and leaves them to assume. Students will ask the teacher if my older sister would be a slave. And with my middle sister, she was just trying to be nice and stand up for someone, but they just said, you're not black, you wouldn't understand. And what aggravated me the most was when someone asked me if I was adopted when they saw me with my dad. So, to end on a good note, let's try to make it easier on us by just simply just asking and not assuming our race, because it offends us and makes you look ignorant. Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Keep it going for Haven. [ Applause ] Have was not here to play with you all. >> Audience Member: She wasn't playing. [laughter] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: I was sitting on that step like, oh, I feel like I just got my whole life collected real quick. [laughter] From a score of low to high, we have a 7.3, a 7.5, and a 7.5, but give it up for the poet. [ Applause ] On deck, we have Delicia Green representing Dew More Baltimore. But right now, please out your hands together for Amina Fatima from the D.C. You Slam Team. [ Applause ] Is this good? Is that enough? Oh, you've got it? Okay. >> Audience Members: D.C. Youth Slam, [inaudible]. [inaudible], [inaudible] hey. [laughter] >> Amina Fatima: The moment my five-year-old self walked into Kindergarten, my eyes lit up as bright as the multicolored alphabet letters strung across the room. The cartoon characters danced on the reading rug, and I found my purple butterfly nametag, Amina. I heard a voice over my shoulder and looked up to see a tall and firm looking woman, she was not smiling. She had this look on her face, as if she could see everything that my future held, everything that I'd grow up to be. She said, I'm Miss. Powers, and then it all made sense. Her collar looked like the perfect coverup under which she'd tie her cap, and the reflection of myself in her glasses made me feel like she had probably just read my mind, seen all there was to see about me, all there ever would be, could be, to see one day. And her powerful aura radiating strength and bravery made me wonder if maybe she was Kindergarten teacher by day and superhero by night. In her classroom I learned how to count, count to ten three times while washing your hands. I learned scissors are tricky to use and cutting on the lines was not always the easiest but failing to do so doesn't make you any less than the kid who go it right the first time. She taught me how to swing between syllables and sounds the way Spiderman swings from building to building. She gave me a gift, taught me how to read and rhyme, play with syllables and sounds. How to tell my story. Magic forming on paper, my crayons be my wand, and my alphabet sticker is my spell. With Miss. Powers, I learned how to describe things, like the b-bumpy, s-scaly, o-orange scale of our classroom fish. I learned that if someone is sitting alone during snack time it is nice to extend a friendly hand, but with that I also learned about peanut allergies. [laughter] And I learned that if you try hard enough to fall asleep during nap time you might even dream. In her classroom, the ability to imagine. I guess that's why Kindergarten is as far back as I can remember, because that is where everything began. She made me recognize the word powers because it was her name, and also the first thing I saw every morning as I walked in, big bold blue letters hanging above the glass window on the wooden door. I wanted to put my name up there too. It made me wonder how much growing up I still had left to do before I could be important enough for my name to start someone's day every day. It's been 12 years and I have walked through countless classroom doors, been greeted by many different teachers, each one adding to the story that began in 2006. 12 years ago, I didn't know I'd be a Hijabi, I didn't know I'd be a poet. 12 years ago, I didn't know I'd become a Hijabi poet whose finger-painting skills would progress into using words, to painting portraits. And I don't know if Miss. Powers knew or if Miss. Holiday did. I don't know if Miss. G saw it coming, if she knew how mighty I'd be with 12 years of superpowers surpassing the fear of not being enough, the fear of not being, of becoming invisible when all I needed was to be seen. When all I needed was my name. Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Yes. [ Applause ] I know there are so many teachers in the room that are like, yes. [laughter] I wish someone would send me that poem, right? [laughter] That's all I want is for my former students to like, to just have those kinds of memories. And for the new teachers, I know school just started, at least in the D.C. area, so I hope the first week was good, and I hope next week is better. [laughter] Print that poem out, like 300, we're just gonna pass them out at the door. [laughter] But the scores are up so I'm gonna. From low to high we have an 8.7, [applause] we have a 9.2, and another 9.2. [ Applause ] On deck, representing Rise Poetry we have Harper Howard, but right now, please put for hands together, representing Dew More Baltimore, Delicia Green. [applause] And keep on clapping until Delicia is on stage. [ Applause ] How's that my love? Is that okay? Okay. >> Audience Members: I'm a be more poet, couldn't be more poet, so I traveled around the world trying to see more poets. Y'all ain't never seen nothing like a be more poet. [cheering] >> Delicia Green: What if we were allowed to write our own stories? Or what if another black boy from Baltimore was murdered by the Police tonight? His body, still. His white T, bloody. His True Religion jeans soaked in a deep red. His Freddie Gray New Balances, stained. His soul is now immortal and drifts until it reaches Heaven. But what is his Heaven? I mean, when he arrives, do they play a little Scooter instead of Gospel Hymns? Do the angles wear RIP and [inaudible] black boys name on the back of their wings? Does god have straight hair and blue eyes, or does he rock a cruddy in front? I mean, what if a black boys Heaven isn't the same que as the men that killed him, but what if his Heaven was in the studio and he rocked praises into the mic, and his hymns are beats produced by Metro Boomin, and his homeboys are in the backroom hyping him up. What if his Heaven was chicken box, salt, pepper, ketchup with a half and half? What if his Heaven consisted of him and his dead brothers, riding dirt bikes, popping a wheelie every time a cop pops a black boy? What if his Heaven was his grandmother, and her hugs were powerful enough to cleanse him of his sins? What if his heaven was at the bus stop, with him and his goons in a SIFER? What if that was his choir, his praise and worship? What if his Heaven was his poetry book or his rhyme book, and the only thing separating him from hell was this audience? People who cared or people who listened. What if his Heaven was this open mic, or this Poetry Slam? What if before he died, he was at the bus stop signaling for a hat so he could perform at a show? What if he was spitting, and a cop comes, considers him a weapon, says his tongue too sharp. Thought his peace was a piece. Police turns himself into a priest, turned his gun into a cross, turns execution into exorcism. The officer will say, black boy was possessed by a demon. His skin tone said he had a tone. And by the tone of his voice he was spitting fire, a dragon, ready to burn the city down, ready to riot. What if a black boy can exist in Baltimore as a rapper, as a writer, as an artist, as a poet? What if a black boy could create his own Heaven with just poems? [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: I tried to tell y'all, I tried to tell y'all. I think what I love most about a Poetry Slam is that you can't, you can't tell what you are about to learn or what you are about to receive. And I love when a slam makes me surprised, when it makes me wonder, when it makes me uncomfortable. Particularly when I'm listening to young people because so often that is the voice that we want to pretend we know but we don't know, [applause] and so when someone comes up here and tells the truth, I'm like, I can tell the truth is being told, right? Because I've got the goose pimples to prove it. But I'm not a judge, so I'm going to turn to the people [laughter] who go the goose [laughter] pimples written down. We have a 9.1, a 9.5, and a 9.7. [ Applause ] On deck, representing the D.C. Youth Slam Team is Gelila Makonnen. [assumed spelling] But right now, coming up to the stage, please your hands together for Rise Poetry poet, Harper Howard. [applause] Is the mic okay? >> Harper Howard: Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: All right. >> Harper Howard: I've never been in front of this many people before. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: You're okay. Take a deep breath, you've got it. [ Applause ] >> Harper Howard: When I was in Middle School, I got in more trouble for reading than I did for acting out. My face was always smothered in the warmest embrace I knew, a riveting plotline. [laughter] I was addicted to books. The words ran through my veins like a virus infecting my body. The story, my last meal in weeks, each page a calorie, each chapter a [inaudible] I just couldn't put down. [ Applause ] Without a book, I just couldn't seem to feel whole, because I wasn't always that way. I didn't get no cliché childhood, no teenage drama, because my mother decided that chasing a dragon was easier feat than raising four kids. She learned to tango with the devil, with her self-injected poison, and she seemed the lust for it outgrew the love for us and the homes that we resided in. When I was in First Grade, I told my teacher, I can't read. Because going from house to house means different school, and different schools always at different places, and everyone's at different paces, and I couldn't even seem to know the basics. But my only choice was to face it because my mother went away, and slowly the calls from the prison became sloppily written cursive letters. And those were my favorite fairytales of hopes of her becoming clean, of her coming back home, her being my mom, her coming to the school events. But just like the story books, we learn not everything has a happy ending. But one thing I did learn, is that I could write my own. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Very good. [ Applause ] That's Harper Howard. [applause] Harper whispered to me before he started reading, I've never been in front of this many people before, [laughter] and then proceeded to make like half the audience cry, right? [laughter] The score from low to high, we have a 7.1. >> Audience: Listen to the poem. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: An 8.7, and a 9. But give it up for the poet. [ Applause ] We are about to listen last poet of the first rounds y'all. How are y'all feeling, y'all good? [applause] So, we are going to start the second round in a little bit, but right now we have the sixth poet coming up that you have not met yet, so we are going to introduce them. On deck for round two, Destany Butler will be coming up, but right now, please put your hands together for the poet representing the D.C. Youth Slam Team, Gelila Makonnen. [ Applause ] That good? >> Gelila Makonnen: Yep. I always thought High School was like a bad dream. >> Audience Member: Yes. [laughter] >> Gelila Makonnen: Where the walls would go on forever and you're always stuck with a heavy weight on your back. When every face is slightly familiar, you can't remember which class you have with them, or if you even share a class at all. [laughter] You don't know how to wake up. On the days where I felt like I was having this repeating nightmare I wouldn't go to class, I'd enter through the schools front doors and go to the second door on the right, pass by all the computer and English classes, until I got to two big blue doors. I felt like I was just opening my eyes. When the smell of old ink and sunlight hit me, I would stretch my fingers and practice the art of pulling out an old book. I would always flip the pages too fast like I was begging for a paper cut. Take on every character like a Halloween costume, and lose myself in a world that I believed would love me back. The day I lost my bike, I read a book about a girl who flew dragons. The time I failed a test, I learned of a man who never passed 11th Grade but ended up happier than if he had. I remember wanting to write myself in that world, where unexpected endings happen and girls who start sad leave behind those feelings in the last chapter. I wonder where I would start. In a school that flies or a house near the water? Would I dress in a war skirt or ripped jeans, of maybe accent with an ax or an iced coffee? Fight for things that matter for me. I never cry when I got hurt, only grew thicker skin laced with tree roots and iron bolts. I'd never be laughed at, only admired. Dreamers would finally get to live, and no one knew what it meant to lose a friend or family. Loneliness would be treated like a cold and would only be temporary. If I were the author of my own story, I would be the kind of book you wouldn't put down. The first page starts with a girl who fought with her 3rd grade teacher, because he made a comment about her hair. The next chapter, a blank page with scribbles because she was so angry, she took all the words. The chapter following would be ripped, covered in teeth marks, because back then she only knew how to eat her fears away. The climax would be this moment right here, because she never thought she'd get this far, and she doesn't know if she'll get any farther. [laughter] [ Applause ] But for now, she'll turn the next page, and another, until this book gets a sequel, and then a trilogy, because this author doesn't know how to quit. [applause] And it will have no title, so you can judge me by my cover. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Yep, all the writers in the room just got the advice they needed, right? If you're thinking about quitting on a manuscript, baby girl just told you, [laughter] get it together, keep on writing, right? We've all got revisions to make, including just the life we're living. That was dope. The last poet of the first round received from low to high, an 8.5, an 8.7, and a 9. [ Applause ] We are going to start the second round, but I do want to give the poets just like a breather, right? Because they're like all anxious and like got all these feelings. And so, I just want to get a sense of who's in the room, because it's easier to perform when you know if your kin is here. So, I'm going to ask some questions, really like two, [laughter] and mostly cause I'm curious, because I love food. I'm going to ask you some food questions, and I just want you to yell out what your preference out of the two options are, right? And this is something that stole from a poet I love called Lauren May, who is a big fan of tatter tots. >> Audience member: French fries. [cheering] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: And so, I'm going to yell out two food items, you're going to yell back the one you love. We're going to try to determine what our room is feeling. Y'all ready? >> Audience: Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Tatter tots or French fries? >> Audience: French fries. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: That's was like overwhelmingly French fries. [cheering] >> Audience Member: No. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: That was, that was, it was. Donuts or cupcakes? >> Audience: Donuts. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: [laughter] There was like someone who was like listening and is like, cupcakes. [laughter] And the last one, y'all ready. >> Audience Member: Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Y'all focused? Tacos, I know it's hard, right? >> Audience Member: [inaudible]. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Tacos. [laughter] Done, tacos. [laughter] [applause] Tacos or tacos? [laughter] Tacos or pizza? >> Audience: Tacos. >> Audience: Pizza. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Oh, that was close. We going to try that again the next round just to see. I'm going to let you guys like sit with you spirit [laughter] and see what your feeling, and we'll regroup after the second round. That was the first round. I appreciate you all being here for the themed round. [cheering] This is the round where poets will get on stage and do a poem that moves them, regardless of whether or not it is related to theme of books or storytelling. For those of you who are here, who have stayed here, I appreciate you, we need your energy to keep this going. So, thank you for being present, thank you for listening. For folks who are participating and yelling and saying, listen to the poem, feel free to let yourself loose. You are a part of this experience, if you like something you could, Yass, you could clap, you could snap, you could, uh huh. All of these things are allowed. Can we practice a uh huh together? >> Audience: Uh huh. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Oh, y'all cute. All right, on deck we have representing Rise Poetry, Haven Crestal. But right now, coming to stage, please put your hands together for the first poet of the second round, Destany Butler. [ Applause ] I think this is good. You think a little higher? >> Destany Butler: No, it's good. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay. >> Audience Member: Your shirt is fire. >> Destany Butler: [laughter] Thank you. You know, I never understood how the hood watch scary movies when the hood feel like Halloweentown. Feels like Sleepy Hollows, hallows me out, the way I've seen angle face boys turn ghoul and goblin. I've seen demons in the costume of protection. I've seen the hood suck our souls and turn people vampire. Sometimes it's scares me how they can bear baring crosses, be strong enough to symbolize their own kryptonite, and sometimes drug dealers be my superhero. Seem godly, make me wonder if that's why they start turning bodies, holy ghost, paint concrete red, make everyday Day of the Dead, and make we wonder if that's what it means to be black. To have your pain turned pretty. Like ain't that why we've seen black bodies hung like decoration, why black culture gets turned into, like totally Coachella, or like, no, like it's totally trending. Like no, this is definitely not black face. Why white girl take my arm [inaudible] to cover her cookies and cream, then call me a Sour Patch girl. [cheering] X Y, never sweet, call me bitter. X Y, black women are so angry, so bitter, so bland. So, I bring up Sandra, bring up Corrin, bring up every time a family member of mine got pulled over for, you know, being black. Bring up the time a white officer told 7-year-old me that I look suspicious. Told me, go home. Told me, stop crying. Told me, don't you know you're old enough to go to jail? And a white girl goes silent. That's how I'm not religious, but in the presence of red and blue lights I pray that I won't soon see a white one. Pray that if the only way I can find god is in the barrel of a white officers gun. See, I would rather live in sin. I ask her, has she ever been afraid of the police? Does she think that they will always protect their service? She thinks that her skin makes her a deadly weapon. I ask her, does she think being black in America is more trick or treat? [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: I think there's a couple of us in the room who are like, we are part of that Sour Patch collective, we know what it means. [laughter] Yes. Scores, we have a 9, [cheers] we have a 10, [cheer] and we have 10. [ Applause ] On deck, we have Amina Fatima, but right now, please put your hands together for Haven Crestal. [ Applause ] And y'all know the rules, y'all clap till Haven is on the stage. Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up, ah. [ Applause ] How's that? >> Haven Crestal: Lower. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: You got this. >> Haven Crestal: Fear, it'll channel through your brain as something you can't simply tame. As in a reaction to something as big as a threat, or to something as small as forgotten laundry. Fearing leaves my hands shaking, my body swaying, my eyes wander from left to right. Fear definition, an unpleasant feeling triggered by the perception of danger, real or imagined. Well, one of my definitions are, that it's the feeling of rejection that comes from aggression. I feel the fear, the worry, because of the words I can never take back as they fly away into the open world. Like a baby bird leaving its nest for good, never to come back. Like, before today even came, I was afraid, afraid to stutter, afraid to mispronounce, afraid to forget. I felt the fear rush through my veins and [inaudible] to raid my body, making me stiff. I can't move a muscle, I can't speak, my mouth is open, my lips are moving, but no words, no sounds can escape. My throat begins to close up, I can't breathe. I can close my eyes and count to 10, I can take slow breathes, in through the nose, out through the mouth. But those monsters still lurk through the darkness of your soul, suck the courage and bravery out of you, making you a limp and fearful monster yourself. Hanging from the ceiling of despair, bleeding tears that drop on the floor. Will you let the monsters in, or will you light a candle to burn them alive? To fear or not to fear, that is the question. Thank you. [ Applause ] On deck, we have Delicia Green, just being aware of that, I'm going to read the scores though. I'm going to pretend I didn't just mess up. [laughter] Y'all going to pretend you didn't notice me mess up. [laughter] The scores for the last poet were, a 7.9, an 8.1, and an 8.5. But give it up for the poet. [ Applause ] On deck, we have Delicia Green, but right now, coming to stage, please put your hands together for Amina Fatima, representing the D.C. Youth Slam Team. [applause] I think you look fine [inaudible]. Was it okay? >> Amina Fatima: Yeah, it was. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay. >> Audience Members: You got it flowing, that's why you wrote it. >> Audience Member: Don't be nice. >> Audience Members: Be nasty. [laughter] >> Amina Fatima: I was 7 the first time someone told me I wasn't American. The first time someone compared my dad to Osama bin Laden, I was 10. And the first time someone called me a terrorist it was 13th birthday. My voice shrunk in shock, the audacity to even utter such words, my face red, hot. I remember my eyes welling up with 6 years of frustration. Today, when you ask, where are you from? I stare directly back you and answer here. You get upset when I sit for the pledge, tell me to act more American, as if it wasn't you who made me think I'm not American in the first place. But I guess that's why you use the word, act. You refer to my Hijab as just a piece of cloth, but if I were to say the same thing about your flag, your hands would form fists and fingers would wrap around trigger. You tell me, go back to your country, then when I try, hold me back for random security checks, or get me kicked off the plane. I'm labeled dangerous on the news, but I am victim to your abuse. Getting screamed at at gas stations and followed in the streets. Then, you ask why my family doesn't celebrate the Fourth of July. I [laughter] don't know where to go anymore, don't know if it's real when I feel my neighborhood loving me, or if I've imagined it this whole time. When did the change happen? When did you decide I was no longer to be blocked out but forced to claim America as my home? What made you want me? What made you think twice about spitting me out? Maybe it's this platform I have found, this community of fighters fighting right your wrongs. Maybe it's the way my Hijab flows in the wind like a cape or rapid hummingbird wings making the noise of revolution. [cheering] Growing up, growing up I was taught to keep quiet, never cause any disruptions. But I was also taught to always tell the truth, and I don't know which to do anymore because the words truth and disruption have become a merging road. [cheering] I was also taught to never make anyone uncomfortable. My very existence, defiant in a way that feels like hot wax on your skin, but see, the thing is that if this makes you uncomfortable, you are part of the problem. >> Audience: Yeah. [cheering] >> Amina Fatima: You expect me to pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, the country that has been rejecting my family since they got here. the flag, that piece of cloth that you hold as close to you as if it were a piece of your identity, and maybe it is, and maybe I can respect that. But if and only when you learn that this piece of cloth on my head is just as holy, and these words that have traveled so far and so long to get here, through oceans of ink, and roads of paper, and god knows through how many red lights. There is nothing more American than the desire of change and standing up for what you believe in. And if America is what you say it is, then there is nothing, nobody more American than me. Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Whoa. I don't got no cute anecdotes, I'm just going to read the score. [laughter] We got from low to high, a 9.9, [cheering] a 10, and a 10. [ Applause ] One deck, we have Harper Howard. Right now, we have Delicia Green. Please put your hands out, show some love. This is Delicia Green [ Applause ] I know y'all's tired, show some love, keep it moving. [applause] [inaudible]. A little bit? >> Delicia Green: Uh huh. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Right there? >> Delicia Green: Uh huh. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay. >> Audience Member: Yass, take your shoes off. [cheering] >> Delicia Green: I am my creators thoughts, paper personified. I push boundaries and borders. White hands push me into bad neighborhoods, me and crack in competition. We both rock nations, I corrupt black minds, create crack heads, then send them to the pen with just a pen point, period. Call in unjust, but all is fair in love and the war on drugs. I'm a minimum war on poverty. Bomb black children with the school to put some pipeline. I don't bang with black people, but I bang black people. I've got brains on my back in the name of freedom. I've got names on back, synonymous with freedom. Black ink is smudged on the Bill of Rights, so colleagues already got a taste of freedom. I am Jim crow reincarnated, kept black people separated. With incarceration I'd be the law written by white men with a god like complex, write a few amendments, now the commandments. Moses part the Red Sea, Andrew Jackson parted the Trail of Tears with a treaty, the Constitution, is Bible, I am a bill, am an act. Actions speak louder than words. What happens when you are both? Don't you know how much power pieces of paper possess? Whether it be a bill or a bill, freedom papers or a warrant, I control your life. Remember when the officer who killed Stephon Clark didn't get charged for murder, that was me. The District Attorney said, no crime had been committed because no law had been broken. The cops nod and smashin. They laid down the law and there's still enough space on this bed to either put you down or bend you over. Don't you get it? I am your god, I kill and receive no punishment. What's an eye for an eye when you are Hammurabi's Code? I kept slavery alive, rebranded it the Correctional Institution. Schools are still segregated. Ask your taxpayers, clean water only goes to the fairest skin, look at Flint's. I don't change, I evolve, I am the law. Ain't it ironic, white paper has more privilege than black people. White people will protect me just so I can harm you, and you think bullets are your enemy. Is twelve the reason why you scared? Afraid to be put in a box and have the walls close in on you? That's what project housing is for. So, the next time you want change, want a revolution, want equality, remember, I am your biggest threat. White paper with black words, written by white men out to destroy black worlds. I'd be paper cut deep, I make three fifths of a person into 12% of the American population and convert that into 34% of the prison system, even though black people put 100% of this nation. I'm evil like that, I'm legal like that. I'll outlive you and your people, and by the looks of it, I'm almost done. I be the law, obey me or break me. I will be enforced by any mean necessary. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Woah. Wow. I just want to be real clear that on this stage tonight we have heard persona poems, we've heard praise poems, we've heard protest poems. We've got all kinds of forms happening on this stage. They talk about the diversity of, quote, unquote, slam culture, performance art. They need to come into this room because they are letting us know what poetry can be, and the breath of poetry. This is why when people say, it was a slam poem, I'm like, what does that mean, right? Because there are so many kinds of poems that can exist on this stage. So, thanks for that reminder. We have a 9.7, a 9.9, and a 10. [ Applause ] On deck, we have the last poet of the nigh, Gelila Makonnen, they're going to get ready. But right now, please put your hands together for Harper Howard. [ Applause ] You got this, [inaudible]. They just want to hear your poem. Is this okay? How's the mic? >> Harper Howard: Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay, all right. [ Applause ] [ Audience Chatter ] >> Harper Howard: I need to get something off my chest. When I was in Third Grade, I tried to climb the Tulip tree in my backyard. Using the pool ladder, I hoisted myself onto the first branch, leaving indents on my hand as a gripped tighter. Going higher and higher, the ground loomed below me. Suddenly, I was higher than the shed. I kept going, the branches getting smaller, I thought I could do it. When suddenly, at the utmost unimaginable point, the branch breaks. Suddenly, I am free falling through the ground and I through my hands out to catch myself. My wrist broke in three spots that night. I remember that it broke. They say that humans can't remember the sensation of pain, but I don't know why I can't forget the pain of my father telling me I couldn't be a boy, that I could like girls. I didn't fit into his box. My wrist took three months to heal, and my heart has yet to mend from the years of a balanced relationship. Tip toeing over a ledge and leap. Sometimes we fall off, we fight, we argue. There's months we go where we don't talk to each other, no texts, I don't come home. And sometimes I through myself off the ledge, I fall into oblivion, and the only thing that clings to me is a chest binder that's too tight and I can't breathe. Maybe it's my anxiety making me gasp for air, or maybe it's the fear that no ones going to be here tomorrow. Trans youth are three times more likely to kill themselves than other LGBT youth. Sometimes it's important just to tell someone you're there, because at the end of the day, Instagram won't be a battlefield. People won't be there to tell me I'm a girl, because I know who I am, and every day is a new day. But first, I need to get something off my chest. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Ah, they're so good. [applause] They're so good. I just think, you know, for me what is a beautiful thing of witnessing art is that like every wound needs a witness. >> Audience: Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Right? That so much of learning shame is learning silence, and that this is completely and synthetical to that notion, right? It is literally saying, like this is how we liberate ourselves, [applause] by making you see me as I see me, and acknowledge I exist. Right? And so, that reminder as I was sitting here, like this is the point. Not the scores, not whatever happening up here, but literally the poets who got up here and said, I have something on my heart, and I need you to hear. [applause] Like, that's beautiful. [applause] Our score, from low to high, is a 9.6, [cheering] a 9.8, and a 9. I did that in reverse order. [laughter] We have a 9, a 9.6, and a 9.8. [applause] But give it up for the poet. [ Applause ] On deck, we don't have anyone competing. I'm going to do a poem while the judges tabulate. [cheering] But right now, so I'm on deck, I'm going to go get ready in the corner. [laughter] But right now, please put your hands together for the last poet of this Poetry Slam, Gelila Makonnen, representing the D.C. Youth Slam Team. [ Applause ] [inaudible]? >> Gelila Makonnen: Yeah. >> Audience Chanting: [inaudible]. Hey. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: [inaudible]. >> Gelila Makonnen: It's fine. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay. [laughter] >> Gelila Makonnen: You call my mother an illegal alien, think she stutters with that accent. She's only holding herself back from swearing at you in her tongue. Hope, I don't finish it for her. [laughter] You confuse her hair with a history lesson, you think that you need to pin pop, pinpoint the spot on the continent. More Indian, slightly African, with a bit of European highlights. Even in a graveyard she's seen as a trespasser, so me and my father buried by mother in her homeland. She became citizen to a grave, only finding freedom in a small casket. I remember being tired of my name, like it didn't grow from my mother roots, like it didn't mean holy, but sunk in water, being tired of asking where it came from. I just wanted something pretty to say after introductions. I just wanted someone to smile and look at me with understanding eyes, not one similar to an audience in a circus act. The first-generation girl is taught to speak in silence, think she has nothing to say. No, maybe she doesn't know how to say it, maybe not in English. Plays in the street, scrapes her palm on the sidewalk, let's this land hurt her first, she thinks that's what it means to be American. I know what it is to be an American. See, the attitude in my size? How I walk into a classroom like I discovered it. Watch this country celebrate Christopher Columbus and think that I too, can conquer a new mother land, even if it don't belong to my mother. [cheering] No one grabbed at his wrist and spit his name into a fire, destroyed his background and made him shed his culture. Oblivious of the small Ethiopian family that would soon grow a fear of heights, just because of how many planes they'll fly. Back and forth, growing accustomed to the sea. Thick like my name and my mothers stubborn accent, like it doesn't mean holy water. My tears, their own religion, but my blood is divine, they are holy, and they are mine. When I mourn, I shave my head, light my hair, cut my hands and bleed onto coals, scream through plane or sea, loud enough to shatter Heavens gates. Heaven, where my mother finds a new country, as I find mine. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Woah. [ Applause ] We are figuring out the scores of who the top scorers are. I want to make one quick announcement, I have seen phones out while there were poets on stage. Just a reminder that these are youth poets, if you are planning to upload any of these videos, you need to speak to them, you need assure that you have permission. [applause] Because we don't know what is going out there. So, unless you got a media release, you need to check, [laughter] right? Because we want to make sure that we are protecting their voices, but also their bodies, and their visual images, and where they end up. So, just be mindful y'all. That's all right? Y'all good? >> Audience: Yeah. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: The scores for the last poet of the last round, we have a 9.3, a 9.5, and a 9.5. But give it up for the poet. [ Applause ] While we get the scores, I'm going to just tell y'all a quick story, a quick little poem, and then we're going to bring up the finalists. Cool? Y'all have been lovely. How many people, is this your first slam? Ahh, yes first timers, welcome. [applause] I hope this is not your last slam. I see some folks like, naw, I'm coming back next year, I'm on it. I want to tell you all a story that I try to keep top of mind whenever I am in spaces where I'm educating or where I'm the person in charge, quote, unquote. I got my master's in creative Writing from the University of Maryland, and. [applause] Okay, UMD, yeah. That wasn't my experience, but yeah. [laughter] The program I was in was a really difficult program, in that it was, there were only thirty students, the cohort was pretty small, my cohort was approximately ten students. I was the only person in my cohort of Afro decent, so I was the darkest person in every single workshop, [inaudible] I'm light skinned is a problem, because that means [laughter] there a lot of folks that ain't in this room. I was the only Latina who was writing about that experience. And I was the only person from a major city, right? Who was writing about the city I was from. If you can't tell from my accent, I'm from New York. >> Audience Member: Yass. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Yeah, [laughter] hey. What this meant, is that I would come to workshop, and workshops are usually spaces where you turn in poems and the writer sits silently as you get feedback, right? I would turn in poems, and I would get them back and all the Spanish words would be circled, and all the slang had question marks. And I would have to sit silently as people misinterpreted my poem for however long my workshop was, right? And it's in those spaces that I was told I was going to be receiving me credentials in spaces that didn't always honor what my voice was actually trying to do. And it really hit me that maybe my project was going to be different than my classmates. When my Professor came to class, he was an old school dude, right? [inaudible] in the face, long ass beard, the kind of Professor who has a really melodious voice, so anytime he talks you want to lean in. And then, he says something real problematic and you're like, lean back. [laughter] That kind of Professor. He comes to class one day, he's like, I just read the most amazing poem about deer. [laughter] And I have no beef with deer, I think venison is delicious, [laughter] I think Bambi's a great [laughter] movie. [laughter] I am not here to hate on anybody's wildlife, right? But I think in spaces like that or in spaces where we went to High School, we go to school, we have this perception of what a poem can be about, and we're often taught that poems are about flowers, and clouds, and deer. And I think the pastoral poem is an incredible form, however, I think there's a lot of things we can write about. So, this Professor goes on and on for two and a half hours about this deer poem, and then goes one step further and says, I want everybody in the room to write an animal ode. And an ode is a praise poem, right? It's a poem that takes something simple and elevates it to a greater height. Like Pablo Neruda's Ode to the Artichokes, or Ode to the Socks, which took a domestic item and talked about revolution, right? And so, my Professor goes to one classmate, he's like, what would you write about? My classmate says, well, I would write about the blackbird, which I don't think is an original answer, right? Because the poem Thirteen Ways, How to See a Blackbird I think covered that, I think we're good here, right? [laughter] He goes to another classmate, that classmates like, I would write about sea anemone's, and your girl is Googling under the table like, what the, is an anemone? [laughter] How do we spell anemone? [laughter] And then, my Professor gets to me, and the one piece of writing advice they love to give you in these programs is write what you know. And growing up in New York City, there's one creature I know really well. [laughter] So, I puff up my chest and I'm like, I'm going to write about rats. [laughter] And I'm hype, right? I heard somebody saying pigeons. Pigeons are just rats with wings, [laughter] squirrels are just rats with nicer coats. They're all rats, [laughter] and we know them well. And I'm hype, I feel like I'm on Family Feud, like, good answer, you did that. [laughter] Right? Talk about the rat. And my Professor looks at me and says, rats are not noble enough creatures for a poem. Liz, I thin you need more experiences. >> Audience Member: What? >> Audience Member: Oh, wow. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: What I love about the folks who came up on this stage today, is that they talked about the experiences they had had in their life. And that if you think you can look at someone at their age, at how they present, at how the speak, and think you know their story, you already made the first mistake, [applause] That we don't know the experiences of other people, and we cant gage what they can or shouldn't write about. That you write about what moves you, right? And so, I wrote my rat poem, it's called Rat Ode, it's my official clap back to that Professor. [applause] But mainly, it serves as a reminder for anybody who has ever been told your story is too small, or too ugly, or too different for high art, that we are, all of us, deserving of poetry. So, this poem is for every rat in the room. [ Applause ] For the Professor who told me rats are not a noble enough creature for a poem, a Rat Ode. [laughter] Because you are not the admired nightingale, because you are not the noble doe, because you are not the picturesque ermine, armadillo, or bat. They have been written and I don't know their song the way I know you're scudding between walls. The scent of your collapsed corpse rotting beneath floorboards. Your frantic squill, as you pull at your own fur from Glue Traps, ripping flesh from skin in an attempt to survive. Because in July of 97', you birthed a legion on 109th, swarm from the dumpsters. Made our streets infamous for something other than crack. Shout, we nicknamed you cat killer. Raced with you through open hydrants, squeak like you when [foreign language spoken] blast an aluminum bat into your brothers skull, the sound slapped down dominoes. You reined that summer rat, and even when they sent exterminators, half dead and on fire, you pushed on, because even though you are an inelegant, simple, mammal bottom feeder, always freaken famished, [laughter] little ugly thing, [laughter] who feasts on what crumbs fall from the corners of our mouths. You live uncuddled, uncoddled, can't be bought at Petco and fed to fat snakes, because you are not the maze rat of labs, pale, pretty eyed, trained. You raised yourself, sucked, fanged, clawed, scarred, [inaudible], dark, because of this. He should love you, but look at the beast, the poet tells me. The table is already full, and rat, you are not a right worthy thing. Every time they say, they'll take your gutter, your dirt coat. Filth this page rat. Scrap your underbelly against streets, concrete. Your better squeak and raise the whole world, rat. Let lose a plague of words, rat, and remind them that you, that I, we are worthy of every poem, here. [ Applause ] >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Do I invite all the first? I appreciate you all so much. Thank you for being here, thank you for sharing a space with me. I am going to call all of the poets up to the stage. Please, put your hands together for all of the poets. [ Applause ] While they are coming to the stage, please give a round of applause for the judges, who had the hardest job in the room, next to the poets. [laughter] [ Applause ] Every single one of these young people deserve a round of applause, whether or not they are a top scorer. Y'all were beautiful, you were wonderful, you were so good. Yes, yes, yes, standing ovation. Yes. That's right, that's right. [ Applause ] In Third Place, [applause] receiving $100 gift card, we have Destany Butler. Oh yeah, I got you. [inaudible]. >> Destany Butler: [inaudible]. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: If you want you can stand up here with me. In Second Place, receiving a $250 gift card, we have Amina Fatima. [ Applause ] I'm so proud of you. >> Amina Fatima: Thank you so much. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: Good job. [applause] [laughter] If you could stand up, I think they want to do pictures. In First Place, receiving a $500 gift cared, [cheering] let's start the. [leg patting] We have Delicia Green. [ Applause ] But give it up for all of the poets. [ Applause ] >> Off Camera: Yeah, I know. Like, wow. >> Elizabeth Acevedo: I think we have closing remarks. I want to thank you all so much for being here, for supporting these poets. If you heard something tonight that you loved, that moved you, that made you cry, that inspired you in some capacity, please let the poets know because I know it's not only the top scorers who touched us. And so, make sure that you let the folks know that they did work tonight, because they did. And you all did work tonight, so I hope that you feel that energy of being lifted after an event like this one, this is what storytelling can do. I appreciate you all, have a wonderful night. [ Applause ]
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Channel: Library of Congress
Views: 9,164
Rating: 4.5471697 out of 5
Keywords: Library of Congress
Id: kIb_gW2LiEE
Channel Id: undefined
Length: 82min 48sec (4968 seconds)
Published: Tue Nov 05 2019
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