[ Music ] >> Fearless Women is sponsored by the Women's Suffrage
Centennial Commission. [ Music ] >> Hello. I'm Rob Casper. I'm the head of the Poetry
and Literature Center at the Library of Congress. I'm here in the Members Room
of the Jefferson Building in the Library of Congress'
Capitol Hill campus. I'm thrilled to be
talking to two of our greatest Poets Laureate. Rita Dove, who was the seventh
Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry. And Joy Harjo, who
is our current and 23rd Poet Laureate
Consultant in Poetry. Welcome to you both. >> Thank you. It's great to be here. >> Thanks. It's really good to be here. Especially with you guys. >> Yeah, well, I'm thrilled to
have you, and I'd love to know where you're talking to us from. >> Well, I'm talking to you
from my study in my home in Charlottesville, Virginia. And this is where it seems
I'm spending all my time. Even though there's
a house around me, but this is my area
in certain ways. That's where I am. >> Okay, I'm in Port
Townsend, Washington. At the edge of the
world, literally. The ocean. And I'm up here recording
a music album. With poetry, of course. >> Cool. >> Well, thank you both for
making the time to talk to us, and to talk to all the
viewers who are coming to the National Book Festival. Before we begin our
conversation, I would love to have you both read a poem. So, maybe Rita, you could start. >> Okay. I know you asked me to
read a poem from my last book, which was my collected and so
that was a little difficult. But I thought this
one, because of where we are today in the world. It's called, "All Souls." Starting up behind them. All the voices of
those they had named. Mink. Gander. And Marmoset. Crow and cockatiel. Even the duck-billed platypus,
of late so quiet in its bed, sent out a feeble cry signifying
grief and confusion, et cetera. Of course, the world
had changed for good. As it would from
now on, every day, with every twitch and blink. Now that change was de rigueur,
man would discover desire. Then yearn for what he would
learn to call distraction. This was the true loss. And yet, in that first
unchanging instant, the two souls standing
outside the gates, no more than a break
in the hedge. How had they missed it? Were not thinking. Already, the din was fading. Before them, a silence larger than all their ignorance,
yawned. And this they walked into,
until it was all they knew. In time, they hunkered
down to business, filling the world with sighs. These anonymous, pompous
creatures, heads tilted as if straining to
make out the words to a song played long
ago in a foreign land. >> Wow. >> Thank you. Okay. I'm going to read. You know, it's kind of fits in a
way with what you were reading. I was thinking a lot about how
blues and jazz, all of that came about in a time very
much like this one. And a lot of people don't know that Congo Square was a
Muscogee Creek village. Homa here at Muscogee. Muskogean Village. And you can just see
everybody getting together. All the African tribal people. And then there was, of course, New Orleans has always been
a place people that gathered. Natives. Long before the
French came, [inaudible]. And then, you know, here
are the African people, and the people coming
up from the islands. And it all came together. But I used my poetic license,
and Rabbit is a trickster figure for many West African
tribal groups and also for Muscogee Creek people. And I figure if anybody, I know that Adolphe Sax
invented the saxophone, but and I thank him
every time I play. But I say Rabbit
invented the saxophone. The trickster. So, it's a little wild. It's a little different. But. "Rabbit Invents
the Saxophone." When one of the last Trails of
Tears wound through New Orleans, Rabbit, that ragged trickster, decided he wanted
to be a musician. He was tired of walking. And they had all the fun. They got all the women. Bands gauged in smoked streaks,
and he could have all kinds of new friends to
do his bidding. But Rabbit hadn't
proved to be musical. When he led at Stomp
Dance, no one would follow. No shell shaker would
shake shells for him. He was never invited to lead, even when the young ones
were called up to practice. The first thing a
musician needs is a band, he said to his friends. The hottest new music was
being made at Congo Square. So many tribes were jamming. There were African, Native,
and a few remnant French, making a new music of
melody, love, and beat. Rabbit climbed up to the stage,
but had nothing to offer. Just his strut, charming
banter, and what looked like a long stick down the
tight leg of his pants. Musicians are musicians. No trick will get by. You either have it. Or want it. Nothing else will fly. Do you know any songs? What can you play? Can you sing? Do you have a piano,
tuba, or strings? The musicians began vamping,
"What can this rabbit cat do? Is he going to blow hot
air or fart in the rain?" Rabbit turned his
back to the band like that genius, Miles Davis. Pulling out his stick, he
made a horn with his hands. The stick is [inaudible],
bragged Rabbit, as he turned back to the jam. No one else has one like this. You've never heard it before. It's a sax-o-o-phone. Rabbit's newborn horn
made a rip in the sky. It made old women dance and
girls fall to their knees. It made singers of tricksters,
tricksters of players. It made trouble wherever
it sang after that. The last time we
heard Rabbit was for my cousin's run for Chief. There was a huge feed. Everyone showed up to eat. Rabbit's band got down
after the speeches. We danced through the
night, and nobody fought. Nor did anyone show up
the next day to vote. They were sleeping. >> Wow! Thank you both. Before I ask you about
your relationship and about the position, I think
it'd be great to just reflect on those two poems and the
connections they might have with one another. How they might play
off of each other. I'm wondering what you two
think about how those poems, and poems in general,
engage with, contend with, reimagine myth. >> What I loved about Joy's poem
was how she made us look anew at what discovery is. And something that we think of
as a completely everyday object, a saxophone, becomes
this magic stick. And so, it makes us, and I
think poetry does that so often, it makes us look at things anew. Afresh. And suddenly
there is magic everywhere, if we know how to look for it. >> Which I think is true in
the poem you were reading, too. And I've always loved that
poem, because you do go down into, like the primordial. You know, to that
primordial scene, and it pulls up exactly what we need. Even though it may have
been written two years ago, five years ago, the poems. I think poems often
come before their time. I've noticed that
in poetry, too. That they don't always
make their play. It takes a while. Because in poetry, you
deal so much with time. I'm thinking a lot
recording, and then you get into a place of timelessness. And your poem has that sense of
a kind of timelessness about it. And yet, it worked
perfectly in time for now. >> Thank you. As does yours. I mean, both poems are
about naming things, too. And that moment before
they're named, everything can be anything. And then they get
named, and we take agency over them whether it's
a sax-o-o-phone or not. And it is true that poems, they exist in a space
that's beyond the person who created them. Right? >> Well, let's talk a little
bit about the two of you and your relationship. You've known each other
a long time, and I wonder if you could tell us
about where you first met and how your friendship started. >> Wow! >> Yeah, you know, it's been. That time gets longer
and longer in the past. >> Yeah. It's true. We met in graduate school. We met at Iowa. And I think we kind of met, both of our eyes were
downcast at that point. >> Yeah, that's true. >> I mean, we were just
slugging through a space where there was very
little kindness or openness. And yet, we were supposed
to be writing poems that opened up into benevolence. It was strange. >> It really was. And I didn't even, I started
writing not me for a while. And then I finally
said, you know what? Whatever. Whether it's
accepted or not, I have to go with what was given to me. Who I am. And developing it. And I found it to be a great
place for getting to hear and develop my ear
and all of that. But yes, you're right. We were not, I wasn't, I know
for me, I wasn't always present because I did not feel
myself in that space. But then when I saw
you walking alongside, and then Sandra Cisneros
was there. And there was Gail Harada. >> Yes. >> I remember her and others,
and we were kind of all in that space but not. I remember thinking,
well, I know I went there. I had all kinds of
offers in other places with money and position. And then, they didn't
offer me anything. But I knew. I don't know. I went. It was important
in a lot of ways, I think, because I learned how to
let my voice be what it is. >> Yeah, I agree. I felt that it was the
toughest proving ground that I could have had. And nothing since then, no
literary arguments or flare ups or nothing has compared to that. I think it really
prepared me for that. And it also, though,
prepared me as you said, Joy, to find my own voice. And to recognize what it was. Because. And I learned a lot. I learned a lot. Though I also, kind
of, ached a lot too. But, yeah. One of the saving graces and
that was a space I remember where we first began
to talk to one another. Because Iowa was a place
where you were afraid to even talk to other people. Was at, just across the hall at the International
Writing Program. >> I loved that program. >> Yeah. Because those
were real writers. They were writing and
living their lives. And they thought all these petty
fights over across the hall at the workshop was just,
they thought it was inane. And treated it as such. And then you saw people
who were living the full of their lives, right? It was fantastic. >> Yeah, I mean, I thought. >> Now the two of you were. >> Go ahead. Go ahead, Rob. >> The two of you were
presumably sharing poems and in classes together. And can you talk, maybe,
about that kind of exchange that happened just
with the two of you? And with Sandra Cisneros, too. >> I don't remember talking
in class much at all. But I would go over to the
International Writing Workshop and hang out with Bessie Head. They had all these writers. I became good friends
with Leona Gustev and Daynarto [assumed
spellings] from Indonesia. And kept up a friendship
with writing. And so, I felt more. I think we probably
exchanged our writing more, maybe, outside the workshop. Personally. That's you know, outside. >> Yeah. I remember
telling myself that I would say one
thing in workshop. Every workshop. Just to prove that, you know and
I would actually kind of think of what I was going to say. I was shy. And then, the workshop was like,
it really was a battleground. There was. So, I would say that one thing. And I remember, Joy,
when we were in a workshop together
basically, we didn't talk to each other. We just sat. And we made sure we didn't
sit next to each other because it was one of each of. You know, there was one, there
was Sandra, there was you, there was me, and we just made,
I think instinctively we said, we're going to spread
ourselves out. but. >> Yeah. You take this side. You go by the door. >> And then you sit over there. But at the International
Writing Workshop, that's where we could
laugh and we could talk. Talk about anything. And, of course, I
met my husband there. That was kind of nice. >> Yeah, I remember that. Love birds. Are you still love birds? >> Yes, we still are. But I don't know. Yeah. And later on, we all
got together and realized that we were all, we
all felt the same way. Rather beleaguered but
just pushing through. And yet we, I mean, I used
to think that both you and Sandra were so cool,
and calm, and collected. And I was a bundle of nerves. And then you said, no, we
thought you were cool and calm. >> That's right. >> And did you continue
sharing poems and talking to one another after school? >> Not really. I think we went about, probably, very different lives
in a lot of ways. >> Yeah, yeah. It's an interesting thing. I mean, I think there's
always this kind of fairy, not fairy tale but
a myth being floated that writers are
sharing their poems. And yet, we didn't. But I always felt connected. It's interesting. Every time we saw each
other, it was like this ding! And I followed Joy's
career and I read her poems and books, and I said, Oh, yes. She's doing it. And I felt that, in a certain
way, we were sharing poems. But we weren't sharing them
before they were finished for the world. >> Yeah, that's right. >> Speaking of leading
different lives, you both were appointed Poet
Laureate Consultant in Poetry, this position at the
Library of Congress. Rita, you were appointed in
1993 by Dr. James Billington. And Joy, you were
appointed in 2019 by the current librarian,
Dr. Carla Hayden. But for the purposes
of the conversation, I just want to talk about
what it meant to be appointed at very different
times in your lives, and how that affected you. How you negotiated that. And maybe, Rita, you
can talk about it. You were in your
early 40s, right? >> Oh, now you're going
to force me to do math. [Inaudible] Yeah, I
was in my early 40s. Yeah very early 40s, 42, 41, 42. And I was at a point in my life
where I still felt I had a lot to say, and I wanted to say it. And, interestingly, when I
was appointed Poet Laureate, or when I got the call, I
remember thinking, well, there goes my summer of writing. I mean, I really, the first
thing I thought about was that I wasn't going to be
able to write very much. And at that point in my life,
I couldn't figure out how to, still couldn't figure out how
to separate public from private. I'm not very good at it now. But, so it literally, it
was a kind of a sacrifice. But I gladly made it. Because I also realized that to
have someone who looked like me, my age, my race, my gender. This was so important. It sent a signal to the
country and that I need to just step up to the plate. And so, I did. Luckily, at that time, I think
the atmosphere in the country, people were ready for poetry. It was a kind of
second Camelot period in modern American history. And so, I could go out and be
really present and just kind of be there and bring
poems wherever I could. And people were open and
ready to receive them. I remember having
luncheons with republicans. Die-hard republicans
talking about poetry in a very amicable manner. I don't know what
it's like today. So, I. >> Joy, do you want to? Do you want to respond to that? >> I'm slow on taking
me cue here. Yeah, so, of course
you don't expect it. And a lot. And the call came from Dr.
Carla Hayden and Rob had put me on that call and
it's like lightning. It felt like lightning. Yet all this stuff goes through
your mind and it's like, well. I mean, I had to do it. It's for the same, a
similar reason I had to. It's something that
was, it was really, it's about the poetry
but it's not really. It was something for the people. Ultimately, we're here to serve. Whether we're in this
position or whatever we do, we're all in the
position to serve. To serve poetry. To serve the people. And it all happens
within a time. So, my laureateship
came at a. I'm older. I won't do any math. I already know the math. I'm older. >> I'm not going to say yeah. >> I'm old, yeah, which is
probably good in my case. You know. And I've learned a lot between if I would
have been younger. But it certainly has come at a
very crucial time in the country where much, there's
a lot of division. Where people need poetry. And then the pandemic hit. And then the importance of speaking beyond words,
beyond the pandemic. Through the pandemic
addressing it. And then, Black Lives Matter. That's always been there,
as far as I'm concerned. It's been an ongoing. It's never. It's like Native rights. It never, in the public,
it comes above the surface and then it submerges again. It's always been there. But still, here we
are like what we saw when we were growing up, Rita. You know, these kinds of
protests or vocalizations, mass vocalizations of,
we're human beings. We're human beings. Treat us like we're
human beings. Poetry has been. So once again, like in the
time you were Poet Laureate, poetry is so, so important. And now, in the middle
of it, we get the, my tribal nation gets a
landmark ruling for all of, it's been the most landmark
ruling in all of Indian country for McGirt versus Oklahoma. And so then, that's
another, it's something else. So, we're thinking about, well, and I think about it
for the country, too. It's like, okay, we're in this. So, this, to me, marks a
time of great cultural, I won't say revolution. That word is loaded. But regeneration. And that's how I see it. Okay, this is a time. I mean, when I think
of American culture, I don't see Natives much in it. But I see, I think American
culture is heavily African American culture. The expression of it. At least the way
I understand it. But it belongs, it's
part of all of us. We don't see Natives much. But we're part of it. And this is the time
where we say, okay. It's falling apart. The wound is open. So where do we go? And poetry is, I think, and
our arts is the best place. Because that's where we get
to the place beyond what, beyond our small thinking too
much minds to what's possible. So, this laureateship has
been kind of a wild ride. Because, you know,
the first Native. All these years. And then this decision. The pandemic. And it's been pretty,
it's been very, it's intense for everybody. But it's an opportunity. >> Yeah, and I'm excited to
talk to both and to reflect on your laureateships. Not only because you're such
good friends, such old friends. But because you mark the, sort
of, beginning and the present of the activist laureateship. So, Rita, you came in and
really heralded on this new era of laureates taking on projects,
engaging with the public. That had happened in
certain ways before. When I first showed up a
decade ago at the Library, people were still talking
about how great it was to have Gwendolyn Brooks here. And what she did when
she was in the office. But in terms of national
projects, in terms of going out and connecting to the
country as a whole, you were the first
laureate to do that. Can you talk about
where you got that idea, and how it worked out? >> Well, you know, I
didn't have to get the idea. The idea was there, and it was
kind of people just told me that that's what they needed. When I was, when Dr. Billington
called me and asked me to be Poet Laureate,
I was in Chicago. I had just done a reading
and a couple of days with Gwendolyn Brooks. And serendipitously enough. And I saw how she
connected with people and how she always brought, did not have any
kinds of screens up. It was always a connection,
heart-to-heart. And so, when he asked me,
I realized first of all, I was one of the youngest, if
not the youngest at that time. And I felt that it was
a clearly a calling. I felt like, there's
nothing else. You're supposed to do something. You have energy, you're
younger than all the others. You've got to do something. And before I even had a chance
to think about what to do, people began to write me and
say, this is what you should do. Or this is what poetry is. The thing I found
so interesting, people would often
start a letter, and these are not professors. These are pizza deliverers
and things like that. They would write in and say, I
don't know much about poetry. I'm afraid of poetry. I don't know what it means. But. And then would follow some of the most beautiful
descriptions of their first poem that they read that
really moved them. But I realized, this
is what we need. And there was nothing else to
be done but to go out there and say, poetry is
a wonderful thing. Just to be present. So, I was considered
an activist poet. But to me, that was
the only way to be. This is the way I've
lived my life. And that's the way I'm just
going to keep doing it. I don't know. >> And Joy, when you
started your laureateship, we began by talking about
what might be possible for you to do as a project. And I know you had this idea
in mind from the get-go. Maybe you want to talk a little
bit about the genesis of that, of the idea of the project
we've announced recently. >> Yes. I had all
kinds of ideas. I wanted to do everything. I wanted to work,
you know, go back. Go into every Native
community, for one. I wanted to go into, back
and work with children. I mean, I had all
kinds of projects. But what always comes up is
that a lot of, at the same time as the laureateship,
a study came out. I think it was Kellogg-financed
study. The first time that we had
figures, the data, on the images of Natives in America. And a lot of people
think we're dead or they think their image, it's. It was really astounding. They think that we're invisible. We don't appear. We are not at the table
at most, you know, you don't see us generally at the Academy Awards
or any of the. You don't see us. We're not present in
the American narrative. However that narrative unfolds. So, the project came
about thinking about that. And I have an anthology coming
out any minute from Norton, "When the Light of the World Was
Subdued, Our Songs Came Through: A Native Nation's
Historical Poetry Anthology." So, I thought, why not
do a map to show that, one, we're still here. Indigenous peoples. We're still very living. And we're astronauts. We do everything. We clean houses. We teach. We're everybody. We're bull riders. I always remember James
Welch saying he's a writer because he couldn't ride bulls. We're all of these people
and yet, we're many poets. I think there's over 160
poets in this anthology. So, we're doing,
constructing a map digitally that it would be good to, people who work digitally,
to have access to it. And so, we right now, I think
we have about 50, over 50 poets who will be featured and their
voices featured, and images, all over the U.S. And
showing where they live. Like, these are human beings. It comes to that. You know, we're human
beings and. I remember when I was a
student at Iowa, thinking, if I do anything with
poetry, I want people to know that we're human beings. >> Yeah. >> And so, this project,
it's exciting. And then Norton came
along and we're going to do a small handbook
anthology of, a short, you know, 15-some poets. Living Nations. Living poets. That will come out
of the project. Of course, I wanted
to go everywhere, but I'm doing that anyway. I've been doing that for years,
traveling about to all kinds of communities, all over. I mean, I've done
everything from play. I've been all over, to all
kinds of communities for years. So, I'm doing, continuing, except I'm doing it
virtually now, like you are. And still doing, that's
still very much a part of it. >> Yeah, it makes sense that
the very work you talked about, Rita, feeling called to do,
Joy, you are continuing to do. With the complement of this
great, wonderful project. I'm thrilled to have
you both here. I'm thrilled to be
able to present you to our National Book
Festival viewers as part of our 20th anniversary
book festival. And I'm grateful to you
both for your commitment to and service on behalf of poetry. So, thanks so much
for being wonderful, wonderful Poets Laureate. And thanks so much for being
together with us today. >> Thank you. And thank you, Rob, for all the
hard work you do over there. And everyone in that office. Thank you. >> Yeah, I thank you. You have changed a lot
the scene of poetry and literature in this country. So, thank you so much. It was wonderful to be here. Great to see you, Joy. >> Yeah, great to see you, too. >> Thank you, Rob. [ Music ]
