Elizabeth Alexander:
Welcome to this White House
celebration of poetry.
There's no place that I'd
rather be than in a room full
of young poets.
You can feel the energy.
There are 77 young poets
here today from all around
the country, coast to
coast and in between,
and to the pleasure
of that company,
we add the opportunity to hear
from a group of esteemed working
poets who approach the art form
from many different angles.
I can tell you we're
in for a treat.
And it's a special honor to
be part of the day when the
President's Committee for the
Arts and Humanities is issuing
its inaugural report on the
condition of arts education
across the United States.
As a poet and an educator, I
cannot stop exalting about what
it means to have a president who
understands the importance of
the arts and education.
The arts show us what we do not
know in forms and languages that
take us by surprise.
Art reaches us where
we do not expect,
transports us to other worlds,
lets us pause in wonder,
challenges us to
rethink our certainties.
Art troubles the water.
Art feeds the
senses and the soul.
And if you imagine a single
day without art, without music,
without careful
language, without beauty,
you will understand how to quote
and paraphrase William Carlos
Williams, "People die
every day for lack of
what is found there."
The integrated study of art for
young people invites them to
solve problems creatively using
more of their big brain power.
Art takes discipline,
practice, and devotion.
Art asks that we think
and then rethink.
The core practices of art
making and art appreciation
are transferable to achieving
excellence in other interests
and types of work our
young people pursue.
Today poetry will be showcased
among all of the arts,
and I'm here to tell you
what you're about to see that
American poetry today is vital
and varied, alive and kicking,
flourishing in different forms
and tones and communities.
American poetry is where the
brilliance of American English
with all of its influences,
many from other languages,
and all of its inventive
life force is best found.
Poetry tries to say more and
more in language that is ever
more precise.
And in great poems we
find our individual
and collective expansiveness.
Walt Whitman: "Do I
contradict myself?
Very well then, I
contradict myself.
I am large.
I contain multitudes".
With the sacred word, we
reach across the void to say,
this is who I am and
this is what I offer you.
Poetry, to use an old
vernacular expression,
is the church of
what's happening now.
I think poets are the ones who
best get at a sense of our rich
complex multifaceted
Americanness as it's reflected
through language.
In his great poem
"American Journal",
the poet Robert Hayden speaks
in the persona of an imaginary
space traveler
observing this country.
He sees what he calls a baffling
multi-people and writes that
despite the clash and clamor
of all of those voices,
"I am attracted nonetheless
their variousness,
their ingenuity, their Élan
vital, and that something,
essence, quiddity, I
cannot penetrate or name."
Robert Hayden.
So, today we celebrate the arts,
and before we hear from our
poets, we will first
hear from Melody Barnes,
who is the President's Domestic
Policy Adviser and Director of
the Domestic Policy Council,
which coordinates the domestic
policy making process
in the White House.
Please welcome Melody Barnes.
(applause)
Melody Barnes:
Well, good afternoon, everyone,
and welcome to the White House.
Thank you.
And, Elizabeth, thank you
so much for being here and
for that introduction.
Over two years ago, when the
President and the First Lady
first arrived at
the White House,
they made a commitment that the
arts would be alive and well,
indeed vibrant, in
the people's house.
So what do you do?
They started inviting
people, jazz musicians,
classical musicians,
Latin dancers and singers,
country music artists,
Motown Greats,
and today America's best
poets and spoken artists.
But it's not just about the
artists coming here to play
and to perform for the first
family; they wanted to share
that with everyone.
The President and the First Lady
believe that it's imperative
that the best and the brightest
and the most creative in our
society should share their
talents, their secrets,
their successes, their failures,
to teach and inspire the next
generation at workshops just
like the one that we're going
to have today.
That's because the President and
the First Lady strongly believe
that educating our children
is one of our most critical
investments and that an
education without the arts
is incomplete.
Now, I don't have to explain
to any of you how the arts can
teach us to look at
things differently,
to find better ways to
communicate and to be creative.
After all, all of you are
living proof of just that.
But it's important that we
emphasize that the arts are not
just for those who are going to
go on and become professional
artists like the amazing people
that we have in the room today.
Research shows that girls and
boys, young men and young women,
who have art classes are more
likely to be engaged in those
classes, to attend school, to
get better test scores, and,
in fact, to graduate.
In fact, the President's
Committee on Arts and Humanities
released a stellar report
just this past Friday,
I was so pleased to be
with them at that release,
and that report details just
how powerful the role that arts
education can play in
closing the achievement gap,
improving student engagement,
building creativity,
and nurturing innovative
thinking skills.
And the arts can't just
be an afterthought,
something that schools take on
when they address the many other
challenges that
they face every day.
Instead, the arts should be
an essential component of a
school's curriculum and
an essential strategy to
deliver a complete and
competitive education for
all of our children.
We want to support teachers and
other educators who know that
one of the most effective
tools for increasing student
engagement and motivation is to
integrate the arts into English
and to science and to math.
And across the country we
know that there are local arts
initiatives that are
just doing just that,
they're proving our point.
They know that when we meet
students where they live,
their love for the dance, or
for music, or for writing,
or for drawing, or for painting,
that at the same time you see
rising test scores and a
shrinking achievement gap.
We know these things,
I know these things,
because of all the data
and all the research.
But, more importantly, I know
it, and I think many of you,
all of you know it too,
because of what we've seen,
and what we've observed,
and what we've felt.
One of my Godsons is just a
little younger than a lot of you
in this room.
He's a wonderful student, but he
has a real passion for writing
and for drawing.
In fact, there are times when I
go to visit him in Atlanta and
he'll take me through the comic
books that he loves to create.
His teachers challenge him at
school through creative writing
courses, and he was lucky enough
to go to Mercer University for a
College for Kids Budding
Authors last summer,
and this summer he's thrilled
that he's going to Stanford
University where he can do a
deep dive into his creative
writing and illustrating skills.
And I see in Robby what I have
often felt when I have had the
chance to engage in
creative endeavors,
the awareness that comes
with self reflection and self
expression, a sense of strength
when you get to use your own,
your authentic voice, and more
creative and innovative ways of
solving problems when you
get to use all of your brain.
For you, for Robby, and for all
the students that we've had a
chance to meet over
the past two years,
the students at Kenmore Middle
School just across the bridge in
Arlington, Virginia who are in
an arts and technology program
there, and the President and
Secretary Duncan were just
visiting that school, for
the Pittsburgh School for the
Creative and Performing Arts,
they were semi-finalists and
recently completed Race to the
Top Commencement Challenge,
another school that builds the
arts into their curriculum.
And for all students who
have this opportunity,
we know that that intersection
of arts and education is a sweet
spot, and we want that
same sweet spot for all
of our students.
We want that experience
for them so they, indeed,
will be college
and career ready.
So it's now my pleasure to
introduce someone who is doing
this kind of work, engaged in
this kind of work through her
own education, who is proof
that we're moving in the right
direction when all of our
policymakers and our business
leaders and our civic leaders
appreciate the importance of
arts education, and
that's Tiesha Hines.
She's known for quite some
time that this is an area of
importance to her.
She's a senior at Ballou Senior
High School here in Washington,
D.C., and she's been
writing poetry since
she was seven years old.
She was inspired by her teacher
and many of the amazing poets
that are in this room today, and
she is now the president of her
poetry club at her school.
After she graduates, she's going
to get to use those skills in
other ways, as she studies
criminal justice at Fortis
College and Trinity University.
So please help me welcome
to the stage Tiesha Hines.
(cheers and applause)
Tiesha Hines:
Ten things I want
to throw at you.
I wish I could throw
my love at you,
but I'm afraid that you
just won't catch it.
And if I could, I would
throw you my heart,
but you might just break it.
I want to throw sweet kisses and
embraces to comfort you in the
night, but I'm afraid
if I throw you my all,
you won't hold it tight.
I want to throw my imagination
at you so we can dream together.
And if I could, I would
throw you the stars so we
could shine together.
If I had a halo, I would
throw you that too,
so you can be my angel, my
covering, my protector, my boo.
If I could, I would throw
you my eyes so you could
see what I see.
I just want to throw
you everything,
because I want
you to be with me.
Good afternoon, my
name is Tiesha Hines,
and I'm a senior at Ballou
Senior High School where I
serve as the president
of the poetry club.
I was chosen to be the president
of Ballou's poetry club because
of my willingness and
love to write poetry.
I also was chosen because of my
positive attitude and compassion
toward other poets.
Being in the poetry club and a
part of the A26 DC workshop has
had a very big
impact on my life.
I'm a little upset, because I
wish we could have had different
art programs, like the A26 DC
poetry workshop in my school and
community years ago.
I say this because this art
program gave students like me
more opportunities in life.
It also was a new avenue to
share our thoughts and opinions
on situations.
Now, it is with great honor and
pleasure that I introduce to you
the First Lady of the
United States of America,
Miss Michelle Obama, who
recently visited my school in
honor of Women's history month.
She is a woman who I deeply
admire because of her confident
supportive and positive traits
that I find in myself also.
Ladies and gentlemen, join me
in welcoming our First Lady,
Mrs. Michelle Obama.
(applause)
First Lady Michelle Obama:
Hey! Thank you, everybody.
(applause)
Good afternoon!
Audience:
Good afternoon!
First Lady Michelle Obama:
Like that.
That's good.
I like the (inaudible) part.
(laughter)
Well, again, let me welcome
you all to the White House.
I am thrilled to be here today
and to have you all here today.
I want to start by thanking
Tiesha for that wonderful poem
and those words and that
attitude and that suit and
everything else that
goes along with it.
(laughter)
I had a terrific time visiting
the students at your school.
You weren't in the
classroom, but you
all were a terrific challenge.
It was an honor for me.
And I also -- before I go any
further -- I want to acknowledge
one of my dear friends
who is here with us,
the First Lady of Mexico,
Mrs. Margarita Zavala,
who is here, right here.
(applause)
Yeah, I get to meet a lot
of First Spouses in my work,
and sometimes you just click
with people, and this woman,
who is an attorney, she's a
passionate advocate for young
people in her home country
and around the world,
she's somebody
that I click with.
And she happened to be here,
and I was like, you got to come,
you got to come
and check this out.
So I'm pleased that she's
been able to join us today.
I see some -- a bunch
of people around here.
I won't start naming names, but
we've got a pretty good room
full of people here.
So I want to thank the
extraordinary group of poets and
artists who've taken time out
of their busy schedules to run
today's workshop.
My dear friend, Elizabeth
Alexander -- hey.
Ms. Alexander:
Hey.
(laughter)
First Lady Michelle Obama:
Rita Dove, Billy Collins,
Kenny Goldsmith, Alison
Knowles, and Aimee Mann,
let's give them a
round of applause.
We'll get to hear
from these folks.
(applause)
They have moved and inspired so
many of us with their words and
their music, and we're
honored to host them here
at the White House.
And finally I want to recognize
all of the student poets who are
here today.
You all are the reason
why we do this workshop.
So we're going to do this
big, fancy poetry reading this
evening, and that's all fun, and
we're going to hear some stuff.
It's going to be good.
But this is the real
reason, this workshop today,
this is why we do it, because
we've flown you guys here from
all over the country because we
want you to be a part of this
conversation, sitting here in
the State Room of the White
House of the United
States of America,
because you're just
that important, right?
You're just that important.
And this is the best part of
the day, every time we do these.
It's today.
So thank you for being here.
I was a budding writer.
Elizabeth doesn't know this.
She thinks she knows
everything about me.
But when I was young, I was a
passionate creative writer and
sort of a poet.
That's how I would
release myself.
Whenever I was
struggling in school,
or didn't want to go outside and
deal with the nonsense of the
neighborhood, I would write
and write and write and write.
So this workshop and celebrating
you all is important to me,
as well, because I think it was
my writing that sort of prepared
me for so much of what I've had
to do in my life as an adult.
But you all come from all
different backgrounds and
different schools and different
states across the country.
But all of you students
have one thing in common,
and that is that same passion
for poetry and writing that I
had when I was young, and I
understand that you all are a
pretty talented bunch.
I think that's why
you got to come here,
because you're pretty
good at what you do.
(laughter)
As poets, you all work wonders
with the English language,
arranging, rearranging
words to tell stories
and help paint pictures.
That was something I
loved to do with words,
is just to paint a picture and
make it real so that you felt
like you were right there;
to evoke the emotions of
your readers.
But in addition to
being very talented,
you all are something that
-- what I think is even more
important for being a poet,
and that is you're brave.
Robert Frost once wrote, "A poem
begins as a lump in the throat."
In writing poetry, you all put
words into that kind of emotion.
You give voice to your
hopes, your dreams,
your worries and your fears.
And when you do that, when
you share yourself that way,
and make yourself vulnerable
like that, you're taking a risk.
And that's brave.
Not many people are
willing to do that,
to put themselves
out there like that.
And when you write
poetry, you're not
just expressing yourself.
You're also
connecting to people.
And that's the key to everything
we want to be and do as human
beings -- is our ability
to connect to one another.
Think about how you feel when
you read a poem that really
speaks to you; one that
perfectly expresses what
you're thinking and feeling.
When you read that, you
feel understood, right?
I know I do.
You feel less alone.
I know I do.
You realize despite
all our differences,
there are so many human
experiences and emotions
that we share.
And poetry doesn't just
show us how much we share.
It also exposes us to wonderful
new ideas and experiences.
It helps us see the world in
an entirely different way.
As Rita Dove once wrote, "What
writing does is to reveal.
A good poem can awaken our
senses and help us notice things
that we've never noticed before.
It can take us to places we've
never gone -- to a mountaintop
or a battlefield or a city
halfway around the world."
And I know that writing
poetry is not easy.
I know that sometimes you
really got to work hard to
make it happen.
I know that it can be
discouraging when you're
struggling with writer's block
and you can't find that word
that is just right, or get that
line exactly the way you want it
to be.
I know I was talking to Malia
last night -- was working on a
paper, and it's her first draft.
And she said, I
hate first drafts.
(laughter)
It's the toughest thing,
is the first draft.
And I know that feeling.
I know we all know that
feeling of the first draft.
But when you start to feel
that kind of frustration,
when you feel like you've been
working on a poem forever but
it's just not coming together, I
want you all to know that you're
not alone.
Rita Dove goes through as many
as 50 or 60 drafts when she's
writing a poem.
I try to tell my kids
that all the time.
It is not the first draft.
There's no such thing
as a first draft.
You write and you
write and you write.
And for Rita, she might
take as long as two years
to finish a poem.
Is that true?
Does it take you two years
to finish a poem, Elizabeth?
Ms. Alexander:
Upon occasion.
First Lady Michelle Obama:
See there? So even the best.
So I want you all to keep at it.
Keep taking those risks.
Keep having the courage
to share your work,
which is so important.
That was the best part of
writing -- it was reading it
back to my mother, making them
sit and listen to my work.
And I also had to read
it and perform it.
So keep sharing,
keep reading poetry,
and learning from other poets.
And even if you don't grow
up to be a professional poet,
I promise that what you learn
through reading and writing
poetry will stay with
you throughout your life.
It will spark your imagination
and broaden your horizons and
even help your performance
in the classroom.
And that's what Melody was
talking about just a little
while ago.
That's why it is so critically
important that we integrate the
arts into schools.
It is a must.
It's critically important
that we continue to encourage
after-school programs and engage
community partners to help young
people like all of you
develop your gifts and
to fulfill your potential.
This is not an option.
This is a must.
For so many young people this
will be the air they breathe,
the reason they keep going
to do the right thing.
That's what you'll all be doing
today here with these brilliant
poets and artists.
This is a true gift to
you all to be in this
room with these people.
They will share their
own stories with you;
give you tips and advice
that are invaluable.
So I hope that you take the
fullest potential of your time
here in the White House.
I want you to ask lots of
questions and listen carefully.
Do not be afraid.
Don't let the cameras or
the lights intimidate you.
We're just here.
I just happen to be the First
Lady, but that's not a big deal.
(laughter)
Hard to say.
Because these folks have
a lot of wisdom to share,
and I know that they are as
excited as I am to be sharing
it with you.
And know that, as I always say,
you got to keep passing it on.
You got this experience
to be here, right?
So you are fortunate.
You are blessed.
So the question after this is
what are you going to do to pass
it on?
What are you going to do to give
this gift back -- because not
everybody could
fit in this room?
If we could, we would have
had -- it's small rooms.
The White House seems
big; kind of small.
So it's up to all of you
to keep passing this on.
So with that, I'm going to stop
talking so that all of you can
start learning.
Thank you again for joining
us at the White House.
You're going to get to see
the performance this evening.
So we'll wave to you
into the cameras.
So I hope you have a
wonderful time today.
I'm going to sit for the first
session and hear a little bit,
but we'll probably get
up while you keep going.
So with that, do I turn
it over to you, Elizabeth?
Ms. Alexander:
Yes, you do.
First Lady Michelle Obama:
All right. It's on you.
(applause)
Thank you all.
(applause)
Elizabeth Alexander:
Thank you, madam.
How lucky are we to be with you?
It's a joy.
So I'm operating
from here for now,
and I'm going to tell you how
this workshop with a lot packed
into it is going to work.
We've grouped together
some extraordinary voices.
I will introduce them briefly
in small groups, some pairs,
and a sextet, and then one
person who will be working
alone, and we'll hear a few
words from them about how they
approach the writing of poetry.
I may ask some questions, but
mostly you'll have a chance to
ask some questions.
We're going to be moving fast
because we're trying to do a lot
in the time that
we have allocated.
So as you listen to these
folks talk about their work,
please start formulating any
questions that you might have
to ask them.
Got to take off my glasses.
And so we'll begin with
our first two poets,
Rita Dove and Billy Collins.
They have in common that they
are two former Poets Laureate of
the United States.
The person who holds that
position is the most visible
exemplar and ambassador
of the art form,
and they've thought in very
different creative ways about
how poetry might be brought
to the people and the people
brought to poetry.
Many of our greatest poets have
been asked to serve as poet
laureate, and what's nice about
that job in the United States is
that you're not expected to
write poems on state occasions
on behalf of your
country; rather,
you represent your country
simply by doing the thing that
you do best the
way that you do it.
I will introduce in sequence
Rita Dove and Billy Collins,
and then they'll both
come up and join us and
talk in sequence.
Rita Dove was the youngest
person ever named Poet Laureate
of the United States.
She held the position
from 1993 to 1995.
She was educated in
Ohio, Germany, and Iowa,
and first began teaching in
the English Department of the
University of Arizona in 1981,
and then in 1989 moved to teach
at the University of
Virginia where she is today.
She published her first book
of poems, a miraculous book,
"The Yellow House on
the Corner", in 1980,
followed by "Museum", followed
by "Thomas and Beulah", in 1987,
which won the Pulitzer Prize.
Her gorgeous, intelligent,
meticulous poems have inspired
countless poets who follow her,
and I must say including myself.
She's written short
stories, a novel, a play,
collaborated with composer John
Williams on a piece for Steven
Spielberg documentary called
"The Unfinished Journey",
and her most recent book
is "Sonata Mulattica".
Billy Collins was Poet Laureate
of the United States in 2001.
His poems, always
witty, sometimes ironic,
often hilarious, always wise,
have made him one of our
country's most popular poets.
His collections include --
this is among many, many,
many books of poems -- "The
Apple that Astonished Paris",
The Art of Drowning,"
and "Picnic Lightning."
I particularly
love those titles.
He's distinguished
himself through clear,
accessible poetry that never
sacrifices ambiguity and
subtlety -- very hard to hold
all of that aloft at the same
time -- and has spoken out
against the writing of poetry
strictly for an
academic audience.
As U.S. Poet Laureate, he
created a poetry collection
called Poetry 180, a
project whose aim was
to increase poetry's popularity
among teenagers by exposing
them to a meaningful,
contemporary poetry for
each day of the school year.
So, please come to the stage,
Rita Dove and Billy Collins.
(applause)
Rita Dove:
I am going to start off.
First of all, it is thrilling
to see all of you here,
and the energy really
is palpable in the room,
because you are people who know
that language is important and
that how you say something is
perhaps ten times, maybe 1,000
times more important than what
the meaning you put behind it.
But I'm going to talk fast.
I have five minutes,
and then we're going
to do some questions.
I was thinking about
what happened when I
was Poet Laureate.
And I received so many letters
from students your age,
and they always began with, I
don't know much about poetry,
or, well, I'm not really
an expert on poetry, but,
and then after that little
word but came some of the most
incredible descriptions of
how poetry had moved them,
what it meant to them, and how
important it was to the world.
One mother of three wrote me.
She was despairing because her
daughter wanted to be a poet,
and she didn't know how she
was going to make a living.
But she then said, I understand
now that poetry is making the
language your own.
And I've carried that
with me ever since,
because I think one of the most
important things I can say to
you today is that only you
can tell the story that you
experience and that you live,
only you have that story.
And in terms of trying
to find your voice,
your voice in a certain
way will find you.
If you remain true to the
experiences that you see,
if you remain true to the idea
that maybe your first draft
expresses your heart but it's
not getting across to anyone
else, and then you have to use
your tools, which is language,
which is silence, which is the
way a word can sound ugly or
prickly just by its very
sound, to find the right word,
if you can get into the joy of
rewriting so that someone else
can feel your heart
and your story,
then you've got it
made in the shade.
It's the most exhilarating
feeling in the world,
and I too hate
those first drafts.
They are, you know, a mess.
But to remember that once you
get past that first draft,
there's a wonderful, wonderful,
wonderful sense of making it
just right.
You know, the very first book
that I remember was a book,
it didn't have very many
words at all, it was called,
"Harold and the Purple Crayon."
Oh!
(laughter)
It was a fabulous book, because
there was this little boy who
had a purple crayon, his
mother put him to bed,
and then he decided he
wanted to take a walk,
so he drew a window
with his purple crayon,
and he climbed out the window,
and he drew his own path,
and he, you know,
drew his own boat,
and when he sailed
across an ocean,
he ate nine different kinds
of pie -- I remember that.
(laughter)
In a way, you know, that
was my first, I think,
meeting with metaphor, because
that's really a symbol for the
imagination, isn't it?
I mean, you write and you write
on the wave of your own writing.
It will lead you, and as you go
through the revision process and
things begin to
click into place,
you'll discover all of
those people who are with
you on that path.
So, to remember, first of all,
you have your story to tell,
your voice, be brave.
As the First Lady said, it
is a very scary enterprise,
but it's an exhilarating one.
And follow the purple path.
(applause)
Billy Collins:
Well, thank you, Rita.
I can do a lot of
things in five minutes,
but teaching a workshop is
probably not one of them.
I can make a bed
in five minutes,
but it's not a
very well made bed.
But, I wanted to talk
a little bit about,
I know there are a
lot of adults here,
but I want to talk mostly to the
students here and just give them
a little advice about my
experience in writing.
One of the phrases that you
run into if you take a writing
workshop, or is
finding your voice.
And it's true enough that
one, if one is lucky,
someone said everyone is born
with about 300 bad poems in them
at birth, you know, and the only
way to get rid of them is just
to write them out until
you got to the good stuff.
So there's always that period.
And you shouldn't worry about
whether you're good now.
You're probably not that good.
But you'll get
better, there is hope.
And it's true that finding your
voice -- you can get to a point
as you're writing where you
feel that you're writing like
no one else.
Seamus Heaney has a famous
poem called "Digging."
And it's one of the
earliest poems he wrote.
And he said after he read
that -- after he wrote that
poem, he read it back and he
said for better or worse,
no one else could have
written that poem.
He knew that was his poem,
not that it was great,
that he wouldn't
be that immodest,
but there is that
point you get to.
But what I don't like about
the express finding your voice,
is that it's very
mystifying, I think,
in the minds of young people.
It makes you feel -- made me
feel when I first heard it,
that your voice is tied
up with your authenticity,
that your voice lies
deep within you,
at some root bottom
of your soul.
And that to find your voice
you need to fall into deep
introspection, like figuring
out if you're one of the
elect or not.
You have to gaze
deeply into yourself.
And your frustration or the
anxiety is that maybe you won't
find anything there.
Then you're on this, you know,
terrible quest to nowhere.
Let me reassure you --
which sometimes works out --
(laughter)
-- let me reassure you that
it's not that mysterious.
Your voice has an
external source.
It is not lying within you.
It is lying in other
people's poetry.
It is lying on the
shelves of the library.
To find your voice you
need to read deeply.
You need to look inside
yourself of course for material,
and because poetry is something
that honors subjectivities.
It honors your interiority.
It honors what is inside.
But to find a way to express
that you have to look outside
yourself, read widely, read
all the poetry you can get
your hands on.
And in your reading you're
searching for something.
Not so much your voice,
you're searching for poets
that make you jealous.
Professors of writing call
this literary influence.
It's jealousy.
(laughter)
And it's with every art, whether
you play the saxophone or do
charcoal drawings, you're
looking to get influenced by
people who make you
furiously jealous.
And so I say read widely.
Find poets that make you
envious and then copy them,
try to get like them.
You know you read a great poem
in a magazine somewhere and you
just can't stand the fact
that you didn't write it.
Well, what do you do?
Well, you can't get white-out
and just put, you know,
blank out the poet's
name and write yours in.
That's not fair.
But you can say, okay, I
didn't write that poem.
Let me write a poem like
that, that is sort of my
version of that.
And that's basically
the way you grow.
So, okay, that's point one.
The other point is don't
forget that poetry is play.
Poetry is play.
Because we often take
ourselves, of course we
take ourselves seriously.
But poetry is not only a place
to take yourself more seriously
than you take yourself
in normal life,
it's a place to have fun with
language, it's a place to play.
Kenneth Koch was asked,
lovely poet, was asked,
you know what's the difference
between prose and poetry.
And he gave a kind of
illustrative example.
He said, here's prose, no
dogs allowed on the beach.
That's prose.
Here's poetry.
No dogs or logs
allowed on the beach.
No poodle, however trim, no
dachshund unable to swim.
(laughter)
Why is that poetry?
Well, it's funny for one thing.
But also, it seems that the
language is enjoying itself.
The words seem to be aware
of the words around them.
And they seem, that
self-consciousness seems to be a
chorus or a plot designed to
fill you with joy and pleasure.
I think that's five
minutes, I don't know.
But we would love to hear
some questions from you.
And then we can extend this for
maybe another five minutes or
two minutes.
Elizabeth Alexander:
Thank you. So a question.
Yes, right here.
Audience Member:
I was just wondering --
Elizabeth Alexander:
Why don't you stand up please?
Speaker:
(inaudible)
(laughter)
Billy Collins:
Keep wondering.
Audience Member:
I know. I will.
How do you find or approach
the balance between the need to
convey your own story and the
need to convey your experience
to someone else?
Rita Dove:
You know, I always
think of Hemingway.
He said that the first draft of
his novel was entirely for him.
And the second was a compromise.
And the third was
entirely for the audience.
It was entirely for his readers.
There's a point I think
when you're writing, you,
there is that interiority; you
want to get that feeling out,
that story out.
But there's also a point where
you want to reach out and touch
somebody else and say I
want you to understand this.
And it's not so much finding a
balance as it is a trajectory.
You know, you will -- there's
a point where you will not be
satisfied with just
writing it for yourself,
but you want someone else to
hear it and understand it too.
So you keep working
on it and it will tip.
Billy Collins:
Can I just answer that too?
I think the difficulty
in engaging, you know,
a reader's intention, is that
basically readers don't care
about you, because they care --
they don't care about -- I mean
no one, no stranger is really
interested in your internal
life, right.
I mean, it's hard enough to get
the people around you interested
in your internal life.
(laughter)
They are always hung
up on themselves.
What's up with that?
(laughter)
So, their intention
is insufficient.
How do you get a reader -- you
need to pleasure the reader.
And you do that through forum.
You do that through writing a
poem in which the words are well
chosen, in which
there's shape to it,
where there are signs
of human intelligence.
And in fact to put
it more bluntly,
to get a reader interested in
your poetry you have to pretend
something that's not true.
You have to pretend -- your
poem has to express this.
Your poem has to express the
fact that you're more interested
in poetry than you are in
yourself, which you are not.
(laughter)
But the --
Rita Dove:
Speak for yourself, Billy.
Billy Collins:
-- reader comes to you
with an interest in poetry,
not with an interest
in you, granted.
So if your poem conveys
your interest in poetry,
than that will lock in with the
reader's interest in poetry,
and then the reader will be
interested in some fishing
trip you took with your
uncle or whatever you want
to write about.
Elizabeth Alexander:
Another question right here.
Audience Member:
Hi.
You talked about finding your
voice and imitating other poets
and things like that.
Did you stop doing that?
At what point do
you stop doing that?
When do you know that
you found your voice?
Billy Cullins:
Well, after you find your
voice, you realize there's
only one person to imitate
and that's yourself.
But you do it by combining
different influences.
I think the first part of it is
you do slavish imitations which
are almost like
travesties, you know.
And, but gradually you come
under the right influences,
picking and choosing
and being selective.
And then you -- maybe
your voice is there,
a combination of six or eight or
voices that you have managed to
blend in such a way that no
one can recognize the sources.
So you can take, like
"Intimacy" from Whitman.
You can learn the Dash
from Emily Dickinson.
I mean, you can pick a little
bit from every writer and you
combine them.
And this allows you
to be authentic.
That's one of the paradoxes
of the writing life.
That's the way to originality
is through imitation.
Rita Dove:
I'd also say that when you
imitate you can do parodies
as well, which are
sometimes very useful,
because then you
understand how that,
that particular poet used the
irony, or something like that.
Then I think that what happens
too is that you become impatient
with the imitation.
You say, well, I want
to go somewhere else.
I don't want a
standing invitation.
That's a little bit of
your voice poking out.
All right.
Saying, you know, I can
do it different than that.
And so, you know a musician
will practice their scales.
And they will practice
all sorts of things.
Why people think that writers
get struck by lightening and
suddenly write the perfect poem
in one fell swoop, I don't know.
So, you know, this idea of doing
imitations or writing sonnets
until they come out of your
ears, is part of your craft.
Elizabeth Alezander:
One more quick question. Yes?
Audience Member:
How do you --
Elizabeth Alexander:
Use your microphone.
Audience Member:
How do you both teach play?
Rita Dove:
Play?
Audience Member:
Uh-huh.
Rita Dove:
I have a thing called
the wildcard which I
give to my students.
It can come at any time
during the semester, you know.
It can take -- they
are all different.
And they involve
very strange things.
Like at the first sign of the
moon tonight when it rises go
out into a field and look
for something purple.
And then they have
to open envelopes.
And the next envelope will say
and now you must turn around and
sit and write, you know, a
haiku and then go back inside.
So I give them all this stuff
that makes them so angry at me
because they are like,
especially, you know,
I'll tell someone, you know,
put on your heels and go out
in the field.
What do you mean go out in
the field with my heels on.
Because I want them to feel
how uncomfortable that is.
But in the end what happens, is
they say I don't even care what
I write anymore because I
have to open another envelope,
and they just play.
They just say I'm
going to let it out.
Those wildcards are
so much fun to write,
and in the end many of my
students say the most fun they
have ever had of writing a poem
is the idea of letting go of
your ego, forgetting
who you are,
playing with that language and
seeing what comes out of it that
touches you instead of
trying to impose something
on the language.
Billy Collins:
Students will start to play
once they get irreverent about
poetry, once they stop
taking it dead seriously.
And the hope is that they will
stop taking themselves dead
seriously because
the dead seriousness,
the earnestness often
overwhelms play.
So I take poems like
Byron's "She Walks in
Beauty Like the Night."
And I just say, you know,
substitute night for something.
So she walks in beauty like
a nutcracker or she walks in
beauty like a tangerine.
And then, you know, suddenly
everything is up for grabs and
you're into imaginative play.
And that's what
poetry really offers.
Elizabeth Alexander:
Thank you, Billy
Collins, and Rita Dove.
(applause)
And of course, we'll
hear from them tonight.
But we do that for hours.
Our next group of poets fall
into what some would call the
experimental camp.
But what I would prefer to
say, what I think is maybe more
precise is that they are
constantly questing for new ways
to solve the same problems that
we are all trying to solve:
of how to wrestle with language
to make poems to do the work
that we all do as crafts people.
But what is exciting about the
work of our next two poets is
that they have each brought
in other media, music,
visual media, interesting things
with the computer to expand the
ways we can think
about what a poem is.
Kenny Goldsmith's writing has
been called some of the most
exhaustive and beautiful collage
work yet produced in poetry.
He's the author of
ten books of poetry,
founding editor of the online
archive UbuWeb and the editor of
"I'll be your Mirror," the
selected Andy Warhol interviews,
which is the basis for an
opera called Trans-Warhol which
premiered in Geneva, an hour
long documentary on his work
"Sucking on Words."
Kenneth Goldsmith premiered at
the British library in 2007.
For many years he was the host
of a terrific weekly radio show
on New York City's WFMU and
he teaches writing at the
University of Pennsylvania
where he is the senior editor
of PennSound, a remarkable
poetry archive that I urge
you -- you all should
check it out, PennSound.
Alison Knowles, in addition to
being a poet is a visual artist
known for her sound works,
installations, performances,
publications and
association with fluxus,
the experimental avant garde
group, formally founded in 1962.
As one of the founding members
of fluxus she produced what may
be the earliest book object, a
can of text and beans called
The Bean Rolls in 1963.
In 1967 she produced
the House of Dust poem,
possibly the first
computerized poem, 1967.
She expanded the scale of her
book projects with the big book,
an eight foot tall book
of environments organized
around a spine.
So you can see the kind of
creativity that she brings
to the project of making poems.
So if Alison Knowles and Kenneth
Goldsmith would please come to
the stage, we would
love to hear from you.
(applause)
Alison Knowles:
Is Jessie here? Hi. Hi.
Elizabeth Alexander:
Okay.
Alison Knowles:
-- my daughter into
this wonderful house,
and she made it!
(applause)
Elizabeth Alexander:
If I could just -- I just
received a signal that our
First Lady has to --
oh, doesn't have to go.
Okay. Carry on.
I misread my signal.
All right. Okay. Terrific. So, Kenny.
Kenneth Goldsmith:
I'm so glad you can stay.
I would actually like to extend
what Billy and Rita said,
but take it from a slightly
different angle I'm actually
interested for my students, I
teach a class at the University
of Pennsylvania called
uncreative writing where they
are penalized for any shred of
creativity or originality that
they show.
As a matter of fact --
(laughter)
-- these kids surreptitiously
know so well how to plagiarize,
how to be fraudulent by
creating and copying,
cutting and pasting.
But it's always on the down-low.
In this class, I say no, you
must do that and you must be
accountable for those
decisions that you're making.
So in other words, I want you to
bring all that stuff that you're
doing underground.
I want you to bring it up to
the surface and you become
accountable for what you're
doing and why you're doing it.
What are the decisions
that you're making?
So one of the things that I
first have them do is I have --
I give them a very simple
homework assignment.
I say retype five
pages of your choice.
I leave the room
and they go Oh, God,
my parents are really wasting
their money here at school.
And they go home and I
don't say anything else.
And they kind of
struggle with it.
And what they come up with into
class the next week are all
deeply personal original pieces
of writing without them having
really written a word of that.
Okay.
So the question becomes what did
you choose to retype and why did
you choose to retype that?
And you get wonderful
personal stories.
One girl said I retyped five
pages of a short story that I
thought was great when
I was in high school.
But now, having retyped it I
realized that it really isn't
that great.
Okay. So there's learning.
Other students begin to realize
that writing is a physical act,
it's a bodily act, because when
you're doing something so dull
as retyping five pages you start
to notice the cramps in your
hands and you start to notice
that your legs are getting a
little bit numb.
You realize that you have
a body when you type,
and that writing is a tactile,
writing is sculpting with words.
It's an extremely
tactile experience.
And we tend to
forget about this.
We tend to be so concerned
with the sorts of things that
we are saying.
Now I think that writers,
all of you try too hard.
I say, that you need
not try so hard.
You need to just make
better selections about
what you are taking.
Now, I say to my students you
may never have writer's block in
my class, because the whole
world is yours to type.
Now of course you're all on the
web and you can cut and paste.
Now this is a very,
very, powerful tool.
You don't have to
retype anything.
You can just cut and paste the
entire works of Shakespeare
and somehow manipulate
it and represent it and
justify those representations.
This is an actual new tool that
we have and the web is nothing
but language, miles and
miles and miles of language.
I never want to hear that you
have writer's block with the cut
and paste ability
of the web, please.
Please, you can't say that.
So with that said, I
also, my whole practice,
I've written ten books
of poetry and I haven't
written a word of them.
I'm a transcriber.
I listen to things
and I retype them.
And just exactly what
Billy was saying,
I think the best way for our
young writers to learn how to
write is the way that our young
painters learn how to paint.
You go up to the museum and you
set your oil and canvas up in
front of Van Gogh or Rembrandt
and you replicate that.
I was teaching at Princeton a
couple of years ago and one of
the students came up
to me and she was very,
she was studying with one of the
most prominent fiction writers
in American, but she was
frustrated because she was given
an assignment to write a paper
in the style of Jack Kerouac,
write a piece in the
style of Jack Kerouac.
And she's like, you know, I
really can't do that, you know,
I'm facebooking
and I'm chatting,
and I'm doing -- this is,
you know, how do I do that?
And she was very frustrated
and many of the students in the
class were frustrated.
Now I think had she actually
gone and retyped Jack Kerouac's
On the Road she would
have learned a lot more.
Again, you know,
about Kerouac's style,
why we imitate it when you
can actually copy it directly.
And I think actually this
is not so different from
what you were saying.
I just call it
uncreative writing.
And I think, we are really
both getting out of the way
of different ends of what
creative writing really means.
Now I'm just about to finish up,
but I wanted to share with you
some of my books.
I am the most boring
writer who has ever lived.
I'm famous for that.
My books bore me so
badly I can't read them.
I fall asleep when I
was to proofread them.
They are horrible.
I tell you this is
a book called Day.
And I retyped one day's paper
from the New York Times from the
very beginning of the
paper to the very end.
The stock pages alone, of
course they don't do stock pages
anymore, the stock pages
alone are 300 pages.
It took me a year and-a-half
to type, retype this newspaper.
But I have to tell you
it was transcendent.
It was beautiful.
I mean I looked forward to it.
It was meditative.
One of the most fabulous
year and-a-half I ever spent.
And I came up with
a 900 page book.
Now I want to just say that this
is the greatest book that's ever
been written.
Of course I didn't write a
word of it but it's got love,
it's got pathos, it's got
war, it's got passion,
it's got victory and defeat.
You know it really is -- this
was a very slow news day.
It was the Friday of Labor
Day in September in --
the Friday of Labor Day
in September of 2000.
I mean I picked a nothing day.
I didn't want a dramatic day.
I wanted a boring day
because I'm a boring writer.
But it really is -- I want to
just say that too, the newspaper
is a novel, every day and it's
written 900 times every day
around the world or 9,000
times, who even knows.
And we throw it away and we
write another novel the next
day, culturally.
I mean it is a fabulous
literary production.
So you just simply take
something and you reframe
it and it becomes literature.
It's very easy.
You're trying too hard.
(laughter)
Elizabeth Alexander:
Thank you.
(applause)
Alison Knowles:
I thought I would like to read
from -- I would like to read
from -- is this turned on --
I would like to read from some
words of my great mentor who was
a composer named John Cage who
maybe you've heard
a little bit about,
but I had the good fortune to
work on a few books with him.
He says here, "Art, instead of
being an object made by one
person, it is a process set in
motion by a group of people.
Art's socialized.
It isn't someone
saying something,
but people doing things.
Giving everyone, including those
involved the opportunity to have
experience they would
not otherwise have had."
So, I'm emphasizing here just
to get started with something,
make a way to have a
process for yourself,
to have something that
you can show to others.
Don't be lonely.
Don't be alone with the work.
You have people all around you
who would like to hear what
you're doing.
And they can say
that's just terrible.
Or they can say, gosh,
that gives me an idea.
So then you see you can work
yourself into saying what kind
of an art, what kind
of a painter am I?
What do all of these people
think of my painting?
Well, ask them.
Why don't you all
copy the Rembrandt,
why don't you all see what you
get out of that experience?
Because art is everywhere.
You can make art
out of anything.
And this is what of course
Duchant did this with putting
a urinal up there.
I had never seen a urinal.
How many woman have ever --
(laughter)
So that's something.
Use, use the people around you.
So, I started out as a painter.
And that just didn't work.
I was studying with wonderful
people like Adolph Gottlieb,
and Richard Lindner.
But you know who
it didn't work for?
It didn't work for me.
I would take these paintings
home and show them to my dear
husband, and we would
all agree that you know,
the colors were okay, but,
I finally decided I was more
interested in something
where I could more directly
give to people.
So I got into sound.
(rattling)
I started to put
beans into paper.
(rattling)
So I became a papermaker
and I became a composer.
And now I make instruments,
most which have beans inside.
I know a lot about beans.
But, seems to me that what
you
have to get rid of is when you're
starting out is that that's
what you're going to be.
Because that's not necessarily
where you'll end up.
Thank you.
(applause)
Elizabeth Alexander:
Someone over here.
Who's got a question?
Audience Member:
Who are your poetic influences?
Alison Knowles:
Pardon me?
Audience Member:
Who are your poetic influences?
Alison Knowles:
Oh, Thoreau.
First of all Thoreau.
John Cage --
Elizabeth Alexander:
Why don't you use the mic?
Alison Knowles:
John turned me on to
Walden and those poems.
And I was very much into
being in nature more.
I was born in New York City.
And so when I get into the woods
or something I go into a very
personal wonderful trip
with myself, I think.
And, but I also had a lot of
appreciation of Robert Frost.
"Two roads diverged in a
yellow wood and I could
not travel both.
I took one as long as
I could until it bent
into the undergrowth.
Then took the other,
as just as fair.
And having perhaps the better
call because it was grassy and
wanted wear, though as for that
the passing there had worn them
really about the same.
I should be telling this
like a sigh somewhere ages
and ages hence.
Two roads diverged in a wood.
And I took the one
less traveled by.
And that has meant
all the difference.
(applause)
Right, absolutely.
(applause)
Speaker:
Another question for Mr. Goldsmith?
Right there.
Yes, you.
Speaker:
Is there a limitation
on imitation?
It almost seems like you could
become too obsessed with
imitating someone and, you know,
forget that you're still looking
for your own voice?
So is there a line?
Should we look for that line?
Mr. Goldsmith:
Well, you know,
imitation is the highest
form of flattery.
(laughter) Seriously.
And also bootlegging.
(laughter) I mean, it's an
artist's dream to have someone
care about your work enough
to want to bootleg it.
In other words, that imitation
is a sense of validation,
you see.
You see, so it's not robbing.
It's not taking.
It's actually very generous and
very giving and paying tribute.
So, you know, it's showing love.
And it's showing support.
(laughter) And I believe that
that's really the sort of
communities that we're
talking about here.
Speaker:
Alison, did you
want to add to that?
Alison Knowles:
I just like the idea of putting forth that poetry doesn't have
parameters much.
You know, I do quite a
bit of performance art.
And yet I always feel like I'm
some kind of poet, even though I
do less with words than, say,
someone like Kenny or a lot of
other people.
Poetry is, I think, the
hugest category in our
Mr. Goldsmith:
Well, it really is generous.
It's a really generous field
because they allow
someone like myself in.
And I'm very grateful to this
field because, you know, I mean
the fiction world wouldn't have
a guy that reads
"New York Times".
But somehow poetry has been
generous enough to allow people
like myself in there.
And I think that's something
really great about the art form
because, quite frankly, in
poetry, there's really
nothing to lose.
And so if you're not taking the
greatest risks in your work,
why bother?
Sometimes a painter who has a
wonderful market is afraid to
change their style because God
forbid they should alienate the
collector base and
the prices fall down.
But we have nothing to lose.
We have absolutely
nothing to lose.
So you are obliged to make your
work as risky as possible and
true to the art form.
And this is the purest and
clearest of all of the art
forms.
As a result, we
are incorruptible.
(applause)
Speaker:
Thank you, Kenny Goldsmith,
and Alison Knowles.
Now, I must say I would like us
to thank the first ladies for
being here -- they have other
commitments today -- so let's
give them a round of applause.
Let's give them a
round of applause.
Thank you.
(applause) All right.
Now we are going to hear from
some of our young poets.
We're going to hear poems from
Destiny Campbell of the Bronx --
When I call your name, if
you would please come up.
And I would like
you all to come up.
Louis Zalia from
Washington, D.C.
Will Fesperman from Baltimore.
Joseph Verge from Detroit.
(applause) Raeme Miccio
Gavino from San Francisco.
And Mora Bass from
Richmond, Virginia.
(applause) Well, look at you.
Hello there.
It's great to see
you all up here.
So I think we will just go down
the line and each of you will
share a poem.
A poem.
Yes, the whole thing.
Oh, yes.
Thank you.
Speaker:
"Belly Song", dedicated to my
mother who has been diagnosed
with kidney failure.
Eight months you carried me
Morning sickness, wasn't ready,
Eight months you carried But I,
I will carry you as long as need
Sit in my belly For I shall hold
you Sit in my belly Listen to
the song It sings from my heart
My belly song will cure your
sickness Cure you from kidneys
that decided they had enough.
Feel soothing blood so that you
heart will pump when my heart
pumps Memories of daughter /
Mommy day Memories of pillow
fights and movie nights Memories
of nite-nite and warm kisses
Kiss ...
my hands too My mother Princess
Tiesha, my mother She taught me
Women are more powerful with
brains than beauty Taught me to
love love all things even the
one's I'd never Taught me to
love myself For no one can love
you better But Mommy I love you
better Better than how the moon
sparkles just right with the
stars Better than how roses love
the feeling of each rain drop
dropping on its pedals Better
than how viruses can love to
attach to your cells
But I'm here to stop it!
Dare to fight God for what I
love My love can make sick
better Mommy you taught me
Remember to rejoice relove And
never regret reteach I will
reteach you, teach you the
meaning of love Mommy Give me
the key to your heart Allow me
to touch touch, your heart
beat Beat beat, one more
time For the future.
Beat To open your eyes Eyes, to
see me vow to love you Making
the kind of commitment that
brides and grooms make But our
love is deeper This daughter /
Mommy love Vowing to be there In
sickness and in health For
richer or for poorer Till death
due us part Our love
is eternal Thank you.
(applause)
Speaker:
Wow.
(laughter) So I didn't memorize
my poem unfortunately.
I should have
probably done that.
Audience Member:
That's okay.
That's all right.
Speaker:
The poem I wrote
was called "Memories".
I remember those good old days
The days when I ran with a
Barbie in my right hand and a
toy car in my left The days when
I ate the chicken and put my
veggies in a napkin The days of
naptime and milk with cookies
Yeah, I remember those days With
the screams and the yells
the whips and the brooms The
ultimatums and the death stares
Those were the days I remember
those days With the beer bottles
and the hard liquor With the
tears and the blood Those good
old days With police and jail
visits The CIA and immigration
And lonely nights with no one to
tuck me in Yeah, those were the
days I did my homework with no
help I cooked my own food I did
the cleaning I got fatter and
fatter I remember those days
Which I worked out alone Which I
exceeded without you Which I ate
my burnt food Yeah, I remember
(applause)
Speaker:
My poem is called "Wide".
And it actually has two
parentheticals in it.
And I think the parentheticals
are kind of important
to the poem.
So I guess I'll try to show
somehow that those are in there.
We may be as you said softly One
hand on a cup of hot chocolate
in a midnight November diner
Nothing more than wet, messy
computers Wet, messy ugly and
slow I mused into the brown,
curling mud flats at the bottom
of my cup But maybe, I wanted to
say, somewhere in the zeros and
ones of your brain In the flawed
gray tissue where all words
shoot to electric life You will
find the synaptic language of
love, the chemical pathways Of
desire, the scientific root See
how you spark my ganglia with
your words of all joy
(applause)
Speaker:
3, 2, 1, Pow!
Now, that's what a track race
sounds like But I also like to
compare life as one big race On
September 7, 1994
at 7:15 p. m.
, my mother shot me out of her
womb I tripped over my umbilical
cord but I kept crawling because
I wanted a head start in life
See, on this earth, we are
runners And the track is the
circle of life So we just got to
keep running until we meet the
finish line ribbon of death On
April 16, 2007, my grandmother
died of cancer So I like to
believe that her finish line
ribbon was pink.
And you know, it's funny How
some people believe that they
can cheat death as if they were
running on the outside of the
track, just so they can get a
longer life expectancy While
other people like Michael
Jackson who shot up drugs as if
it was quick silver just so he
can end his race faster Because
when paparazzi chase you it
makes you want to become a dove
and fly 3, 2, 1, Pow!
How we run in this life is
determined by the pair of shoes
that's been given to us by our
parents In order for us to run
successfully, our parents have
to make sure that our shoes fit.
And let's just say that my shoes
weren't always tied My father
never left me any footprints to
follow or showed me how to stay
in my lane so I'd never wander
off or get lost That's why when
my son is born I'm making
sure that his shoes are fit
double-knotted And if they're an
inch off I'm taking them back I
want to leave footprints bigger
than Bigfoot for him to follow I
want him to Usain Bolt
in life 3, 2, 1, Pow!
And that's what killed my
friend Jamar Pinkney, Jr.
before he died, he told me Never
reach for the stars Because if
you fall and land on a cloud
that's just too close to reality
I remember when his father
picked him up from school I
said, What's up, mailman?
But who knew that the mailman
would send his one and only son
on a rush delivery to heaven
What I wouldn't do to grab his
hoodie one last time just to
slow him down But the sound of
his father's handgun made him
leap like frog 3, 2, 1, Pow!
I've been running this
race for 16 years.
Mushroom clouds of confusion and
questions have been blocking my
view So I've been having to
write the success of my own
future And I learned that the
way we run is not determined by
our shoes but by the runner (Applause)
Speaker:
Hello.
My poem is called,
"In the Morning".
Sunshine is quiet in the morning
It yearns to stay pristine But
the birds mar it with their
flight and tea kettles boil and
buses start running
Nevertheless, sunshine is quiet
in the morning Sometimes if you
have big windows and you leave
them open -- the curtains, that
is, and they'd have to be east
facing -- Then the sun would be
a site to see It would sneak
over rooftops and expose things
hidden in the night Flowers
perhaps The dark dawn recedes,
the birds wake up The slummy
shops open the drunks wake from
their sidewalk beds The tea
kettle boils
(applause)
Speaker:
"Shana".
Well, we all know, don't we then
We're all ready for the worst
Shana, don't you give in I won't
lie to you, girl I ain't going
to tell no stories Because there
sure as heck is always going to
be another heartbreak.
But who said there ain't going
to be someone who will just keep
on mending You just keep those
music notes and stars floating
around your head And ignore the
moans and groans Shana, don't
you give in None of our lives is
filled with fluffy bunnies and
kept promises And, above
all, true love Don't you go
pretending, child But Shana,
don't you give in Your prince
will come But don't you go
searching too early or it will
jinx your luck.
He's a waitin' somewhere
just hold your dang horses!
Just cuz one left you, push on!
I'll be betting that there's
going to be 20 seizing the
moment when they find out No one
needs the waters to rise Shana,
Don't you give in You ain't one
of them teeter-totter, blonde
headed heavens-to-Betsy, simple
minded airhead chicks who's
always checking their hair in
the mirror What do they care of
the future?
No, You got promise, child
Shana, don't you give in That's
why they like you, you know Now,
get your sensible head out of
the low-hanging clouds Move on
and come out of this morning No
one wants a girl who cries
during math class, caring more
about her problems than the ones
in the book I love you, girl
Shana, don't you give in
(applause)
Speaker:
Thank you all very, very much.
Thank you.
You can probably walk that way.
Yeah, that's the best way.
Fabulous.
All right.
For our last segment of the
workshop, we are going to hear
from someone who works with the
human voice and with music, a
singer/song writer.
And it's important to remember,
I think -- and I think that
Aimee Mann gives us an
opportunity to remember this,
that people, across history,
across time, across space, as
long as we've been on this
planet, people have always made
some form of poetry and lifted
their voice together in song.
So we're going to hear from
Aimee Mann to conclude our day.
She is a rock guitarist,
bassist, singer, and song
writer, born in Richmond,
Virginia who graduated from
Open High school, attended the
Berkeley College of Music in
Boston but dropped out to sing
with her first punk rock band,
The Young Snakes.
She then, after that, cofounded
a new wave band called Till
Tuesday, which achieved great
success in 1985 with its first
album, "Voices Carry".
And that video
became an MTV staple.
Some of you might have seen it
winning the MTV music award for
best new artist.
In 1990, she began
her solo career.
And her many albums include
the soundtrack for the movie
"Magnolia".
Let's please welcome Aimee Mann.
(applause)
Aimee Mann:
Thank you.
I think we have to
set up some stuff.
Are we going to play or talk?
Speaker:
Do you want to
talk while you set up?
Whichever you prefer.
Aimee Mann:
I don't think
I can do two things at once.
We'll play first and then talk.
Speaker:
Okay, great.
Aimee Mann:
Usually we have a
guy to do this.
(laughter)
This is Jevin and Paul.
They're going to
be helping me out.
(applause) (guitar strumming)
You look like a perfect fit For
a girl in need of a tourniquet
But can you save me Come on and
save me If you could save me
From the ranks of the freaks Who
suspect they could never love
anyone 'Cause I can tell you
know what it's like The long
farewell of the hunger strike
But can you save me Why don't
you save me If you could save me
From the ranks of the freaks Who
suspect they could
never love anyone
You struck me down like Radium
Like Peter Pan or Superman You
will come to save me Why don't
you save me If you could save me
From the ranks of the freaks
That suspect they could never
love anyone Except the freaks
who suspect they could never
love anyone But the freaks who
suspect they could never love
anyone C'mon and save me Why don't you save me If you could
save me From the ranks of the freaks who suspect they could
never love anyone
Except the freaks who suspect
they could never love anyone
Except the freaks who could
never love anyone (applause)
Thank you.
Speaker:
I wanted to start with a
question to ask you about
poetry, poetry that isn't set to
music and how poetry is a part
of or isn't is part of your
making songs, your whole
process.
Aimee Mann:
I don't think
it's really -- it's not like a
read a lot of poetry.
I mean, I think that my thing is
I have a real love of language
and sort of whatever I come
across with a person clearly has
a love of words.
I think, like Billy was -- when
he was talking about that, you
know, you sort of come for the
form, for the love of language,
for the love of the form.
That's kind of my thing.
And you know, in a lot of ways,
I don't feel like
lyrics are poetry.
I mean, I feel like lyrics -- I
think that it's like cheating.
Because you have music and as
soon as you hear the music, it
makes you feel something.
So you're already -- you know,
you don't have to rely on
language as much.
And like my personal feeling is
that people get away with murder
with lyrics and that, you know,
you can have a song that's still
a pretty good song where clearly
the person is not really
thinking so much about
what they're saying.
And that does drive me crazy
because, you know, I love words.
I love the form.
I love having the form be -- you
know, I love having rhymes that
are exact and internal
rhymes and alliteration.
Like all the sort of classic
things that poetry has to offer.
I feel like the more you have of
that the better the experience
is as a listener because those
things kind of click
in your brain.
They sort of -- you know, it's a
fun thing for your brain to hear
that kind of, you know, like
exact rhymes or words within a
sentence that kind of go
together in an interesting way.
So you know, it's not
poetry specifically.
But whoever likes to move
words around, I'm a fan of.
Speaker:
Let's hear from some other --
I'm sure that many of you have
questions as well.
Questions for Aimee Mann?
I have more, but I want
you all to ask questions.
Right there.
Poet shirt, yes?
You all have shirts
that say poet.
Audience Member:
My question was how do you -- because for me,
I don't think that I
could ever write a song.
So do you think you could ever
write poetry in silence, like
without the music, if you could?
Aimee Mann:
I think I could but I mean, it would probably be harder.
I mean, it would
definitely be harder.
I mean, I've always sort of
felt like -- I'm not a very
articulate person.
And writing songs is -- sort
of became for me a way to talk
about things that I could not
talk about in any other way.
And I think that really, like
having music kind of jump start
that, it just -- you know,
like if you hear --
(strumming guitar) -- you know,
you feel something.
Or I do anyway.
And then I go, well,
what is that I'm feeling.
(guitar strumming) And to me it
feels like the music has a story
in it and I just have to kind
of figure out what that is.
And maybe it's a little like
having a dream and interpreting
your dream or looking at a piece
of art and -- or it's like a
Rorschach test really.
You look at the inkblot and you
go, it looks like a butterfly
with like a guy with a -- so
maybe that's just what it is.
And I think that's okay.
But that's sort of how I
approach it because that saves
me the burden of going, What am
I thinking and How do I feel?
So I go, Well, what
is the music saying?
But it does feel like
cheating, I have to say.
Speaker:
One last question.
You can stand.
Speaker:
What lead you to cross over
from like the hardcore punk
scene to a more acoustic sound?
Aimee Mann:
I think when I was younger, I wasn't an accomplished musician,
so the punk scene was
attractive because it was really
like anything goes and you
could do anything.
You know, like my manager is
here, and we were in bands in
Boston together.
And he was in a band.
They had a song, the lyrics of
which were, "recipe for shrimp
flambé" There was something very
fun and very playful about that,
having, you know, you could
do whatever you wanted to do.
But then I started to realize
that within that sort of, you
know, super arty underground
punk scene, there were things
that you were not
supposed to write about.
Like you weren't supposed
to write about any kind of
relationship stuff
or love songs.
That was out of the question.
And then I started to feel
like, well, this is
kind of restrictive.
And so I did sort
of an aboutface.
I don't think like I'm
essentially very, you know, sort
of angry, punky type of
person in the first place.
But it was a fun thing
to try out for a while.
Speaker:
Okay.
Well, thank you Aimee Mann.
Speaker:
Thank you so much.
(applause)
Speaker:
And so we have at
an end of this part of the day.
I want to thank everyone for
attending and, of course, to
thank the President and the
First Lady for having us here
for this occasion.
I want to give one last round of
applause to all of the poets.
Thank you so much.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
(applause) And I just want to
send you off into the day with a
few words from the great poet
from the South Side of Chicago,
the bard of the South Side, the
late, great Gwendolyn Brooks.
I hope you all know her poetry.
And I'm reading out her words,
of course, because the south
side of Chicago gave us our
spectacular First Lady.
So I just want to leave you
with Gwendolyn Brooks' words:
"Conduct your blooming in the
noise and the whip of the
whirlwind".
So off you go.
Happy poetry!
