>> From the Library of
Congress in Washington, D.C.
>> Good evening.
Good evening.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
It is my very great
pleasure to welcome you
to the Second Annual National
Book Festival Youth Poetry Slam.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Congratulations on making it
through the day and to Ballroom C,
the farthest reaches of the
National Book Festival today.
My name is Sarah Browning.
I have the great honor of
being the Executive Director
of Split This Rock, one of the
sponsors of tonight's Slam.
You would have seen our banner here
alongside the NEA's and the Library
of Congress', but, of course,
on the way over it got smashed.
So we're going to say Split
This Rock a lot tonight
so that you remember.
Split This Rock is a national
organization with deep roots
in Washington, D.C.'s
poetry community.
We are dedicated to
poetry that bears witness
to injustice and provokes change.
If ever we were in need
of such poetry it is now.
[ Applause ]
That's right.
[ Applause ]
With so many in the streets
even today here speaking
out for racial justice, speaking
out for a new vision of our nation,
at the forefront are the poets.
At the forefront of the
poets are the young poets,
and we are very lucky that we'll be
hearing from eight of them tonight.
Two from Washington, D.C., two
from Houston, two from Chicago,
and two from Los Angeles.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Woo-hoo, that's right.
[ Applause ]
I want to give an enormous
shoot-out to the National Endowment
for the Arts, especially Amy Stolls,
the Director of the Literature
Program there [cheering],
a great friend to books, to
reading, and to literature.
I want to give a huge shout-out
to the Library of Congress,
to Rob Casper, to Guy
Levarina [assumed spelling],
to Maria Rahna [assumed spelling],
who are bringing us here today,
who've done so much to bring
us into this room tonight.
I'm also going to have the
privilege of introducing your emcee
for the evening in just one minute.
First I want to ask you to
silence your cell phones.
You don't want to be
that person, you know,
in the middle of a
young person's poem
about how the first book they
remember reading changed their
lives, and then you got the William
Tell Overture or Kanye, you know?
No. Neither of those
options is good.
So please silence your
cell phone and, all right.
Whew.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
You're going to hear more
about him in a minute,
but this is our very
new Poet Laureate
of the United States,
Juan Felipe Herrera --
[ Applause and Cheering ]
-- who is one of our
three celebrity judges
who you'll be introduced
to in just a moment.
So, Split This Rock, Split
This Rock, Split This Rock.
Split This Rock has
a table in the back
and my very good buddies there
[inaudible] Tiana [assumed spelling]
and Simone are waving at you.
They're in the back at the table.
They are there to answer your
Split This Rock questions
and meet all your Split This
Rock needs including you have an
opportunity to sign
up for our LISTSERV.
Of course, you can also follow
us on Twitter or on Facebook,
and especially -- who's -- are
you all from the local area?
Do we have out-of-towners?
[ Cheering ]
We have some out-or-towners.
Welcome to D.C. You can check -- if
you're from the local area and want
to hear about local events
or if you're national,
check General Interest.
If you're most interested in youth
programs, check Youth Programs.
That's the LISTSERV.
We also have flyers about
our Cornerstone Program
which is a festival every two years.
The next one is coming
up in April of 2016.
You may think that's a
long way off, but it's not.
It's right around the corner.
We have astonishing poets.
In fact, Juan Felipe will
be kicking off the festival
with a special event at
the Library of Congress
on Wednesday, April 13th.
We're incredibly excited about that.
And then other poets who will
be featured include Ross Gaye,
Linda Hogan, a really
extraordinary lineup,
so please get the Save-the-Date
Flyer
from the back of the table there.
And, also, we have a contest.
Any poets in the house?
Whoo-hoo. We have a youth contest
and we have an all-ages contest,
and those both have
deadlines coming up,
and there are flyers
for that as well.
There's also a youth open mic
every third Saturday at Fifth
and K Busboys, and lots going on.
So please join us, all right, for
poetry that speaks out for justice
and imagines a better world.
Also at the back is Library
of Congress materials including
a special issue of their magazine
that was entirely focused on
poetry called Poetry Nation.
That's the nation that I live
in and I welcome you to tonight.
So check out their
magazine, Poetry Nation.
All right.
So now it's my very great pleasure
to introduce to you Kosi Dunn
who will be your emcee
for the evening.
Kosi is an alum of the
DC Youth Slam Team.
By the way, DC Youth Slam Team
is a program of Split This Rock.
In 2004 the DC Youth Slam Team took
first place in Brave New Voices,
the International Youth
Poetry Slam Festival.
[ Applause ]
Right on. Kosi is now
an undergraduate
at the University of Maryland.
He is the President of the
student poetry organization there,
Terp [assumed spelling] Poets,
and he works in the Inclusion
and Multicultural Office.
It's my very great pleasure
to give you Kosi Dunn.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo.
How's everybody doing this evening?
[ Cheering and Applause ]
Okay. I think -- I don't know if
you maybe misheard Miss Sarah.
See, I'm in college right?
So a lot of the things I do is
like about 50/25/3000
times louder than that.
So I think we all going to turn
up in this space right now.
Can you please make some noise for
the National Book Festival, you all?
[ Cheering ]
Ah, ah, ah, yes, yes,
yes, yes, yes, yes.
That's what I like to hear.
That's what I like to hear.
Thank you for the lovely
introduction.
I'm happy to be sharing
this space with you all.
Before I talk about me, I
would like to talk about you,
and I would like you to
talk about you with me.
So if you can, if you
are able to stand,
I would like to invite you all to
stand and take a position of power.
This stance, maybe -- maybe it's a
mindset of power, that empowers you.
For example, mine is
this [laughter].
So if you would like to join me
in taking positions of power,
we're about to do some affirmations.
Is that cool?
All right.
I'm going to wait for you all.
It's all good.
I have time.
[ Humming ]
All right.
Say, I.
>> I.
>> Kosi Dunn: I --
>> I.
>> Kosi Dunn: -- am alive --
>> Am alive.
>> Kosi Dunn: -- in this space.
>> In this space.
>> Kosi Dunn: Therefore --
>> Therefore --
>> Kosi Dunn: -- this space --
>> -- this space --
>> Kosi Dunn: -- must be live.
>> -- must be live.
>> Kosi Dunn: Say I.
>> I --
>> Kosi Dunn: -- am alive --
>> -- am alive --
>> Kosi Dunn: -- in this space.
>> -- in this space.
>> Kosi Dunn: Therefore --
>> Therefore --
>> Kosi Dunn: -- and thus --
>> -- and thus --
>> Kosi Dunn: -- this space --
>> -- this space --
>> Kosi Dunn: -- must be live.
Clap it up for yourselves.
>> -- must be live.
[ Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: All right, all
right, all right, all right.
My name is Kosi Dunn.
I am 20 years old.
I'm also a junior at the
University of Maryland College Park.
Go Terps. Whoo.
I am studying English, a little
bit of film, and a little bit
of business in the Robert
Smith Business School
for Innovation and Entrepreneurship.
I'm interested in storytelling,
telling stories,
because they matter, because
each and every single person
who touches this stage is
attempting to change you.
You, right there, we're
going to change you.
It's going to happen.
I hope you're ready.
All right.
So I'm supposed to tell you
all what a poetry slam is.
Raise your hand if you are new to
this thing we call a poetry slam.
Mm-hmm. They lying in the front.
Why you lying?
All right, all right,
all right, all right.
And so a poetry slam
was created in 1984
by a Chicago construction
worker named Mark Smith.
>> No way.
>> Kosi Dunn: Ah.
So you know the dude, the thing.
It is a game in which
we perform poetry.
Our performed poetry is judged on
a numerical scale of zero to 10.
Yes, we are putting arbitrary
numbers to incredibly sympathetic,
empathetic life-changing poetry.
I don't know who started this.
He must be ridiculous,
that Mark Smith.
>> No way.
>> Kosi Dunn: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.
Poets have three minutes,
three minutes,
to present their original work
with a 10-second grace period.
After 3:10, the poets
will lose .5 points
for every 10 seconds they go over.
This reminds me of a quote by a
man, you may have heard of him,
his name was William Shakespeare.
It said, "Brevity" -- say brevity --
>> Brevity --
>> Kosi Dunn: -- is the soul --
>> -- is the soul --
>> Kosi Dunn: -- of wit.
>> -- of wit.
>> Kosi Dunn: Okay.
You all learned something today.
We're going to change
lives, you all.
Okay. After two rounds, the poets
with the highest scores
are declared the winners.
But the point is not the point.
The point is the what?
[ Multiple Speakers ]
The point is the what?
[ Multiple Speakers ]
The point is the huh?
[ Multiple Speakers ]
All right.
See, slam is stupid.
Say slam is stupid.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
It's a game.
Say it's a game.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
That makes no sense, really.
But it has grown in
popularity all over the world
and is now an international
phenomenon bringing more
and more people into
the world of poetry
and creative writing each year.
If you spoke in word, poetry
is an interactive art.
Say interactive.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
So everybody in this room
has a job to do tonight.
You all, you and you
and you, cameraperson.
I'm not taking you out of this.
We have a job today, okay?
Our job is to show love to the poets
and make a lot of noise
for the poems.
Could you all do that?
Could you all show love, please?
[ Cheering ]
Because I was like a
14-year-old poet back in the day,
and I spent all day,
all week, all year,
trying to write these
cheesy love poems
to all these girls
in my high school.
And I got up here shaking my hands
and homies [inaudible] it was quiet,
and it scarred me for
life, and now I turned
into a pink pant wearing poet.
[ Laughter ]
I love pink pants and poetry.
But, so, just know, understand
that we have plenty of work
to do, both audience and poets.
We are life changing,
we are changing lives,
we are doing important
hashtag necessary work.
Thank you Split This Rock.
>> Split This Rock.
[ Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: I was told
to say Split This Rock
multiple times this night.
We okay. So we beseech
the judges, okay.
So we have judges, right?
The judges will be putting these
arbitrary, ridiculous numbers
to the incredibly life-changing
poetry.
I will be introducing
them in a moment.
A lot of them are incredible
human beings and artists
and creators and civic leaders.
And I'm just astounded to be
sharing this space with them.
I'm astounded to be
sharing space with you all,
but I don't know your
biographies yet, okay?
So we're going to keep it moving.
So, judges, you task, right, is
to -- you know what I'm saying?
You have to be stoic.
You have to be actively listening.
You have to be drawing from
all of your rhetoric analysis
in literary critique skills.
You know what I'm saying?
Homie's got MSA's doing all these
incredible things and whatnot.
So you all are going to take all
the way back into the classroom.
You know what I'm saying?
And you're going to take,
you're going to bring that
and analyze these poems, right?
You're not going to let
all these crazy people
in the background tell
you what a poem is.
You do this stuff for a living.
They just came here for
a free poetry festival.
Audience, I have no idea
who these people are.
I stamp. I swear to God, stamp
that, like they just rolled up here.
You know what I'm saying?
One of them said they were the
Poet Laureate of the United States.
I was like, yeah, sure,
all right, okay.
One of them was like,
I'm here for the,
you know, National Public Radio.
I was like, oh, what?
Hut? And the other one was all like,
yeah, yeah, I'm like, you know,
a National Poetry Slam
representative
for the Beltway D.C. Slam Team.
And I was like, you must be crazy.
I live in D.C. I haven't
seen you before.
So your job is to sway them.
Say sway.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
Say sway.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
You ain't got the answers.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
All right.
Yes, thank you.
I brought that joke here.
Please, you can use it.
It's for free.
Okay. So sway them.
Make sure they know what's up.
If you don't like the score,
say listen to the poem.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
All right.
If you like the story, if you
like the score, you can do a one
or seven of many things, right?
See, poetry is a vast,
global art form, right?
So, you know, keeping in
mind the infinite iterations
of human experience, you
may feel inclined, you know,
to do stomping feet type motions
when you like something you hear.
Or you want to snap, you know, like
the old [inaudible] back in the day.
You know what I'm saying?
Or, you know, you can clap,
but maybe not too loud,
so we can get through the poems.
We got homies out here who
be like, "Yo, yes, yes, go.
And that's my baby.
She just started."
So please don't be that person.
You know what I'm saying?
You could do what we like to do back
in the D.C. Youth Slam
monthly youth open mics
which is the awkward giraffe
with you banging with the poem.
You know what I'm saying?
You could just be like yas.
Or you can do the yas, or you
can do the -- what, Jonathan?
The sweet chocolate noise, you know,
where you really like the chocolate
or if you're lactose intolerant,
if you really like the
laughy-taffy or something.
You're like, mm, yah, mmmmm.
You can do all of those things.
You could do all of those things.
I won't judge.
Maybe the judges will judge.
Hopefully, that's their job.
Speaking of judges, I would like
for you all, all, to be ready
and prepared to clap for them
because this might be the
last time you clap for them.
Actually, it won't be because this
is a space of love and assurance.
You understand that they have this
hardest job in this room besides me,
and I just have to be
awesome for 100% of the time,
and I'm just used to doing that.
So, please welcome Lauren Bullock,
who I recently said was the
National Poetry Slam Representative
for the D.C.'s Beltway Slam Team.
Please clap it up for Lauren.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Awesome. We have Bilal
Qureshi, the Cultural Reporter
for the National Public Radio.
Clap it up for Bilal.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
And we have none other
than Juan Filipe Herrera,
the United States Poet Laureate.
If you do not know --
[ Applause and Cheering ]
-- if you do not know what the
Poet Laureate is, for, you know,
the young folk out here, I would
like to bring it down for you all
with a colloquium like
we use lately.
It's called -- what was it?
It's the goat, right?
So he's like the goat of all poetry
in this entire country, right?
That's epic.
Okay, anyway.
I'm going to carry on.
Maybe I just like poems,
you know what I'm saying?
Anyway, we're going
to keep it moving.
We're going to keep it rolling.
I'm going to introduce the
competing poets because this is
where it's all about, right?
I would like to welcome to the stage
-- actually, before I welcome them,
I just want you to
hold your applause.
And they'll be having
a live interactions.
And I know you guys are
waiting to do things.
But hold the applause so I
can announce all the poets,
all the team information,
and all the names,
and then we can give the entire
cohort an applause afterwards.
Is that cool?
Thank you.
Okay. So, please, give a
welcome to, when it's time,
Get Lit of Words you Ignite
of Los Angeles, California.
The Get Lit Poetry Slam Team is
dedicated to bringing the power
of poetic expression
to at-risk teens
through a standards-based curriculum
fusing classing literature
and poetry with contemporary
spoken word performance techniques.
Get Lit's Youth Poetry Programs
are designed to boost literacy,
foster cultural understanding, and
encourage creative self-expression.
If you'd like to know more about Get
Lit, please visit www.getlit.org.
The poets who will be competing this
evening are Kamal [assumed spelling]
and Mila.
Please also welcome to the stage
and the competition Young
Chicago Authors based in Chicago.
Young Chicago Authors creates a
culture that transforms the lives
of young people and
their communities
by bringing together participants
through writing, publication,
and performance education for civic
discourse and community celebration.
More information on
them can be found
at www.youngchicagoauthors.org.
And the poets competing from their
organization are Antoine and Maya.
From Houston, Texas, we have Writers
in the Schools, a metaphor
Houston team.
They encourage self-expression
and literacy among Houston's youth
through creative writing
and performance.
Huh. It seems that
there's a common theme
of creative writing and performance.
That might be important in
its relation to literacy.
Huh. Maybe we should
talk about that later.
Professional performance poets work
with teens during the school day
and after school helping youth
explore and express their truths
through writing and
performance workshops.
Public competitions and slams
between the top youth poets
take place in the spring
to elect a metaphor
Houston Slam Team.
If you are interested in their work
please go to www.witshouston.org.
The poets who will be joining
us from Houston are Lily
and Rukmeeni [assumed spelling].
From D.C. we have Split
This Rock's D.C. Youth Slam.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
Three stars.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
Hey. You'll hear it later.
The D.C. Youth Slam Poetry Team uses
poetry to teach and empower teens
from the D.C. metropolitan
area to speak
up on issues of social justice.
Split This Rock cultivates
heated and celebrates poetry
that bears witness to injustice
and provokes social change.
Building the audience for poetry and
privacation [phonetic] and witness
from our home in the nation's
capital we celebrate poetic
diversity and the transformational
power of the imagination, you all.
These are our homies from mine.
I'm an alumni of this program.
We're welcoming Kenya
and Cedric aka Remedy.
Please clap it up for all eight
of these poets who'll
be joining the stage.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
Whew. I feel like I ran a marathon.
I'm sorry I did that to you.
Please can we also give a round
of applause to our interpreter.
My father is also deaf so I'm
always thankful for spaces
that allow a multiple
means of communication.
It's always difficult trying to
share my poetry with my father
because it's a spoken art.
So I'm very thankful to be
sharing this space with you.
All right.
It's time.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
I know. I know.
It's time to start the
Poetry Slam, right?
[ Multiple Speakers ]
Yeah. It's not time to
start the Poetry Slam.
We must sacrifice somebody to
the gods [heavy breathing].
All right, okay.
So I'm going to --
so the sacrificial poet is here
to calibrate the judges, right?
We got to get them warmed up.
We got to get them flexing
their literary critique muscles.
You know what I'm saying?
This is going to serve as a marker
to judge the rest of the poems.
The first round of this particular
Poetry Slam will be poems
specifically around the
theme of books, right?
So this is broad theme,
but they must be including
that of books, right?
For instance, you can hear poems
about someone's favorite book.
Or you can hear a poem as
someone in the perspective
of a character in a book.
Oh, the possibilities
are endless, right,
and we're excited for them all.
So, before we begin this, we have
to have a sacrificial poet go up.
And the sacrificial poet is --
[ Inaudible Speaker ]
Oh, yeah. Hannah Smallward
[assumed spelling].
Okay, [inaudible].
Please welcome to the stage Hannah.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Hi.
>> Hey.
>> Chronic pain is a
young and eager teacher.
But I never managed
to learn moderation.
I am an all or nothing kind of
girl and this pain is no different.
So, instead, I learned
not to talk about it.
Eventually no one knew
I was in pain at all.
The second thing I learned very
quickly is that you can get used
to anything, can redefine
pain, and okay,
and what a good day feels like.
Since September 2nd it's
been two years of this ache.
I remember that first December
amidst the fires of cortisone shot
and ripped-apart ligament
I got two whole minutes.
My hand soaking in hot wax.
It was 7:30 in the
morning on a Wednesday.
It was midterms week, just
days before my 16th birthday
and I got two whole minutes.
And I cried.
Until the pain was lifted I
had no idea how badly I hurt.
You can get used to anything
if you try hard enough.
Last night I cried
again, loud and messy.
Crawled into the lap of my
coach, sobbed into her shirt.
I wept two years of thunderstorms in
her arms, and she said I was strong.
And it took my breath away.
This kind of fighting
doesn't feel like strength.
It feels like hiding, like
hands always touching,
and eyes always watching.
It feels like choking on
outrage and bitterness.
This is trying to hide my hatred
for how my body is
breaking down around me.
It is the little things.
The plates I can't pick up,
the bottles I cannot open.
How some days I can't
hold my baby sister.
How some days I can't
remember how it felt before.
Sometimes I can't bear to.
This is what find has to mean now.
I try not to wince,
try not to let it win.
I refuse to lose anymore
of myself to this pain.
That December, when I had faced
only months and not years,
I cried relieved tears,
the worst-is-over tears.
This is the beginning of the end.
It has to be tears.
I know better now.
Last night I cried for myself, the
me I cannot find in mirrors anymore.
I cried for the two minutes,
almost wishing I didn't
have them to remember.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: All right,
all right, all right.
So this was the test one, right?
So the judges have until the
end of this spiel right here
to throw up their scores.
I'm going to read them from low
to high to you all, you know,
just for kicks and
laughs and whatnot.
And then we're going to
keep it moving to the thing
that actually matter, okay?
Cool. So judges, from low
to high, we have a 8.0,
we have an 8.5, and we have an 8.9.
But please give some noise
for the poet and the poem.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Fantastic, fantastic.
So please note, to all
you out-of-towners,
please put on your calendars
for reasons to come back to D.C.
for April -- please mark
April 14th through the 17th
for the Split This Rock
Bi-annual Poetry Festival.
If you're interested in
it, it will be in 2016,
April 14th through the 17th.
Please visit splitthisrock.org
for more information.
Keeping it moving.
On deck we have Remedy, the poet.
Coming up to the stage
right now we have Lily.
Please make some noise for Lily.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
All the way to the stage you
all, all the way to the stage.
From a young age I wanted
my own story to have an arc,
so I drowned myself
in tales with them.
Where the Wild Things Are
was one of my favorites.
It started out in one place
and ended in the same place,
but with new realizations.
As a kid, it was all I needed
to fall asleep at night.
There's a monster hiding
under your bed.
It waits for you.
You'll run screaming when
you feel its cold breath
on the back of your neck.
But it's chimney of children
will warm your toes at night.
It's your monster.
Why did this monster choose you?
What did it see in your bed
sheets it saw in yourself?
What is your common bond?
Show me your ferocious.
Show me your wild.
Show me your wings.
Show me you addiction,
depression, unbreakable habit.
Monster, tell me what
it's like to grow fangs.
Do you teeth on the blanket
I used to suck on as a child
when I was scared of you?
Can you taste the blood
from my mouth?
Will biting down on my tongue
so I won't shriek is old news.
I'm learning to love
myself, my fears.
I want skin safe enough
to scream in.
Monster, let's scream together.
Wild rumpus.
I'll bring so many balloons you
won't realize it's a pity party
until you give me a crown.
Make me your king and I
will wear my pitiful proud.
I will bring beasts to their knees.
The night I wore my wolf
suit I'd made mischief
of one kind and another.
I told my story in breaths.
Home, hungry, determined,
power, determined, hungry, home.
We always have to feel like
something's bigger than us,
something we can't explain,
something we can't put a face to.
So, instead, I learned
five new names that night.
Anxiety, how ironic it is
that your wings make me feel
like I'm falling hate.
I didn't expect to see you here.
You know I don't need
you anymore, disgust.
I hope you choke on every split pea
soup lie you ever told me, regret.
The truth is I miss you.
You were the worst
friend I ever had,
but at times you were all I could
squeeze out of memory's monster.
Stay away from me.
I have better friends now.
You were the only one
that ever needed
that warm hug only a
monster could provide.
How dare you trick me.
How dare you hide in my
room where I sleep at night.
How dare you make me
feel like this is normal.
Like all little children
are scared of beasts.
You could just eat my
confidence up, couldn't you?
Monster, my confidence
is a wild thing.
My confidence can swallow you whole.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: It's always
difficult hosting poetry slams
in different spaces and
settings because, you know,
there's different protocols.
You know, some people
are often told, you know,
to be completely unbiased
and just be stoic and quiet
and just keep it moving
until the palm.
Some people are told, you know
what I'm saying, you know,
you do whatever you could feel it.
And then you have this case of
which case most people are all like,
you know, clap for the people they
know, all that bias and whatnot.
I just want to turn up for every
single poet on this stage, period,
because everyone is incredibly live.
Just two poets into it and we're
already have just some amazing work.
I wish I was doing this
when I was their age.
But we're going to keep it moving.
So the score for Hannah
Smallward was a 25.4.
But give it up to the
poet and not the poems.
Yas, yas, yas, yas, yas, yas, yas.
Hannah Smallward will now
be joining Brandon Douglas
to doing the rest of
the scorekeeping.
She was a sacrificial poet.
She has no stake in
this competition.
I would like to -- please give a
round of applause to Brandon Douglas
and Hannah for helping
volunteer for this poetry.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, way,
way, way, way up.
Get in there my man.
And the person who will be doing
the timekeeping is my homie,
Henry, right here.
Please clap it up for Henry.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
No, it's not, it's not
easy, you know, being the,
you know, the time master.
Okay, so, so judges,
from low to high
for the poet who just went on stage.
We have an 8.7, we
have a 9.5, a 9.5.
Please turn up.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,
yes, yes, I like this.
I like this energy.
Let's keep it right here or higher.
On deck we have Mila.
Coming to the stage is Remedy-O.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> I was always in love with
reading the book, The Lion King,
because it was like
my life on paper.
The trampling of feet rapidly
scatter away into a feint distance.
Gunshots make [inaudible] as
shivers spies at the shock.
How scared do you get when your
happiness sacrifices itself
to make fear feel comfortable?
Me and my friends are lions.
[Inaudible] like trying to control
parts of the jungle we don't own.
We make death our only obstacle in
trying to claw our way to success.
We have [inaudible]
in the form of elders.
[Inaudible] our future
by our surroundings.
Because we're always so curious
of how buckshot's [inaudible]
shape [inaudible] into anxiety.
The souls of agility when baddies
are being bit nibble learning how
to be predator instead of prey until
our lives were almost stripped away.
Machinegun heartbeats conscious
clip almost [inaudible] going hard
as a killer's [inaudible] mentality
that almost got me
and my friends killed.
We are into the throes of
concrete who just couldn't wait
to be lion kings, crawling our
[inaudible] spilled blood on the way
that we were only crucifying
our fate.
Driving down [inaudible] and hatred
like scar, but never told how
to be strong and level-headed
like Mufasa.
I guess that's why our smiles have
ran half-finished like fatherhood.
Quickly, reverting to
[inaudible] offense and defense
until we've been pushed
through fire,
our mighty voice tested,
pulling triggers.
Be our voice of passion
to the animal kingdom
until we had one pulled on us.
So shocked the [inaudible]
be arthritis or your tongue.
We stand together using
pride to remain fearless.
I never want any of my
friends to be trampling
in the stampede of crossfire.
Never having to put our
liquor instead of tears.
Never having them question
that their line
between revenge and vengeance.
See, gangsterism is
our circle of life.
But I don't want our [inaudible]
to be summarizing no obituary.
So my friends, I don't want your sun
to set before your son's
had a chance to rise.
Yes, the streets are
a part of our family.
But who kills his own brother
[inaudible] refusing the exile
of his nephew.
Scars are all we have.
We are more than just stop signs of
sign language, more the [inaudible]
on the police officer's paycheck.
We are lions, thoroughbred
Napoleon leaders.
We are not the street's
onomatopoeia, but the voices
that control the fate
of our families,
our friends, and ourselves.
We are lions.
We are kings.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: They
just grow up so fast
and just become incredible poets.
Please, please, please,
please, please , please,
please keep this energy up, you all.
I like this.
I can feel your intent.
I can feel you listening,
which is dope.
Let's keep that up, right?
If you're interested in other
opportunities to listen to poetry
in the tri-state area, you
could come to Busboys and Poets,
14th and V, every third Saturday,
for when Split This
Rock's open mics.
Sunday kind of love.
Okay. So, judges, from low to high,
the poet who just touched stage,
their scores are an
8.8, an 8.9, and a 9.5.
But please give it up for the poet.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
And dude, the last
poet received a 27.7.
But these are numbers.
Who came for those?
We're going to keep it moving.
On deck, we have Kamal.
And coming up to the
stage we have Mila.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> In the tragedy of Othello,
Shakespeare write of two characters,
and the tender love they
share, ruined at the hands
of a manipulative and selfish
man by the name of Iago.
Now, not to spoil anything, but
by the last act of the play,
both the lovers are dead.
Iago, however, remains still alive.
He, as opposed to dying, is
arrested and sentenced to torture.
The greatest torture of all
being a silence he self-inflicts
to avoid being proven guilty.
Quote, "Demand me nothing.
What you know you know.
From this time forth I never
will speak word," unquote.
I have been thinking a lot
about this ending lately.
It seems, to myself at least,
for lack of voice there
is no greater death.
And yet I have seen us writers
and readers, poets and people,
stomaching a forced-fed
quiet, watching our words
as they have been taken from
our mouths and our libraries.
We are accepting this self-doubt
society has rooted in all of us.
Following the censorship
in search of success,
all living to leave legacies
crafted from the same 26 letters
as if that wasn't hard enough.
Quote, "There is no greater agony
than bearing an untold
story inside you," unquote.
Maya Angelou and her autobiography,
one of the most challenged books
of all time where she describes this
same silence, the lesson unlearned.
The book removed from shelves,
her story remaining unheard,
taking away a little girl's
opportunity to have something
to relate to, reinserting the
agony, the unsettling sadness.
I know why the caged bird sings.
The caged bird sings of freedom.
We are cage birds singing
that same song.
Quote, "I nearly always write just
as I nearly always
breathe," unquote.
John Steinbeck in a
letter to his editor.
Tell me, if there are writers,
there must also be erasers for love.
There is hate.
For mice, there are men.
There are people who
pursue Steinbeck's oxygen.
Other's who'd prefer his words burn.
They would rather breathe
the carbon.
Quote, "A book is a loaded
gun in the house next door.
Burn it. Take a shot from the
weapon, breach man's mind.
Who knows who might be the target
of the well-read man," unquote.
Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451.
There is a war against
word happening.
Make home of the front line.
Your voice is both armor and weapon.
Remember, sticks and
stones have broken bones,
but our words have always cut
deeper, been able to burn you
where the sun can't, been there to
protect you when the night couldn't.
If silence is golden, then
our words must be stardust,
must be incalculable,
must be unpalatable.
Have you ever thought maybe
libraries are so quiet
because the words are so loud?
Shh. Just listen [applause].
You can hear them aching even now.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: Bro, like how live
would it be that for instead
of like poetry -- I mean,
instead of like book reports,
we had no poems reign
about the books we've read.
I would totally just rather, as a
teacher, rather sit through this
than grading book reports.
Okay, anyway.
All right.
I just had this pedagogical moment.
You guys are welcome to
take that idea and put it
into your classrooms, free
of charge, free of charge.
Judges, from low to
high, we have a 9.1,
we have a 9.7, and we have a 9.8.
But the point ain't the point.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
It's the poetry, right?
Okay, cool, cool, cool.
Remedy, the poet, received a 27.2.
We are going to be moving along.
We are going to welcome on deck,
we are going to welcome Maya.
And coming to the stage, please,
please turn it up for
Kamal, you all.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> "I not only use all
the brains that I have
but all that I can borrow."
Woodrow Wilson.
You have to crawl before you walk,
walk before your run,
run before you fly.
And to the same tone you
must read before you write.
My notebook is filled with words,
both borrowed by the classics
and the greats, and also
originals made by my own mind.
And those words make sentences,
and those sentences create ideas,
and those ideas forge actions,
and those actions create change.
So my notebook is full of change.
It changed my mind because the
cup is no longer half empty.
It changed my life because
now my story is trendy.
And then it changed my story.
I just realized that
was a story of many.
I'm not alone.
You are not alone.
None of us are alone.
No one man is an island
entire of itself.
We all have something to say.
But you have to speak up.
We cannot see the silence.
And if you aren't loud about your
realities then you are bound to end
up a casual casualty, a
complacent voice never heard.
We wear the mask when we are silent,
Crazy-Gluing our lips into a smile.
But we can only be
heard when you speak.
We cannot read it if
it is hidden deep.
These words are not just words.
These are voices for the unheard,
resolutions for the blurred,
and truths for everyone.
These are dreams for the deferred
but my dreams are not just dreams.
Dreams only exist when you are
asleep, but these are concrete.
Dreams cannot be deferred if
they are destined nations,
and I'm going in that
direction, and I will reach them.
These are ambitions.
These are goals.
These are my missions.
Everyone thinks that if you read
it in a book then it must be true.
But you have to write it first.
I write in order to free myself.
I write in order to
believe in myself.
I write because reading
was my first love.
I write because the first book I
picked up was a book of poetry.
I write, not for fame,
but for change.
I write because I don't
want people to know my name.
I write because I want
people to know your own name.
I write because our
names are important.
I write because your name is
important and my name is important,
and all of our names are important.
I write to get past myself.
I write because I need to
get past my past selves.
I write to pass through this hell.
I write because I'm right
here and you hear me.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: A poet/writer
once said,
by the name of Zora Neale Hurston.
She said, "If you are
silent about your pain,
they will kill you and
say you enjoyed it."
If you are interested in not
being silent, you should sign
up for the Split This Rock
LISTSERV and get flyers
at the table in the back.
Judges, from low to high, we
have an 8.8, an 8.9, and a 9.6.
But please give it up for the poet.
An incredible work, guys,
taking place on this stage
for you all for the free.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Indeed, it is all free.
Poet Mila had a 28.6.
Give it up for the poet.
And we will have on deck, Antoine.
Coming up to the stage,
please welcome Maya, you all.
Please welcome Maya.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
[ Laughter ]
[ Inaudible Speaker ]
>> Two households,
both alike in dignity.
In fair Chicago, where we lay our
scene where there aren't any flowers
to pluck petals from in winter, no.
"He loves me, he loves me not."
This poem is for fine Juliet
and Romeo who took two trains
and then a bus to get
where the El wouldn't go.
They only spoke in poetry.
Romeo wrote similes more
beautiful than any pick-up line.
Rosaline is a distant memory,
and he keeps Juliet's love
letters underneath bullet casings
in his dresser.
They take each photo together
like it will be their
last because it could be.
Selfies from the me-me
generation, see-see generation,
the stop-and-frisk-street-law
generation,
these photos are the
documents for the undocumented
and Arthur Lawrence said,
"Unpredictable endings were it."
Made million dollar,
billion dollar franchises.
Some reason, this ending, the
dying ending, seems so predictable.
Why does it seem so predictable?
The Montague's will say,
"They died for nothing.
No reason to be caught
behind the bullet."
The Capulet's will say
they died because, well,
Juliet was busy learning
AP sign -- .
Romeo was learning the sings
of gangs and everybody says,
"This is what happens when white
girls hand with black boys."
And the cops will say, "They
died for walking home after dark.
Everybody knows you don't walk
on the South Side past five."
Only because they weren't old enough
to get their driver's licenses yet.
But somehow they were
old enough to die.
And Chicago says, "They
will live forever.
Cause more change dead than
they ever could have alive."
But our politicians
forget them too quickly
when a Florida courthouse puts
a boy on trial and seem to fail
to remember he's already dead.
Maybe the reason we
remember Shakespeare is
because they were right.
Maybe, if instead of just
the script being property,
Romeo and Juliet were.
Maybe if Romeo and Juliet
weren't just actors in the 1%,
Shakespeare would be seen in fringe
festivals instead of our classrooms
where Fitzpatrick calls everyone
outside of Europe savages.
And Romeo and Juliet will
say they died for love.
For Romeo, dying with
Juliet was the happiest
and saddest moment of his life.
So you can meet me at the morgue
where the next classic
might play out.
Because what's better than
a surprise ending than one
with the headlines you ignore and
none of us will sashay offstage
into death like in musicals,
but will leave just as quietly.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: Ahh.
Pulling Excalibur out.
I always like feel embarrassed
whenever people ask me
like my first book because
I'm -- mine was Harry Potter,
and it was like everybody's
favorite first book or whatever.
But I'm proud to say the first
book I read was Harry Potter.
You know what I'm saying
and you all?
It was the Sorcerer's Stone.
. It was classic.
But I say this because my school
was incredibly privileged.
We have this opportunity for a
lot of people in this country,
and we have to change that.
I'm talking to you all.
But I had the privilege of having
a book fair every couple of months.
I don't know if they still
do the scholastic book fair.
I really hope so because this
was the only time my mom would
like give me 10 bucks,
and I can like go come
through and like cop some books.
I used to like The Vow of the
Magic Treehouse, Artemis Fowl.
This was my first introduction
to Japanese manga,
and now I'm like I'm the
crazy obsessed person.
You know, [foreign words]
for changing my life.
So just know that no matter how
-- what was your gateway drug,
we are happy you [inaudible]
right here you all.
We're going to take
it to the judges now.
From low to high we have a 9.1,
we have a 9.3, and we have a 9.6.
But we ain't here for this.
We're here for the poet, you all.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Also, please note that the
poet Kamal received a 27.3.
But we are carrying on.
On deck we have Rukmeeni.
Coming up to the stage
we have Antoine.
Please make some noise you all.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> I sit in English class.
May as well be sitting in how
to idolize the English class.
British Lit has never had me lit.
Just had me sit and read
about a white protagonist.
The main character is most
likely a Christian who has access
to limitless adventures
because of their privilege.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Reading Narnia and I've got to
say the wardrobe doesn't suit me.
How is it that the book is diverse
enough to feature woodland creatures
and talking beavers, but citizens
of the one Muslim kingdom
worship a demon.
I'm just saying the
only two citizens
who are considered fiendish are
Princess Ervis [assumed spelling]
who runs off with the white boy, aka
treason, and a guard who converts
to worship Ozlon [assumed spelling]
the lion, aka feline Jesus.
[ Laughter ]
In Curtis Sittenfeld's
Prep, Darden is described
as the class's cool black guy.
He dark, he tall, he's
straight from the Bronx.
His skin be synonymous
with his basketball.
He even got a gold chair
to show his enslavement
to a white office pen and page.
Everyone has seen the move,
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,
but who knew that in the novel
Oompa Loompas were shot the colored
African slaves.
Every paragraph I picked
makes me feel degraded,
but I must read every page
because I will be graded.
Education system worried about
my racist progress reports.
May I report on the
education systems
like the [inaudible] progress
because I spent 12 years reading the
same press about private schools.
The same ones being built.
But my public education
is capitalized.
This for every minority whose house
on Mango Street being gentrified
for those who see slave catchers
in the rye and [inaudible]
with the heads a pig-headed
artless on a stick like the Lord
of the Flies classic literature.
Be the classic hall pass for white
Pride and Prejudice make everyone
as colorblind as Oedipus.
If we really live in
a post-racial time,
why the clockwork still orange?
Can we reach Amanda
Adichie [assumed spelling]?
She tells how not to stereotype
and the danger of a single story.
So maybe we could learn
about Latino glory instead
of thinking Mexico just a
hell-hole lying south of the border.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Maybe we can read Angela Davis.
She tells how prisons are obsolete
so black and brown couldn't --
black and brown kids wouldn't think
that massa car's races
is the only thing
that awaits them in these streets.
Or maybe Amy Tan in
the opposite of faith,
so people who haven't seen members
of the opposite race would have an
image of diversity that diverges
from a token black friend.
And black and brown kids
wouldn't need spark,
no just to comprehend
and then maybe --
[ Applause ]
-- just maybe I wouldn't
feel three-fifths of a human
after reading just
three-fifths of a novel.
>> Ooh.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: I'm of the mindset
that poetry is a serendipitous
art, right?
That no matter where, how,
what circumstances, poets,
when they take stage together,
that they always enter this sort
of rapport and they always find
it beautiful to have thoughts
in sentences finished
by the next poet.
So I'm thankful to all the poets
who have so far touched this stage
and have had this conversation
going.
Homies, in the back, hi.
How's it going?
Are you swell?
That's good.
Could you make some noise, please.
Just people in the
back behind the camera.
What's up?
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Okay. That's cute.
Okay. In the middle right there,
could you all make some noise?
What's up?
How you all feeling?
[ Cheering ]
All right.
All right.
How you all doing in the front?
[ Cheering ]
Okay. How you all doing
over there in the corner?
Whoo. Come on.
You have to hold it down.
There's like 20 of you, okay?
You can do it.
You can do it.
I would like everybody in the back
to be just as loud as the front.
Can you do that for me now?
Everyone please make
a swell of noise.
[ Cheering ]
All right, all right.
It's my job as host to make sure
the temperature in room is all good
and whatnot for the next poet.
From low to high, we
have a 9.7, a 9.9,
and our first 10 of the evening.
[ Cheering ]
But again, who cares?
We care about the incredible
poem that just touched the stage.
The boy who just touched
stage, and the last poet
who touched stage,
Maya received a 28.0.
We are going to keep it moving.
Up next, on deck, I
mean, we have Kenya.
Coming up to the stage now, please
make some noise for Rukmeeni.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
All the way to the stage.
All the way to the stage.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> The first story I ever loved
was Ali Baba, or [inaudible].
Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves.
I read it more than 40 times
because the idea of a world
where one woman could save
her family with a mob boss
and marry the man she
loved enthralled me.
I wanted to be her.
Or if not, at least
be her best friend.
I thought I could slip
away into her world.
But lesson one, escape is never
as easy as climbing a beanstalk.
>> Right.
>> When I grew past fairy
tales, sugar sweet cotton candy
and ferris wheels I thought,
like every child does,
that I was grown up.
I tried coffee for the first time.
Hated it. But loved
the idea of bitter.
Tried bitter gourd.
I hated it.
But loved the idea of loving it.
I read the series of
Unfortunate Events
as the testimony of a bitter man.
Following cocoa tears left by
bitter children less than two.
Don't be afraid to be
an unforgettable taste.
When memories are imprinted forever,
the fire that brands
them is white snow.
A pale fury unmatched
by any but the man
who could make memories changelings.
The Night Circus convinced
me magic was real.
Not sleight of hand card tricks
or foggy spectacles that magic
so bright, reality seems
like a lucid dream.
Lesson three.
When the world spins around
you, hold yourself tighter.
She keeps a two-fisted hold on
the sword, her only protector.
When I felt scared.
Mistaken for willing in a
London alley merch store, I ran.
She didn't run.
Catherine of Aragon never
runs because Catherine
of Aragon is never mistaken.
The first time I read the
Constant Princess I was floored
by her bravery.
The second time I was
stunned by her stupidity.
Lesson four.
Survival is always more
important than pride.
Survival is a goal we can all
grasp, at least for a little while.
Pride, it seems, is a
commodity sold by privilege.
I didn't realize the privilege I
carried when I held my head high
until I saw the heads bowed.
They were the help.
The Help was a book
that taught me fear,
Hatred and blind discrimination are
the real monsters in the closet.
Taught me that fortune
is a bigot, or worse,
that she doesn't exist at all.
Taught me lesson five.
Don't ever forget whose
bones you are standing on
and whose stories have saved you.
Five lessons, five
lives, countless mistakes.
The rest of my life to make more.
The rest of my life to collect
stories and people like shoes,
bodies to step into when
the real world swallows me.
I'll read miles with them.
Walk pages and two big clouds
and with every blister I'll remember
the stories that opened my eyes.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: Incredible.
You know, today we've been talking
a lot in length about literature
and books which is, I guess,
coincidental because we are
at a national book festival.
But I would like to shout out the
alternative ways to be reading.
A shout-out to Twitter.
You know what I'm saying?
A shout-out to [laughter] the
Internet and the Interweb.
If you happen to be having your
phone and if your phone happens
to be smart, you should
definitely @Split This Rock
and tell us how you feel.
Tell me if you're enjoying this.
You can @ me personally @mattkosi.
That's the joke because I am Kosi.
N-O-T-K-O-S-I.
And if you'd like to learn
about, you know, D.C. Slam Team,
other events in this area catered
specifically to youth poetry as well
as adult poetry, because I know you
grown folks, like to be all grown
and sexy and talk about
your own things,
you could totally @ these places and
learn more information about this.
Carrying on, judges, we have from
low to high a 9.0, a 9.6, and a 10.
But please clap up for the
poets and not the poem.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
Antoine received a 29.6.
On deck, well, it's the next --
this little ass poor for the round,
so please give all of your
surplus energy up to the poet
who will be touching
stage right now.
Please welcome Kenya.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> When reading your first words,
so every queen comes
royalty, never poverty.
This is their story.
She raised the queen.
Sixteen, in the Bronx,
Haskell drop-out,
but she still raised the queen.
She had no kingdom.
No king was present.
She had to be her own
knight in shining armor.
She saved herself from
her dreams and nightmares.
Never needed help.
She didn't apply for welfare.
Never afraid to do odd jobs, she
was the definition of independent.
Always strived to her own.
She conquered her fears and
made a mockery of her enemies
who thought she was a stereotype.
They tattooed a scarlet A on
her chest before she was able
to show them that she was holy, and
spent more nights praying to God
than collecting pocket change
many men will take a half of.
She was never naïve.
They've hypnotized [inaudible] tens
and hundreds just for
a chance to see her.
God is like fig.
Don't see them begging for more.
She was called a whore.
But she never laid with strangers.
Her only thought was her little
girl needed food and clothes
and how she's only [inaudible]
possible to provide for her.
So she works days and nights
so she could hold her head high
and just breathe, knowing that
she controlled her own destiny.
She was her own master.
She never took bull from anyone.
Her tongue [inaudible] similes like
a master temperature of flames.
But she had a heart like no
other, a voice like soft thunder,
and never experienced sunlight until
she saw her last glimmer of life.
She was the definition of queen.
But she never wore a
crown because, you see.
And every angel has wings.
And every queen is
recorded into history.
Thank you.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
>> Kosi Dunn: All right, all right,
all right, all right, all right,
judges, judges, judges, judges.
We got like a one last judge
putting down the score.
From low to high we have
an 8.9, a 9.0, and a 9.0.
Please make some noise for Kenya
who touched stage just now.
The last poet, the last poet,
Rukmeeni, received a 28.6.
However, due to a 10-second
time penalty, to a time penalty,
not a 10-second time
penalty, we have a 28.1.
Say, boo, space time continuum.
[ Multiple Speakers ]
Always trying to hold me back, man.
Whoo. Everybody, could we just
[breath intake and release].
We made it.
On one, we've done it.
Clap it up for yourselves.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
All right.
Clap it up for these judges.
[ Applause and Cheering ]
Clap it up for these incredible
poets and their coaches.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
You can clap it up for me.
I mean, I'll take it,
you know what I mean?
Okay. Cool, cool, cool.
All right.
We're going to be -- we're
going to keep it straight moving
into the next round [inaudible].
The next round is the
exact same order.
However, we have a free --
oh, the order's flipped.
The order is in reverse.
So the poet you just saw will
be coming back and vice versa.
All the way down.
The poems of this round
have no order.
I mean, not no order --
have no particular theme.
I just told you the order.
There's no particular theme,
so you will hear poems ranging
from how I felt about my glass
of water today to, you know,
the intricacies of go tell it on the
mountain, or something like that.
So please be prepared to
hear anything and everything.
I was hired because I'm going
to keep my language nice
and P.G., and family-friendly.
But these youth poets, I'm not going
to tell them what to say and how
to say and what to think
because we're not here
to do that, all right?
So like I say, whatever they want
to say, and we are going to listen,
and we are going to be
here for them, all right?
But please do know that this
is a family-friendly event
and we're going to have to keep it
nice and you know what I'm saying,
though we got the youngest out here.
So I took discretion.
Keep that in mind.
All right.
Are you all ready?
[ Cheering ]
Awesome, phantasmagorical.
I do want to note that we also have
youth open mics on every last Friday
of the month at Metro
Teen [inaudible].
And we have a youth open mic
series every third Saturday
of the month at Busboys and Poets.
It's five bucks to go check it
out at 5:00 p.m. So,
yeah, go check that out.
It's going to be dope.
So on deck we have Rukmeeni.
Coming back to the stage
please welcome Kenya.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
Whoo. Long time, no see.
>> Thank you.
[ Inaudible Speaker ]
[ Inaudible Speaker ]
>> Free style.
[ Inaudible Speaker ]
[ Multiple Speakers ]
>> I never thought that I would
wake up and despise the sun.
The way it gave me a [inaudible]
reminded I no longer had one.
Today I'd even care to grovel on
my knees to ask God for another day
because I no longer wish for one.
I never thought that I
would outlive my son.
Never thought that I'll be
able to stroll into your room
and not see you, to
not smell the mix
of football practice
and cheap cologne.
And I miss that.
I miss being able to comfort my
little baby boy from anything
that tried to shoot him down.
But I failed.
No, the system failed you.
I constantly hear your voice
echoing through my brain, saying,
"Mommy, I love you, Mommy."
I'll always be there for you.
But Mama has become a
disgusting time to me
because I was not able
to protect you.
What is the word for a
mother who loses the child?
This pain was never meant to be, so
I'm just sorry I couldn't save you
when that bullet went
straight through your skull.
I'm sorry you couldn't see
when I held you, your cold,
dead corpse just lifeless.
I just wish that I could tell
you that you will be alive,
that God still has a plan for you,
that God only does bad
things to careless people.
But did my son deserve to be
humiliated, to be plastered
around America as a victim?
He never had that type of mentality.
Stronger than the holding cells
that could not keep his color away.
And indictment was
never in question.
My son, not even over 17, was a
threat to society at six foot,
200 pounds, through the
[inaudible] heights, dark places,
and cringed at the sight of
spiders, was a danger to this world?
Kind of [inaudible] him being a drug
dealer and your average black man.
But either way they're
both targeted.
I'd just never known that 911
be the last number I wanted
to call in any emergency.
Nine eleven was not the
deadliest terrorist attack
that occurred in this nation.
Men that kill boys just for
hitting puberty a bit earlier,
threat to society.
Not my son.
I am the mother of every
single black, white, Asian,
Hispanic young boy because
death sees no color.
Police brutality is
not just a race war.
It's a war for power that
alone we will never win.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: It's always awkward
getting interpreters to interpret
when I'm talking to them, but this
-- you know, my stash is incredible.
It's been life changing.
All day I just really
wanted to tell you that.
Sorry.
[ Laughter ]
And, cool, cool, cool, cool.
Judges, from low to high, we
have a 9.0, a 9.1, and a 10.
But please give it up the
poet and not the scores.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
Okay. If you are interested,
if you are a youth poet
and you are interested in
making some stacks on the side,
or if you are in elementary,
middle, and high school worldwide,
so please, if you are a teacher,
educator, or a connector of people
to people, you should let
people know about the World
and Me Student Poetry Contest.
Deadline for submissions
are October 3rd.
You can find more information
on the Split This Rock website.
All right, all right.
On deck now we have Antoine.
And coming back to the stage --
I need all the energy from the
ether directed towards this general
direction for Rukmeeni.
All right, you all.
Please clap it up.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> I never know what to say.
It stands out dark on a
white background written bold
above us in wide-point Sharpie.
There is always a pause.
The question every white
person I know has asked me.
Where are you from?
You would not expect it from me,
but I've stolen Britain's accent.
It has been long enough
since I took it
that I'm no longer afraid they might
call me an imposter, the calligraphy
of can't, grass, dance, answer
is forever tattooed on my lips.
In my Glasgow apartment I watched
people walk down the street
in bubbles, protected from contact
by the shelter of their umbrellas.
I learned not to let words
be tongued raindrops.
Or if the fell, to catch them in my
mouth before they hit the ground.
Rain is one of the only
things I know about a country
that is supposed to be mine.
Red raincoats in the way.
Droplets splatter against brown
skin the way our race was written
on our foreheads spelled you will
never fit in the way belonging,
unlike citizenship
is not a birthright.
If my passport told my identity,
Texas would be my home country.
We moved here eight years
ago and never once felt home.
But before our flight to Houston
my mom told me Texas was a desert.
Back then, desert meant
cacti and sunburns.
Now it means I have nowhere
to hide when they ask
about the oasis of my origins.
If I really worship cows or infinite
gods or if I'm a child bride stuck
in an arranged marriage with
a dowry I didn't ask for,
sometimes I get tired
of telling them no.
And y'all slips out of my mouth,
but it's a defense mechanism
against the fear that someday I
might be left with nowhere to go.
I might revert back to my banyan
tree roots, but my branches are lost
under thousands of forests.
Thick trunks and big leaves
remind me of Indian women.
Jasmine-scented clouds of fear.
The truth is I look like them.
To others we are stick figures,
black and white sketches.
But somehow I am caught
in a gray space.
When I dim my rebellion,
my darkness shines.
But India is now my
country to rebel against.
I'm a Hindi [foreign word].
My dreams are in English
and I'm starting
to believe they always will be.
Written in a small corner of a
big sheet of paper, fine point,
shaky handwriting, but
my dreams mean more
than circled cities on a globe.
And now I realize who I am.
Is drawn with my own Sharpie.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: So as you may
know my name is Kosi Dunn
and I like to pride myself
on being here for the people.
A lot of things I've been hearing
today, that we know we are thirsty,
we are thirsting for so you know,
some incredible brown
writers, literary works.
I'm not -- I would like
to tell you that it's not
because they're not there.
It's because people are
not putting them on.
Black and brown writers have been
writing for centuries, years, eons.
Some particular books that
I'm currently digesting
or have digested recently are,
Go Tell It On the Mountain
by James Baldwin, I, Tituba Black
Witch of Salem by Maryse Conde,
or The Boy in the Black
Suit by Jason Reynolds,
who actually graduated from
the University of Maryland.
So yeah. If you're interested
in finding some other
books, I got the plug.
Hit me up afterwards.
Hit your homies up.
We all need to share books
and collaborate constantly.
All right.
Also, one note.
Split This Rock is looking
for interns and volunteers.
So if you have some time, please,
please go to the desk
or please go to Sarah.
Or, if you are trying to, you know
what I'm saying, get your resume
on Fleak [assumed spelling]
and whatnot,
please apply to be an intern
and get some valuable skill
sharing opportunities.
Okay. Let's do this.
So the last poem received a 28.1,
and I'm about to tell you
what this poet received.
From low to high, we have a 9.4,
we have a 9.8, and we have a 10.
Please clap it up for the
poet and not the poems.
So on deck, we have Maya
coming to the stage right now.
Please make some noise
for Antoine, y'all.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> You hypocrites, first take
the log out of your own eye
and then you will see clearly
to take the speck out
of your brother's.
Matthew 7-5.
I've been searching for a savior.
Brimstone ain't my soul's ideal
home so I've been looking for ways
to finesse heavenly property.
Taste testing religions, but nothing
seems to be Little Bear's porridge.
Search Koran, search Torah, I hit
Old Testament to test the waters.
I don't doubt that God spoke to man,
but can we really trust
man's translations?
How do I know God's laws
aren't human legislations?
Verses written by a heathen who
thought God may have created this,
but how about some creative freedom?
How do I know Eve was really
the one forbidden fruit picking?
That Adam was the first
one to have bit it?
That sexless writers
didn't get jealous
of over read [assumed spelling] so
they let Adam's rib birth a woman?
Can't anyone with Wite-Out
write out their own plot?
Didn't King James do the same?
New Version of the Bible.
Maybe he was just fixing typos,
but how do I know he
didn't backspace or edit?
Didn't King Henry popularize
Anglicanism
for the sake of divorcing his wife?
In other words, we've
made this up before,
so don't act like someone along
the way cannot have made more
up as they went along.
Even a prophet can chase profit.
Popes like Benedict offer
salvation and benefits.
Save your soul if you save him gold.
For what it's worth,
how much are you?
Is the devil really the only
one we can sell our souls to?
We act as if church figures
have halos, ignoring the fact
that even angels carry
flaming swords looking
for unsuspecting backs.
Don't act as if a crucifix
fixes a deacon's access to sin,
because I've seen followers give
their last take while the reverend
buys the bins.
Because I've seen pedophile
pastors take the hand of God on kids
because those closest to the church
are too often furthest from Him.
For centuries, the sound of
prayers has been synonymous
with the reloading of ammunition
and the Bible has been baptized
in the blood of non-Christians.
Went to Africa and the
Americas, salvation
and genocide were a package deal.
Well, wouldn't it seem suspicious
that to save my soul,
I discard free will?
I just think that a wool is too
easily pulled over your eyes.
I shear my hide in order for
you to view the naked truth,
but I'm labeled a God of sin
because I refuse to be another lamb
for this religion's slaughter.
All right.
You ain't been sinning.
Isn't praising false
gods against God's law?
Don't you listen to [inaudible].
Don't you be coloring
eggs on Easter.
On Halloween, don't you
be trick or treating.
December 25th is just an excuse for
you to get your iPhone screen fixed.
Like you can throw stones.
Like I'll burn alone.
Like I'm devout.
Like what I write is write.
Like I read the Bible.
Like I didn't need
Google for this poem.
Like the inner log in my eye.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: Woo.
All right, y'all.
I see we are heated up.
So there's going to be less of me
and more of y'all and more of them.
We are going to keep it
rolling, rolling, rolling.
The last poet received
a 92.2 and I'm
about to tell you what
this poet got.
So from low to high, we have a 9.8.
Oh, actually, I don't -- I'm sorry.
I just -- a 9.8, a
10, and another 10.
All right.
So please clap it up for
the poet and not the score.
Right? I'm checking you on that.
Now babies, you're
clapping for the poet.
All right.
So we're going to be moving along.
On deck, we have Kamal [assumed
spelling] coming up to the stage.
We have Maya.
Please make some noise
for Maya, y'all.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Back when I stitched my shadow
to my feet so it would stay,
old women warned you, mom,
to hold on to this moment.
There will be days when she
dresses herself for school,
so memorize her wrists, elbows,
heartbeat as you hold her.
She will manifest the
stories you would read her
and she will wander alone.
You taught me how to
hold; babies, pencils.
How to hold breath under
water, swallow air and float.
And now, you are drowning
in hospital sheets.
Maybe the BRCA1 gene or the God I
don't know if I should still believe
in taught cells to become black
holes and name it cancer, then you.
Now, with IV tubes leashed to
you like dogs, you will relearn
that walking is just continuously
falling and catching yourself again,
again, again, as I
did, in baby teeth,
stumbled to the same walls
I am catching myself still,
again, again, again.
You taught me how to find
my way home with a rhyme.
The map to you is an
empty polluted sky.
I am afraid I will be lost
and frostbitten before I find a
telescope strong enough to find you.
Still, I will pay for us to take
a cab home from the hospital
because you haven't
taught me how to drive yet
and you promised you'd
teach me this summer.
And you've always said promises
mean something in this house,
in this melted and shrinking
snakeskin of a house.
This house is losing its hair too.
This house is afraid to see its
reflection because it does not know
if anything will be
there when it looks.
But promises mean something
to this house,
where you promised me
you would get better.
I am teaching myself
to hold you to it.
You always lose your keys.
I'm leaving the door unlocked now.
I left the kitchen lights on
so you can remind yourself
which apartment is
ours from the street.
And if you can't, you can call
me anytime, even in math class.
Dear mom, even when there is
nothing but snakeskin to show,
even when your eyes are like
ash, when your cells cry
for us, I will not yell fire.
You are phoenix and
rebirth, not smoke,
but spit by your eye, I promise.
Yesterday, I memorized your wrists,
elbows, heartbeat, and I hold you
for when you wander alone, for
when the trembling is so far,
that every inch of us shakes
with our cellular beings.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: All right.
Look to somebody unfamiliar
and tell them I love you.
Don't worry; I'll wait.
I love you.
Yeah. I saw some of
y'all not participating.
We'll talk after class.
Okay. So from low to high, we
have a 9.8, a 10, and another 10.
Please give it up for the
poet and not the score, y'all.
The last poet received a 29.8
and someone said I thought I
said a 92 for the last last poet.
My sincere apologies.
I talk too darn fast.
They received a 29.2.
So we are going to keep it moving.
Please do note that you can @ any
time @Split This Rock and talk
about how much fun you are having.
You could also at any point
in time @ me, @notkosi,
and tell me how much
fun you're having too.
I like these things.
Carrying on, we have on deck Mila,
and coming to the stage,
we have Kamal.
So please make some
noise for Kamal, y'all.
Hey, that rhymed.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Autumn leaves fall
from aging trees.
The sunrays leave the
air in a golden haze.
Hey, there.
Hello. I never realized how
beautiful the sky could be.
Yellow. Almost as beautiful as
a deep dark night living only
by the glinting goodbyes of
stars millions of miles away.
But I can't enjoy that today or
tonight or any other time I exist.
Because if you have too much melanin
in your skin, you weren't accepted
under the sun and at
night, you must stay in.
I am a black boy.
I cannot go to Starbucks without
getting shady looks from baristas
and customers who feel that
I'm trying to act white
by ordering a [inaudible]
Frappuccino with extra cinnamon,
whipped cream, blended, and
better make that with soy milk,
because I'm lactose intolerant.
I cannot accept the white of
your milk just to make the black
of my coffee more appetizing.
Easier for your palate to accept.
Easier for your stomach to digest.
I'd rather let my words sit
there and ferment or maybe,
just maybe, they'll be heard.
This is not my story.
This is our story, the story
of the black boy, black boy.
Be proud of your skin.
It is not a scar, but a medal of
honor, a trophy carried down by each
and every one of your kin.
Black boy, beware of your skin.
It is not a trophy, but a target,
a mark for the bullet to hit.
Black boy, we are all human.
It's your heart that matters.
Don't worry about the
color of your skin,
but I have to because
I'm a black boy.
Please don't tell me that I'm
not because I know what I am.
A black boy will try his
best to act right and hopes
to be mistaken for
a white black boy.
Don't you dare wear a black
hoodie no matter how bad you want
to fade into the night.
Black boy, paint your skin
with the chalk in your class.
They might forget what you are.
Black boy, but don't take it to far.
Black boy.
Or you might end up
another dead black boy.
We don't need anymore
dead black boys.
So bring him to me.
Bring me the black boy.
Which one?
The smart one.
Which one?
The strong one.
Which one?
My name is Kamal.
I am not just some black boy.
I am a person and I am living.
I'm not the noose hooked
around your neck?
I am not the chains
cuffed around your wrists.
I am not the burning
cross on your front yard.
So why do you hate me?
Why do you hate me?
My only offense was being
born darker than you.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: We live
in violent times,
both intellectually and physically.
But I look to you all in this
space to do something about it.
All right?
So we all have work to do.
I will read the score
of the last poet.
It was a 29.8.
But we don't care about the score.
We care about the person because
they are a lot more valuable.
From low to high, we have
a 9.5, a 9.7, and a 10.
Please give it up for
the poet, y'all.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
I love you all.
You're so beautiful
and vast and different.
From -- on deck, I
mean, we have Lily.
And coming up to the
stage, we have Remedy.
Oh, wait. I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry.
On deck, we have Remedy and coming
up to the stage right now is Mila.
My apologies, Mila.
Please make some noise for Mila.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> My skin looks like
milk and lilac candles.
My skin is easy to wear.
It weighs on my shoulders
like a light breeze.
My skin is untouched by racism.
My best friend's skin
looks like incense
and caramel sundaes in
the middle of summer.
It has had more experience, yet
it is softer than mine, smoother,
like pressed coffee pouring
into your favorite mug
on a sick day off from work.
My eyes, have never
witnessed bullets.
The word oppression has never
leapt from my tongue except
in history class, where
I am taught that milk
and lilac have always
been the victory makers.
My best friend tells jokes about the
certainty of danger in the world.
When we go out on our
midnight walks,
she tells me only I can hold the
flashlight because she, of incense
and caramel and coffee, at an hour
like this will always
be assumed guilty.
My mouth knows how to say I'm sorry.
Her mouth knows how
to swallow the truth.
But we have both grown familiar
to the taste of silence.
And I know that words hurt,
but so does their absence.
You cannot ask me to
describe the pain.
Though I am uncomfortable
in the quiet,
I recognize when it is not my place.
Once, we were waiting at a bus
stop only a block from her house
when a lady walked up and
asked if she could sit
down on the real estate ads and
cold metal chairs we had claimed?
We said yes willingly
and stood up together.
A few seconds later, that same
lady started whispering to herself
about the nerve of incense,
caramel sundaes, and coffee skin,
how dare someone like her
think she could sit next to me?
My best friend was
not sad or scared.
Like a deer that has seen
headlights so many times,
the impact is no longer frightening.
Her eyes looked like they
had just seen an old friend
from elementary school, someone
she did not always get along with,
subtle, but gut wrenchingly
familiar.
That same day, we went to Chinatown,
got catcalled on the street,
but we just kept walking.
We went into a store
to look at bonsai trees
and fireworks and we walked out.
That same man who had
whistled about traits
that appealed to him was waiting.
He approached us and
asked how a white girl
and a black girl could be friends.
Silence took us by the hand and
once again, we just kept walking.
The rule goes, do not
speak unless spoken to.
I know we've had our fair
share of opportunities.
We always let fear get
in the way and I'm sick
of letting fear get in the way.
If you want to know how a white girl
and a black girl can
be friends maybe it's
because we have the same
laugh and both share a passion
for thrift shop flannels.
Because we know how to dance
at a folk punk concert and grew
up with an understanding of
how to treat one another.
Maybe it is simply
because when the sun is out
and the colors are bright, milk
and caramel sundaes will
always taste right together.
Because even when there is
no light to be found, candles
and incense have always known
how to create their own.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: All right,
all right, all right.
Beautiful, beautiful.
I am glad you are all listening.
Please listen and take
notes and tell your friends.
From low to high, we have
a 9.5, a 10, and a 10.
But who cares.
A poem was lit.
All right.
All right.
All right.
The last poet received a 29.2, but,
again, arbitrary numeral values.
We ain't care.
From -- on deck, we have Lily.
The penultimate poet coming
onto the stage is remedy.
Please make some noise for Remedy.
[ Cheering, Applause, and Chanting ]
>> Questions ricochet
off the walls of my mind,
but seldom show the courtesy
of falling out of my mouth.
Like, why does black skin
accommodate death so well?
Children in chaos get along with
no remorse who used to have fun.
Tag, football, cartoons,
double Dutch, Easy Bake ovens,
bubblegum cigarettes from
the everyday candy man.
Now, all we have is rebellion.
Close down recreation
so we wreck each other.
No more cops and robbers, because
we can't tell the difference.
And convenience stores
just be death traps
to Christ baptized
in your own blood.
It's like the fact that bullet
shows and chalk lines piled how are
on the plethora of black bodies.
I never understood why the
police have utility belts
and they're only going to utilize
their guns, honoring the dead
with flashlights instead of
candles, tear gas, for all the ones
who never cried, but tattooed
on faces, like war marks.
Tasers for all the family members
shot from losing a loved one.
Oppression is a never healing scar.
We're trapped with our hands up.
A police officer's
position of comfort.
Meanwhile our riots are televised
without noting our reasons.
We've been drawing a
[inaudible] for too long.
That's have more gangbangers,
less activists, more coffins,
less commitments, more
partitions than petitions.
This world needs to
grasp permutation.
Now, maybe Trayvon
Martin was a knucklehead,
but he didn't deserve to die.
Maybe Michael Brown did steal,
but he didn't deserve to die.
The value of a life
should never be questioned.
Move from diversity to just
dying, something has to be done.
Black people, not every white person
is [inaudible] Klu Klux Klan member
trying to resurrect slavery.
White people, not every black
person is a fatherless arsonist
and a threat to your safety.
It's taken so long for you to
blend us together, yet young
and murdered have been so adjacent.
I'm tired of seeing the
words black and dead
as more familiar than
black and proud.
More colored mothers have cried
tears of pain than of joy.
Our cries for justice
are just as loud
as Jordan Dave's [assumed
spelling] music.
October 1st, 2011; February 26th,
2012; March 23rd, 2012; May 31st,
2012; November 2nd, 2013; June
1st, 2014; August 9th, 2014,
all times that beautiful black
bodies were promoted into angels.
Too many instances of children
being so easily forgotten about.
If adolescent blow was forced upon
the pavement, their names deserve
to be carved in concrete.
The abolists [assumed
spelling] have disappeared,
so where is [inaudible]?
Bring all of our girls back into
the cover of their families' arms,
of the salty tears, the cold nights.
Why does life feel like a
never-ending Hunger Games,
but the ares [assumed
spelling] are no one's favors.
Open your eyes and
realize that we are dying.
All black and brown
kids are dying, all,
and that might not be your future.
Cultivate it with color.
When will someone stand up for
us when we are still alive?
Before that we are not
allowed to stand at all?
We are all we have and when we
look and inside of a mirror,
we are forced to ask why does
a black skin accommodate death
so well?
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: I would
like to thank everyone
for their incredible
testimonies this evening.
I am floored by the work being
put by these young poets.
The last poet received
a 29.5, but who cares?
From low to high, though, we
have 9.5, a 9.7, and a 10.
Please give some noise for both of
the poets who I just talked about,
because we care about them and
their work and not these numbers
that we are throwing
onto their poems.
Right? The last poet to touch
the stage, I need as much energy
as you gave the first
poet to touch the stage.
So please, without any further ado,
please make some noise
for Lily, y'all.
Oh, y'all can use some more noise.
That is the last poem of this stage.
Come on. [Inaudible] some sense.
[ Applause ]
>> The last time you cut yourself,
you texted me to tell
me you were sorry.
But I'm not the one you
should be apologizing to.
Apologize to your skin.
Apologize to the days
full of memories
that you knew you were
going to miss.
Say you were sorry to your veins
for you have played them
like violin strings.
Your arteries have screamed
minor chords through blood.
The musicality and your
heartbeat was too much
for your rib cage to handle.
When did your bones
become prison bars?
At six years old, I
wanted to be a princess.
At eight years old, you
wanted to be a superhero.
At nine, I wanted to be a musician.
At 10, you wanted to be a scientist.
At 12, I wanted to be pretty.
At 12, you wanted to be a soldier.
At 13, I was hiding
behind pimple cream.
At 13, you wanted to be dead.
Can you remember who you were
before the world told you
who you should be?
When we met, you told me you were a
storyteller, but you weren't a poet.
I told you you were wrong, but the
second you began seeing your scars
as masterpieces, I realized paper
can't handle the poems inside you.
It is easy to forget
what you are living
for when even your shadow
will leave you in darkness.
I have tasted my identity
dripping from my eyes
to my collarbone one too many times.
No one ever told us that our
chests, our lungs, our breath,
our vocal cords weren't good
places to hold our depression.
One night, you whispered to
me through cracked lips only
with the pain of our bodies
can we distract ourselves
from the pain of our minds.
Every last syllable curtsied
off your tongue and suddenly,
the taste of saliva in your mouth
wasn't as sweet as it used to be.
I know the music in your
head is just too loud.
I know the pounding in
your ears doesn't help.
I know that sometimes, your words
are more staccato than anything
that could ever be
written on sheet music.
I know there are voices
in your head telling you
to carve lyrics in your chest.
But friend, no matter how
scary a cigarette burn is,
no matter how many walls you
have to throw yourself at,
no matter how deep the dysphoria
cuts, I will never let go.
So promise me that
someday you will be able
to recognize every
corner of yourself.
Someday, you will feel
safe in your own skin.
Someday, you won't consider
self-harm as an option.
Someday, your music staff
ribcage will unlock itself.
Somebody, you will be able to love
the person you are as much as I do.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Kosi Dunn: And what a lovely note
to leave you all on, you beautiful,
incredible, fantastic
world-changing individuals you are.
The last poet received a
arbitrary number of 29.2,
but that won't pay his bills.
So let's carry on to the things that
matter, this work that we are doing.
Right? From low to high, we
have a 9.7, a 9.8, and 10,
but please give it up for the poet.
Please give it up for every
single poet, every single person,
every single life story, image,
idea that has touched
these stages -- this stage.
You have all been incredibly
patient and kind and perfect
for sharing this space with me.
I'm going -- I just would like
to thank you before we leave
for having -- sharing
this space with me.
I am always transformed and floored
and have no words after I come
to these types of events.
So please, keep these
conversations going, y'all.
Please keep these conversations
going online, anywhere,
with your homies, with your friends.
Much love, much love.
And continue to at Split This Rock
and myself, and look at all the work
that we are all doing in this
space, and make a friend or two.
Okay? Okay?
Is that cool?
Please clap it up for yourselves
before you leave [applause].
And I would like to welcome back
to the stage the woman, you know,
who made this all happen,
Ms. Sarah Browning.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Let's give it up for Kosi
Dunn and let's give a huge round
of applause for these eight
extraordinary young people.
That's right [cheering
and applause].
Is your faith in the future strong?
I know mine is.
Do we need to go home and tell our
elected officials that if they need
to know how to fix this world,
all they have to do is
listen to our teenagers?
[ Cheering and Applause ]
For once, I'm speechless,
because I'm still living
with those extraordinary,
visionary, brilliant poets.
Thank you.
I'm told that they've
done the math so quickly
that we can announce the winners
of tonight's absurd competition.
But first, I want to call all eight
of the poets up here on the stage.
Let's give them a huge
round of applause.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
All right.
We're going over time, so.
I also want to give a huge
shout-out to the coaches.
Can the coaches stand up, please?
These remarkable people.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
I want to shout out to my
colleague, Jonathan Tucker,
Youth Programs Coordinator
for Split This Rock.
National Endowment for the Arts,
and Library of Congress
folks, where are you?
Can you stand up?
All right, [applause] I see you.
Let's give another round of applause
for our incredible interpreters.
[ Cheering Applause ]
Astonishing.
And the beautiful people in
the red t-shirts, all day long,
the volunteers that make it happen.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
All right.
Let's bring Brandon on the stage,
alum and teaching artist
for Split This Rock.
And before we announce, I want
to say that due to the generosity
of many folks, all eight of these
poets will be receiving the latest
book from our brand new U.S. Poet
Laureate, Juan Felipe Herrera signed
by Juan Felipe, Notes
on the Assemblage .
[ Applause ]
And then, the top three poets
will also receive a signed copy
of Citizen by Claudia Rankine, whose
book precisely addresses the issue
of racial injustice in
our country that so many
of these young people have spoken
so eloquently and powerfully about.
And then, the top score-receiving
poet will also receive a check
for $50.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
>> Hello, everybody.
So shout-out to the
scorekeeping and timekeeping team.
You know what I'm saying?
Just want you to know -- yeah.
We're going to do this real quick.
Can I get a drumroll please?
Drumroll, drumroll.
For third place, we
actually have a tie.
Maya and Rakmini [assumed
spelling], you have third place.
Congratulations.
Round of applause.
Round of applause.
Yeah. Hugs.
Second place, drumroll please.
Drumroll, please.
Drumroll, please.
Mila. Second place.
You get second place.
Awesome sauce.
Drumroll, please.
In first place, getting a
book and a check, Antoine.
[ Cheering and Applause ]
Yeah. And I think with that,
I think my job is done.
Split This Rock, Split This Rock,
Split This Rock, just
so you remember.
And yeah. Is there anything else?
>> Have a great night [laughter].
>> Bye. Have a beautiful time.
>> This has been a presentation
of the Library of Congress.
Visit us at loc.gov.