>> From the Library of Congress, in Washington D.C. [ Silence ] >> Well, good afternoon, good afternoon, everybody. I'm delighted to see you all here. I'm Mary-Jane Deeb, Chief of the Division. And I am really, really happy that we are here. We have filled the Reading Room, and this is a very special occasion. We are hosting Lemn Sissay, an Ethiopian poet, an author, a playwright, film producer, children's book writer, and so much, much more. And he has recently been elected. Can you all hear me at the back, yes? He has recently been elected the new Chancellor of the University of Manchester [applause]. But more about him in a moment. This program is part of a series that we launched in 2011 entitled Conversations with African Poets and Writers. The we are the three partners in this endeavor. The Library of Congress's African and Middle Eastern Division, and the Poetry and Literature Center headed by Robert Casper, and the third partner is the African Society of the National Summit on Africa, whose president and CEO is Bernadette Paolo. Unfortunately, neither Robert nor Bernadette were able to be here to greet you today, and they send their regrets to the author and to the audience. I'd also like to apologize that although we did mention a small reception, but due to time constraints and other programs, we will not be able to have one. But you are all very welcome to meet with the speaker after the program for a few minutes, and then [inaudible] will whisk him away. Suffice it to say that the three partners had decided to host a series of conversations with established African authors and poets as well as with young and upcoming literary figures with interviews we would tape and make available on our website for everyone to see and use, and everyone, I mean around the world. We started the program with Chinua Achebe and then invited Professor Eddie Missouri to share his thoughts. We've also had the Poet of South Africa, and we've had many more. Just words about the partner organizations. The African section in the African Middle Division organizes numerous programs, book signings, briefings, symposia, lectures, music programs, films, on and about the countries of Africa. We see our mandate here at the library not only as acquiring possessing publications and other materials from the areas of our responsibility, but also giving people a better understanding of the life and the culture of the people of the societies from the areas that we cover. Let me also say a word about the Library of Congress's Poetry and Literature Center. It fosters and enhances the public's appreciation of literature. To this end, the center administers the endowed Poet Laureate Consultant and Poetry position, coordinates an annual season of readings, performances, lectures, conferences, and symposia, and sponsors high-profile prizes and fellowships for literary writers. The new poet, by the way, if you're interested, he's a 21st Poet Laureate this year is Juan Felipe Herrera, who has just been appointed by the Librarian of Congress [applause]. So we're delighted to have him here. And now I would like to turn over the microphone to Patricia Baine, who will say something about the African Society of the National Summit on Africa. Patricia is originally from Uganda, and is a graduate of the University of Virginia. She has worked on the Hill for Congressman Payne Senior, and has been a Director of Programs for the African Society for the past 10 years. So Patricia. >> Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. >> Good afternoon. >> My name is Patricia Baine. I represent the African Society of the National Summit on Africa, for short, The African Society. We're pleased to partner with the African section of the African and Middle Eastern division and the Poetry and Literature Center of the Library of Congress. The mission of the African Society is to educate Americans about Africa, about Africa's contributions, cultures, economies, emanating from the continent. We tell a different story from what is generally seen or heard in the media. That is why this series is so important to us. African literature and poetry is a vital is really vital to communicating an objective and balanced image of Africa. Today I have to say that we are thrilled to have with us Mr. Lemn Sissay. And if you [inaudible] success, I'm sure we're going to have an enjoyable program. I appreciate the participation of all of you here today and all those that will have the opportunity to view this online. Thank you for coming. [ Applause ] >> And now if you Lemn Sissay, I will not talk about his background, as he may want to do so himself. But Lemn Sissay released his first book of poetry in 1988 at the age of 21. And since the age of 24, he has been a full-time writer, performing internationally. In 1995, he made the BBC documentary Internal Flight about his life. His 2005 drama, Something Dark, deals with his search for his family, and was adapted for BBC radio in 2006, winning the RIMA award, Race in the Media Award, given from the UK Commission for Racial Equality. In 2007, Sissay was appointed Artist in Residence at London Southbank Center. He was the official poet of the 2012 London Olympics. Has worked with the British Consulate, and is a patron of the Letterbox Club, supporting children in care. His work has been featured the Royal Academy and the British Film Institute. Sissay was made an Honorary Doctor of Letters by the University of Huddersfield in 2009, and was appointed a Member of the Order of the British Empire in the 2010 New Year honors. Sissay's television appearances include the Southbank Show and the BBC series Grumpy Old Men. As [inaudible] broadcasters, Sissay makes documentaries with the BBC. He's also a regular contributor on BBC radio for Saturday Live, which in 2008, was nominated for two Sony Awards. He also contributes to the BBC book panel. In June 2015, Lemn Sissay was elected as Chancellor of the University of Manchester for a seven-year term by University staff, registered alumni, and members of the General Assembly. By the way, he trounced all the other candidates. He will take up his new role on August 1, and an installation ceremony will take place at the University in October. We want to hear from him, so without further ado, Lemn Sissay will read from his own poems, and then will be interviewed by our own Fentahun Tiruneh, who is the expert on Ethiopia at the Library of Congress, and a scholar, and one of the most important people for collections on Ethiopia. So really he is the person to go to if you're doing research on Ethiopia. And he would be the one to conduct this interview. So Lemn, come. [ Applause ] >> I'd like to thank Prince Hermias [assumed spelling] for being here. It's an honor [applause]. Okay, my name is Lemn Sissay. The first poem that I would like to read for you is called Morning Breaks. And it is about a man who falls off a cliff. They always said I was over the edge, and now I am, I really am. I'm over the edge. But as I dropped, in a gasp of air, I grasped a branch that I hoped had its roots in the rock or rock solid roots. But there's a breeze blowing. A stunning storm coming. Thickening ink spills and swills on a bleeping paper sky. A crowd of rain on the horizon, staggers nearer. I sway so. I know so. I grip a little more. I sway so. I know so. I slip a little more. These tender fingers in a clenched fist. I must have slit my back when I fell, my back it hurts like a howl. It stings like a scowl. It weeps and stings again. The skin splits and spits on my spine sides, and the pain develops muscles that create mouths that simulate sounds of whole cities screaming, of whole cities. There's a storm coming, a coming storm. Dusts spits from the cliff top into my river eyes, forcing tears over to bounce to flood me. I will not drown in them. I will not drown. I am hanging on. I am hanging on. In the zip of a thick ribbon of wind, a god or a devil appears floating in front of me. And he tells me in the haunch of a New York accent, let go, let go. Death is the beginning of the end of the beginning of the end of the beginning of the end of the beginning of the end. And continues for 41 days and 41 nights of the end of the beginning of the end. And in a crack of lightning, the devil or the god has vanished. There's nothing more for me to concentrate on but the sky, but the sky, and my britching back and the storm and the cliff and the edge and the uprooting branch and my knuckles so sore, cracked and numb, they favor a knot of bleeding wood if I look down. And I do look down. I can see that blood has poured from my back, slid around my thighs, my anodized legs. It pours in abundance from my feet and skydives and I watch these red tears fall forever and transform into explicit flowers as they reach the floor. I will not become one. I am hanging on. I am hanging on. Whispers from above me, from above me whispers gather. The cliff ledge lined with edgy people of all colors, some humming. Amazing Grace. Or they're simply staring. Some I saw pointing down at my back and wincing. A bearded man with his hand on a Bible or a red book or a green book or a revolutionary book, shouted down to me in harmonic tones, deeper than the sea, let go. In the name of. Let go. A nervous follower peaks over the edge, advice that, there's someone down there. They'll catch you. And before I get chance to answer them, they erupt into a sky shattering, someone's crying lord. Let go. Someone's crying lord. Let go. The harmony of those collective voices woke the spirits of the sky and they threw crosses at me. It's raining crosses. I down past my feet, a devil or a god looking up to me, mouthing the words, let go. Nighttime was approaching. Breathless I whispered, I will not fall, never have, never will not fall. And as quick as they came, is as quick as they were gone. But I am hanging on. I am hanging on. Darkness cloaked the horror of nighttime of angoras spirits that fed upon open wounds. As lightning struck, I saw glimpses of their faces, demons whose countenance has slipped, whose fingers have stretched, whose breath stank so viciously that I spewed into the sea my mantra, am hanging on. I am hanging on. Throughout starkness and fear, until sunrise, and the stillness of morning breaking. I was a silhouette, hanging from a branch against a chalky cliff. Only the sound of my trickling blood for comfort and the moaning sky. My shadow stretched across the cliff like a script title on handless paper. The sulking storm retreated into the horizon to recollect. And I listened there to the tearing of my back flesh as I hanged. The flapping wet skin of my bloodied back as it hanged. Tears painted salt veins along my agonized skin. And as that stark sunlight skidded across a bloodied sky, I sensed the presence of two symmetrical shadows descending. They stretched seemingly, pushing back the clouds seemingly. I felt them push warm air into my face seemingly. I saw them in the corner of each of my eyes seemingly. Magnificent wings. And I felt new muscles in my back. And my chest expand with air further and further, new air and new spirit and there with not a sole around me, I unpeeled my tender fingers from that dew drenched branch. I let the sun pout into my eyes. And finally, after years, I let go. Why? Because I was growing wings all the time. And I can fly. [ Applause ] I know that poem's a little long, it's a little long, it's a little long. If any of you fell asleep half the way through, if any of you sat there and thought, I think he's kind of over emoting for this particular environment. Well, you know, it's all good. But for anybody who did stay through the poem, through the little bits where you thought, where is he going here, if you just did stay, beyond the question, what is he talking about, if you just did stay, just for a little longer, and led yourself through that poem to the end, then thank you. And if you didn't, it's on YouTube [laughter]. It's all good. My name is Lemn Sissay, and I just want to say that the writer who is the writer in residence that was mentioned from South Africa, I know him as Brown Willy, which is the name that he's known of in South Africa. But his full name I still don't have it properly. I've known him for years. I also know the Last Poets, and I've known them for some years as well. And what is beautiful is that when Brown Willy was in exile, let's say refugee, let's say immigrants. We're all immigrants, we really are all immigrants. I immigrated from womb into the open air. You immigrate from your small town to the city. We are all in the process of emigration and immigration and looking and checking as to whether we're valid. Should I be here? We're all in the process of immigration. Anyway, he came here in the 1960s. And he was part of a writers workshop in Holland, where [inaudible] of the Last Poets were also at the same workshop as him. They took the name, The Last poets from his poem, written in 1966. Does this make sense; are you hearing this? So he goes back to South Africa when South Africa was free and Nelson Mandela was president, 1995, 4, 5, and continues his life there. The Last Poets become the founders and the heart of what became rap music and the heart of the Black Power Movement and the heart of the voice of change. And when they were performing here in America in the '60s, they were filling stadiums. And nobody knew until recently. And he told me in a BBC documentary that I made about them that they're named after his poem. So it's just an incredible marriage between the Africa and the African-American. You know, it's right in the heart of African-American culture. God bless immigrants all. I live on an island, by the way. I'm from England. It's a small island with a big head [laughter]. It's all good, you know, I can criticize where I'm from. Sorry for speaking, I speak a lot. And I write, that's where I'm married. This poem is called, talking of marriage, Invisible Kisses, and it's a love poem. I think of myself as radical poet, and I like to read love poetry at -- I read it at the [inaudible] Congress conference at the LSE in the mid-1980s. I think that's a radical thing to do. Tupac Shakur was a love poet. This poem gets read at a wedding once every two weeks, somewhere in the world. And I get message from somebody saying, we got married [inaudible]. So they pay me? No [laughter]. It's all good, it's online if you want it. And then I'll speak a little bit about my life as well because I need to know when to do that. This poem is called Invisible Kisses. If there was ever one whom when you are sleeping who would wipe your tears. Through everything that I've been through, I refuse not to love, I refuse not to. I think anger is an emotion, anger is an expression of the need for love. So when I've been really angry in my time, unable to articulate what it was that was going through, people would always say if you could articulate what it is that you're going through, we can understand your anger more. But the nature of anger is that it is the articulation leaves you, that's the nature of it. Somebody came up to me in England, and they said, what's racism like? So I slapped them [laughter]. And then I stood over them and I said, right, how do you feel? Because if you can communicate how you feel to me, I can understand your predicament more. Maybe apply for some funding to accommodate you within this society. I spent my life with people saying, you're not black, you're a human being. It's like saying, you know, that's people I don't know just stopping me on the street very randomly, randomly. Okay, so was that, the Library of Congress, was that okay? [laughter] Can we laugh here; is that okay? Okay, good, good, good. Is that black enough, by the way? I'm just wondering if this is -- is laughing black enough; you know what I mean? Because I won the ticket, you know what I'm saying, I won the ticket. I'm like, if I laugh am I less black, you know what I mean? I get confused in England because I try to contextualize myself. Apparently if I'm angry, I'm black. Who knew? But if I have a fully rounded personality, you know, that's kind of I don't know -- what is that? I'm sorry, Prince Hermias. This poem is called Invisible Kisses. It's funny the subtlety of England as well. It's the subtlety of acceptance, you know, the rules of engagement. This poem is called Invisible Kisses. If there was ever one, because I've never had that, I've never believed in those those rules of engagement, there's something much bigger, much stronger, a much more truthful bridge between all people than the rules of engagement that are set to separate, significant much more profound. I think that when you go through painful experiences, they are the opportunity form bridges between each of us, not a separation. If you truly know pain, you would never wish it on your worst enemy. It will give you an insight into the human spirit. It's a vulnerability. You've got to be angry, and you work through anger. Sorry, this is not therapy is, you know what I mean? This poem is called Invisible Kisses. If there was ever one whom when you are sleeping who would wipe your tears when in dreams you were weeping, who would offer you time when others demand, and whose love lay more infinite than grains of sand. If there was ever one to whom you could cry, who would gather each tear and blow it dry, who would offer help on the mountains of time, and who would stop to let each sunset soothe your shades of mind. If there was ever one to whom when you run, who will push back the clouds so that you're bathed in sun, who would open arms if you would fall, and who would show you everything if you lost it all. If there was ever one who when you achieve, was there before the dream, and even then believed, who would clear the air when it's full of loss, count love before costs. If there was ever one whom when you are cold, will summon warm air for your heart to hold, who would make peace in pouring pain, and make laughter full in falling rain. If there was ever one who can offer you this and more, who in keyless rooms can see open doors, who in open doors can see open fields, and in open fields, see harvest yield and see only my face in the reflection of these tides through the clear water beyond the riverside. All I can send is love, and all that this is a poem and a necklace of invisible kisses. [ Applause ] Okay, timeology, timeology means that we are now going to have a conversation which I'm honored to have. Thanks a lot [applause]. >> Drink water? >> Yeah, definitely. Thank you, ma'am. I should give this to you. >> I need it. >> Me too. >> Lemon. I don't know where to start. I should say thank you to start with for accepting our invitation and come to the Library of Congress. >> It's an honor to be here. >> I would like to thank Dr. Yonas [assumed spelling] for bringing you here and making the contact with us. And of course Ethiopia [inaudible], who has made the loudest reception. >> It was beautiful, wasn't it? >> Yes, it was, it was very beautiful. >> It's good thing I don't drink anymore, you know, because I would've just fallen over. It's so wonderful. >> It's good to have you here. I will now commence my questions, and the first question is to ask you about yourself, your life story. You have a very enigmatic and intriguing history around you that all of us would like to hear. I think the world knows you already, a little bit, right? But let us know more, if you can talk about yourself. >> Okay, well, my mother came to come to England in 1966 to study. She went to a Seventh-day Adventist school in Atis [assumed spelling]. She was on a scholarship, I think; actually, I don't know about that. But she came to England and she was pregnant. Women tend to get pregnant at times, it's an amazing thing, you know. And she was pregnant. Like she was partaking in one of the greatest events since the beginning of time, and that's birth. I've just made a documentary series with the BBC called Deliverance because I wanted to know what goes on with inside women when -- not when the baby's born, but while pregnant. Because there is the great change, there is there's -- you know the metaphor for the Big Bang, the whole thing is going on, and it's not about the child, it's about the woman, it's about her. Like she's being born, you know, a whole lot of stuff is happening. I felt like people always looked towards the child, so I found through my Facebook, I found ten women. We got the microphones, and they did a diary every day of the last two weeks of their pregnancy, right up until the doors of the hospital announced the child of the child. It's incredible, it's called Deliverance, and it is online actually. Sorry, that's not the point, the point is I was born in 1966, my mother was pregnant, she was in England. In 1966, England was race was never more a subject of contention. There was a fear in England, it's interesting to say this, there was a fear in England that the Black Power Movement of America would affect England. So the right wing of England stood up more than ever in our history, more in the 20th century than ever before, the words black and white, they meant something, more than they do now, in the '60s. She came into that from this incredible place of Ethiopia. She was part of a group of people who were privileged and enjoying Ethiopia, you know, enjoying the new Africa, through a country which is the oldest. So they became symbolic of that as they came to this country, to America and to England, without knowing it themselves, without knowing it themselves, coming from such a confident place. They didn't come to live, they came to study, came to work, whatever. She came to study and then go back, in England. She went to a Seventh-day Adventist blah, she's pregnant. The other thing, Steve Coogan [assumed spelling] is a friend of mine, he's somebody that I know. Steve Coogan made the film Philomena. The other thing that was happening in the '60s is that if a woman was pregnant outside of wedlock, she was placed into a mother and baby home. It was a horror for a woman to be pregnant. So again, she's criminal before she started. She is wrong before she's had me. She only went on a plan to study. So they send her to the north of England, which is like the unreconstructed deep South here. It's violently racists. This is by racists, I mean people spitting at you in the street, I mean, people not talking to you, not serving you. We forget so easily, it's amazing. And she came to that. For those of you who know what that must have been like, and she was alone, she was sent alone to the north of England to be in a mother and baby home, which was like a factory. This is how the factory worked. Women -- the government was the farmer, the child was earth, and the women were the -- no, the woman was earth, and the child was the produce, and they were adopted. Does it make sense? This was done wholesale, Philomena proves that, although I knew this way before that. I had to wait for people to catch up with me about what I know about the '60s and how it was scandalous. This is just in England that this was happening. Oh, by the way, you know, everybody who adopts is doing it for the right reasons, they may be doing the wrong thing, but they're doing it for the right reasons. They may convince themselves that this is about the child, it's never about the child, it's about the parents. Any parent who has a child, they know that the child gives as much to them as they give to the child, but in a different way. You'll that's part of the deal. Anyway, she my mother's in this mother and baby home, and women are going in there, mainly Irish women, and the children are being -- by the way, I think adoption is one of the greatest things to happen. I think it is it is the greatest example of the human spirit, is adoption. And it's been happening since the Bible, and further on before that. Moses was adopted. Harry Potter was a foster child. Superman was a foundling. We are written into popular culture. Batman was fostered by his aunts and uncles. We are written -- James and the Giant Peach, Pippi Longstocking, there's loads of them. Harry Potter was a foster child. The question is, is why have we not made the link between them and the kids on the street. We demonize first the woman for being pregnant without a husband, and then we demonize the child for being without -- and we assume that the child needs us more than anything. When in fact, most children who are fostered employ incredible skills of empathy and compassion way before their time, understanding of their own foster parents' needs when they reject them and send them away and they go to another foster parent and another. We see things. And I saw things very early on in my life. But I do believe that adoption and fostering is one of the greatest things. I'm sorry, but there's a story that has to be told in slight detail, and I'll just be very quick. I apologize, I keep going off part. This is what happened, my mother was in that home where they were adopting, they need to get you to sign the adoption papers, okay. The proof is out there. IT was in Philomena, but it's all over England. If you go to Ireland, there's like one in five people who are my age who are adopted. Anyway, I mean, that's not true, but you'd be surprised. My mother was in this home alone. Ethiopian, speaks English, educated, kind of hip, but she's 21 years of age. She a kid. And the social worker says, obviously we'll adopt your child, and she says no, I don't want this child adopted, I want him fostered for a short period of time. By the way, many of us know about fostering. You know, you go to another country, somebody fosters your child for a while while you're studying, and then you get your child back at the end. Fostering is not unusual, it's no great shake, people have been doing this since the beginning of time. We act like it's a big deal, because we are embarrassed ourselves that dysfunction happens in families, and it does. When you get over that, you see that fostering is a part of who we are rather than some -- so she says to the social worker, no, I want him fostered. The social worker gave me to the foster parents who wanted to adopt, and the social worker said to them -- and I will tell you how I know all of this later, because I spent my adult life proving what happened to me in the past because I came to realize that all family is is a group of people proving that each other exists. And I had nobody to prove that I existed. So I had to make documentary evidence to prove that these facts that I'm telling you are true, because I have nobody to confirm the existence of me, and that's all family is base. All family is is a group of disputed memories between one group of people over a lifetime, and I have nobody to dispute the memory of me. So I used all of my resources in my career as a writer to find my story, because I knew the more I was recognized, the more dangerous it would be for me, because I had nobody. I didn't meet a black person until 16 years of age. I didn't know a black person until I was 19 years of age. The social worker gave me to foster parents who wanted to adopt in 1967, and said to them, treat this as an adoption, he's your child forever. And his name is Norman. I stayed with the foster parents until I was 12 years old, and they were my mom and dad. That's all I knew, they were my mom and dad, and I was Norman. How would I not know any other way? They were white. The world was white, and that was all right. They gave me love and love is all I knew. And I became attracted to love and to being liked, because that's natural, right? That's what you do as a child that got me at 3 months old. They kept me until I was 12. They'd have 3 of their own children by then. And at 12 years of age, they are not -- well, I will go into it. They decided that I was -- the devil was inside of me, and that I was a Trojan horse that had been sent into their families and I was ruining everything. Two things were happening to me. One is I was going from childhood into adolescence. And because I was the oldest one, the first one of their right catching right in their Christian naive zeal. In the early days of their Christianity, without experience, they took me forever. Then they had children of their own. Then they started to get introduced to the world. And then I become an adolescent, and I do fierce things that they don't understand like take biscuits from tin without saying please and thank you. I come in an hour late because I'm playing with friends. I'm ridiculously popular because I'm the only black kid in the town. And I also like the attention because I'm just built that way [laughter]. I love it, you smile, people smile back. I'm like oh my god, this is great, life is good, I mean, it was just good. They decide that this is old doublespeak and that I am undermining them and I being one thing outside and something else to them. And they tell me that they will put me into children's homes and they will never write to me or speak to me again, and they never did. I was 12 years old. I lost my brothers, my sisters, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, my grandparents. I lost everybody, everybody. My first girlfriend, my school. They wiped me from their memory and began to write the narrative of the new story of their family, which was without me. And they had to wipe me clean so that they could not be responsible. The devil took me away, and God told them to me for that time. I was then held in 6 different 5 different children's homes, for 5 years. Why am I so open about this? Because it's public record. I am owned from the moment I went to that social worker by the government. I think my name -- so I've had no private life. This is not a revelation to me to tell you this. This week when I go back to England, I'll be getting my records for the first 18 years of my life, the whole memory of me. I've been after them for years. I stay in there from 12 to 18 years of age in different children's homes. And the last one was a virtual prison. I think my name is Norman. When I leave the children's homes at 17 years of age, I have nobody, no brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, nobody. I don't know that I'm Ethiopian. I don't know anybody for longer than a year, 4 different children's homes over 6 years with staff that change every 4 hours with children that are coming in and out. I realized that I don't know anybody that knows me for longer than a year. The last year I was in a virtual prison. But because I have no family -- I didn't do anything wrong, by the way. They put me in a prison for children. I'm now taking this to -- I've made a BBC documentary very recently about the place, it's all been exposed, the abuse that happened there. But because I have no family, I had nobody to come in there to say you shouldn't be here, let him come to us. And they knew that. And I knew that they were wrong. I knew that it was all a scam my entire life. At 17 years of age, they had to give me my birth certificate, as a legal thing. And there was no adult to give it to, no parent, no foster parent. People say to me all the time, yeah, but Lemn, you know, what about friends, friends are the family you make, they say to me. Without realizing that you make friends based on your primary relationship building skills that you make through family. And the reason you don't know that is because you shouldn't know that, because the only reason you should know these things if all your family are gone. It's all relative. I just want to say, I left the children's homes at 18, sorry, but I've got to finish. I left the children's homes at 18. I was given my birth certificate that had my name, Lemn Sissay on it, and I was given a letter from my mother pleading for me back. The social worker, my new social worker, a good man, said, you need to have this letter. And it was from my mother, [inaudible], who went on to marry [inaudible], and who then had to flee the country in the early '70s. She said in that letter, at 21 years of age, I want Lemn to be with his -- I want him back. I want him to be with his own people in his own country. I don't want him to face discrimination. For a 21-year-old woman to say that from Ethiopia, to use those words, she knew that something was going wrong. She was writing to a social worker called Norman. He'd named me after himself. This has resonances with slavery. And the name of my birth certificate, my legal name, was Lemn Sissay. From that day, knowing no black people, I called my name Lemn Sissay. >> Can I continue my question? >> Thank you. Sorry about that. I'm just really conceptualizing. >> Very interesting. The name Lemn makes me curious. It sounds philosophical, in one sense, because it means why. >> Yeah. I didn't know that, by the way. You know, when I found my name, I didn't know it meant why. How would I know? >> But then there is another dimension to your name. If you make a little emphasis on the name, speakers who help me with that. Lemn means ask or pray. >> That's beautiful. >> Isn't it? >> Sissay is blessed, right? >> Blessings. >> Isn't that beautiful? >> Unexpected. >> And you know my name shouldn't have been Sissay, my name should never have been Sissay. My mother wanted it to be my father's first name, because that's how it is in Ethiopia. Nobody knows that. I have been the investigator of my own story; I've had to investigate people you're not supposed to investigate. >> So the question is, what was her reason to give you the why question and what it means, if it means Lemn. Has she given you sort of a GPS to your future? >> That's incredible, isn't it? Isn't it incredible? But I was already writing books and the books were out, you know. My first book was 21, wrote it when I was between 18 and 20. Double Page in the Guardian Newspaper there, like this new arrival. The point is, I did not know what my name meant then, you know. I always knew I was a poet. >> But then do you think in your poetry you've been answering the question why? >> Yes. I mean, that's what poetry is. You know when kids go, why is the sky up there, why is it not like over there, you know, and as a father, I'm not a father, but you go what the -- there is a poetry -- the question why is central to being a poet. It is amazing for me that this is happening, that something is going on, something is going on. My name is Lemn, and I'm a poet. I mean, you could not ask for a more -- [laughter and applause]. >> But then I would like to know, I think the audience would also like to know, why you chose poetry as your creative or your outlet? >> I found truth in poetry and I found -- I think also it has something to do with my foster parents. They asked me to study the Bible, you know, a lot as a child. And as much as -- the Bible uses poetry and it uses metaphor. I mean, it is the number one book on climate change, really. People leave and go into deserts. And mountains become metaphors and rivers and seas are split and droughts and plagues and, you know. So my way of translating the world when I left my foster parents was through metaphor because I understood that through my studying of the Bible as a child. And it's only as an adult that I can admit that. Because I was very angry with them for many years. >> Have you heard the word [inaudible]. >> No. >> You will in the future I think if you dig into Ethiopian history literature. >> Okay, yeah. >> [inaudible] language of expression, and it's beautiful. And I think you never come back once you know what [inaudible] is, you will be delving more and more [Multiple speakers]. >> Also I went to the Ethiopian archives and I saw the incredible book that the Emperor commissioned and the priest took me through to see the Bible. I mean, it was just the most beautiful documents. >> Okay, well, the next question is, who has influenced your works? Who are your? >> I always get frightened by this question. You know, it's like -- not here, I will answer the question. But like when you're at a dinner or something, you know, you're out with friends and they say, you know, they'll say, especially in Washington, somebody will say, so have you read. And somebody else will go, yes, I've read, I read the Spanish translation, it's a wonderful piece of work, I must revisit it sometime. And I always feel slightly inadequate, not because I'm ever not reading, I'm always reading. But because I did not have a classic education, because of my situation, so I have a certain amount of -- Langston Hughes is so high up on -- I mean, he wrote in free verse, and I write in free verse, I don't rhyme all of the time. Some of his poems he rhymes but actually he's mainly free verse. >> Are you trying to be politically correct? >> No, I'm not, no, no, no, I'm not. Because in England, we have to look to America and the black American writers because we don't have the same history of black British writers. So if it was black British, it would be Linton Kwesi Johnson and Grace Nickels. I've met Mya Angelo, the late Mya Angelo, a few times, introduced her on stage in England and Alice Walker as well. These are the people who I look to as a child because they looked like me and they were saying wondrous things, you know. So the Last Poets, Gil Scott Heron, I met Gil many times. My publishers publish him, publish him, and were deeply involved in the album being made that made the last part of his life. Went to his house in Holland, his flat in Holland. And so he was one of the first poets that I was really introduced to, you know. So Winter in America, being here, I've written introductions to one of his films in -- actually the film he did in the '70s, called Washington, D.C., I think, filmed here. I wrote an introduction for him back in England. So your movement is partially my movement, there's a Paul Dunbar as well is a poet from here who I, you know I know most if I know Paul Dunbar, because in England he's not like a Mya Angelo, he's not like an [inaudible]. He died. The Last Poets, I am now I remember you've got to see my life, I am now I am now walking into Ethiopian poets. And I have a lot of work to do. I spent a lot of my time searching for my family, without the language. I need to learn language. You know, sometimes when people to say to me, you don't know the language, I think to myself, yeah, I don't, and I've done a hell of a lot to get here, you know. And not only have I done a hell of a lot, but there are more people that I don't understand who speak my language. And in every language that you speak, there will be more people you don't understand who speak your language, you know. There is a bridge between us that is languageless. But I know I need to learn my language. >> Blah, blah, blah. >> There's no way around it. >> well, the next question is something you might not like. >> Okay, I can go there. >> Are you a Shakespeare comeback? >> If you said that in England they will shoot you [laughter]. >> Shakespear. >> Or maybe a [inaudible] comeback? >> I would never ever align myself with the great writing of both of those writers. I've got a long way to go, you know. And I feel like I'm a small percentage waiting to grow, you know. And I do feel being here is helping me a lot. There is a connection which is very profound in this visit. People will speak of you after you are gone in the way that they choose to speak of you. And I'm sure that Pushkin, when he lived, I don't know, I've got a big thick book of his life story like at home which I've got to get to. But Shakespeare was a working writer. I'm a working writer; I am a working writer. There is a lot to come. >> Well, again, I want to congratulate you on your latest win. >> I'm Chancellor of the University of Manchester [applause], that's an incredible thing. It's the biggest university in England. It's a Russell Group university. They have recently had a Nobel Prize winner who was very essential in the discovery and the exploitation of graphene, which we will know a lot about over the next 20, 50 years, for the rest of mankind. >> But the question is, what does this mean to you, to you personally? And what do you attribute the success to? >> I'll tell you what it means, it means more black people will be going to Manchester University [laughter]. University of Manchester. But it also means I mean I think my chancellorship is a ceremonial and symbolic role and I think that what it means is that the will to learn is -- I think what it means is that -- it means that that area which is occupied by a certain type of person, that area is been breached, and not only been breached though, it's not about breach in that area actually. It's about feeding, you know, and about growing that area, so that that space and the land which is created by somebody like me being in that position is good for others to walk on. You know, that's a beautiful thing [applause]. >> But your chancellorship, what kind of bearing would it have on your passion for poetry? >> I mean, I literally -- this broke in the news across Britain just before I came here. If you Google it, you'll see, it was in the national newspapers. >> The 22nd of June. >> There was an article, because, you know, I Google myself. I wonder if Obama Googles himself? It's like President Obama. See what they say, and I'm sure he doesn't. But so the story broke just before I came here. Because I was running against a very famous national politician called Peter Mendelson, who is the Lord Peter Mendelson, who was essential in new labor, which labor are the equivalents of the Democrats in England. And he was essential in the growing of new labor. So it was a big deal, you know, and it still is. As soon as I go back, it'll be on BBC News Night. It's so good to be here, by the way, straight after the announcement, like to get away. >> So the bearing on your poetry. Would you be writing more? >> I should always be writing more. You know, my story had led me away from poetry to find my family, to put my resources into that. I've watched poets who I know -- yeah, so I never feel like I've done enough. I've got a long way to go, you know. You know, I started to think about time and how long I've got left. I know this must be what happens as we grow, you know, and I think, oh, okay, I can see the curve. So it will be, what will be will be, you know. I'm very much a person who knows that to live in the present is everything, to take one day at a time is very important [applause]. Can I just say this? I found him all about my past, right, for 2 reasons. One is to just let it go, to just let it go, to forgive my foster parents. And I have done it, I've met them, and I forgave them, from the bottom of my heart I forgave them. So that when I come against hardship, I don't blame them, I don't blame anybody for hardship I've been through now. This is so important, because now when I come across something hard, I'm not seeing it as my story, that I was meant to be under this stress. It's an incredible place that I've got to, and that's very recently. I went to see my foster mom, I sat her down, and I forgave her, truly forgave her. Didn't forgive her to tell you this. And you know what she said to me? She said -- one of the things she said was, well, you were a naughty boy. And I said I am not trying to change the story, I'm not trying to accept your story. I'm saying I forgive you and I apologize as well for you've had to follow me as I rose. Because I was supposed to disappear, I was supposed to just disappear. Go into the children's homes. And what the children's homes want you to do, to be dysfunctional. I could see them, I could see how the institution was actually happy when a child went crazy and smashed things up. Because it knew the rules, the institution knew what to do then, we do lockdown, physically lockdown with them, we put them in this place, we do that with them. Everybody was happy, the social workers, the blah blah blah, because I'd done something that everybody knew must have been wrong. By the way, I didn't do anything. I saw this, I saw how the institution enjoyed and defined itself by wanting me to do something wrong, and then everything fell into place. What didn't know is to do what to do with me being good. So I saw them, and they hated that I saw them, I saw them. >> Lemn, I think I would not be wrong if I conclude by saying that most of your writings and your narrations, wherever you go, is all about love. >> Yes. >> Why is it important to you? >> Probably because you only know how important something is when it's been taken away from you, and then you can see it for all of its power. And I guess that made me come to realize how important love is, and it made me realize that, you know, people and family, you know -- it really is that simple. So I am fully aware that I am driven by love, the need for love, and the need to give love, the need to do that. Because that's at the heart of family, and I don't really have that. But I find that in literature. I find that in writing. I find that in creativity. And I find it when we find creative solutions for our problems, we are engaging in love, whether that's in a family or whether that's in a political system. When we find creative solutions. >> I'll ask you this last question then I'll open for the audience to ask you. If you had a chance or choice between learning Amharic and being the first black Prime Minister of Great Britain, which one would you chose [laughter]. >> If ever there was an Ethiopian question [laughter]. I love my people. Undoubtedly, to learn Amharic, undoubtedly, undoubtedly, undoubtedly [applause]. That would give me such a window into so much. >> Okay, any questions? [ Inaudible Audience Question ] >> Yes, I'm going to see him tomorrow, right. [ Inaudible Audience Question ] >> By the way, I didn't know anything about this. >> You know, it's a good question. I've done a lot of work from a creative perspective in this area. There are a lot of agencies. There's an incredible film that's just been made in Denmark about a couple from Denmark who adopted a girl. And there is corruption that happened in Ethiopia by Ethiopians, who were being the middle people between an agency here in America. And the key thing that happens to most children -- firstly I would ask you this question. If what you want to do is to help a child in Ethiopia, why would you assume that they need to be taken thousands of miles away from their country? And why would that be the first thing that you feel like is the right thing for that child? Why would think that the better quote life for that child would be that that would happen? Why would you not give money for that child to be able to be educated in some of the great schools in Ethiopia and then come to study here in Ethiopia? Why would you hear a narrative where somebody say's to you, her parents are dead, she has no family, take her. Why would you believe that first and foremost, when she'll have grandparents, when she will have -- I've been the Ethiopia and I've -- I know one woman who went to record the children in the villages who had been taken to be -- she just wanted to record how many people have adopted their children. And she went to the villages and they poured out of the villages looking for their child that they thought that they would get back. The idea that somebody in another country will understand, from rural Ethiopia, will understand the technicalities of the idea of adoption in Europe or England is laughable, is laughable. So you may think that you're giving your child away and they'll be back in 10 years, and that is just not how the adoptive parents thinking that it will be. And if nobody says anything, then there's nothing wrong so we'll just leave the country with the child, we've got the adoption and all is well. A lot of people go abroad to adopt because they say that it's difficult to adopt in their own country. The reason it's difficult to adopt in their own country is because their own social services are looking after the practice, which means that a lot of people adopt abroad are not necessarily vetted enough. I'm not bothered about the ones who do well, because I know too many good men and women who were adopted by white people. I can't say it doesn't work, I can't say it doesn't work, because then I would have to deny various people's lives, and I can't do that, that would be wrong. But I can say that everybody ignores the fallout. Somebody would've seen the Dan Rather documentary. Dan Rather, the artist, the presenter, the journalist. He wrote an incredible documentary about those kids in Seattle who were adopted. Men like me, thrown out, and they're living on the streets in Seattle now. I wish I knew the name of this documentary, it was made in Denmark. And they follow the Ethiopian woman family and the agency, and they follow English woman. I've never seen -- they're Denmark people. I've never seen a documentary so well, well shot. Everything is in it. The girl -- I'm sorry, I can't remember her name. I brought the documentary maker to England, just a couple of months ago. Showed her film in England. The child was running around the bedroom of the Hilton hotel or whichever hotel it was, the adoption authority, running around the room, and the woman said to the child, the adoptive woman said to the child, we don't act like that down here, we don't act like that. The child -- the subtitles come on the screen, and the child is just saying mommy mommy, and they don't understand her. The first thing you should do if you're going to adopt a child from another freaking country, learn the language of the country, learn the language of the country. Because I see them at the Hilton hotel and various hotels, and they look at us, right, Ethiopians, the men, the waiters, as if they are somehow, oh, as if they are somehow, as if they are somehow -- you know, the problem is, you tell them you want something, you know, and they just don't listen to you properly. Do you understand what I'm doing? You know, you go to another country, and then you go to the hotel, and you're like I just want to be listened to says the adopting parent. They should be listening rather than being listened to. Sorry, yeah. That all sounded quite aggressive. What I do know is that most of those people are doing it for what they believe to be the right reasons. But I want to say they've been learning the wrong lessons about Africa and particularly, my god, about Ethiopia. It's an incredible place. I don't disagree with adoption, I want you to know this. So this is more complicated than black-and-white. >> Maybe 2 more questions because you've been here too long, maybe [inaudible]. >> Writes for the New York Times. She's in Pakistan, and I met her. I am a writer by trade, it's not just my story. So I met her at the Karachi Literature Festival, and she's just a wonderful woman, yes. >> So you did not [inaudible] university? >> I did not. I mean, look at my -- university is about family is about the power of suggestion. Did you go to university? Which one do you want to go to? I mean, you don't have to, you don't have to go. I'd like it if you did, you know your brother's gone to university. Anyway, a magazine came the day and I just left there. It's about universities, but you don't have to look at it, it's just there. But the power of suggestion, the power of suggestion for a child in care is that you will get in trouble with the police when you leave. Family is about the power of suggestion. Yes. Are you getting married? Are you married yet? It's just that your aunt got married. The power of suggestion. Have you been to church? Sorry, yes. [ Inaudible Audience Question ] Yeah, there's nobody that becomes a chancellor that has hair like this [laughter]. The thing is, yeah, being there, I want kids in care. There is a PhD in my name, PhD scholarship in the [inaudible] University. I've encouraged [inaudible] PhD scholarship. I've encouraged Leads University to do the same, Manchester University I'm going to encourage to do the same. One day, the whole of the country will have a PhD scholarship for Cal Lever [assumed spelling]. The woman who I asked to be the name to go with the Cal Lever PhD scholarship in Leads, was Vivian Westward, and she said yes. The Vivian Westward PhD scholarship for Cal Lever. It's not out yet, but it will be soon. Yes. [ Inaudible Audience Question ] >> I think you can't not be spiritual really, even if you're fighting your spirit, you know. The guys on the street, you know, they're spiritual. The guy who takes my car, he said to me this morning, he said, I was sat down outside, I'm addicted to cigarettes, it's a long story, outside the Washington Hilton. He was like, living the dream, man, you living the dream. And I felt like I was like I don't like it, I didn't like it. I thought, I don't know about this living, I don't know about how you're saying it to me, I don't know what that is. I said to him, I'm not living the dream, man, I said, I'm loving the dream, I'm loving the dream. The imagination is an incredible thing. This building had to be imagined before it was created. Therefore, which is more real, the imagination that spurred the physical creation of it, or the physical creation of it? So the spiritual self is an incredibly powerful thing. It's the making of a metaphor in the Bible, it means that the earth is one of the greatest translators of the spirit of the human being. I don't know where that comes from, but I know that it's a gift that we all have equally. So it's a bridge between me and you, right. That's all I wanted. >> Okay, I guess we have come to the conclusion of our program with Lemn Sissay. But before we go away, I'd like to give you. >> No, no. >> It's about our division and what we do, so take it wherever you want. >> I'm so honored, thank you. [ Applause ] >> Thank you all for coming. >> Tweet me [laughter]. >> You have a chance to talk to him now one to one. >> I'm going to say that I'm honored here to have this introduction to you, and I'm looking forward to hopefully in the future I will email you, but also, you know, I've got a lot to learn. >> Me too, we all do. >> So I'm really honored. >> We all do. Thank you [applause]. >> This has been a presentation of the Library of Congress. Visit us at LOC.gov.