>> From the Library of Congress in Washington, DC. >> Lee Ann Potter: [Inaudible] it will be. I'm Lee Ann Potter. I direct educational outreach here at the Library, and it is really a joy to welcome you to this evening's poetry reading, and conversation. And if it goes anywhere as well as our meeting with ththis program features young people and poetry, which means it's going to be fun, and it's going to be interesting. And so naturally the -- I can say this in this company, the most fun and interesting divisions in the Library of Congress are responsible for this program tonight. [Laughter] It's not being recorded; nobody's going to like get mad at me. And that is the Library's Young Readers Center, which is part of my division. Not only is it a very special place in the Library for young people, but it is also part of a much larger educational effort to engage audiences with the Library. And this evening is also brought to you by the library's Poetry and Literature Center. And my colleague, Robert Casper, would be here, but he's on travel in Kentucky with the current US Poet Laureate. So I'm going to say a little word about that. The Poetry and Literature Center is home to the US Poet Laureate. And our current Poet Laureate, Tracy K. Smith, will finish up her first term with an event -- mark your calendars, on Thursday, April 19th. So it's literally you may want to mark your calendars. To find out more about the Poetry and Literature Center, poetry at the Library or -- and/or to watch Tracy's opening reading featuring a certain youth poet laureate who will soon grace this stage, you can visit the Library's website and go to the poetry division by just hitting the slash poetry. Tonight's program is also brought to us in partnership with Urban World New York City. Tonight, we are fortunate to have Michael Cirelli, the executive director with us. In 20Mayor's Office, and New York City Votes, the National Youth Poet Laureate Program began. It aims to identify and celebrate teen poets who exhibit a commitment to artistic excellence, and to civic engagement, youth leadership, and social justice. The National Youth Poet Laureate Program works in collaboration with local youth literary arts organizations across the country, and is championed by our nation's leading literary organizations that include the Academy of American Poets, the Poetry Society of America, Penn Center USA, Cave Canem, and the Library of Congress. Now, to kick off our program, [pounding sounds] we have a very special guest, who is fun and interesting, too. [Laughter] She is our current national ambassador for Young People's Literature -- how is that, Jacqueline Woodson; I get to introduce her. She is a four-time Newbery Honor Medalist, a Coretta Scott-King book award winner, a former young people's laureate. And her platform as our national ambassador is "Reading = Hope x Change (What is Your equation?)." She is encouraging young people to think about, and think beyond the moment they are living in, the power they possess, and the impact that reading can have on showing them ways in which they can create the hope and the change they want to see in this world. Please join me in welcoming Jacqueline Woodson [ Applause and Cheering ] >> Jacqueline Woodson: I threw on my Ascot because I forgot my medal. [Laughter] They're sending it to me so I can have it for tomorrow's ceremony. And I'm bummed I don't have it for tonight; but I'm so grateful to be here. I'm so grateful to be back in the company of Amanda, who I adore, and to meet the final -- new Poet Laureate finalist. This is so exciting, especially coming off of yesterday and the walkout, and the power young people have to change the world. So thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for showing up, and showing out, and showing us. So Amanda Gorman is a, poet, a community leader and a speaker from Los Angeles, California, and she's 19 years old. And she's so phenomenal. And I love that she's wearing my sorority colors. In April of 2017, she was named the Inaugural National Youth Poet Laureate of the United States. Gorman was also the Inaugural Youth Poet Laureate of Los Angeles, and I remember her then, and announced as a finalist for the National Youth Poet Laureate title at the -- at Kennedy Center in the summer of 2016. In her capacity is the LA Youth Poet Laureate, she worked with the L.A. Commission on Human Relations to develop youth programs, conduct a countywide library tour, and she published her first collection of poetry, "The One For Whom Food Is Not Enough" with Penmanship Books, which also is phenomenal. Gorman is the founder and executive director of the organization One Pen One Page, which promotes literacy among youth through "Creative Writing Program", an online magazine and advocacy initiatives. She has been a HERLead fellow in Washington, D.C. HERLead global delegate in London at the Trust Women Conference, and a United Nations youth delegate. She has introduced Secretary Hilary Clinton at the 2017 Global Leadership Awards, was celebrated by First Lady Michelle Obama at the White House -- we miss them both so much [laughter], and performed at the Library of Congress with US Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith. Oh, man, and it goes on; her fabulosity goes on. [Laughter] She has been honored with a special resolution from the L.A. -- from the Los Angeles Board of Library Commissioners, an outstanding community service award by the city of Los Angeles, and certificates of recognition for her leadership by the California State Assembly, and mayor's office. Her work has appeared in the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Huffington Post, elle.com, and award-winning anthologies. Her literary awards include national recognition from scholastic arts and writing awards, and young arts, a 2017 OZY Genius Grant recipient. She is currently directing a virtual reality film exhibit, which I'd love to hear more about. And she is a sophomore at Harvard University. She's so badass. [Laughter] Here's Amanda. [ Applause and Cheering ] >> Amanda Gorman: I'm sorry, you all, I thought that was going to be two sentences. [Laughter] Thank you so much for having me. It's always a pleasure to return to this Library, which is my favorite, to speak alongside Jacqueline Woodson, who's just a queen, a hero, all of the above and more; and also to welcome our five finalists for the Youth Poet Laureate of United States position. So I have the honor of both reading, and also introducing. So I'm going to read two poems for the occasion, and then I'll bring up our amazing finalists, who I know you would love to meet. And I'm going to start with a piece called "Waiting with the Gourd Moon", that I wrote as a coda to Black History Month for the New York Times. [ Paper Sounds ] "'Waiting with the Gourd Moon.' I dream of the world in its existence before me. I am child shrinking to white fetus, then minimized to a grain. Then I fold into nothingness. And in this form, I lightly trace the scars [inaudible] scraped into the god blue back of the Atlantic, until I find myself sitting between a brown elder's legs, while he tosses tails up to a gourd moon. Market women [inaudible] to a blossoming sun. We stomp the ground to night palpitations from heavy height skid drums as [inaudible] a plum purple sky. The majesty of a village settles upon me like the dust of stars. I sing out for my ancestors, not knowing their names. I cry for them not knowing the losses. I dream of them not knowing if they dream of me. I inhale them, the beads making the necks, the vases crowning the skulls, lips sliding open and welcome. My sisters, I call to you. My brothers, I ask of you, toss your stories at me. Fling your love to me with upturned lips. Let me walk with you. Let me talk with you. Let me watch when you laugh. Hang back your head face stretching up to the clouds as if you're eating the sweetest sunset. Let me hear the brown grass sing below while flames leap high. Let me dance, dance with you until the music cracks us out of our bodies like nuts. I want to come home to you, you who sketch ancient brown rhythms in my chest, you who drag hieroglyphs with your feet and milk sands you, who resurrect houses and pharaohs while your voice climbs the silver rungs of stars, you who wind the Nile around my wrists and stretch my smile wide as the Sahara, you who hum heritage with the womb of flesh within you, you who open your palm like buckets, waiting tenderly to receive me. I am co, and we will be reborn into a world without change, where redemption is greater than Emancipation, where [inaudible] both plump fruits swelling from my people's laughter in the glory of our roots." [ Applause ] Great; and I'm going to read a poem that I semi-apologize because I know some of you have heard it before. It is the poem that I had the honor to read as an introduction to our current US Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith. And it's called "In This Place (An American Lyric)". "There's a poem in this place in the footfalls, and the halls, and the quiet beats of the seats. It is here at the curtain of day where America writes a lyric you must whisper to say. There's a poem in this place, in the heavy grace, the lined face of this noble building collections burned and were born twice. There's a poem in Boston's Copley Square where protests chants tear through the air like sheets of rain, where love of the many swallows hatred of the few. There's a poem in Charlottesville with tiki torch of string, a ring of flame tight around the wrist of night, where men so white they glean blue seen like statues where [inaudible] that long wax burning ever higher, where heather higher blooms forever in a meadow of resistance. There's a poem at the great sleeping giants of Lake Michigan defiantly raising its big blue head to Milwaukee and Chicago, a poem begun long ago blaze into frozen soil strutting upward and aglow. There's a poem in Florida, in Puerto Rico, in East Texas where streets swell into a nexus of rivers, cows afloat like modeled buoys in the brown, where courage is now so common that 23 year old Jesus Contreos [phonetic] rescues senior citizens from floodwaters. There's a poem in my Los Angeles [inaudible] wide as the Pacific tide where a single mother swelters in the windowless classroom teaching black and brown students in Watts to spell out their thoughts so her daughter write like this poem for you. There's a lyric in California where thousands of students march for blocks and document it, and unafraid when my friend Rosa finds the power to blossom and deadlock her spirit, the bedrock of her community. She knows hope is like a stubborn ship gripping a dock of truth that you can't stop a dreaming or knock down a dream. How could this not be her city, su nacion, our country, our America or American lyric to write to, a poem by the people, the poor, the Protestants, the Muslim, the Jew, the Native, the immigrant, the black, the brown, the blind, the brave, the undocumented, and undeterred, the woman, the man, the albino, the trans, the ally to all of the above and more. Tyrants fear the poet. Now that we know it, we can't blow it. We owe it to show it, not slow it, although it hurts to sew it when the world [inaudible] below it, hope, we must bestow it like a wick in the poet so it can grow, lit, bringing with it new stories to rewrite, the story of a Texas city depleted but not defeated, a history written that need not be repeated, and nation composed, but not yet completed. There's a poem in this place, a poem in America, a poet in every American who rewrites this nation, who tells a story worthy of being told on this minnow of an Earth to breathe, hope into [inaudible] of time, a poet to every American who sees that a poem penned isn't a poet's end. There is a place where this poem drowns. It is here. It is now in the yellow song of dawn's bell where we write an American lyric we are just beginning to tell." Thank you. [ Applause ] Now, I have the pleasure of introducing our finalist. First up, we have Milla Kudas. Give us a round of applause for her. [Applause] Thank you; on this day [phonetic]. Milla Kudas is the Los Angeles Youth Poet Laureate, a national finalist representing the Western Region. Her work has been featured in a PR, PBS, Huffington Post, and BuzzFeed. Her social impact spans numerous organizations, including Young People Creating Change, CA Arts, an equality summit, the Bigger Picture Project, Rise Up, Cheers for Queers, Poets for Progress and Get Lit, among others. Next, we have Patricia Frazier, who's joining us on the stage. She is the Chicago Youth Poet Laureate [applause] -- yes, a round of applause, and a national finalist representing the Midwestern Region. She is a member of Assata's Daughters, Young Chicago Authors, and Chicago Beyond. Her awards include Congressional Black Caucus fund scholar, Davis Peta [phonetic] scholar, Young Arts and National Spoken Word Merit winner, and Walgreen's Expressions winner, among many others. Next, we have Rukmini Kalamangalam, who is the Houston Youth Poet Laureate [applause], and national finalist representing the Southwest Region. Her work has appeared in the Houston Chronicle, and the Houston School District Press. And her awards and appearances include the Young Leaders Institute, National Honor Society, Teach for America's Diversity Gala, Houston Poetry Festival, and the National Book Festival, among, of course, many others as well. Next, we have William Lohier, [applause] who is the New York City Youth Poet Laureate, and national finalist representing the Northeast Region. He is the vice president of -- sorry, Stuyvesant Black Students League, the Speech and Debate Teams lab leader, editor of Kid Spirit Magazine, a Federal Hall fellow, a Seeds of Peace fellow, and a Champion Briefs Institute fellow among, as we have gotten used to, many other honors. [Laughter] Last but not least, we also have Cassidy Martin, who is the Nashville Youth Poet Laureate -- [ Applause ] And national finalist representing the Southeast Region. Her poetry has appeared across Nashville through the National MCA Poetry in Motion, and in the National Arts Magazine. Her work in the community includes organizations such as the National Public Library, Southern Word, Big Picture ambassadors, Second Harvest, and the Pencil Foundation, among, you guessed it, many others. [Laughter] So to kind of go over who's going to be reading for us, we're going to have Milla Kudas, then we're going to have Rukmini, then we're going to have Cassidy join us with William, and then Patricia to close us off. Are you guys ready? >> Yes. >> Amanda Gorman: Woo, let's do it. [Applause] [ Background Sounds ] >> Milla Kudas: Hello. >> Amanda Gorman: Hello. >> Milla Kudas: First I want to thank the Library of Congress, and thank Urban Word, as well as Amanda for that fabulous introduction. I'm going to just do two poems. I'm going to start with a sonnet, and then I'm going to go into another poem. So the sonnet is "A Sonnet for a Moth". "Your wings, honey-dipped between shoulder blades, unscrewed, left open on marble counters, crystallized as a capsule of toothpaste, a motel memoir for an out-of-towner in my own backyard, flying towards a light dim as dusk wherever warmth radiates. You alwayto eradicate the smoke in your mouth. The Shirley Temple tongues tangled stems no spider bites my neck. The such a [inaudible] playing gentle, the cherry drowns. You do not care to check. Dare unthread me head first into the flame. I see a moth wink, and think of your name." So that's my sonnet [applause], my one and only sonnet. [Laughs] And now this is my next poem. And I wrote this for CUPSI, which is happening April. It's a poetry slam. I'm very excited for it. "Hey, I'm gay, and not up for debate. I'm gay, lesbian, Libra, lascivious. I'm gay as a wolf flannel on a summer day. I'm so gay. In third grade, my best friend and I would sneak kisses peck for peck at the playground's corner. Our parents called it confusion, experimentation, like my desire could be dissected, cut down to cuticle. I'm gay like -- woo, I'm gay like I swallowed my sexuality until sophomore year, found it again staring into Amy's eyes at lunchtime, earbuds draped around her neck, the cranberries echoing in her collarbones. I'm gay like I write poetry, really gay poetry, with my trimmed fingernails and chipped polish existing in the blur between platonic cuddling and intimacy. I'm gay like Willow Rosenberg post "Werewolf", like Buffy really slays. I'm gay like middle school, softball and musical theatre, an unending emo phase. I'm gay like turtlenecks and dodging texts, like nose-ring and undercut, like everyone's a little eager to reduce me down to trend. I mean, I get it, flannel goes out of season, but some of you all would rather a rope than a bowtie, than a necklace with my girlfriend's name. But I still sport button-ups at all my family holiday parties, hoping the collar will cover my love's letters because I'm gay. Like grandma still doesn't get it. No matter asks me how many times she asks about the boys and I don't give her a straight answer, she says the reason I haven't met someone yet is because I go to a women's college. And the love almost leaps from my lips I'm gay like almost, like lips, like the closet is cracked open. But some days I have to lock myself in, put my best fem forward at the job interview, the Megabus terminal, my grandpa's funeral. I'm gay like every time gay, the men in my life take it upon themselves to amend and say, "Well, what about Ben, what was that then?" [Laughter] I'm gay like my only straight friend just came out so she would've known sooner if not for the folks always photo shopping her wedding pictures. I'm gay like my girlfriend boiled me a bath from the hot water stopped working, made warmth out of winter. We l I forget each intersection kiss is a death wish. But I'm gay like privilege, search party and headline. Like not everyone is made into martyr, like not every casket comes with a feature film full of rainbow flags, but the casualties keep coming. And we prefer to live loving, we prefer to love living. And I'm gay like still here, singing the mountain goats glitter faced on the subway turning dismal to dazzle, death into trend, love to the end." Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Good job. >> Rukmini Kalamangalam: Hi, thank you for all being here. I'm really honored to be a part of this program, to be here with all of these amazing people. I'm going to read two poems today, and they're both after cities. The first one is for Houston, and the second is for Banaras, which is where my family lives in India. "After Harvey." "The first rain after the hurricane, we held our breath. Imagine what it would feel like to be drowning again so soon after the taste of stolen air replaced the salty gasping of rising tides. The first rain after the hurricane, we were ready before the flash . Snarling and slavering in red Wellington boots, they watched us with hungry eyes, snout sniffing the air for threats from the sky and each other. The first rain after the hurricane, the water washed away as quick as it had come, leaving the streets dark and empty, and water still priced 1.99 a gallon. We scoured the clouds for signs of false promises. The first rain after the hurricane, we tethered our homes together, waited to become chains of floating memories, prayed for a second chance at survival, our heads still bowed as the rain evaporated, leaving only stillness behind." [ Applause ] My second piece is about my hometown in India. And it's the holy city because it has the intersection of two holy rivers. But there's also a place where -- as Hindus, we cremate our dead, and so there's a place along the river where you just see fire lining the banks; and this is a poem about that scene. "The city is burning, or maybe it's just the stars, the river caught between her banks. I can't tell. The haze is a curtain covering the open kitchen window when the smoke alarm screams, 'Mama, [foreign language], Mama.' If the holy city burns and he lights a cigarette from the ashes, will he be spared? The temple spills soot like a blackened mouth, like teeth falling out of the old man's head when he spits, splat. Tobacco turns the sands of the riverbank to liquid rust. queuing for cremation delight in the warmth. The city of lights is burning and the reflection in God's glasses looks like sacrifice, salvation. Did you know that anyone who dies in Banaras is saved, that -- did you know that this time the line at the gates of heaven is so long it trails back to Earth, bodies stacked like firewood waiting to be collected, only the dead poor tied down with bricks at the bottom of the river can breathe through the smoke and close press of people. The river is cool to the touch and they long for heat, bloated fingers strain to, Muslim [foreign language]." Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Cassidy Martin: Hi, guys. >> Hello. >> Cassidy Martin: So this first piece is for a culture that I had to look up and relearn in order to remember it. So "I was named after Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I was basically born into the backyard of a Mennonite farm where we would wash each other's feet at the end of the day, and then we would eat watermelon smiles down to the rind. We would spit the seeds in the grass so the chickens could eat them later. And every morning we had to check the henhouse, but not me because I would be over there screaming when mothers would expand their wings in warning like Mennonite mothers would pinch children when they run with eggs, the ones you had to collect in the morning and eat before the sun woke up. The hens would peck at my fingers that were smaller than her beak. We would use sticks and poke them under their bellies so they would give us breakfast in the morning. We would eat not at a dining room table, but a long wooden bench with hen-stitched tablecloths. We would slip our prayers into each other's palms and offer them to God for a meal made from scratch. This gets fluffy golden brown, and the ground on a southern farm feels like home, like mud pies, like fireflies in mason jars. But this pretty picture of painted isn't acrylic. It's water-colored by night. Our oldest cousin would commend us to lock our doors because sometimes boy cousi'd think that it's okay to touch a six year old with brown hair and tangled limbs. And my oldest cousin would always tuck the halo of my baby hairs back into my bonnet, which was really a prayer cap that we wear at all times, because we believe that we should always be ready to pray. I grew up in a home where men like my father only had up to an eighth grade education, but my mother told me that he was the smartest man she had ever married. And the black cowboy hat in the back of her closet that she used to keep I would fit if I had it now. But now I am the product of public school and poverty. I am the product of homegrown tomatoes and plucky powdered fingers. I am the product of, 'Yes, ma'am,' and, 'No ma'am, instead of 'Yeah, huh, what, weaving its way into my vocabulary. And no matter where I come from, and no matter where I was raised, I will always remember Southern fresh soil or Southern slick city streets. It don't matter because I was raised by the South." [ Applause ] This was one of my first takes at a page poem, [laughs] which I discovered to be really fun, actually. "Bystanders are streetlights that watch headlights kiss, crashing lips as life stops. They are the closets that hold tangled purple and blue limbs, breath that rips from lungs, and salty cheeks that caress paint. They are the toilets that carry dry heaves, like the lock hugs the refrigerator and the cabinets. They are the drawer that cradles the belt. They are the eyelids that never shut. They are the journals that hold poems of everything, of everything, and never, ever tell. They are window seals that don't breathe. They are doors that don't eat. They are jeans that lay against red lines and never dye their color, never dip into the irises of haunted eyes, too scared the poltergeist might follow them home, might crack open their jaw if their lips, it will become nightmare. Bystanders are death, they are mute, they are streetlights that never, ever blink." [ Applause ] >> William Lohier: Hi, everyone. >> Hey. >> William Lohier: I just want to say I'm so honored and privileged to have the opportunity to be able to speak to a roomful of people. And I think especially now in the time that we live in providing this platform for young people is more important than ev [ Applause ] And this is a poem that I wrote in response to yesterday's walkout by high school students. "Yesterday, one month after the deadliest high school shooting in American history, students across the country marched for stricter gun laws. The same day, after suing the state of Florida for raising the age to buy assault rifles, the NRA's Twitter account , 'I'll control my own guns. Thank you.' And the question becomes, 'Why do we march?' When school shootings have become an American promise, when the Second Amendment [inaudible] bullets into bodies. We were not taught that students could become soldiers at any time. A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed. We march because those words are worth more than our lives, because those who defend them do not know our names, how our mommas know to hold us close when pistols rejoice in the night like martyrdom is the best some of us can expect in life. We march because. Because the other day, we had a lockdown drill, and as my back was pressed against the wall away from the window, I was waiting for shots to ring out, blunt like the promise of freedom the way politicians take NRA money and give us back bodies. We were not taught the sound of gunshots. We have never been asked to write eulogy. We march because as I write this poem, I want to be worrying about tests, and homework, and acne, and grades, and it's frustrating that this poem sounds like an ode to assault rifles, that my grandmother prayed I would survive in case of a school shooting, that an Austin sixth grader wrote his will in case of a school shooting, that 'in case of a school shooting' has become a justification, but not justification enough for stricter gun laws because someone, someone in America says they love their guns. And my body becomes a canvas, becomes a false prophecy, and I flash back to police siren, to red, white, blue, red, white blue, and I say in my head over and over again, 'Hands up, don't shoot. Hands up, don't shoot.' We march because I learned long before high school to fear bullets, before Columbine, before Sandy Hook, before Stoneman Douglas. We march because today, I did not die. Today, I was not shot, not crucified, not martyred, not made poster, or hashtag 'not afraid', didn't crouch down on my classroom today. Today, I didn't have to run, or hide, or mourn a friend. We march because today, I knew that one of those things could happen at any time. They've happened before. We are not marching to take your guns. We are marching for our lives. So watch us because there is power in our footst. And the streets will ring with it long after we are gone." [ Applause ] And this second poem I wrote for my dad, and it's called "I See Mountains." "I watch as the white woman won't sit next to my dad in the subway, won't be seen in the space a black man has left behind, won't be possessed by the ghosts he carries with him. She scans the car for another seat, one with fewer nooses attached, looking everywhere but at him, everywhere but at the empty seat next to him that beckons with open arms, ignoring it as if it were white privilege, as if it were unclean, as if there was ever could sit while a white woman stood. I wonder if she is suddenly aware of her whiteness the same way I am aware of my father's blackness; how he carries space with him anywhere he goes, a well so full of blood, and light, and magic, and everything black that it is overflowed. How dirty he must feel contaminating the seats next to him, his pride planting explosives in the orange plastic skin so bright it requires a three-foot radius tongue a skyscraper that could collapse at any moment. And I think she must recognize the risks associated with the air around his body, how fragile it is, how precious breath is in a black man's lungs. She stands with the seat in front of her as I watch standing next to her, and I want her to sit to cast aside the fire hoses and German shepherds her mind has rejected. I want her to recognize that when she ignores this seat, she ignores The Promised Land. I want her to see my dad the way I see him, as holy, as human, as strong as he is fragile. And she smiles, reads her book, continues to stand like George Wallace at the schoolhouse door. And my dad winks at me as if he sees the miracle in what has just occurred, that a white woman gives up her birthright, stands for a black man, recognizes that he takes up so much space in this world she cannot possibly find room to disrespect it. And I do no; bright as the mountaintop where no trees can grow, only flowers, that only black men have ever set foot on. So I think my father moves mountains with him, has climbed them, tamed them. And he will sit for now enjoying the space that he has earned." Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Patricia Frazier: How are you all doing? >> Good. >> Patricia Frazier: Again, thank you to Urban Word. And I'm just so blessed, and honored, and highly-favored to ever imagine performing somewhere like this, so thank you so much. This first poem is called "He Got Me Flowers Today" [inaudible] Tracy K. Smith; for Mama and Auntie Julie. "Birds stab greedy beaks into trunk and seed, spill husk onto the heap where my dreaming and loving live. Tracy K. Smith." "My fleeting body is a vase of flowers, love is the brass knuckle. He tells me he loves me. He is sorry. He is dirty water. Regardless, I am still alive. I am still alive on borrowed time, kitchen under the hot comb, my body a permed attitude, a cracked vase. Love is the second home, a plan B, a planned parenthood. My body is the vase. The vase is a casket for a rose, because even a dead thing needs a home. Love is the rose handled thorn first, the vase is my house, framed for my brief body. I make sure to leave room for fist, their straining knuckles. My body pedals into a casket of water, the water is a dirty man. The man is time I borrowed. My body is a rose, fish out of water. Love is the alternative. But a living thing does what it can to survive. My stem escaped and ran away with a sink. A man tried to catch me and drowned." [ Applause ] And then the second poem is for my city, because people throw dirt on Chicago so often that I feel we might end up under it. It's after Jayne Cortez. "I am Windy City. Here is my tomato head baton scattered badge in blue. I got my cousin's ears of corn gentrifying in the melting pot, my mouth a mercury lake. I baptized John Baptiste in a bonfire. I am Windy City of red meat, stockyards of men in factories inside my belly, a jungle of segregated joints. Rub my navy pores with the blood of Betadine boys, making steel and stealing it. I am Windy -- [makes sounds] making steel and stealing it." Sorry, you all. "I am Windy City of Cabrini Green giants. Hear my Newport throat croak an eight-hour workday, a Haymarket rally in the projects, pipe bomb at Pullmans Pied Piper. I work for no one. I am Windy City of bloody gums, my teeth a collection of [inaudible] earrings, which are kind of for the rest of Gringo, Illinois. My boys cleanse the white city with a storm of gunpowder tears. I am Windy City only dressed in white on Valentines for all my lovers [inaudible] at the hands of Chiraq, a man I don't know who keeps trying to wife me. Chiraq is [inaudible] peeping toms who have a license to strip search. Chiraq turned churches into resale gun stores. Chiraq attracts songs [inaudible] sung into the wrong ear, Chiraq city of lost, boys under the hood. Chiraq could never take my face value of royal flush in Chicago River, my Leaning Sears Tower of Pizza, my Heineken and soul food [inaudible] tap dancing barefoot my hotheaded friends. My confetti flesh comrades, come, break bread with me." Thank you. [ Applause and Background Talking ] >> Michael Cirelli: Can we hear a little bit more for these incredible poets that you just heard? [ Applause ] I don't know how they're going to do it, but the judges are judging right now. The winner will be announced on April 28th. But we're just keeping this group of young people together for the next year, because they're just equally as talented and powerful. So we're going to get into a conversation. Before we get into the conversation, I just want to thank the folks that helped put this together, of course. Please give it up for Anya, the Library of Cong, [inaudible] and Sasha who have been here to help us out, and of course, Jackie Woodson has always been generous, never said no when we've asked her to come and stand up for these young people. So it's an honor to have Jackie again, Brooklyn in the house, of course. And we have a staff member Urban Word here with us who wears so many hats, I don't even know what her title is, but she coordinates this program, she coordinates these young people, and she holds up about 41 cities in this national network. So give it up for Shannon Mateski [assumed spelling] right over here. [ Applause ] So before I get into it, just to give you a little bit of history about the program; this program was started in 2008 in New York City. And the idea behind it was that young people had spaces like the [inaudible] and poets cafes, the Apollo theaters of the world, and young people were doing powerful, creative, politically charged, and important work. And the idea was that we wanted these young people to be able to be in spaces that they were not traditionally offered access to. So when we envisioned where we wanted these young people to be, it was originally like City Hall, and it was a vision that really helped us create a program that wanted to celebrate young people that were not only great poets, but great leaders that were interested in social justice and social impact, that were interested in civic engagement and really working in their communities. So that's the model by which we use as the framework for this program. So everyone that you see here tonight, as you could tell from their bios, along with being incredible artists is an incredible leader; they've done so much. Fast forward to about four years ago, we got a new mayor in New York City and his name is Bill de Blasio. And we had the incredible opportunity where the Youth Poet Laureate at the time of New York City, Romney Romana [phonetic], was invited to speak at -- perform a poem that she wrote for that event at de Blasio's inauguration. So it was an incredible moment because there was only a few people asked to speak; it was her, and Harry Belafonte, and Bill Clinton. And [laughter] she stole the show. The New York Times wrote about it. And we -- there was a lot of press. After that a lot of our partner organizations were in a network of probably 60-plus organizations that do this work in their communities, and they wanted to know how they could replicate that. And we actually have folks from DC, Words Beats and Life here tonight that hosted the DC Poet Laureate Program. So we decided that we wanted to make this program something that we could launch in different cities. A few years ago at the twilight of the Obama administration, we were invited to the White House to meet Michelle Obama. And it was an incredible opportunity, but what had to happen was that we needed five finalists. We needed to kind of get this local program that had city youth poet laureates across the country to something where we were going to sort of matriculate it up to a national Youth Poet Laureate. So we quickly hustled together all of our efforts, we named our inaugural group of five finalists, and got to go to the White House; and, you know, the rest is history. This past April, Amanda was awarded the title of the first national Youth poet laureate. And now we have our first set of new finalists for the second Youth Poet Laureate. So it's been an incredible journey that gives you a little backdrop of the program. I want to get into the conversation. Let's -- I want to start -- yes I'll have a question for everybody, and then prepare your questions because I want to open it up to the audience. So I want to start with Patricia, since the mic is still hot from your flames. The question that I have is really about Chicago. I love your poem about the Windy City. And right now Chicago, you know -- it's been for a while, but the art that's coming out of Chicago, the poetry, the music, the theater, it's, you know, in my opinion, probably one of the most culturally artistically vibrant cities, even politically active cities that we have. It's really a touchstone for, you know, what we should be doing in terms of art and politics. And I just want to know how that city and that scene inspires you and your work. Do you feel supported by it, or are you sort of rogue doing this incredible art on your own? So tell us a little bit more about that. >> Patricia Frazier: Definitely more supported than rogue. [Laughter] I think that growing up in Chicago has kind of been bittersweet, because for so long growing up I had to watch people on the TV screen tell me about the neighborhood that I lived in, and the neighborhoods that my friends lived in. And I think a long time we spent asking politicians and our mayor to do the work of repairing the image of the city, but after a while we just kind of realized that this is of people's resistance; this isn't going to work without the people. So a lot of our work, and a lot of my work is kind of based upon disproving narratives that are said about us, and not exactly counteracting them, because like the thing about stereotypes is they are true, right, like some of these things are true, Chicago does have a violence problem, Chicago does have a gun violence problem, but also Chicago is so many other things. So I think I'm just constantly inspired by the people that I'm so lucky to work with, especially more in the political campaigning of things. I work with this group called "Assada's Daughters", and where Assada's Daughters is different from other organizations is normally -- and organizations that politically organize they take what I like to call like "pretty diversity", you know, black people that look good on a poster board, black people that look good on a podium. And Assada's takes kids out of the neighborhood, which is Washington Park, and teaches them how to organize, and teaches them how to speak up for themselves. Because sometimes the person who needs to be speaking doesn't always look like, you know, one of us. Sometimes it looks like my uncle who has a felony and who listens to Gucci Mane, and does all these like different things, right? Those stories matter, too. So that's what I try to do, I try to write about those people because they're more important than the narrative that is being shown of Chicago. >> Wow. >> Michael Cirelli: [Inaudible]. So I'm going to pass it over to Cassidy just, you know, learning about your background, which you shared a little bit about, and, you know, even talking with you and getting to know you a little bit, I'm always interested in -- because it's something that we don't see as much with young poets, is the interplay between faith and poetry, or how faith informs your poetry, or how poetry informs your faith. You can take it however you want. But I'd love for you to elaborate a little bit around just the ideas of faith and poetry. For some people, poetry is their faith. And for you, you have multiple manifestations of how you, and how that intersects with your story, your back story. So you want to shine a little more light on that for us? >> Cassidy Martin: Sure, I'm always happy to talk about God; you already know. So [laughter] when you love from -- this is from personal -- I know we're in a government place, I don't care, but, you know, from a personal -- when you love God, you see Him in everything you do. And it's -- but my take on poetry and God, the way they interweave doesn't just come from me saying, "Oh, I love God," then, "I love poetry." I kind of feel like poetry has the spirit of Him. It's welcoming, it's loving, it's expression, it's caring for. Like my mentors, I will say they're godsend because they take care of me; they feed me, they clothe me, they take me to birthday parties and weddings and stuff. So it's like everything that's come out of poetry have been opportunities, have been family, and I feel like that is the channel that God put me through to be able to speak through poetry. And then by doing that, I feel like I speak for Him. I speak for not just my god, but a greater purpose, which is something that everyone can relate to, whether they are religious or not. So I feel like every one of us up here, whether we have the same religion or not, we have a message, and poetry is how we get that message across. And I'm thankful for God for everything. But the opportunities that He's given me through poetry have just been the apex of my entire life. And to be honest -- well a lot of teachers say -- I will say one thing, a lot of teachers say that if they can reach one student per year, then their job is -- then they've reached their goal, that's their job. Well, for me, was one person. It was [inaudible] I was Youth Poet Laureate, and I was a finalist, but I didn't get the title. That was the first year we had ever done it. I had got it the second year, but the first year, I was just a finalist. I didn't get it. I was very upset. I wanted to quit because I didn't have a drive. I was , I don't know." But at the end of the day, there was this one girl who came up to me, and she said, "I -- " and the poem was about abuse, very extensive abuse. And she came up to me and she said, "Thank you so much for saying what I have always wanted to say." And I just can't -- me personally, I just can't explain anything like that other than God. Like I just can't; like there's no way. There's no way that that wasn't something that He put in my life to tell me to keep going. So I mean, He's the reason why I do it, and that is the reason why I love Him. It's a tradeoff relationship. [Laughter] >> Michael Cirelli: Thank you for sharing that; that's great to hear. [ Applause ] So I'm going to go to William now. So William, you were so adamant about reading these two poems. And I really appreciate the sense of urgency. And me, you know, being from New York, I've gotten to hear you a bunch. And just you always have a sense -- a "poetics of urgency" I like to call it, around your work. It seems like everything you write is like fresh off the press, which is very hard to do, and you do it so sincerely and powerfully. So I want you to talk a little bit about your process, and how you manage to keep up with, you know, a very busy school schedule, because I know you're all overachievers, and being able to crank out these poems that literally were about stuff that happened yesterday. >> William Lohier: Yes; yes, sure. So let me first talk about these two poems specifically, and my process writing them, and performing them in front of you today. So when I first put together a portfolio of perspective poems that I wanted to read here, I think all of them got rejected. [Laughs] So two poems that I hadn't really wanted to read were the ones that were selected. And I emailed Michael and I said, "These are not the poems that I feel it is important to say. These are not the poems that I want a group of people in the Library of Congrelk a lot about political things; I talk a lot about race. And I think Michael was talking earlier about how it's so important to have youth, people who are traditionally excluded from the national narrative in this type of setting. But I was -- I asked myself, "What is the point of being here if I cannot be fully here and fully present, if I have to leave parts of my identity outside of the room?" So I thought that was so important to me, and especially with the poem "Why We March". I mean, obviously, I'm really passionate about it. And I thought especially given this platform, and given the location, it is something that I have to say. And in terms of my process; so I'm super busy, after this I'm going to take a train home, I'm going to get home at like 1:40, and I have to go to school tomorrow. So it's safe to say that I don't have a lot of time to write. And I think that in some weird convoluted way helps my poetry, because when I do write, I know that I'm going to have two, three hours and I have to say what I want to say in those two, three hours. So when I sit down and write, I'm not fooling around, I write what I think is true, I write what I want to say, and I write what I think it's important for other people to hear. Because I think my voice, and all the voices of the people on this stage are so important, especially right now. And so when we write, it's so important that, one, we have people who listen to us and, two, that we be fully present, and that we bring all of ourselves to the table. [ Applause ] >> Michael Cirelli: So I think that dovetails really nicely into Milla. So I'm going to ask you a question. You know, I get to see a lot of the applications from the students across the country. And one of the real components to this work is that they submit a poetry portfolio, but they also submit a CV. And that sort of ouir social justice work, their organizational work, their schoolwork, their accolades. And it seemed -- what's really amazing to me is Los Angeles, of all places, which is so huge and spread out and everything, is a chore to get somewhere in Los Angeles because I spent a lot of time on the West coast and LA myself; everything is a hassle to get anywhere. But at the same time, the CVs from the kids in LA are like ridiculous, yours included. So and that says a lot about, you know, parents, resources, what's going on in these communities, kids having to go to places to do things in LA, you have to make a real effort. And I want to know sort of the intersection between, you know, the efforts that you've made in your life to do things and be a part of all of these incredible groups that you're proud of and, you know, connecting it with your work. Does one drive the other? You know, explain that synergy between yourself as a poet, and yourself as a person that's just really involved in a lot of stuff in the community. >> Milla Kudas: For one thing, I think that Los Angeles Public Transit does all right. [Laughter] Maybe not the best, I'll give it that, but it does do all right. And I think also I had some really, really great friends in high school -- because I'm currently living right outside of Boston, and I go to Wellesley College. But when I was in Los Angeles, I did have some wonderful friends. And like the one person in the friend group who did have a car and did drive was also really passionate about poetry, and so certain missions that we both really cared about we'd go together. But I think as far as the intersection between my work and also like my work in communities, I think they're one in the same in a lot of ways. And it goes back to what Cassidy was sayi, the idea that sometimes when I'm saying a poem, when someone comes up to me and says like, "I needed that," that feels like I'm doing the work. But I think that's always not enough. Sometimes that's emotional labor and that's work, but you also have to go So I'm part of Young People Creating Change. And like we put on open mic so that we're not always the only people up there saying things. We want to invite other youth to tell their stories as well. And I think when you're so passionate and when poetry kind of consumes your life, it just doesn't stop, and it's a beautiful, wonderful thing that I would never, ever change. So it doesn't feel like a lot until like you check your watch and it's like 10:00 and you realize you haven't like drank water, because you've been just like going everywhere and you've been on the train. But then you have friends and support systems around you who make drinking water a think you are reminded of. So yes that's all I've got to say. >> Michael Cirelli: Awesome, awesome, cool. [ Applause ] Awesome; and I'll be asking a more poetry-related question for Rukmini. What I really love about your work is that whether it's a poem about Houston, or a poem about a city in India, it sounds like it could be in the same place. You know, and that's a real skill as a poet and an artist to be able to have such a definitive voice that anything you're talking about feels like it's coming from the one singular voice of the poet. So I wanted you to explain a little bit how you managed to do that incredible feat of talking about family, background, Houston, Texas, being -Harvey, so and how you melt that into a singular poetic voice that has that consistency that I love about your work. >> Rukmini Kalamangalam: Sure. I think one thing that really informs it is that I am that singular being, right, there are so many things that are incorporated in my life because we've moved a lot. So I was born in the UK, I grew up for six years in Scotland, and then, you know, we moved to the United States. And there's always been this sense of like -- you know, my parents always tried to instill in me the sense that I'm a global citizen, and that it's my responsibility to not only speak out for the places that I'm from, and the places that I'm living in, but also all the places that I am connected to. And so I think that I've been trying to explain myself for a very long time. And that's where the voice comes from, I think, is this idea that I am a whole bunch of different things, but primarily, people see me as Indian-American. And you know, the idea that I've often been, you know, the only Indian-American, the only Asian-American, so you're always trying to speak up for that voice. But at the same time, you know, you're a diverse person, you have varied interests, and you encompass a lot of different things. And so for me, it's the idea that my identity as a global citizen, as a person of many cultures, informs my beliefs on a lot of different issues. So I try to bring that part of me to everything that I said on the page. >> Michael Cirelli: Awesome; thank you. [ Applause ] Thanks. A question for Amanda. >> Amanda Gorman: No; I don't want to go, they've done so well. [Laughter] >> Michael Cirelli: There are so many I can ask. You know, I feel like a voyeur of just this incredible ride that Amanda's gone on since she was named the finalist at the Kennedy Center to go into the White House, to being named the Youth Poet Laureate of the US. I watched her rap on Hot 97. I saw her on a billboard in Times Square, making her first presidential address, you know, 20 years plus before she'll be the president. [Laughter] And I've seen her on so many pieces of press that we can't even keep up as a small organization with like three or four staff members. So tell us a little bit about the journey, but also tell us what was -- what are some of the highlights? You don't have to name just one because I know that would probably be hard. But what were some of your favorite moments this past year as being the first ever National Youth Poet Laureate? >> Amanda Gorman: I'm sorry, there are so many emotions going on right now, one feeling of like inadequacy because we have geniuses on the panel. Like let me say something as intellectually like powerful. Yes; I mean, it's been a crazy ride. And when I try to explain to people, it's not just the ride of like this year, but I think of it as kind of voyeur journey of ever since I met Michael Cirelli, when I was first named LA Youth Poet Laureate, and being on that ark of not only the growth of myself as a poet, but growing also with us as an organization and seeing the fantastic spread of this program, and seeing how much people believe in the power of youth and poetry when combined. So in that regard, it's so difficult to choose highlights. And I've kind of split them in two; I've split them in like the half in which people easily recognize, for example, meeting Michelle Obama like period, dot, and new paragraph; [laughter] you know, and the amazing things I've been able to do whether it's writing within New York Times, or being able to give a state of the union address on MTV for 2036. I was checking my calendar, I'm like, "You know it's not that near yet, but sure, we can do this." And so those are some great highlights. But for me the moments that keep me going, the moments that rejuvenate me, and why I do my work is kind of like a lot of the moments I think all of us have talked about on the panel, it's that person who comes up to you after the performance or after the reading, and tells you the story. And I mean, one of the things that I continually deal with is growing up, having a speed impediment, and it coming back in moments when I'm most nervous. So you can imagine going live on MTV is kind of a moment when I'm a bit nervous about what I'm about to do. And, you know, trying to make decisions of how I want to navigate that; do I want to change the way I speak, do I want to change the way in which I present myself? And when I was named US Youth Poet Laureate, I made conscious decision to not erase those scars of myself, and to not erase that process that I've had of dealing with an auditory processing disorder, dealing with a speech impediment while being a speaker who travels around the country. And time and time again, I will get onstage and tell my story. And especially that -- I remember that first night when I was named US Youth Poet Laureate at Gracie Mansion there was a girl who came up to me with her mom, and she was like six years old, and she has these big brown eyes, and she starts talking to me about how she has that same exact auditory processing disorder that I have and a speech impediment. But because of me, she's inspired to write and share her voice. And I don't think highlights get better than that, I really don't. And it's not that I'm trying to convert people to poets. I'm not trying to make all the little children that I meet with become published authors. That's not my duty. But my duty is to make them believe in themselves. And that has been t [ Applause ] >> Michael Cirelli: I think we want to open up some questions. If you all have any questions, it would be a good time to offer some of those up. It's probably not going to be many opportunities to be with the five finalists and their current -- the first ever National Youth Poet Laureate, so anyone have a question? >> [Inaudible] out of curiosity for the five finalists, what did you imagine having access to this platform would allow you to do, in terms of -- as you all said, having your voices heard [inaudible], I wonder how you imagine this responsibility and this opportunity allowing you to be a representative for young people in general, your cities, and your nation? >> Cassidy Martin: Okay; so -- I don't know if this is on, but that's okay. To answer that question, that was actually one of the essay questions. We had to write an essay saying [laughter] what -- we had to write an essay saying like, "What do we want -- as a Youth Poet Laureate, what -- it's what do you want to -- basically what she said, that's the question we were asked. [Inaudible Comment] >> Cassidy Martin: Oh, good, you can read mine then, because I'm about to summarize it for you right now, okay? >> Michael Pirelli: So everybody get in on this because [inaudible]. >> Cassidy Martin: Go ahead, I'm not scared. Okay, look, this is what I say. [Laughter] I -- when I first became the Youth Poet Laureate of Nashville, the first year that I was, you know, it was very new, and so I recognized that because of this title, I could go into government official places with an official meaning and reason for why I was there, and people would listen to me because of that. But I will always defend this statement to the death that I don't care what title I have, I am going to be doing the same thing that I would be doing without that title. But the title amplifies your voice. So the fact that this title was created is the whole reason we even have this opportunity. But whether you have a title or not -- and this is my personal mission , it doesn't matter who you are, it doesn't matter what your name is, if you have a purpose, be driven and do that purpose. And it doesn't matter what happens, or what people call you, if that's what they remember you by, it's like Maya Angelou said, "People will not always remember what you said, but people will always remember how you made them feel." And that's the true mission, not to win a title, but to get kids like us up here in the future. [ Applause ] >> Patricia Frazier: Yes, all of that. [Laughter] But also for me, I think some of it -- a lot of it is personal. I've lost so many friends, and so much of my family. And something -- and I lost my grandma like a couple of months ago. And something that she always made apparent to me, and apparent to everybody was that it's so, so important to be loud. Sometimes I was embarrassed of my voice, embarrassed of being loud, but then I think about the fact that if I'm not writing poems, what girl -- like how are you going to know that girls -- black girls from the projects and ghetto girls exist, and can be educated, and can be socially-conscious and all of these things? And I think that it's really important that -- like you said, all of us are on this stage because each one of us has a certain identity that closes a gap in the narrative of what an American looks like. So that's why like that's so important to me. Like you said, regardless of the title, I'm going to be doing the same exact thing. But I don't know, like besides Tiffany Haddish, what like black woman who's just belligerent, and ghetto and about her people is on platforms like this, or on platforms like this. And it's also super important to me because I think that ordinary people deserve biographies, too, right? So often, when we write about people, we write about people who we think like, from a hierarchical position, and to defeat the hierarchy of what you see going on in America right now, especially with who our president is, and who we have in office, we have to understand that sometimes we don't need a white [inaudible] male to be the forefront, or to be moderating the conversation, or to be the speaker on the table. Sometimes we need a queer woman, sometimes we need queer black women, sometimes we need -- like all of us represent a different image of what America is; and that's why I think that regardless of who wins, I would be proud of any one of us because all of us are not the same narrative that you see every single day. And like I said, for me, I just want to amplify the voices of the people that I've lost and tell their stories. That's why so many of my poems are not just specifically about politics, but the politics of the people, the politics of my mom, the politics of my Auntie Julie, and the politics of these ordinary people who people aren't going to remember their names, but they're going to remember their stories. And they're going to remember, "Hey, I exist, but I have to remember I'm in a bubble, and there are so many people out there in the world like me who exist too, and who are human too." So yes. [ Applause ] >> Rumkini Kalamangalam: Yes, definitely. I feel that because as an Asian-American slam poet, I don't see a lot of Asian American slam poets, you know? [Laughter] We're taught in our communities that the best way to go unnoticed and to get ahead is to be silent, and to let people do what they want, and then do your thing in the background. And I'm so tired of that narrative defining our community, you know, and defining who we are, and how we move up in life. It's like so many of our, you know, images that we hold up as successful end up turning their backs on Asian American people who don't follow in that line, who don't want to become doctors, who don't want to become lawyers or eng, you know, activists and who want to stand in solidarity with other people of color, and other marginalized movements. And that is what is important to me as, you know, part of this platform is that, you know, the title of Youth Poet Laureate of a city or a region, or, you know, a country brings poetry to the mainstream in some sense. You know, it brings people who are attracted by success to listen, and to listen to what we have to say as people who are, you know, often dismissed as alternative. And so for me, a large part of this is inspiring other girls who -- other, you know, Asian-American girls who didn't feel like their voices were big enough to [ Applause ] >> William Lohier: And I think I totally agree with everyone -- with what everyone else has said. And I think it's really important to note that for every single one of us here, there are hundreds and thousands of youth that are not on this stage that don't have the opportunity to be here. And so I think it's the obligation I think that a lot of what the Youth Poet Laureate does is public, is in front of other people, but so much of that is behind the scenes; is working with those organizations, is helping the youth in their communities who don't have the kind of platform that they have. [ Applause ] >> Milla Kudas: So ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto. I also think that -- I talk a lot about how I feel -- like maybe this could be an LA, that a lot of the activism you see sometimes is very performative in that people will go up on a stage and do a slam poem, and this could be my own slam team sometimes. They'll like do a poem about like women empowerment, and then after practice will say something to me that I will not stop thinking about for two weeks. And it will just be like they do it for the scores, but they don't really do it in their communities; they don't really communicate with the people around them. And so my mission is to create poetry spaces that are both accessible, and also are held accountable, in that I want to see more people -- like we were talking about, we all represent a different narrative, but there are so many more narratives still. And I want to invite those narratives to the stage to speak as well. And then I think in terms of creating like a tangible change is like when you're given a platform like that like share a GoFundMe page. Like get conversations circulating so that we can start a grander discussion than just my voice. And then outside of that, I'm also really gay. [Laughter] And I want to do -- I identify as fem non-binary, and I feel like a lot of times, I have to like tame this non-binary part of myself, and like kind of silence the whole gender exploration that is going on in my brain. And I want to not only be a role model for other people who are just as confused about their gender as I am, but also learn from other people and be able to create these com, and rather I feel empowered to be as much as myself as I can be so that I know that other people feel that same way. So yes. [Laughter] >> Cassidy Martin: Also, [applause] like one more thing -- I want to say one more thing. I think I can speak for all five of us, all six of us, all seven of us to say that like just because we're up here, we have a title, the real work isn't just getting upon stage or standing up at Library of Congress and spitting a poem. It's actually going, and teaching them. The work that is combined just from five of us up here is a whole -- is a year's worth of blood, sweat, and tears from teenagers, from college students, who actually go in the community and do things besides get up on stage and write poems. We help kids write their own poems. And that is what's important, and that is the mission. [Applause] >> Michael Cirelli: Thank you for that question. If you want to support a local organization, Mozzy founded an organization called "Words Beats & Life" that does this work. So please support your local communities. Just a little shout-out for "Words Beats & Life". I think we have time for one more question, right, so who wants it? >> I don't have a question, but I would like to make a comment. I'm loving the new generation. [Inaudible] the issue and the one I'm hearing that makes the difference is you're not just encouraging the young people, you're encouraging the whole [inaudible] keep doing it. It's encouraging and don't just sit in a box, do what you're doing, [inaudible]. [ Applause ] >> Michael Cirelli: Anyone else, quick question? >> Milla Kudas: What's your favorite color? [Laughter] >> Michael Cirelli: What's your favorite food? I'm going to invite Leanne back up for a couple of closing remarks, and we'll get out of here. And we're all heading to Ben's Chili Bowl if anyone wants to come with us, so they've got to go there if they're in D.C. So thank you very much, and thank you poets. >> Thank you. [ Applause ] >> Jacqueline Woodson: You didn't know it, but they were writing poetry while they were presenting to us, and I was writing it down. So you're going to have to humor me here, okay? This is a poem that I have created inspired by your words, so be kind to me. I don't do this every day. [Clears Throat] "I am disproving narratives that aren't true. I am happy to talk about God. I speak for a greater purpose. I am passionate. I am a global citizen. I speak for places I'm connected to. I have to say what I want to say, what I need to say. We have a messa, we foster community, we empower the voices of others. You are showing up, showing out, and showing us." Thank you. [ Applause and Background Talking ] And thank you all for being here. They were fabulous. [ Applause ] >> This has been a presentation of the Library of Congress. Visit us at loc.gib.