Elizabeth Alexander's Inauguration Poem
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Elizabeth Alexander's inaugural poem for President Barack Obama, Praise Song for the Day, is already being torn apart by other poets for its simplicity and her delivery. Cut her some slack, people. You try getting up in front of millions and reciting a poem written to order that tries to encompass the magnitude of the day. Here is the transcript of the poem from The New York Times. UPDATE: Thanks to Mark Doty and Peter Pereira for posting the true formatting, which I've now inserted below. The more I read it, the more I love it.
by Elizabeth Alexander
Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other's
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.
Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.
We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what's on the other side.
I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.
Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?
Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,
praise song for walking forward in that light.
Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other's
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.
Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.
We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what's on the other side.
I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.
Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?
Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,
praise song for walking forward in that light.
Comments
In the case of reading poetry, I know the "intent" is to convey the musical quality of the poetic form, but usually it sounds as though it's being read for people taking dictation or transcripts, or stupid people... very slow and emphatic, with lots of pauses.
As far as an inaugural poem goes, that's certainly not the time for a very "clever" or "academic" poem - simplicity and honesty is called for. It's just unfortunate that she didn't drop the pretentious "poetry reading" delivery.
Everyone here in my office, who are not poets, thought it was lovely. And I think that's the point. Alexander was speaking to the people -- the vast majority who are not poets and don't read poetry. To have her and poetry included in this amazing day is what's important.
Let's cherish the day.
I think I read that Graywolf is publishing the poem as a chapbook, available Feb 10.
Praise her for getting up there in front of the whole fucking world and reading her work. I would've bailed at the last minute. LOL
I thought it was a good poem that anyone could understand. I like the lines "picked the cotton and lettuce" and "what if the mightiest word is love."
--ECM, California
I actually loved how she incorporated that reference and included everyday folks in her poem & found her poem refreshingly NOT pretentious.
:-)kareng
Rebecca
I know that personally, I was delighted by the poem and appreciated the slow and determined delivery.
i like the poem a lot more on paper than hearing her speak it though.
"Take out your pencils. Begin."
That simple, seemingly unrelated phrase, linked to the new-ness, the beginning-ness of this brand new day!
I also liked the idea, listed above, that Obama might choose a poem sent in from all quarters. More democratic, and they probably would have ended up with a better poem...
Internets killed the poetry star
Internets killed the poetry star
We fry our minds to break a line
We can't go back, we've gone too far . . .
and there's a second stanza rhyming Praise Song w schlong . . . but nevermind ;)