From the U.S. Poet Laureate to a Nation of Poets Laureate: a letter from America’s Youth Poet Laureate

This is a guest post by Alyssa Gaines, the 2022 National Youth Poet Laureate.

The U.S. Poet Laureate, selected by the Librarian of Congress, works to “raise the national consciousness to a greater appreciation of the reading and writing of poetry.” It is the only poet laureateship run by the Library of Congress. There are many other poets laureate programs all across the country, such as state, city and county laureates, all administered by nonprofits, local governments, art councils, or public libraries. There are equivalent youth poets laureate across the nation as well, and the institutions that run them provide opportunities for young people to find empowerment through art as well as civic engagement.

The Youth Poet Laureate is not run by the Library of Congress, but is sponsored by Urban Word, a 501(c)(3) organization.  The below guest post is written by Alyssa Gaines, the 2022 National Youth Poet Laureate. The Library of Congress U.S. Poet Laureate inspired the creation of these many other positions, and it is a joy to see this type of artistic position gain so much prominence and spread so much inspiration in all parts of the country.

One year ago, I was anxious about college, I was mourning my Mamall (my paternal grandmother), every piece of my future was up in the air, and I anxiously awaited it all to rain back down on me with a particular curious and childlike tenderness. One year ago, I had no idea what I would do or who I would become; I remember, between preparing for prom and graduation and college applications, telling my father that my future was like a scratch-off. There was something waiting for me just beyond a screen, and I didn’t know what. Looking back, I can say I really didn’t know what.

I have loved poetry since I was very young. Without any expectations or strategy, I performed spoken word, participated in slams, and learned various forms and written techniques through workshops and competitions because I not only loved poetry, but also all that it could do for myself and my community. I competed in my first poetry slam when I was in the third grade. In my sophomore year I was named the Inaugural National Youth Poet Laureate of the City of Indianapolis, a program of Voices Corp Indianapolis and Urban Word that is now following a statewide model. My junior year I fell in love with learning written technique and submitted various pieces that received citations from  Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, all in an organic continuation of a practice I had always loved.

My senior year, I applied to be the Midwest Regional Youth Poet Laureate Ambassador after continuing to use poetry for civic engagement and advocacy work through COVID, and participating in virtual workshops that grew the community of youth poets around me. I was fortunate enough to wear this honor. I was surprised, I was nervous, I was blessed. I got a platform to continue doing what I loved with the confidence that I was supported at a high level to learn and make an impact among a network of other amazing young poets.

A year ago, I stood on that stage in the Kennedy Center, in D.C. with my other grandmother in the front row just as she had always been since my first slam in third grade. I performed the group poem that other youth poets and I had developed together. My mind raced from worrying about my graduation that weekend, to the young poets I recognized in the audience, to my family watching from home, but I released my nerves and performed a poem I loved alongside poets I loved and respected without the pressure of a score or slam.

A year ago, I was named the National Youth Poet Laureate of the United States, and I had no idea what that would mean. Before I moved in for my first semester at Harvard College, I was able to publish a poem in the Wall Street Journal, receive Congressional recognition, a city council special resolution, and a proclamation from the mayor. (I also got to ride in the Indy 500 parade– a massive feat for a girl like me who is Indianapolis down to the bone.) I knew I was in for an unbelievable   year.

During my first semester, I performed in places I never thought poetry, let alone youth poetry, would take me. I gave a poem at the Bloomberg Earthshot Summit, the Young Presidents’ Organization’s Edge Conference. I was able to work with organizations  that foster fine arts access and education opportunities for young people to grant them fine arts access and educational opportunities, organizations such as Strive Together and the 50 State Afterschool Network. I got nervous and excited before each performance, and I learned how to contain my excitement in beautiful rooms with impressive people. I performed as if I was in front of my grandmothers. Both the one I could see watching me in the audience and the one I knew was watching over me, though I could not see her anymore.

in front of Mamall and my other grandmother, who I know were both watching me every time.

I also gave more intimate readings like at Care Center in Holyoke, MA, during which I was able to talk to a community of inspiring women about the power of poetry and how it gave me a voice not only to advocate for external change, but also as a meaningful outlet for myself. I cherished these opportunities to share personal poems in both English and Spanish, and I was floored by the women’s responses, making connections and speaking to me about the power of authentic personal voice in poetry.

I also have been fortunate enough to work with children across the world, Indiana to India, sharing with them my passion for poetry and being inspired by the hope, joy, and intensity they infuse into their own works. As I reflect on this past year – especially all the moments answering young peoples’ questions, hearing young peoples’ poems, receiving DMs from young people across the country saying that my words have touched them in some way – I think back to myself at their age, and I can say that above all else, I have made her proud.

There is a video of me, age 12, at the Library of Congress’ 2016 Slam of the Americas as a part of the Library of Congress National Book Festival. Every now and then, when I feel exhausted or frustrated or anxious about the future, I watch this video. Me, at 12: little, nervous, giggly, awkward, but passionately and excitedly experiencing the power of poetry for the first time. I think about what resources she needed, what her peers would have needed to alsobecome poets or activists at that age, if only they had the same support system telling them that they could be both. I think about all the little Black girls from places like Indianapolis’s East Side and all of their possible dreams. I know the work is not done, but it has been an honor to be a part of it.

It has been such a privilege to be the 6th National Youth Poet Laureate, to advance the work and advocate for the power of young voices. I am delighted to pass the title to the next brilliant young poet and to see what they do. I am so privileged to be able to say I have unlocked a life passion and a way to understand myself continuously and the world around me. I care deeply about education and fine arts access and hope to continue working with students and schools, so that I can witness the other young girls like I used to be when they stand up in front of a room full of people with something to say, and they discover, for just a moment, for the first time ever, that the stage is theirs, and the world is listening.

Always with love,

Alyssa

 

Join us in congratulating this young poet as she leaves her laureateship and goes on to new and beautiful things.

Please enjoy an excerpt from her poem “bachatea” below:

 

you only have to learn to dance bachata once,
before the two-step becomes a doubly sacred practice
before you never forget that there is something shared between you and millions of others
if only the right music is played.

i learned to dance bachata in gym class
preparing with my friends for hypothetical quinceaneras to come
watching youtube videos of complicated spins
and synthesizing el estilo caribeno con lo mexicano
any time the teacher let us use the radio

i remember learning the difference between the songs “el teke teke” y “te extraño”
my friends defining reggaeton as something they couldn’t teach
putting footsteps to my favorite prince royce song that taught me my first words
like madrinas moving the tables to the side on weekends,
building salones de fiestas out back rooms,
teaching us to dance salsa in a line to “rebelion” practicando por los bailes sorpresas

in school i learned spanish
to be a catalyst.
a language to locate middle ground between me and the girls sitting next to me
dance, a way to remember the line of ancestry that connects us
learning how to neutralize our accents for understanding
while still trying to talk in a way that only we and our loved ones could understand

in school i spoke pa recordar
que los niños cercanos de mi eran similar
por lo menos en escuela
aunque afuera nuestras vidas eran diferentes
at school, at least, we learned to dance.

in classrooms across the country students are discovering language
between them that only they know
dreams of every color dancing into school with them
buscando el piso– a floor upon which to flourish