Fra kl. 17:29 direkte på NRK2 (og CNN, BBC, m.v., samt mange nettsteder) kan vi se denne historiske begivenheten direkte. Barack Obama innsettes som president i USA!
Og rett etter innsettelsestalen, leser poeten Elizabeth Alexander et dikt hun har skrevet for anledningen.
På nettstedet for innsettelsen av Barack Obama kan vi lese dette om Elizabeth Alexander.
Og her er et ferskt og interessant intervju med Elizabeth Alexander - i Houston Chronicle, 19. januar, 2008.
Da Elizabeth Alexander fikk Jackson Poetry Prize 2007, kvitterte hun med å lese et av sine dikt som nettopp omhandler poesi; “Ars Poetica #100: I believe” (Ars Poetica = veiledning i diktekunsten) :
Ars Poetica #100: I Believe
Poetry, I tell my students,
is idiosyncratic. Poetry
is where we are ourselves,
(though Sterling Brown said
“Every ‘I’ is a dramatic ‘I’”)
digging in the clam flats
for the shell that snaps,
emptying the proverbial pocketbook.
Poetry is what you find
in the dirt in the corner,
overhear on the bus, God
in the details, the only way
to get from here to there.
Poetry (and now my voice is rising)
is not all love, love, love,
and I’m sorry the dog died.
Poetry (here I hear myself loudest)
is the human voice,
and are we not of interest to each other?
*
Det blir spennende å høre det nye diktet hennes i dag!
*
Og her er det:
Det er ingen selvfølge at en president velger å be en poet lese et dikt under sin innsettelsesseremoni. Bare tre ganger tidligere har det hendt; Robert Frost under John F. Kennedys innsettelse i 1961, Maya Angelou under Bill Clintons første innsettelse i 1993 og Miller Williams under Bill Clintons andre innsettelse i 1997.
På nettstedet for innsettelsen av Barack Obama kan vi lese dette om Elizabeth Alexander.
Og her er et ferskt og interessant intervju med Elizabeth Alexander - i Houston Chronicle, 19. januar, 2008.
Da Elizabeth Alexander fikk Jackson Poetry Prize 2007, kvitterte hun med å lese et av sine dikt som nettopp omhandler poesi; “Ars Poetica #100: I believe” (Ars Poetica = veiledning i diktekunsten) :
Ars Poetica #100: I Believe
Poetry, I tell my students,
is idiosyncratic. Poetry
is where we are ourselves,
(though Sterling Brown said
“Every ‘I’ is a dramatic ‘I’”)
digging in the clam flats
for the shell that snaps,
emptying the proverbial pocketbook.
Poetry is what you find
in the dirt in the corner,
overhear on the bus, God
in the details, the only way
to get from here to there.
Poetry (and now my voice is rising)
is not all love, love, love,
and I’m sorry the dog died.
Poetry (here I hear myself loudest)
is the human voice,
and are we not of interest to each other?
*
Det blir spennende å høre det nye diktet hennes i dag!
*
Og her er det:
Praise Song for the Day
A Poem for Barack Obama’s Presidential Inauguration
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.
*
Og her på programmet "The Colbert Report" diskuterer hun Praise Song for the Day - og forklarer forskjellen på en metafor og en løgn:
*
5 kommentarer:
Ja, dette må man få med seg!
Flott at du la ut dikt og linker, Zooey!
Irene
Takk skal du ha Irene! Og nå fikk jeg lagt til video fra opplesningen. Leter etter diktet på trykk, da skal jeg hekte det på under. Hva syns du om diktet?
:) Anne
JA til diktet. Synes det var lavmælt og sterkt insisterende på samme tid. Universelt. Og fylt med håp.
Enig, Irene! - og syns det vokser med flere les - finner foreløpig bare transkripter av det i avisene - men vil ha det på trøkk her med hennes oppsett - det kommer nok etter hvert :)
P.S. Og nå fant jeg det - med riktig oppsett - på Poetry Foundation.
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