Amanda Gorman: In This Place (An American Lyric)
There’s a poem in this place—
in the footfalls in the halls
in the quiet beat 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 reborn twice.
There’s a poem in Boston’s Copley Square
where protest 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
where tiki torches string a ring of flame
tight round the wrist of night
where men so white they gleam blue—
seem like statues
where men heap that long wax burning
ever higher
where Heather Heyer
blooms forever in a meadow of resistance.
There’s a poem in the great sleeping giant
of Lake Michigan, defiantly raising
its big blue head to Milwaukee and Chicago—
a poem begun long ago, blazed into frozen soil,
strutting upward and aglow.
There’s a poem in Florida, in East Texas
where streets swell into a nexus
of rivers, cows afloat like mottled buoys in the brown,
where courage is now so common
that 23-year-old Jesus Contreras rescues people from floodwaters.
There’s a poem in Los Angeles
yawning wide as the Pacific tide
where a single mother swelters
in a windowless classroom, teaching
black and brown students in Watts
to spell out their thoughts
so her daughter might write
this poem for you.
There's a lyric in California
where thousands of students march for blocks,
undocumented and unafraid;
where my friend Rosa finds the power to blossom
in deadlock, her spirit the bedrock of her community.
She knows hope is like a stubborn
ship gripping a dock,
a truth: that you can’t stop a dreamer
or knock down a dream.
How could this not be her city
su nación
our country
our America,
our American lyric to write—
a poem by the people, the poor,
the Protestant, 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 nonbinary,
the white, 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
skirts below it.
Hope—
we must bestow it
like a wick in the poet
so it can grow, lit,
bringing with it
stories to rewrite—
the story of a Texas city depleted but not defeated
a history written that need not be repeated
a 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 a palimpsest of time—
a poet in every American
who sees that our poem penned
doesn’t mean our poem’s end.
There’s a place where this poem dwells—
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.
Discussion Questions
How is the experience of reading this poem different from hearing many voices read it? What lines do you keep coming back to?
What stories do you notice yourself telling and retelling as a part of your identity?
What is a story you want to tell, but haven’t yet started to put to words? What’s one step you can take towards telling it?
Reflections from #MedHumChat
“For me the experience of hearing this poem read by a group of poets gave it new life. I love to read poems aloud, but hearing it this way brought new lines to my attention that I might not have lingered on in my own reading” —@ShireenNHeidari
“I read the poem before this chat, and in my head it reads in Gorman's lyrical rhythm. I just watched the video now, and it changes it. Unequivocally. It made it more relatable...” —@AEckerde
“1. Change &/or reinvention can be our ally. 2. We need to tell our stories b/c life is too short & passes us by no matter what 3. Creative arts may or may not challenge us, but they can clarify, examine, provide closure, can heal in a cathartic and therapeutic way” —@sjfcommo
About this #MedHumChat
“In This Place (An American Lyric)” was paired with “Perhaps the World Ends Here” by Joy Harjo for a #MedHumChat on December 1, 2021 about The Stories We Tell.
The pieces for this chat as well as the accompanying discussion questions were curated by Dr. Shireen Heidari (@ShireenNHeidari)
About the Author
Amanda Gorman holds the honor of being the youngest inaugural poet in U.S. history. She has written for the New York Times and has authored three books.