TedTest

From the Ted Talk by Amanda Gorman: Using your voice is a political choice

Unscramble the Blue Letters

I have two questions for you. One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at temis, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something. And I ask my students these two qnotiesus, and then I share how I answer them, which is in these three sentences that go: I am the daughter of Black wierrts, who are dndecseed from Freedom fgethris who bkore their chains and changed the world. They call me. And these are words I repeat in a mantra before every silnge poetry performance. In fact, I was doing it in the corner over there. I was making faces. And so I repeat them to myself, as a way to gather myself, because I'm not sure if you know, but public speaking is pretty terrifying. I know I'm on stage, and I have my heels, and I look all glam, but I'm horrified. And the way in which I kind of strengthen myself, is by having this mantra. Most of my life I was particularly terrified of speaking up, because I had a speech impediment, which made it dlcfuiift to pronounce certain letters, sounds, and I felt like I was fine writing on the page, but once I got on stage, I was worried my words might jumble and stumble. What was the point in trying not to mumble these thoughts in my head, if everything's already been said before? But falnliy I had a moment of realization, where I thought, if I choose not to speak out of fear, then there's no one that my silence is standing for. And so I came to realize that I cannot sntad standing to the side, snintadg silent. I must find the strength to speak up, and one of the ways I do that is through this martna where I call back to what I call honraroy ancestors. These are people who might not be related to you by blood, or by birth, but who are more than wtorh saying their names, because you stand on their selroudhs all the same. And it's only from the height of these shoulders that we might have the sight to see the mighty power of ptroey, the poewr of language made aessiccble, expressible. Poetry is isnernttieg because not everyone is going to become a great poet, but anyone can be, and anyone can enjoy poetry, and it's this openness, this accessibility of poetry that makes it the language of people. Poetry has never been the language of barriers, it's always been the language of bridges. And it's this connection- making that makes poetry, yes, powerful, but also makes it political. One of the things that irritates me to no end, is when I get that pohne call, and it's usually from a white man, and he's like, "Man, Amanda, we love your poetry, we'd love to get you to write a poem about this suecbjt, but don't make it political." Which to me sounds like, I have to draw a square, but not make it a rectangle, or build a car and not make it a vehicle, it doesn't make much sense, because all art is paltiocil. The decision to create, the artistic cohcie to have a vcioe, the choice to be heard is the most political act of all. And by "political" I mean poetry is political in at least three ways: One: what stories we tell, when we're telling them, how we're teilnlg them, if we're telling them, why we're telling them, says so much about the political bifeles we have, about what types of stories matter. Secondly, who gets to have their stories told, I'm tkainlg, who is laglley allowed to read, who has the resources to be able to write, who are we rndieag in our classrooms, says a lot about the political and edcniauotal systems, that all these stories and strtleylroes exist in. Lastly, poetry is political because it's preoccupied with people. If you look at history, notice that tyrants often go after the poets and the creatives first. They burn books, they try to get rid of poetry and the language arts, because they're terrified of them. Poets have this phenomenal ponatetil to cconent the beliefs of the private iadduniivl with the cause of change of the public, the population, the poilty, the political movement. And when you leave here, I really want you to try to hear the ways in which poetry is actually at the center of our most political questions about what it means to be a democracy. Maybe later you're going to be at a protest, and someone's going to have a poster that says, "They buried us, but they didn't know we were seeds." That's poetry. You might be in your U.S. History class, and your teacher may play a video of Martin lhetur King Jr. saying: "We will be able to hew out of this mitnoaun of despair a stone of hope." That's poetry. Or maybe even here, in New York City, you're going to go viist the Statue of Liberty where there's a sonnet that declares, as Americans, "Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free." So you see, when someone asks me to write a poem that's not political, what they're really asking me is to not ask chrgead and challenging questions in my poetic work, and that does not work, because poetry is always at the pulse of the most dangerous and most dinarg questions that a naotin or a world might face. What path do we stand on as a pelpoe, and what fuutre as a people do we stand for? And the thing about poetry is that it's not really about having the right answers, it's about asking these right questions, about what it maens to be a writer doing right by your wdros and your anictos, and my reaction is to pay honor to those shoulders of people who used their pens to roll over boulders so I might have a mountain of hope on which to stand, so that I might understand the power of telling stories that matter no mtaetr what. So that I might riezlae that if I choose, not out of fear, but out of cgauroe, to spaek, then there's something unique that my words can become. And all of a sudden that fear that my words might jumble and stumble go away as I'm humbled by the thoughts of thousands of siorets a long time coming that I know are strumming inside me as I celebrate those people in their time who stood up so this little Black girl could rhyme as I celebrate and call their names all the same, these people who seem like they were just born to be bold: Maya Angelou, Ntozake Shange, Phillis wehlteay, Lucille Clifton, Gwendolyn Brooks, Joan wikcs, Audre Lorde, and so many more. It might feel like every story has been told before, but the truth is, no one's ever told my story in the way I would tell it, as the daughter of black writers, who are descended from freedom fighters who broke their chains and changed the wlrod. They call me. I call them. And one day I'll write a story right, by wiintrg it into a tomorrow on this etrah more than worth standing for. Thank you.

Open Cloze

I have two questions for you. One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at _____, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something. And I ask my students these two _________, and then I share how I answer them, which is in these three sentences that go: I am the daughter of Black _______, who are _________ from Freedom ________ who _____ their chains and changed the world. They call me. And these are words I repeat in a mantra before every ______ poetry performance. In fact, I was doing it in the corner over there. I was making faces. And so I repeat them to myself, as a way to gather myself, because I'm not sure if you know, but public speaking is pretty terrifying. I know I'm on stage, and I have my heels, and I look all glam, but I'm horrified. And the way in which I kind of strengthen myself, is by having this mantra. Most of my life I was particularly terrified of speaking up, because I had a speech impediment, which made it _________ to pronounce certain letters, sounds, and I felt like I was fine writing on the page, but once I got on stage, I was worried my words might jumble and stumble. What was the point in trying not to mumble these thoughts in my head, if everything's already been said before? But _______ I had a moment of realization, where I thought, if I choose not to speak out of fear, then there's no one that my silence is standing for. And so I came to realize that I cannot _____ standing to the side, ________ silent. I must find the strength to speak up, and one of the ways I do that is through this ______ where I call back to what I call ________ ancestors. These are people who might not be related to you by blood, or by birth, but who are more than _____ saying their names, because you stand on their _________ all the same. And it's only from the height of these shoulders that we might have the sight to see the mighty power of ______, the _____ of language made __________, expressible. Poetry is ___________ because not everyone is going to become a great poet, but anyone can be, and anyone can enjoy poetry, and it's this openness, this accessibility of poetry that makes it the language of people. Poetry has never been the language of barriers, it's always been the language of bridges. And it's this connection- making that makes poetry, yes, powerful, but also makes it political. One of the things that irritates me to no end, is when I get that _____ call, and it's usually from a white man, and he's like, "Man, Amanda, we love your poetry, we'd love to get you to write a poem about this _______, but don't make it political." Which to me sounds like, I have to draw a square, but not make it a rectangle, or build a car and not make it a vehicle, it doesn't make much sense, because all art is _________. The decision to create, the artistic ______ to have a _____, the choice to be heard is the most political act of all. And by "political" I mean poetry is political in at least three ways: One: what stories we tell, when we're telling them, how we're _______ them, if we're telling them, why we're telling them, says so much about the political _______ we have, about what types of stories matter. Secondly, who gets to have their stories told, I'm _______, who is _______ allowed to read, who has the resources to be able to write, who are we _______ in our classrooms, says a lot about the political and ___________ systems, that all these stories and ____________ exist in. Lastly, poetry is political because it's preoccupied with people. If you look at history, notice that tyrants often go after the poets and the creatives first. They burn books, they try to get rid of poetry and the language arts, because they're terrified of them. Poets have this phenomenal _________ to _______ the beliefs of the private __________ with the cause of change of the public, the population, the ______, the political movement. And when you leave here, I really want you to try to hear the ways in which poetry is actually at the center of our most political questions about what it means to be a democracy. Maybe later you're going to be at a protest, and someone's going to have a poster that says, "They buried us, but they didn't know we were seeds." That's poetry. You might be in your U.S. History class, and your teacher may play a video of Martin ______ King Jr. saying: "We will be able to hew out of this ________ of despair a stone of hope." That's poetry. Or maybe even here, in New York City, you're going to go _____ the Statue of Liberty where there's a sonnet that declares, as Americans, "Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free." So you see, when someone asks me to write a poem that's not political, what they're really asking me is to not ask _______ and challenging questions in my poetic work, and that does not work, because poetry is always at the pulse of the most dangerous and most ______ questions that a ______ or a world might face. What path do we stand on as a ______, and what ______ as a people do we stand for? And the thing about poetry is that it's not really about having the right answers, it's about asking these right questions, about what it _____ to be a writer doing right by your _____ and your _______, and my reaction is to pay honor to those shoulders of people who used their pens to roll over boulders so I might have a mountain of hope on which to stand, so that I might understand the power of telling stories that matter no ______ what. So that I might _______ that if I choose, not out of fear, but out of _______, to _____, then there's something unique that my words can become. And all of a sudden that fear that my words might jumble and stumble go away as I'm humbled by the thoughts of thousands of _______ a long time coming that I know are strumming inside me as I celebrate those people in their time who stood up so this little Black girl could rhyme as I celebrate and call their names all the same, these people who seem like they were just born to be bold: Maya Angelou, Ntozake Shange, Phillis ________, Lucille Clifton, Gwendolyn Brooks, Joan _____, Audre Lorde, and so many more. It might feel like every story has been told before, but the truth is, no one's ever told my story in the way I would tell it, as the daughter of black writers, who are descended from freedom fighters who broke their chains and changed the _____. They call me. I call them. And one day I'll write a story right, by _______ it into a tomorrow on this _____ more than worth standing for. Thank you.

Solution

future
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worth
accessible
earth
visit

Original Text

I have two questions for you. One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something. And I ask my students these two questions, and then I share how I answer them, which is in these three sentences that go: I am the daughter of Black writers, who are descended from Freedom Fighters who broke their chains and changed the world. They call me. And these are words I repeat in a mantra before every single poetry performance. In fact, I was doing it in the corner over there. I was making faces. And so I repeat them to myself, as a way to gather myself, because I'm not sure if you know, but public speaking is pretty terrifying. I know I'm on stage, and I have my heels, and I look all glam, but I'm horrified. And the way in which I kind of strengthen myself, is by having this mantra. Most of my life I was particularly terrified of speaking up, because I had a speech impediment, which made it difficult to pronounce certain letters, sounds, and I felt like I was fine writing on the page, but once I got on stage, I was worried my words might jumble and stumble. What was the point in trying not to mumble these thoughts in my head, if everything's already been said before? But finally I had a moment of realization, where I thought, if I choose not to speak out of fear, then there's no one that my silence is standing for. And so I came to realize that I cannot stand standing to the side, standing silent. I must find the strength to speak up, and one of the ways I do that is through this mantra where I call back to what I call honorary ancestors. These are people who might not be related to you by blood, or by birth, but who are more than worth saying their names, because you stand on their shoulders all the same. And it's only from the height of these shoulders that we might have the sight to see the mighty power of poetry, the power of language made accessible, expressible. Poetry is interesting because not everyone is going to become a great poet, but anyone can be, and anyone can enjoy poetry, and it's this openness, this accessibility of poetry that makes it the language of people. Poetry has never been the language of barriers, it's always been the language of bridges. And it's this connection- making that makes poetry, yes, powerful, but also makes it political. One of the things that irritates me to no end, is when I get that phone call, and it's usually from a white man, and he's like, "Man, Amanda, we love your poetry, we'd love to get you to write a poem about this subject, but don't make it political." Which to me sounds like, I have to draw a square, but not make it a rectangle, or build a car and not make it a vehicle, it doesn't make much sense, because all art is political. The decision to create, the artistic choice to have a voice, the choice to be heard is the most political act of all. And by "political" I mean poetry is political in at least three ways: One: what stories we tell, when we're telling them, how we're telling them, if we're telling them, why we're telling them, says so much about the political beliefs we have, about what types of stories matter. Secondly, who gets to have their stories told, I'm talking, who is legally allowed to read, who has the resources to be able to write, who are we reading in our classrooms, says a lot about the political and educational systems, that all these stories and storytellers exist in. Lastly, poetry is political because it's preoccupied with people. If you look at history, notice that tyrants often go after the poets and the creatives first. They burn books, they try to get rid of poetry and the language arts, because they're terrified of them. Poets have this phenomenal potential to connect the beliefs of the private individual with the cause of change of the public, the population, the polity, the political movement. And when you leave here, I really want you to try to hear the ways in which poetry is actually at the center of our most political questions about what it means to be a democracy. Maybe later you're going to be at a protest, and someone's going to have a poster that says, "They buried us, but they didn't know we were seeds." That's poetry. You might be in your U.S. History class, and your teacher may play a video of Martin Luther King Jr. saying: "We will be able to hew out of this mountain of despair a stone of hope." That's poetry. Or maybe even here, in New York City, you're going to go visit the Statue of Liberty where there's a sonnet that declares, as Americans, "Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free." So you see, when someone asks me to write a poem that's not political, what they're really asking me is to not ask charged and challenging questions in my poetic work, and that does not work, because poetry is always at the pulse of the most dangerous and most daring questions that a nation or a world might face. What path do we stand on as a people, and what future as a people do we stand for? And the thing about poetry is that it's not really about having the right answers, it's about asking these right questions, about what it means to be a writer doing right by your words and your actions, and my reaction is to pay honor to those shoulders of people who used their pens to roll over boulders so I might have a mountain of hope on which to stand, so that I might understand the power of telling stories that matter no matter what. So that I might realize that if I choose, not out of fear, but out of courage, to speak, then there's something unique that my words can become. And all of a sudden that fear that my words might jumble and stumble go away as I'm humbled by the thoughts of thousands of stories a long time coming that I know are strumming inside me as I celebrate those people in their time who stood up so this little Black girl could rhyme as I celebrate and call their names all the same, these people who seem like they were just born to be bold: Maya Angelou, Ntozake Shange, Phillis Wheatley, Lucille Clifton, Gwendolyn Brooks, Joan Wicks, Audre Lorde, and so many more. It might feel like every story has been told before, but the truth is, no one's ever told my story in the way I would tell it, as the daughter of black writers, who are descended from freedom fighters who broke their chains and changed the world. They call me. I call them. And one day I'll write a story right, by writing it into a tomorrow on this Earth more than worth standing for. Thank you.

Frequently Occurring Word Combinations

ngrams of length 2

collocation	frequency
freedom fighters	2

Important Words

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