>> AND NOW AN ARIZONA PBS ORIGINAL PRODUCTION.

>> POETRY OUT LOUD IS A PROGRAM OF THE NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE ARTS.

IMAGINE AN ARIZONA WHERE EVERYONE CAN PARTICIPATE IN AND EXPERIENCE THE ARTS.

SCRUNCHED UP ARMS LOWLY DESTITUTE EYES.

>> I HAVE ONLY A NOTE.

A NOTE TAKEN IN READING OR FEVER.

I CAN'T TELL FROM MY HANDWRITING WHICH.

>> SUNTANNERS IN CENTRAL PARK TURNING OVER LIKE ROTISSERIE CHICKEN SIZZLING ON A SPIT.

>> STAY A WHILE MRS.

CALDERA SAYS.

AND NEVER HAVE YOU FELT SO VALUABLE.

>> THOUSANDS OF HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS ACROSS ARIZONA COMPETE ANNUALLY IN A RECITATION OF POETRY.

JOIN US AS THE TEN FINALISTS COMPETE FOR THE TITLE ARIZONA STATE CHAMPION.

>> BEFORE I DID POETRY OUT LOUD, I WILL BE HONEST, I KIND OF HATED POETRY.

I NEVER UNDERSTOOD WHAT IT MEANT AND I THOUGHT THE AUTHOR WAS TRYING TO TRICK ME.

WHEN I STARTED IT AND I COULD TRY TO UNDERSTAND WHAT IT WAS AND I DID UNDERSTAND AND I LEARNED TO CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR AND THE POEM ITSELF, I LEARNED TO LOVE POETRY.

>> SLANT BY SUJI KWOCK KIM.

IF THE ANGLE OF AN EYE IS ALL, THE SLANT OF HOPE, THE SLANT OF DREAMING, ACCORDING TO EACH LIFE, WHAT IS THE LIGHT OF THIS CITY, LIGHT OF LADY LIBERTY, POSSESSOR OF THE MOST FAMOUS ARMPIT IN THE WORLD, LIGHT OF THE LOVERS ON CHINESE SOAP OPERAS, THROWING BBQ 'D DUCKS AT EACH OTHER, WITH THAT LIVE-IT-UP-WHILE-YOU'RE-YOUNG, WOO ME KIND OF LOVE, LIGHT OF THE OLD MEN SITTING ON CRATES OUTSIDE GEEGAW SHOPS, SELLING DRIED SEAHORSES AND PLASTIC TEMPLES OF HEAVEN, LIGHT OF THE YING N YANG JUNK PALACE, LIGHT OF THE GOLDEN PHOENIX HAIR SALON, LIGHT OF WIG-O-RAMAS, LIGHT OF THE SUNTANNERS IN CENTRAL PARK TURNING OVER LIKE ROTISSERIE CHICKENS SIZZLING ON A SPIT, LIGHT OF THE PLUCK U AND GONE WITH THE WINGS FRIED CHICKEN SHOPS, THE PARKING-METER-LEANERS, THE GLAMAZONS, THE OGLERS WEARING FERN-WILTING QUANTITIES OF COLOGNE, STRUTTING, TRASH-TALKING GLORIOUS: THE IMMIGRANTS, THE REFUGEES, THE PEDDLERS, THE STOCKBROKERS, AND JANITORS, STENOGRAPHERS AND COOKS, ALL OF US MAKING AND UNMAKING OURSELVES, HURRYING FORWARDS, TOWARD WHO WE'LL BECOME, ONE WAY ONLY, ONE LIFE ONLY: FREE IN TIME BUT NOT FROM IT, HERE IN THE CITY THE LIVING MAKE TOGETHER, AND MAKE AND UNMAKE OVER AND OVER, QUICK, QUICK, ASK HEAVEN OF IT, OF EVERY MORTAL RELATION, FEELING THAT IS FLEEING, FOR WHAT WOULD THE HEART BE WITHOUT A HEAVEN TO SET IT ON?

I CAN'T HELP THINKING NO WORD WILL EVER BE AS FULL AS LIFE AS THIS WORLD, I CAN'T HELP THINKING OF THANKS.

THANK YOU.

[ APPLAUSE ] ♪ "FRIENDSHIP AFTER LOVE" BY ELLA WHEELER WILLCOX.

AFTER THE FIERCE MIDSUMMER ALL ABLAZE HAS BURNED ITSELF TO ASHES AND EXPIRES IN THE INTENSITY OF ITS OWN FIRES, THERE COME THE MELLOW, MILD, ST.

MARTIN DAYS, CROWNED WITH THE CALM OF PEACE, BUT SAD WITH HAZE.

SO AFTER LOVE HAS LED US, TILL HE TIRES OF HIS OWN THROES, AND TORMENTS AND DESIRES, COMES LARGE-EYED FRIENDSHIP: WITH A RESTFUL GAZE, HE BECKONS US TO FOLLOW, AND ACROSS, COOL VERDANT VALES WE WANDER FREE FROM CARE.

IS IT A TOUCH OF FROST LIES IN THE AIR?

WHY ARE WE HAUNTED WITH A SENSE OF LOSS?

WE DO NOT WISH THE PAIN BACK, OR THE HEAT; AND YET, AND YET, THESE DAYS ARE INCOMPLETE.

♪ >> WHEN YOU ARE PERFORMING SOMEBODY ELSE'S WORDS, YOU START TO BE TAKEN ON AN EMOTIONAL JOURNEY, ALMOST AS IF YOU ARE ANOTHER AUDIENCE MEMBER, EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE THE PERFORMER.

AND SO I FIND THE BEST WAY TO IMPACT THE AUDIENCE IS TO ALSO FEEL IT MYSELF.

"SPANGLISH" BY TATO LAVIERA.

PUES ESTOY CREANDO SPANGLISH BICULTURAL SYSTEMS SCIENTIFIC LEXICOGRAPHICAL INTERTEXTUAL INTEGRATIONS TWO EXPRESSIONS EXISTENTIALLY WIRED TWO DOMINANT LANGUAGES CONTINENTALLY ABRAZANDOSE EN COLLOQUIAL COMBATE EN LAS ACERAS DEL SOIL IMPERIO SPANGLISH EMERGES CONTROL PANDILLAJE SOBRE TERRITORIO BILINGUAL LAS NOVELAS MEXICANAS MIXING WITH RADIOROCKNROLL CONDIMENTED COCINA LORE IMMIGRANT/MIGRANT NASAL MISPRONOUNCEMENTS BARAJA CHISMETEOS SOCIAL CLUB HIP-HOP PRIETO STREET SALSA, CORNER SOUL ENMIXTURANDO SPANISH POP FARANDULA STANDARD ENGLISH CLASSROOM WITH COMPUTER TECHNICALITIES SPANGLISH IS LITERALLY PERFECT SPANGLISH IS ETHNICALLY SNOBBISH SPANGLISH IS CARA-HOLY INTELIGENCIA WHICH U.S.

SLANG DO YOU SPEAK?

THANK YOU.

♪ >> I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT THIS THE OTHER NIGHT.

IT'S THIS REALLY SPECIAL FEELING THAT'S REALLY ADDICTIVE, LIKE THE ADRENALINE RUSH BUT IT'S ALSO THE FEELING OF, LIKE, FOR THOSE 30 SECONDS, LIKE YOU COULD STOP A BULLET AND YOU ARE INVINCIBLE.

SOMEONE COULD CHARGE AT ME ON STAGE AND I WOULD BE THERE BECAUSE THIS POEM WILL COME OUT OF ME ONE WAY OR ANOTHER.

AND SO IT'S THIS VERY POWERFUL AND STRONG FEELING OF, LIKE, I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING.

I HAVE DONE WHAT I CAN AND, LIKE, THIS IS MY MOMENT.

"EARLY ELEGY: HEADMISTRESS" BY CLAUDIA EMERSON.

THE WORD ITSELF: PRIM, RETIRED, ITS ARTIFACT HER PORTRAIT ABOVE THE FIREPLACE, ON HER FACE THE BOREDOM SHE ABHORRED, THEN PERFECTED, HER HANDS HELD UPWARD -- THEIR EMPTINESS A REVISION, CIGARETTE AND BRANDY SNIFTER PAINTED, INTOLERABLY, OUT, TO LEAVE HER THIS LESSER GESTURE: WHAT NEXT?

OR SHRUGGED WHATEVER.

FROM THE WAIST DOWN SHE WAS NEVER THERE.

THANK YOU.

[ APPLAUSE ] >> "HYSTERIA" BY DIONISOD.

MARTINEZ.

IT ONLY TAKES ONE NIGHT WITH THE WIND ON ITS KNEES TO IMAGINE CARL SANDBURG UNFOLDING A MAP OF CHICAGO, PUZZLED, THEN WALKING THE WRONG WAY.

THE LINES ON HIS FACE ARE HARD TO READ.

I ALTERNATE BETWEEN THE TV, WHERE A PLASTIC SURGEON IS CLAIMING THAT EVERY FACIAL EXPRESSION CAUSES WRINKLES AND THE NEWSPAPER.

I PICTURE THE SURGEON READING THE LINES ON SANDBURG'S FACE, LINES THAT WOULD'VE MADE MORE SENSE IF THE POET HAD BEEN, SAY, A TREE GROWING.

IN A WIND ORCHARD.

MAYBE HE SIMPLY SMILED TOO MUCH.

I'M READING ABOUT THE ALL-STAR GAME, THINKING, THAT MAYBE SANDBURG SAW THE WHITE SOX OF 1919.

I LOVE AMERICAN NEWSPAPERS, THE WAY EACH SECTION IS FOLDED INDEPENDENTLY AND BELIEVE IT OWNS THE WORLD.

THERE'S IN BRIEF ITEM IN THE INTERNATIONAL PAGES.

THE TINIEST GOVERNMENT HAS POSTED SIGNS IN TIANNAMEN SQUARE FORBIDDING LAUGHTER.

I'M SURE THE PLASTIC SURGEON WOULD APPROVE.

HE'D SAY, THE CHINESE WILL LOOK YOUNG MUCH LONGER.

THEIR FACES UNNATURALLY SMOOTH.

BUT WHAT I SEE, ALTHOUGH NO PHOTOGRAPH ACCOMPANIES THE STORY, IS LAUGHTER BURSTING INSIDE THEM.

I GO BACK TO THE SPORTS SECTION AND A CLOSE-UP OF A ROOKIE IN MIDSWING.

HIS FACE KEEPING ALL THE WRONG EMOTIONS IN CHECK.

WHEN I READ, I BITE MY LOWER LIP.

A HAPPY THE PLASTIC SURGEON WOULD PROBABLY CAUSE COSMETIC HERESY BECAUSE IT ACCELERATES THE AGING PROCESS.

I THINK OF CARL SANDBURG AND THE WHITE SOX.

I THINK OF WIND IN TIANNAMEN SQUARE, HOW A COUNTRY DEPRIVES OF LAUGHTER AGES INVISIBLY.

I THINK OF THE GREAT WALLS OF NORTH AMERICA.

EACH OF THEM A GRIP ON SOME OUTFIELD, LIKE A ROOKIE'S HAND AROUND A BAT, WHEN THE WIND IS AGAINST HIM.

I BITE MY LOWER LIP AGAIN.

I WANT TO LEARN TO THINK IN AMERICAN, TO BELIEVE THAT A HEAD LINE IS A FACT AND ALL STORIES ARE SUSPECT.

[ APPLAUSE ] ♪ >> PEOPLE DON'T USUALLY SAY OLD AGE IS BEAUTIFUL, BUT TO ME, MY GRANDMA IS VERY BEAUTIFUL.

SHE'S SO DIFFERENT.

SHE'S -- SHE'S WONDERFUL.

SHE'S THE MOST NICEST PERSON.

AND SHE'S JUST -- SHE'S JUST SO IMPORTANT TO ME, AND I JUST WANT THIS POEM TO FEEL LIKE I'M SAYING IT TO HER.

"WHEN YOU ARE OLD" BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS.

WHEN YOU ARE OLD AND GREY AND FULL OF SLEEP, AND NODDING BY THE FIRE, TAKE DOWN THIS BOOK, AND SLOWLY READ, AND DREAM OF THE SOFT LOOK YOUR EYES HAD ONCE, AND OF THEIR SHADOWS DEEP; HOW MANY LOVED YOUR MOMENTS OF GLAD GRACE, AND LOVED YOUR BEAUTY WITH LOVE FALSE OR TRUE, BUT ONE MAN LOVED THE PILGRIM SOUL IN YOU, AND LOVED THE SORROWS OF YOUR CHANGING FACE; AND BENDING DOWN BESIDE THE GLOWING BARS, MURMUR, A LITTLE SADLY, HOW LOVE FLED, AND PACED UPON THE MOUNTAINS OVERHEAD, AND HID HIS FACE AMID A CROWD OF STARS.

[ APPLAUSE ] >> I LOVE BEING ABLE TO CONNECT TO AN AUDIENCE.

I FEEL VERY SPIRITED AND LIGHT HEARTED.

THAT'S SUCH A COMFORTABLE PLACE.

I THINK THE STAGE CAN REALLY BRING OUT THE BEST OR THE WORST IN A PERSON.

IT'S TERRIFYING.

IT'S EXHILARATING AND I DEFINITELY -- I DON'T KNOW.

I FEEL LIKE THIS KIND OF COURAGE WELL UP INSIDE OF ME, WHENEVER I STEP ON.

IT'S WONDERFUL!

"ODE TO THE ELECTRIC FISH THAT EAT ONLY THE TAILS OF OTHER ELECTRIC FISH" BY THOMAS LUX.

WHICH GENERATE THEIR TAILS AND ALSO EAT ONLY THE TAILS OF OTHER ELECTRIC EELS, PRESUMABLY SMALLER, WHO, IN TURN, EAT... WITHOUT CONSULTING AN ICHTHYOLOGIST -- EELS ARE FISH -- I DEFER TO BIOLOGY'S GENIUS.

I KNOW LITTLE OF THEIR NUMBERS AND HABITAT, OTHER THAN THEY ARE RIVER DWELLERS.

GUESS WHICH RIVER.

I HAVE ONLY A NOTE, A NOTE TAKEN IN READING OR FEVER -- I CAN'T TELL, FROM MY HANDWRITING, WHICH.

ALL I KNOW IS IT SEEMS SENSIBLE, SUSTAINABLE: NO FISH DIES, NOBODY EVER GETS SO HUNGRY HE BITES OFF MORE THAN A TAIL; THE STING, THE TRAUMA KEEPS THE BITTEN FISH LEAN AND ALERT.

THE NEED TO HIDE WHILE REGROWING A TAIL TEACHES GUILE.

THEY'LL EAT SMALLER TAILS FOR A WHILE.

THESE EELS, THESE EELS THEMSELVES ARE ODES!

♪ >> AN ALLERGY, IT TALKS ABOUT THE DEATH OF A PERSON, IN GRIEF WHICH IS SORT OF WHAT "NOCTURNE" IS AND YOU CAN PUT IT INTO WORDS THAT -- HE PUT INTO WORDS THAT MEAN SO MUCH AND ARE SO VIVID THAT YOU CAN FEEL WHAT THE PERSON, IF -- YOU CAN FEEL IF SOMEONE DIED FOR YOU.

AND IT CAN JUST REALLY MOVE YOU.

"NOCTURNE" BY LOUISE GLUCK.

MOTHER DIED LAST NIGHT, MOTHER WHO NEVER DIES.

WINTER WAS IN THE AIR, MANY MONTHS AWAY BUT IN THE AIR NEVERTHELESS.

IT WAS THE 10th OF MAY.

HYACINTH AND APPLE BLOSSOM BLOOMED IN THE BACK GARDEN.

WE COULD HEAR MARIA SINGING SONGS FROM CZECHOSLOVAKIA -- HOW ALONE I AM -- SONGS OF THAT KIND.

HOW ALONE I AM, NO MOTHER, NO FATHER -- MY BRAIN SEEMS SO EMPTY WITHOUT THEM.

AROMAS DRIFTED OUT OF THE EARTH; THE DISHES WERE IN THE SINK, RINSED BUT NOT STACKED.

UNDER THE FULL MOON MARIA WAS FOLDING THE WASHING; THE STIFF SHEETS BECAME DRY WHITE RECTANGLES OF MOON NIGHT.

-- MOONLIGHT.

HOW ALONE I AM, BUT IN MUSIC MY DESOLATION IS MY REJOICING.

IT WAS THE 10th OF MAY AS IT HAD BEEN THE 9th, THE 8th.

MOTHER SLEPT IN HER BED, HER ARMS OUTSTRETCHED, HER HEAD BALANCED BETWEEN THEM.

[ APPLAUSE ] ♪ >> I LOVE ANALYZING THE POEMS.

I LOVE BEING ABLE TO DIG DEEP AND LOOK INTO THE HISTORY OF THE POEMS WHILE ALSO LOOKING INTO THE TEXT ON THE PAGE.

"MRS.

CALDERA'S HOUSE OF THINGS" BY GREGORY DJANIKIAN.

YOU ARE SITTING IN MRS.

CALDERA'S KITCHEN, YOU ARE SIPPING A GLASS OF LEMONADE AND TRYING NOT TO BE TOO CURIOUS ABOUT THE BOX OF PLASTIC HUMMINGBIRDS BEHIND YOU, THE TRAY OF TINELESS FORKS AT YOUR ELBOW.

YOU HAVE HEARD ABOUT THE BACKROOM WHERE NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER GONE AND WHATEVER ENTERS, REMAINS, REFRIGERATOR DOORS, FUSED COILS, MOWER BLADES, MILK BOTTLES, PISTONS, GEARS.

"YOU NEVER KNOW," SHE SAYS, RUMMAGING THROUGH A CEDAR CHEST OF RECIPES "WHEN SOMETHING WILL COME OF USE."

THERE IS A VASE OF PENCIL TIPS ON THE TABLE, A BOWL FULL OF MINIATURE WHEELS AND AXLES.

UPSTAIRS, WHERE HER CHILDREN SLEPT, THE DOORS WILL NOT CLOSE, THE STACKS OF MAGAZINES ARE BURGEONING, THERE ARE SNOWSHOES AND LAMP SHADES, BED SPRINGS AND PICTURE TUBES, AND BOXES AND BOXES OF IRREDUCIBLES!

YOU IMAGINE THE HEADLINE OF THE "LITERALIST EXPRESS:" HOUSE FOUNDERS UNDER WEIGHT OF PAST.

BUT MRS.

CALDERA IS BAKING COOKS, SHE IS HUMMING A SONG FROM CHILDHOOD, HER ARMS ARE HEAVY AND STRONG, THEY HAVE HELD BABIES, A HUSBAND, TRACTOR PARTS AND GAS TANKS, WHAT HAVE THEY NOT FOUND A PLACE FOR?

IT IS GETTING DARK, YOU HAVE SAT FOR A LONG TIME.

IF YOU MOVE, YOU FEEL SOMETHING WILL BE DISTURBED, THERE IS ROOM ENOUGH ONLY FOR YOUR BODY.

"STAY AWHILE," MRS.

CALDERA SAYS, AND NEVER HAVE YOU FELT SO VALUABLE.

THANK YOU.

[ APPLAUSE ] ♪ >> TO ANYONE WHO WOULD BE CONSIDERING COMPETING IN POETRY, I WOULD SAY DON'T GET AFRAID OF YOUR NERVES.

THAT CAN SOMETIMES SHARPEN YOUR PERFORMANCE.

BE SCARED BUT CONTROL IT.

"THE GLORIES OF OUR BLOOD AND STATE" BY JAMES SHIRLEY.

THE GLORIES OF OUR BLOOD AND STATE ARE SHADOWS, NOT SUBSTANTIAL THINGS; THERE IS NO ARMOUR AGAINST FATE; DEATH LAYS HIS ICY HAND ON KINGS: SCEPTRE AND CROWN MUST TUMBLE DOWN, AND IN THE DUST BE EQUAL MADE WITH, POOR CROOKED SKYTHE AND SPADE.

SOME MEN WITH SWORDS MAY REAP THE FIELD, AND PLANT FRESH LAURELS WHERE THEY KILL: BUT THEIR STRONG NERVES AT LAST MUST YIELD; THEY TAME BUT ONE ANOTHER STILL: EARLY OR LATE THEY STOOP TO FATE, AND MUST GIVE UP THEIR MURMURING BREATH WHEN THEY, PALE CAPTIVES, CREEP TO DEATH.

THE GARLANDS WITHER ON YOUR BROW; THEN BOAST NO MORE YOUR MIGHTY DEEDS!

UPON DEATH'S PURPLE ALTAR NOW SEE WHERE THE VICTOR-VICTIM BLEEDS.

YOUR HEADS MUST COME TO THE COLD TOMB: ONLY THE ACTIONS OF THE JUST SMELL SWEET AND BLOSSOM IN THEIR DUST.

>> THANK YOU.

[ APPLAUSE ] ♪ "SONNET 55: NO MARBLE NOR THE GUILDED MONUMENTS" BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

NOT MARBLE NOR THE GUILDED MONUMENTS OF PRINCES SHALL OUTLIVE THIS POWERFUL RHYME, BUT YOU SHALL SHINE MORE BRIGHT IN THESE CONTENTS THAN UNSWEPT STONE BESMEARED WITH SLUTTISH TIME.

WHEN WASTEFUL WAR SHALL STATUES OVERTURN, AND BROILS ROOT OUT THE WORK OF MASONRY, NOR MARS HIS SWORD NOR WAR'S QUICK FIRE SHALL BURN THE LIVING RECORD OF YOUR MEMORY.

'GAINST DEATH AND ALL-OBLIVIOUS ENMITY SHALL YOU PACE FORTH; YOUR PRAISE SHALL STILL FIND ROOM EVEN IN THE EYES OF ALL POSTERITY THAT WEAR THIS WORLD OUT TO THE ENDING DOOM.

SO, TILL THE JUDGMENT THAT YOURSELF ARISE, YOU LIVE IN THIS, AND DWELL IN LOVERS' EYES.

THANK YOU.

♪ "DIRGE IN WOODS" BY GEORGE MEREDITH.

A WIND SWAYS THE PINES, AND BELOW NOT A BREATH OF WILD AIR; STILL AS THE MOSSES THAT GLOW ON THE FLOORING AND OVER THE LINES OF THE ROOTS HERE AND THERE.

THE PINE-TREE DROPS ITS DEAD; THEY ARE QUIET, AS UNDER THE SEA.

OVERHEAD, OVERHEAD RUSHES LIFE IN A RACE, AS THE CLOUDS THE CLOUDS CHASE; AND WE GO, AND WE DROP LIKE THE FRUITS OF THE TREE, EVEN WE, EVEN SO.

THANK YOU.

[ APPLAUSE ] ♪ >> "THAT EVERYTHING IS INEVITABLE" BY KATY LEDERER.

THAT EVERYTHING'S INEVITABLE.

THAT FATE IS WHATEVER HAS ALREADY HAPPENED.

THE BRAIN, WHICH IS AN ELEMENTAL, AS SANE, AS THE REST OF THE PROCESSING UNIVERSE IS.

IN THIS WORLD, I AM THE SUREST THING.

SCRUNCHED-UP ARMS, FOLDED LEGS, LOVELY DESTITUTE EYES.

PLEASE INSERT YOUR SPARE COINS.

I AM FILLING THEM UP.

INSERT YOUR SPARE VISION, YOUR VIGOR, YOUR VIM.

BUT YET, I AM A VATIC ONE.

AS VATIC AS THE VATICAN.

IN THE TEMPER AND THE TANTRUM, IN THE WELL-KEPT ARBORETUM I AM WAITING, LIKE AN ANIMAL, FOR POETRY.

THANK YOU.

♪ >> ONE OF THE THINGS THAT WE LIKE TO DO IS HONOR THE FACT THAT POETRY IS STILL LIVING.

IT'S VERY MUCH ALIVE AND WE WANT TO CELEBRATE THAT AND ENCOURAGE YOU ALL TO CONTINUE TO PUSH FORWARD IN WRITING AND TELLING YOUR OWN STORY.

THIS YEAR'S RUNNER-UP, PLEASE GIVE A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR ANTONIO!

[ CHEERS AND APPLAUSE ] WHICH MEANS THIS YEAR'S 2018 STATE CHAMPION FROM COCONINO HIGH SCHOOL, PLEASE A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR SOPHIE!

[ CHEERS AND APPLAUSE ] >> THE ADVICE I WOULD GIVE TO SOMEONE WHO WANTS TO DO THIS BUT IS A LITTLE BIT RESERVED WOULD BE TO JUST HAVE FUN WITH IT, AND THAT CAN BE -- IT MAY SEEM A LITTLE BIT CONFUSING ALTHOUGH THE PHRASE IS SO SIMPLE.

IF YOU CAN MAKE THE POEM, MAKE THE PERFORMANCE MORE ABOUT THE POEM THAN YOURSELF AND JUST TRY TO PUT IT FORTH IN THE BEST WAY YOU KNOW HOW, THAT'S THE BEST YOU CAN DO.

AND I THINK A LOT OF PEOPLE WILL APPRECIATE THE INFUSION OF YOUR VOICE WITH THE POEM AND THEN THEY CAN RECEIVE THAT.

I JUST THINK IT'S A BEAUTIFUL THING THAT CONNECTS TO A LOT OF PEOPLE.

SO I WOULD SAY JUST DO IT.

♪