Thanks to Andrew Shields for his post dealing with Elizabeth Alexander and the question of the oratorical vs. what I would call the conversational style of reading aloud most poets use. No one programmatically teaches poets to read this way, I think, but the style is certainly entrenched. Only “performance poets” dissent from it—although Naropa preserves Ginsberg’s exalted hipster oratory in the supercharged person of Anne Waldman.
Note also Andrew’s link to a thoughtful, humane post by Reb Livingston….
Here, by the way, is Alexander’s poem with the correct lineation. Imagine, as you read, the sound of it delivered (as Andrew suggests) “by someone experienced in public oratory”:
PRAISE SONG FOR THE DAY
by Elizabeth AlexanderEach 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.
Copyright © 2009 by Elizabeth Alexander. All rights reserved. Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul, Minnesota. A chapbook edition of Praise Song for the Day will be published on February 6, 2009.
Here’s the poem as delivered on Inauguration Day:
Joseph Hutchison, Colorado Poet Laureate 2014-2019, has published 20 collections of poems and edited or co-edited three poetry anthologies. He currently directs two master’s-level programs for University College at the University of Denver: Professional Creative Writing and Arts & Culture Management. Joe lives with his wife, Melody Madonna, in the mountains southwest of Denver, Colorado, the city where he was born. 
Brian—I think the "spaces of quiet" you mention just don’t work on TV in a public venue full of a million plus people. Alexander’s poem is strong, I think, but its strength isn’t the kind that can be <I>heard</I> in that situation.<BR/><BR/>Scott—I had a hard time finding an "authorized" version myself, though now it’s all about the ‘Net.<BR/><BR/>Andrew—You’re probably right about the term "
As I noted in a later post, I was struck by Alexander’s brilliant conversational tone with Stephen Colbert. The reading of the poem was not in the voice of her conversation. A "conversational" reading of the poem may not have caught people’s attention any more than her actual reading did, but it might have satisfied more of the members of the poetry community who were listening.
Thanks for posting this up Joe – I would have never been able to find it, nor would I have remembered to look for it.
Given its words, I felt this poem could not be read oratorically. However, I just read it so. Was it better? No. Just different.<BR/><BR/>Why are spaces of quiet and thought dissed by the many? It’s the world we live in. We are drunk with spectacle after spectacle. We can’t get enough of them. So the many say: Make me laugh. Keep me jazzed. Rip it and flip it. Razzamatazz.