In lands unknown, we seek our place.

With dreams like stars, we embrace the space.

Voices rise like rivers that flow.

Each story a beacon, a light to bestow.

From distant shores we carry our dreams, and every heartbeat a future gleams.

Through verses and rhythms, our spirits unite.

In the tapestry of life, we shine ever bright.

Join us on a poetic odyssey.

A celebration of voices, cultures and the power of words.

I'm Amanda Eke.

Welcome to The Poet Speaks, where every syllable ignites inspiration.

Now the saying goes, 100 books, 100 different stories.

But in a place like Liberty State Park, that phrase could probably be 100 flags, 100 different stories.

Now in a place like this where we're facing Lady Liberty, Alice Island, New York City skyline, we have so many stories of immigration, immigration tales of triumph, tragedy, happiness, sadness.

supreme wealth, extreme poverty.

Now, when we're looking at those tales through the eyes of a poet, something completely different.

Meet Angela Du, a remarkable kid who recently won a prestigious writing contest for fifth graders hosted by the American Immigration Council.

Through her heartfelt poem, Angela explores themes of immigration, weaving together her family's experiences and the dreams of many who seek a new home.

Her words not only reflect her own journey but also resonate with the hopes and challenges faced by countless others.

But this story isn't just any story.

It is the story of us, the U.S., the story of the United States of America.

How does a fifth grader, how do you win such a national competition about with your poem?

Tell us a little bit about that.

What exactly did you win?

What was it that you won?

What competition was it?

Okay, so it was this like writing contest.

It was like hosted by like the American Immigration Council and they had this prompt which was basically like write about why you're glad America is a country of immigrants or what makes America a country of immigrants.

So I was thinking about that a lot that night and I decided maybe I could start with like a personal story and yeah.

Basically, so first like, so first you compete in your state and the first place in each state gets sent to like the second level which is like all 50 each winner in each state and those winners compete for first place.

Wow and you won that first place.

Yeah.

Now that is amazing.

Tell me.. What's that inspiration?

Where did that inspiration to write your piece come from?

That poetry piece.

What's inspiration?

Well because like I was thinking a lot about, because I was inspired by like my own experience as a child of an immigrant family.

Coming from like a family of immigrants I like, I remember the stories my dad would tell me about like, well when I was like five, I would be like "daddy I can't fall asleep" and he would tell me a story and then a lot of times he would be talking about his journey from China to like here and in this poem I was able to write about like how about the challenges like all immigrants face and how they're a really important part of our country.

Absolutely, absolutely.

Alright Angela, so you tell me what, how do you start, let's write a poem.

You gotta tell me how do you write your poems, what do you usually start off with?

How do we organize ourselves for a poem?

I always start with like a bunch of random things I think of.

Like cheese puffs.

Like anything random.

And then I'll like start to decide what I could use for a poem.

And then I kinda start.

And then I always do titles last, I don't know why.

Perfect, alright.

Well let's start.

We're in Liberty State Park.

It's a beautiful sunny day.

I see crunchy leaves.

Crunchy leaves, shall we write that first?

Okay, we got some crunchy leaves.

Crunchy leaves.

Awesome.

What else are we looking at?

What else are we thinking?

Crunchy leaves.

Uh, I was just thinking, I don't know why, I feel like crunchy leaves equals fall.

Fall, okay.

Equals time is passing.

Okay, fall.

We got fall.

And time is passing.

Time is passing.

Time is passing.

Yeah.

Okay.

And then I don't know, I feel like Statue of Liberty.

Let's do it.

Statue of Liberty.

Perfect.

So we have crunchy leaves fall, time is passing.

Statue of Liberty.

Anything else we want to add?

What are the concepts we're thinking?

What do you think?

What do I think?

Okay.

Crunchy leaves fall.

Time is passing.

Statue of Liberty.

Sun is shining.

Sun is shining right in our faces.

Yeah.

[music] We are your first lines of poems.

How do you start that out?

Sometimes I start with like what I see.

Mmm.

I see crunchy leaves falling.

Okay.

I see crunchy leaves falling.

I see leaves falling.

As I watch them crunch under my feet.

Do that, yeah.

I'd like to start that.

I see crunchy leaves.

I see leaves falling.

I see crunchy leaves falling.

I think see leaves falling.

Just put see leaves falling?

Yeah.

Okay.

The next line.

I see leaves falling as they crunch, crunch under my feet.

Time is no longer stalling.

Know what the word stalling is?

Thinks slowing.

Yeah, so time is no longer stalling.

So that's our time this passing.

The sun is calling.

What do you think?

Yeah, I like that.

The sun is calling to something, someth.. The sun is calling.

We gotta get something that rhymes with crunch.

That's our second line.

Bunch.

Oh, that's a good one, Angela.

Our time is no longer solid.

Hunched.

Hunched old lady.

Yeah, good.

Time is no longer stalling.

The sun is calling.

How about time is no longer stalling.

The sun is calling.

Yeah, I feel like we should do that one first.

That's a good fluff.

Lady Liberty, peaceful day, our last two concepts.

Lady Liberty stands one in a bunch.

Oh, I did "she stands one in a bunch" and then Lady Liberty something, something, something.

Got it.

We can mention Lady Liberty... Assigned.

Oh yeah, Lady Liberty is... Assigned to greet?

Because feet greet?

Good, yeah.

Want to end it like that?

Lady Liberty is signed to greet.

I see leaves falling as they crunch, crunch, under my feet.

Time is no longer stalling.

This sun is calling.

This peaceful morning, she stands one in a bunch.

Lady Liberty, assigned to greet.

Awesome.

I like that poem.

You said the last thing what do you do?

What's the last thing you do?

Make a title.

What's the title gonna be?

I think something to do with a pedestal.

Pedestal?

Because she stands on a .. She stands... she does stand on a .. Lady Liberty does stand on a pedestal.

maybe a statue to greet?

Statue to greet?

I like that.

A statue to greet.

By Angela Du and Amanda Eke.

A statue to greet.

I see leaves falling as they crunch, crunch, under my feet.

Time is no longer stalling.

This sun is calling.

This peaceful morning, she stands one in a bunch.

Lady Liberty, assigned to greet.

I like that.

I like that poem.

So you know, before we wrap up, you gotta sign my poem though.

Because you made it with me, so you gotta give me your signature.

Okay, I need to practice first.

That was bad.

It's fancy, I like that one.

Whatever.

I gotta sign mine.

My original poem by Angela Du.

Oops.

I kinda sound bad.

Appreciate you.

Beautiful.

There we go.

Alright.

That's a wonderful poem.

We gotta, we gotta publish it.

I'll have my people call your people, okay?

Stories of us.

I sit by the windowsill, gazing outside.

Down on the street, so many heads, each is unique.

Amidst the traffic and forensic honking, I sensed presence of millions of others, just like me.

I contemplate this journeys.

Each of us, all of us, have a story.

When mothers and fathers ventured far across the world, their sense of adventure leads them in search of a new life.

Then I think about all the diverse people and a myriad of languages, some foreign to one, but familiar to another.

When I open my window, I hear those languages harmonizing, merging together to form a chorus, but not just any choir.

The symphony of every single person's story, a song where every note counts.

I think about the stories that father would tell me about my father's mother and his migratory voyage.

My father's trip to America with only $300 in a suitcase and a brain.

I ponder about each and every one of the people in my neighborhood, and I wonder why father would be willing to relinquish everything to speak in a foreign time.

I think about his pride in having dual nationalities, about being able to keep his traditions close to heart and embracing a new part of himself.

American.

Then my thoughts drift to school.

All of the different students, each of us with their own stories, the accounts of our ancestors, and all that they sacrificed for us, each and every one of us to be here, at this moment, right now, to be present, someone has worked hard.

Someone had shed tears of exhaustion, leaving behind familiar joy and wonder, leaving behind family and friends, to create new memories and stories in one country, forming one grand story.

But this story isn't just any story.

It is the story of us, the U.S., the story of the United States of America.

My father, he came 40 years ago.

I'm Dominican, I'm from Dominican Republic.

And he came here to get a better future for us.

And first of all, we went to New York, New York City.

And my father thought that New Jersey was going to be a better place.

So we came here to Jersey City, and then we learned a little bit about this park and this city.

My father immigrated here when before I was born.

He got married to my mom.

He was actually deported back to El .. So my family decided to move back as a family.

I lived over there for two years.

I was around the age of 10 to 12.

I lived there.

He finally was able to work everything out legally through immigration.

We were able to move back as a fami.. So for me, this country really does just represent a new sense of freedom.

It's a place of new opportunity.

And I got to experience that firsthand with my family and the difference and challenges that come across when you travel to a new country or you have to travel back and then come back.

So this is a great reminder of my family's history for me as well.

For me, it's very important because of the message that's sent.

When you come here, you remember there's freedom.

And freedom is very important because it gives you the opportunity to get a better future, to decide what you want to do.

It doesn't give you limits.

You have the freedom to get big, to get anywhere you want.

So to me, this place, when I come here, I remember that I can do whatever I desire to do.

And I work to do it because there's opportunity.

And this represents a lot, especially in the place where it is in New York, because New York represents a lot of Hispanic people coming from different places.

So to me, it's a blessing to be here.

Yeah, for me, it basically is the same thing.

It reminds us that freedom does come at a price.

We're living in a place where it does represent a lot of different ethnicities and countries, and not just Hispanics, but people from Asia, from Africa, from everywhere.

And it does remind me that nothing that we have here is free.

Someone paid for all of this.

And we get to live in that.

We get to enjoy it.

And most importantly, we get to remember through landmarks like this one.

Beautiful.

We appreciate y'all.

Welcome back to Regie Cabico, a celebrated Filipino-American poet and a spoken word artist who previously graced our show with his vibrant storytelling.

Reggie's powerful performances resonate deeply, and today he returns to share his unique perspective on immigration.

Through his poetry, he captures the struggles and triumphs of those navigating new beginnings reflecting on his own family's journey.

Reggie, tell me a bit about your parents.

How did they immigrate to America?

Wow, I haven't really thought about that.

My mom is a nurse and in 1965 there was an opportunity for nurses and professional folks who come to America.

There was a nursing shortage.

And actually if you think about it, even since the late 1800s, America was putting nursing schools in the Philippines.

So they were priming a lot of caregivers.

And so that's how my mom came and her older sister was a doctor.

So there was this whole medical doctor, nurse kind of thing on my mom's side.

And my dad was from a poor part of the Philippines called Pangasinan.

And he was the smartest child and I think the family decided you should go to the Navy.

So he was a cook on the Navy.

He cooked and got his cooking skills together.

And he was able to be in the United States.

And I think my parents met in Baltimore and that's where I was born.

But while I was born he was still traveling around trying to finish his service.

So that's what happened to my family.

And at that time I was one of the first Filipinos to be where we finally settled in Prince George's County in Clinton, Maryland.

So being the only Filipino family where everything is redneck and black, it was such a, and like no Filipino people there, it was such a different experience.

You had to sort of translate between two worlds or multiple worlds.

And I think I was quiet for a lot of my childhood and early life.

So I think I was just silent and just observing.

And you know when you look at Maya Angelou's story she was silent for a while.

And I think being raised in silence and observation just maybe sharpens your ability to write a poem or to tell a story.

Absolutely.

So tell me about that.

How is that translated, your story?

How is that translated to your poetry?

Well you know every poetry lesson is going to say write about what you know, so write about your family.

And I think when I started to write poetry in the early 90s there was so much written about family culture, family history, food was always there.

And I just thought being an Asian American poet you have to write about a mango because there's mangoes.

It's sort of like the thing that people relate to.

I'm so happy to see that Asian American identity is not about food.

And I was in an anthology of Asian American erotic called "On a Bed of Rice".

Like who would say On a Bed of Rice?

That was the 90s.

I don't think you could do that today, right?

So things have changed.

So I think people need to see Filipino people not just as a mango or a plate of noodles.

I think that they need to sort of see what it's like to navigate a world where you don't have any representation or support.

And I think writing poetry is sort of uncovering sort of the traumas and the dysfunction of being a child of immigrants trying to unpack that life.

So for me that's how it impacts poetry and also how I want to teach it because I see so many students of different cultures coming in.

And it's like I tell them you're going to write your poem because if you don't tell your story someone else will tell it for you.

An Asian and the Sun.

I was named after a plumbing service in Baltimore.

Regie sounded like my father's name.

Ronaldo, Ray of Lights, ruler, counselor.

When I was three, I memorized Disney Records, recited all the stories of wicked stepmothers and princesses.

Mall shoppers threw money at me.

When I was five, I was lost in a pharmacy, couldn't find my father, so I walked home by myself.

To this day, I have an excellent sense of direction.

When I was 11, I recited the Christmas gospel with so much emotion, the nuns wept.

By the time I was 16, I knew I had to go to New York City if I was going to be an actor, never knowing that I'd never be Asian enough for the industry.

23 and my family lost their home, evicted, their belongings thrown on the sidewalk, and I wrote my first poem.

My family is scattered like so many pieces of shattered glass on an island I've stepped on.

Five years ago, my awards and certificates were given to me in a cardboard box, and I threw it all away in the dumpster when I moved to Mount Pleasant.

I survived the American dream deferred in the loss of a mother who thought Lady Liberty would be this beach she saw watching Hollywood films.

But today, today, I lose myself in stages, in classrooms, in bars, finding my way home.

From far off lands we find our song.

In every heartbeat we know we belong.

With courage and hope we share our light.

In the warmth of our words we shine so bright.

Together we stand in love we trust.

Building bridges of joy from ashes to dust.

So let us remember as we turn the page.

In the voices of poets we celebrate our stage.

You know, my parents survived a war, and they immigrated from Nigeria.

What was interesting about their story, you said, now that I'm older.

I'm a little older than you.

I'm just a little older than you.

But, you know, it's kind of having conversations now as an adult.

You can't give someone your feeling, right?

So, like you said, your parents, they, you know, your father, trans crossing, transcontinental, right, across countries, across the sea.

For you, your change is just a bus ride away, or maybe a subway ride away, right?

The same with me, with my father, him moving all the way across the world through a war, through so many hard times.

You know, it's one of those things, you know, we can't give a feeling to someone else.

And that's kind of, that's really one thing that I've learned quite a bit.

You can't ever give that feeling, but we can understand where the people that came before where they are, and where they're going, and where we're going.

When I first started this season, I thought I was creating a series about poetry.

But honestly, became so much more than that.

Every person we met, every conversation we had, every neighborhood we traveled through added something to this journey.

Some moments were joyful, some were difficult, and some stayed with me long after filming ended.

I think this process really changed the way I see poetry.

It's not just performance of what's written on a page.

Sometimes poetry is memory, sometimes it's survival.

Sometimes it's just in the way people hold on to culture, community, and each other through everything life throws at them.

And across New York City, I saw how deeply connected our stories really are.

This season challenged me, inspired me, and it reminded me how powerful can be when people are given the space to speak honestly about who they are, what they live through.

I'm incredibly grateful to everyone who trusted this series and shared a piece of themselves with us.

And honestly, I feel like we're only getting started.

Next time on The Poet Speaks.

This is The Poet Speaks, a show all about oral tradition.

Now, when I was a little girl, couldn't speak until I was four years old, and I couldn't read and write until I was seven years old.

And what makes poetry so amazing, so incredible, is its absolute fascination and ability to change our lives.

The oral tradition, the reason why we speak, the reason why people need to get their words out.

And what's fantastic about the show, The Poet Speaks, we speak to poets from all around the world.

The ins and outs, right?

Oral tradition, location, environment, culture.

Why is poetry so important?

Poetry, it's everywhere.

In our culture, our food, our reading, our writing, The words of poems can literally create the magic of life.

So are you ready?

Amazing Poetry awaits.

♪ Yeah, want me to be ♪ what they prepared me to be ♪ ♪ Like me better when I was scared to be me ♪ ♪ Ordinarily weak to freedom, ♪ ♪ slow with military to keep ♪ Rewriting blue don't mean ♪ ♪ that you were necessarily free ♪ ♪ Could you stop today and take vacay ♪ ♪ without they critique ♪ ♪ They got you feening for two days ♪ ♪ at the end of the week ♪ We built a system ♪ ♪ where you can't truly speak.. ♪ Say you don't want to work your life away ♪ ♪ They calling you weak, ♪ huh?

♪ But there ain't no life ♪ ♪ when you can't do what you feel ♪ ♪ Feelings the only ♪ ♪ things that make life r.. ♪ Get on my knees, I kneel ♪ ♪ I ask God why he put me here ♪ ♪ In a world that to me don't appeal ♪ ♪ Man, can I be real ♪ ♪ Without this music I don't like it here ♪ ♪ But if you say that s*** out loud ♪ ♪ Looks might get weird, ♪ ♪ they might get scared ♪ So I keep it tightly sealed ♪ ♪Walking around behind ♪ ♪ my smile feeling mighty dead This is "The Poet Speaks."