If I should have a daughter, instead of "Mom," she's going to call me "Point B," because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me.
Kad bih ja imala kćer, umjesto Mame, ona će me zvati Točka B, jer na taj način ona zna da bez obzira što se događa, barem ona uvijek može pronaći put do mene.
And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, "Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."
I naslikati ću solarni sustav na pozadini njezinih ruku, tako da mora naučiti cijeli svemir prije nego što može reći, "Oh, znam to poput pozadine svoje ruke."
And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.
I ona će naučiti da će vas ovaj život udariti jako u lice, čekati da ustanete samo kako bi vas mogao udariti u želudac. Ali, prebijajući vas je jedini način da podsjetite pluća koliko ona vole okus zraka. Tu je povreda koja se ne može popraviti flasterom ili poezijom.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming, I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself, because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried. "And, baby," I'll tell her, don't keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I've done it a million times. You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him. But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix. Okay, there's a few that chocolate can't fix.
Tako kad prvi put shvati da Čudesna Žena ne dolazi, pobrinut ću se da ona zna kako ne mora nositi taj plašt sama. Jer bez obzira koliko široko istegnete svoje prste, vaše ruke će uvijek će biti premale da uhvate svu bol koju želite izliječiti. Vjerujte mi, ja sam pokušala. "I, baby," reći ću joj, nemoj tako držati nos u zraku. Znam ja taj trik, ja sam to učinila milijun puta. Ti samo želiš namirisati dim tako da možeš pratiti trag natrag do goruće kuće, kako bi pronašla dječaka koji je izgubio sve u vatri kako bi vidjela možeš li ga spasiti. Ili pronađi dječaka koji je zapalio vatru na prvom mjestu, da vidiš možeš li ga promijeniti." Ali ja znam da će svejedno, pa ću umjesto toga uvijek držati dodatnu opskrbu čokolade i čizmi za kišu u blizini, jer ne postoji slomljeno srce koje čokolada ne može popraviti. U redu, postoji nekoliko slomljenih srca koje čokolada ne može popraviti.
But that's what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything, if you let it. I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me. That there'll be days like this.
Ali to je ono čemu služe čizme za kišu. Jer kiša će isprati sve, ako joj to dopustiš. Želim da gleda na svijet kroz donje staklo na podu broda, da gleda kroz mikroskop galaksije koje postoje na vrhu ljudskog uma, jer to je način kojem me moja mama podučila. Biti će dana poput ovih.
(Singing) There'll be days like this, my momma said. When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.
♫ Biti će dana kao što je ovaj, moja mama je rekla. ♫ Kada otvoriš svoje ruke da uhvatiš i završiš samo sa žuljevima i modricama; kada izađeš iz telefonske govornice i pokušaš letjeti i osobe koje želiš spasiti su one koje ti stoje na plaštu; kada ti se čizme ispune kišom, i biti ćeš do koljena u razočaranju. A to su dani kada imate još više razloga za reći hvala.
Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away. You will put the wind in win some, lose some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
Jer ne postoji ništa ljepše nego način na koji ocean odbija prestati ljubiti obalu, bez obzira koliko puta je odnio. Ti ćeš staviti vjetar u pobjede, izgubiti neke. Ti ćeš staviti zvijezdu i početi isponova i isponova. I bez obzira koliko mina eksplodira u minuti, budi sigurna da tvoj um prizemlji na ljepotu ovog smiješnog mjesta zvanog život. I da, na skali od jedan do nad-povjerljiv, ja sam prilično naivna. No, želim da zna kako je ovaj svijet napravljen od šećera. Može se raspasti tako lako, ali nemoj se bojati staviti svoj jezik van i okusiti ga.
"Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more." Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. Always apologize when you've done something wrong, but don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing. And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.
"Baby", ja ću joj reći, "zapamti, tvoja mama je mučitelj, a tvoj tata je ratnik, a ti si djevojka s malim rukama i velikim očima koja nikada ne prestaje tražiti više." Sjetite se da dobre stvari dolaze u trojkama a ujedno i loše stvari. I uvijek se ispričaj ako si učinila nešto krivo. Ali nikad se nemoj ispričavati za način na koji tvoje oči ne žele prestati sjajiti. Tvoj glas je malen, ali nikada nemoj prestati pjevati. A kada ti napokon uruče srcobolju, kada ti gurnu rat i mržnju ispod vrata i ponude ti brošure na uglovima ulica cinizma i poraza, ti im reci kako bi oni doista trebali upoznati tvoju majku.
(Applause)
Hvala Vam. Hvala Vam.
Thank you. Thank you.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
Thank you.
Hvala Vam.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
Thanks.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
Thank you.
Hvala Vam.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
All right, so I want you to take a moment, and I want you to think of three things that you know to be true. They can be about whatever you want -- technology, entertainment, design, your family, what you had for breakfast. The only rule is don't think too hard. Okay, ready? Go. Okay.
U redu, želim da odvojite trenutak, i želim da razmislite o tri stvari za koje znate da su istinite. One mogu biti o čemu god želite -- tehnologiji, zabavi, dizajnu, vašoj obitelji, ono što ste jeli za doručak. Jedino pravilo je da ne razmišljate previše. U redu, spremni? Krenite. U redu.
So here are three things I know to be true. I know that Jean-Luc Godard was right when he said that, "A good story has a beginning, a middle and an end, although not necessarily in that order." I know that I'm incredibly nervous and excited to be up here, which is greatly inhibiting my ability to keep it cool.
Dakle, ovo su tri stvari za koje ja znam da su istinite. Znam da je Jean-Luc Godard bio u pravu kada je rekao da "dobra priča ima početak, sredinu i kraj, iako ne nužno u tom redoslijedu." Znam da sam nevjerojatno nervozna i uzbuđena što sam ovdje, što uvelike inhibira moje sposobnosti da zadržim smirenost.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
And I know that I have been waiting all week to tell this joke.
I znam kako sam čekala cijeli tjedan da kažem ovu šalu.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
Why was the scarecrow invited to TED? Because he was out standing in his field.
Zašto je strašilo pozvano na TED? Zato jer je stajao vani u svom polju.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
I'm sorry. Okay, so these are three things I know to be true. But there are plenty of things I have trouble understanding. So I write poems to figure things out. Sometimes the only way I know how to work through something is by writing a poem. Sometimes I get to the end of the poem, look back and go, "Oh, that's what this is all about," and sometimes I get to the end of the poem and haven't solved anything, but at least I have a new poem out of it.
Žao mi je. U redu, to su tri stvari za koje znam da su istinite. No, postoji mnogo stvari koje ne mogu razmumijeti. Stoga pišem pjesme kako bih ih dokučila. Ponekad, jedini način na koji mogu nešto dokučiti je pišući pjesme. I ponekad dođem do kraja pjesme i osvrnem se i kažem, "Oh, o tome je zapravo riječ." I ponekad dođem do kraja pjesme i nisam ništa riješila, ali barem sam dobila novu pjesmu.
Spoken-word poetry is the art of performance poetry. I tell people it involves creating poetry that doesn't just want to sit on paper, that something about it demands it be heard out loud or witnessed in person.
Poezija izgovorene riječi je umjetnost izvedbene poezije. Govorim ljudima kako to uključuje stvaranje poezije koja ne želi samo sjediti na papiru, da nešto u svemu tome zahtijeva da se čuje glasno ili svjedoči uživo.
When I was a freshman in high school, I was a live wire of nervous hormones. And I was underdeveloped and over-excitable. And despite my fear of ever being looked at for too long, I was fascinated by the idea of spoken-word poetry. I felt that my two secret loves, poetry and theater, had come together, had a baby, a baby I needed to get to know. So I decided to give it a try. My first spoken-word poem, packed with all the wisdom of a 14-year-old, was about the injustice of being seen as unfeminine. The poem was very indignant, and mainly exaggerated, but the only spoken-word poetry that I had seen up until that point was mainly indignant, so I thought that's what was expected of me.
Kad sam bila brucošica u srednjoj školi, Bila sam užarena žica živčanih hormona. I bila sam nerazvijena i lako uzbudljiva. I usprkos mom strahu da me se ikada gleda predugo, bila sam fascinirana idejom poezije izgovorene riječi. Osjećala sam da su se moje dvije tajne ljubavi, poezija i kazalište, spojile, imale dijete, dijete koje sam ja trebala upoznati. Stoga sam odlučila probati. Moja prva pjesma izgovorene riječi, upakirana sa svim mudrostima 14-godišnjakinje, je bila o nepravdi biti viđenom kao neženstvenom. Pjesma je bila vrlo ogorčena, i uglavnom pretjerana, ali jedina poezija izgovorene riječi koju sam vidjela do tada je bila uglavnom ogorčena, pa sam mislila da je to ono što se očekuje od mene.
The first time that I performed, the audience of teenagers hooted and hollered their sympathy, and when I came off the stage, I was shaking. I felt this tap on my shoulder, and I turned around to see this giant girl in a hoodie sweatshirt emerge from the crowd. She was maybe eight feet tall and looked like she could beat me up with one hand, but instead she just nodded at me and said, "Hey, I really felt that. Thanks." And lightning struck. I was hooked.
Prvi put kada sam nastupala publika tinejdžera je uzvikivala svoje simpatije, a kad sam sišla s pozornice ja sam drhtala. Osjetila sam tapšanje po ramenu, i okrenula sam se da vidim tu ogromnu djevojku u majici s kapuljačom kako je isplivala iz gužve. Ona je možda bila dva i pol metara visoka i izgledala je kao da me može pretući samo s jednom rukom, ali umjesto toga ona je samo klimnula glavom i rekla, "Hej, stvarno sam osjetila to. Hvala." I kao da me grom pogodio. Bila sam zakačena.
I discovered this bar on Manhattan's Lower East Side that hosted a weekly poetry open Mic, and my bewildered, but supportive, parents took me to soak in every ounce of spoken word that I could. I was the youngest by at least a decade, but somehow the poets at the Bowery Poetry Club didn't seem bothered by the 14-year-old wandering about. In fact, they welcomed me.
Otkrila sam taj bar na Lower East Side Manhattana koji je održavao tjedne večeri poezije, i moji zbunjeni, ali podržavajući, roditelji su me poveli kako bih upijala svaku uncu izgovorene riječi koju sam mogla. Bila sam najmlađa za najmanje deset godina, ali nekako pjesnicima u Bowery Klubu Poezije nije smetalo to što se 14-godišnjakinja mota okolo -- zapravo, oni su me primili.
And it was here, listening to these poets share their stories, that I learned that spoken-word poetry didn't have to be indignant, it could be fun or painful or serious or silly. The Bowery Poetry Club became my classroom and my home, and the poets who performed encouraged me to share my stories as well. Never mind the fact that I was 14. They told me, "Write about being 14." So I did and stood amazed every week when these brilliant, grown-up poets laughed with me and groaned their sympathy and clapped and told me, "Hey, I really felt that too."
I to je bilo ovdje, slušajući ove pjesnike kako dijele svoje priče gdje sam saznala da poezija izgovorene riječi ne mora biti puna gorčine, već može biti zabavna ili bolna ili ozbiljna ili glupa. Poetski Klub Bowery je postao moj razred i moj dom. A pjesnici koji su nastupali su me poticali da podijelim svoje priče isto tako. Nema veze što mi je bilo 14 -- oni su mi rekli, "Piši o tome što imaš 14 godina." Tako sam i napravila i svaki tjedan ostajala zadivljena kada su se ti briljantni, odrasli pjesnici smijali sa mnom i stenjali sućut i pljeskali mi i rekli mi: "Hej, stvarno sam osjetio to."
Now I can divide my spoken-word journey into three steps. Step one was the moment I said, "I can. I can do this." And that was thanks to a girl in a hoodie. Step two was the moment I said, "I will. I will continue. I love spoken word. I will keep coming back week after week." And step three began when I realized I didn't have to write indignant poems, if that's not what I was. There were things that were specific to me, and the more that I focused on those things, the weirder my poetry got, but the more that it felt like mine. It's not just the adage "Write what you know." It's about gathering up all of the knowledge and experience you've collected up to now to help you dive into the things you don't know. I use poetry to help me work through what I don't understand, but I show up to each new poem with a backpack full of everywhere else that I've been.
Sada mogu podijeliti svoje putovanje izgovorene riječi u tri koraka. Korak jedan je bio trenutak kada sam rekla, "Ja mogu. Ja mogu to učiniti." A to je bilo zahvaljujući djevojci u majici s kapuljačom. Drugi korak je bio trenutak kada sam rekla, "Hoću. Nastavit ću. Volim izgovorenu riječ. Vraćat ću se ovdje svaki tjedan." A treći korak je počeo kada sam shvatila da nisam trebala pisati pjesme koje su pune gorčine, ako to nije ono što sam ja. Bilo je stvari koje su specifične za mene, i što sam se više usredotočila na te stvari, čudniju bih poeziju dobila, ali onu koja je više nalik meni. To nije samo poslovica "napišite što znate," riječ je o skupljanju svog znanja i iskustva koje ste prikupili do sada kako bi vam pomoglo da zaronite u stvari koje ne znate. Koristim poeziju da mi pomogne da idem kroz ono što ne razumijem, ali pojavim se pred svakom novom pjesmom s ruksakom punim svih drugih mjesta gdje sam bila.
When I got to university, I met a fellow poet who shared my belief in the magic of spoken-word poetry. And actually, Phil Kaye and I coincidentally also share the same last name. When I was in high school I had created Project V.O.I.C.E. as a way to encourage my friends to do spoken word with me. But Phil and I decided to reinvent Project V.O.I.C.E., this time changing the mission to using spoken-word poetry as a way to entertain, educate and inspire. We stayed full-time students, but in between we traveled, performing and teaching nine-year-olds to MFA candidates, from California to Indiana to India to a public high school just up the street from campus.
Kada sam došla na sveučilište, upoznala sam kolegu pjesnika koji dijeli moje vjerovanje u magiju poezije izgovorene riječi. I zapravo, Phil Kaye i ja slučajno također dijelimo isto prezime. Dok sam bila u srednjoj školi kreirala sam Project V.O.I.C.E. kao način da potaknem svoje prijatelje da se uključe u poeziju sa mnom. No, Phil i ja smo odlučili da ponovno izumimo projekt V.O.I.C.E. -- ovaj put mijenjajući misiju na korištenje poezije izgovorene riječi kao način zabave, educiranja i nadahnuća. Ostali smo redovni studenti, no između smo putovali, nastupali i podučavali od devetogodišnjaka do MFA kandidata, od Kalifornije do Indiane do Indije do državne srednje škole samo jednu ulicu dalje od kampusa.
And we saw over and over the way that spoken-word poetry cracks open locks. But it turns out sometimes, poetry can be really scary. Turns out sometimes, you have to trick teenagers into writing poetry. So I came up with lists. Everyone can write lists. And the first list that I assign is "10 Things I Know to be True." And here's what happens, you would discover it too if we all started sharing our lists out loud. At a certain point, you would realize that someone has the exact same thing, or one thing very similar, to something on your list. And then someone else has something the complete opposite of yours. Third, someone has something you've never even heard of before. Fourth, someone has something you thought you knew everything about, but they're introducing a new angle of looking at it. And I tell people that this is where great stories start from -- these four intersections of what you're passionate about and what others might be invested in.
I vidjeli smo iznova i iznova kako poezija izgovorene riječi otvara brave. No, ispostavilo se ponekad, poezija može biti jako zastrašujuća. Ispada da ponekad, morate zavarati tinejdžere u pisanje poezije. Tako sam došla do popisa. Svatko može pisati popise. I prvi popis koji dodijeljujem je "10 Stvari za koje znam da su istinite." I ovo se događa, a ovo je nešto što ćete i vi otkriti kad bi svi počeli dijeliti naše popise naglas. U određenom trenutku, shvatili biste da netko ima točno istu stvar, ili jednu stvar vrlo sličnu, nečemu na vašem popisu. A onda netko drugi ima nešto potpuno suprotno od vašeg. Treće, netko ima nešto što nikad prije niste ni čuli. I četvrto, netko ima nešto o čemu ste mislili da znate sve, ali oni uvode novi kut gledanja na to. A ja kažem ljudima da je to gdje velike priče počinju -- ova četiri raskrižja vaših strasti i onoga u što su drugi možda uložili.
And most people respond really well to this exercise. But one of my students, a freshman named Charlotte, was not convinced. Charlotte was very good at writing lists, but she refused to write any poems. "Miss," she'd say, "I'm just not interesting. I don't have anything interesting to say." So I assigned her list after list, and one day I assigned the list "10 Things I Should Have Learned by Now." Number three on Charlotte's list was, "I should have learned not to crush on guys three times my age." I asked her what that meant, and she said, "Miss, it's kind of a long story." And I said, "Charlotte, it sounds pretty interesting to me." And so she wrote her first poem, a love poem unlike any I had ever heard before. And the poem began, "Anderson Cooper is a gorgeous man."
I većina ljudi reagira jako dobro na ovu vježbu. No, jedna od mojih učenica, brucošica Charlotte, nije bila uvjerena. Charlotte je bila jako dobra u pisanju lista, ali je odbila napisati bilo koju pjesmu. "Gospođice", rekla bi, "Ja nisam zanimljiva. Nemam ništa zanimljivo za reći." Tako sam joj dodijelila popis za popisom, i jedan dan sam dodijelila popis "10 stvari koje sam trebao naučiti do sada." Broj tri na Charlottinom popisu je bio, "Trebala sam naučiti da se ne zaljubljujem u dečke tri puta starije od mene." Pitala sam je što to znači, i ona reče, "Gospođice, to je duga priča." A ja sam rekla, "Charlotte, to mi zvuči prilično zanimljivo." I tako je napisala svoju prvu pjesmu, ljubavnu pjesmu nimalo nalik na nešto što sam čula već otprije. A pjesma je počela, "Anderson Cooper je prekrasan muškarac."
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
"Did you see him on 60 Minutes, racing Michael Phelps in a pool -- nothing but swim trunks on -- diving in the water, determined to beat this swimming champion? After the race, he tossed his wet, cloud-white hair and said, 'You're a god.' No, Anderson, you're the god."
"Jeste li ga vidjeli na 60 minuta, kako se utrkuje s Michaelom Phelpsom u bazenu -- ništa osim plivaćih gaća na njemu -- zaranja u vodu, odlučan da pobijedi ovog plivačkog prvaka? Nakon utrke, on je bacio svoju mokru, bijelu kosu poput oblaka i rekao, 'Ti si bog.' Ne, Anderson, ti si bog."
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
Now, I know that the number one rule to being cool is to seem unfazed, to never admit that anything scares you or impresses you or excites you. Somebody once told me it's like walking through life like this. You protect yourself from all the unexpected miseries or hurt that might show up. But I try to walk through life like this. And yes, that means catching all of those miseries and hurt, but it also means that when beautiful, amazing things just fall out of the sky, I'm ready to catch them. I use spoken word to help my students rediscover wonder, to fight their instincts to be cool and unfazed and, instead, actively pursue being engaged with what goes on around them, so that they can reinterpret and create something from it.
Sada znam da je pravilo broj jedan za smirenost činiti se nedodirljivim, nikada ne priznati da vas bilo što plaši ili vas impresionira ili vas uzbuđuje. Netko mi je jednom rekao da je to kao hodanje kroz život ovako. Možete se zaštititi od svih neočekivanih jadi ili boli koje bi se mogle prikazati. Ali ja pokušavam hodati kroz život ovako. I da, to znači hvatanje sve one bijede i boli, ali to također znači da, kada lijepe, nevjerojatne stvari padaju s neba, ja sam ih spremna uhvatiti. Koristim izgovorenu riječ kako bih pomogla svojim učenicima otkriti čudo, da se bore protiv svojih instinkta da budu smireni i nedodirljivi i, umjesto toga, da aktivno slijede ono što se događa oko njih, tako da oni mogu reinterpretirati i napraviti nešto od toga.
It's not that I think that spoken-word poetry is the ideal art form. I'm always trying to find the best way to tell each story. I write musicals; I make short films alongside my poems. But I teach spoken-word poetry because it's accessible. Not everyone can read music or owns a camera, but everyone can communicate in some way, and everyone has stories that the rest of us can learn from. Plus, spoken-word poetry allows for immediate connection. It's not uncommon to feel like you're alone or that nobody understands you, but spoken word teaches that if you have the ability to express yourself and the courage to present those stories and opinions, you could be rewarded with a room full of your peers, or your community, who will listen. And maybe even a giant girl in a hoodie who will connect with what you've shared. And that is an amazing realization to have, especially when you're 14. Plus, now with YouTube, that connection's not even limited to the room we're in. I'm so lucky that there's this archive of performances that I can share with my students. It allows for even more opportunities for them to find a poet or a poem that they connect to.
Nije da mislim kako je poezija izgovorene riječi idealan oblik umjetnosti. Uvijek pokušavam pronaći najbolji način da ispričam svaku priču. Pišem mjuzikle, snimam kratke filmove uz svoje pjesme. Ali ja podučavam poeziju izgovorene riječi zato što je dostupna. Ne može svatko čitati glazbu ili posjedovati kameru, ali svatko može komunicirati na neki način, i svatko ima priče iz kojih ostatak nas može učiti. Plus, poezija izgovorene riječi omogućuje neposrednu povezanost. Nije neuobičajeno za ljude da se osjećaju da su sami ili da ih nitko ne razumije, ali izgovorena riječ uči da, ako imate mogućnost izraziti sebe i hrabrost da prezentirate te priče i mišljenja, mogli biste biti nagrađeni sobom punom svojih vršnjaka, ili svoje zajednice, koji će slušati. A možda će se čak i ogromna djevojka u majici s kapuljačom povezati s onim što ste podijelili. I to je nevjerojatna realizacija koju možete posjedovati, pogotovo kada vam je 14 godina. Plus, sada sa YouTube-om, te veze nisu ograničene samo na prostorije u kojima se nalazimo. Ja sam tako sretna što postoji ova arhiva nastupa koje mogu podijeliti sa svojim učenicima. To im omogućava još više mogućnosti da pronađu pjesnika ili pjesmu
Once you've figured this out,
s kojom se mogu spojiti.
it is tempting to keep writing the same poem, or keep telling the same story, over and over, once you've figured out that it will gain you applause. It's not enough to just teach that you can express yourself. You have to grow and explore and take risks and challenge yourself. And that is step three: infusing the work you're doing with the specific things that make you you, even while those things are always changing. Because step three never ends. But you don't get to start on step three, until you take step one first: "I can."
To je primamljivo -- nakon što ste jednom to prokužili -- primamljivo je nastaviti pisati istu pjesmu, ili nastaviti pričati istu priču, iznova i iznova, nakon što ste shvatili da ćete dobiti pljesak. Nije dovoljno samo učiti da se možete izraziti; morate rasti i istraživati i poduzimati rizike i izazivati sami sebe. I to je treći korak: ulijevajući u posao koji radite određene stvari koje čine vas, čak i kada se te stvari neprestano mijenjaju. Jer treći korak nikada ne završava. Ali ne možete početi s trećim korakom, sve dok ne učinite prvi korak: ja mogu. Putujem puno dok podučavam,
I travel a lot while I'm teaching, and I don't always get to watch all of my students reach their step three, but I was very lucky with Charlotte, that I got to watch her journey unfold the way it did. I watched her realize that, by putting the things that she knows to be true into the work she's doing, she can create poems that only Charlotte can write, about eyeballs and elevators and Dora the Explorer. And I'm trying to tell stories only I can tell -- like this story. I spent a lot of time thinking about the best way to tell this story, and I wondered if the best way was going to be a PowerPoint, a short film -- And where exactly was the beginning, the middle or the end? I wondered whether I'd get to the end of this talk and finally have figured it all out, or not.
i ne vidim uvijek sve svoje učenike kako dođu do trećeg koraka, ali imala sam sreću sa Charlotte, što sam mogla vidjeti kako se njezino putovanje otvara. Vidjela sam kako shvaća da, stavljajući stvari za koje koje ona zna da su istinite u svoje radove, ona može stvoriti pjesme koje samo Charlotte može napisati -- o očima i dizalima i Dori Explorer. I ja pokušavam ispričati priče koje samo ja mogu ispričati -- poput ove priče. Provela sam puno vremena razmišljajući o najboljem načinu za ispričati ovu priču, i pitala sam se da li je najbolji način PowerPoint ili kratki film -- i gdje je točno početak ili sredina ili kraj? I pitala sam se hoću li doći do kraja ovog govora i napokon shvatiti sve, ili ne.
And I always thought that my beginning was at the Bowery Poetry Club, but it's possible that it was much earlier. In preparing for TED, I discovered this diary page in an old journal. I think December 54th was probably supposed to be 24th. It's clear that when I was a child, I definitely walked through life like this. I think that we all did. I would like to help others rediscover that wonder -- to want to engage with it, to want to learn, to want to share what they've learned, what they've figured out to be true and what they're still figuring out.
I uvijek sam mislila kako je moj početak bio u Klubu Poezije, ali moguće je da je to bilo mnogo ranije. U pripremi za TED, Otkrila sam ovu stranicu dnevnika u staroj bilježnici. Mislim da je prosinac 54. vjerojatno trebao biti 24. Jasno je da kad sam bila dijete, da sam definitivno išla kroz život ovako. Mislim da smo svi to radili. Htjela bih pomoći drugima da otkriju to čudo -- da žele surađivati s njim, da žele učiti, da žele podijeliti ono što su naučili, ono što su shvatili da je istinito i ono što još uvijek dokučuju.
So I'd like to close with this poem.
Stoga bih htjela završiti s ovom pjesmom.
When they bombed Hiroshima, the explosion formed a mini-supernova, so every living animal, human or plant that received direct contact with the rays from that sun was instantly turned to ash. And what was left of the city soon followed. The long-lasting damage of nuclear radiation caused an entire city and its population to turn into powder. When I was born, my mom says I looked around the whole hospital room with a stare that said, "This? I've done this before." She says I have old eyes. When my Grandpa Genji died, I was only five years old, but I took my mom by the hand and told her, "Don't worry, he'll come back as a baby." And yet, for someone who's apparently done this already, I still haven't figured anything out yet. My knees still buckle every time I get on a stage. My self-confidence can be measured out in teaspoons mixed into my poetry, and it still always tastes funny in my mouth. But in Hiroshima, some people were wiped clean away, leaving only a wristwatch or a diary page. So no matter that I have inhibitions to fill all my pockets, I keep trying, hoping that one day I'll write a poem I can be proud to let sit in a museum exhibit as the only proof I existed. My parents named me Sarah, which is a biblical name. In the original story, God told Sarah she could do something impossible, and -- she laughed, because the first Sarah, she didn't know what to do with impossible. And me? Well, neither do I, but I see the impossible every day. Impossible is trying to connect in this world, trying to hold onto others while things are blowing up around you, knowing that while you're speaking, they aren't just waiting for their turn to talk -- they hear you. They feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it. It's what I strive for every time I open my mouth -- that impossible connection. There's this piece of wall in Hiroshima that was completely burnt black by the radiation. But on the front step, a person who was sitting there blocked the rays from hitting the stone. The only thing left now is a permanent shadow of positive light. After the A-bomb, specialists said it would take 75 years for the radiation-damaged soil of Hiroshima City to ever grow anything again. But that spring, there were new buds popping up from the earth. When I meet you, in that moment, I'm no longer a part of your future. I start quickly becoming part of your past. But in that instant, I get to share your present. And you, you get to share mine. And that is the greatest present of all. So if you tell me I can do the impossible -- I'll probably laugh at you. I don't know if I can change the world yet, because I don't know that much about it -- and I don't know that much about reincarnation either, but if you make me laugh hard enough, sometimes I forget what century I'm in. This isn't my first time here. This isn't my last time here. These aren't the last words I'll share. But just in case, I'm trying my hardest to get it right this time around.
Kad su bombardirali Hirošimu, eksplozija je formirala mini-supernovu, tako da je svaka živuća životinja, čovjek ili biljka koji su bili u izravnom kontaktu sa zrakama iz tog sunca pretvorena u pepeo. A ono što je ostalo od grada je ubrzo uslijedilo. Dugotrajna oštećenja od nuklearnog zračenja cijeli grad i njegovo stanovništvo pretvorila su u prah. Kada sam se rodila, moja mama kaže da sam gledala po cijeloj bolničkoj sobi s pogledom koji je rekao, "To? To sam već učinila." Ona kaže da imam stare oči. Kad je moj djed Genji umro, bilo mi je samo pet godina, ali sam uzela ruku svoje mame i rekla joj, "Ne brini, on će se vratiti kao dijete." Pa ipak, za nekoga tko je navodno to već učinio, ja još uvijek nisam ništa shvatila. Moja koljena se još uvijek tresu svaki put kad se popnem na pozornicu. Moje samopouzdanje se može mjeriti u žličicama pomiješanim u moju poeziju, i to još uvijek ima čudan okus u mojim ustima. No, u Hirošimi, neki ljudi su odmah izbrisani, ostavljajući samo ručni sat ili stranicu dnevnika. Dakle, bez obzira što imam inhibicije ispuniti sve svoje džepove, trudim se, u nadi da ću jednog dana napisati pjesmu za koju mogu biti ponosna što sjedi u izložbi muzeja kao jedini dokaz da sam postojala. Moji roditelji su me nazvali Sara, što je biblijsko ime. U originalnoj priči Bog je rekao Sari da ona može učiniti nešto nemoguće i ona se smijala, jer prva Sara, nije znala što učiniti s nemogućim. A ja? Pa, ni ja, ali vidim nemoguće svaki dan. Nemoguće se pokušava povezati u ovom svijetu, pokušava se držati za druge stvari dok se sve oko vas diže u zrak, znajući da dok govorite, one ne čekaju samo na svoj red da pričaju -- one vas čuju. One osjećaju upravo ono što vi osjećate u isto vrijeme dok vi to osjećate. To je ono čemu težim svaki put kada otvorim usta -- toj nemogućoj povezanosti. Postoji komad zida u Hirošimi koji je u potpunosti pocrnio od zračenja. No, na prednjoj strani, osoba koja je sjedila tamo je blokirala zrake od udaranja u zid. Jedina stvar koja je ostala sada je stalna sjena pozitivnog svjetla. Nakon A bombe, stručnjaci su rekli kako će biti potrebno 75 godina da na radijacijom uništenom tlu Grada HIroshime ikada išta izraste. Ali to proljeće, novi pupoljci su nicali iz zemlje. Kada te sretnem, u tom trenutku, ja više nisam dio tvoje budućnosti. Brzo postajem dio tvoje prošlosti. No, u tom trenutku, dijelim tvoju sadašnjost. A ti, ti dijeliš moju. A to je najveći dar od svih. Dakle, ako mi kažeš da ja mogu učiniti nemoguće, vjerojatno ću ti se smijati. Ne znam ako ja mogu promijeniti svijet, još, jer ja ne znam toliko o tome -- i ne znam toliko o reinkarnaciji isto tako, ali ako me nasmiješ dovoljno jako, ponekad zaboravim u kojem sam stoljeću. Ovo nije moj prvi put ovdje. Ovo nije moj posljednji put ovdje. To nisu posljednje riječi koje ću podijeliti. Ali za svaki slučaj, trudim se najviše što mogu kako bih sve učinila pravilno ovaj put.
Thank you.
Hvala Vam.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
Thank you.
(Applause)
Hvala Vam.
Thank you.
(Pljesak)
(Applause)
Hvala Vam.
Thank you.
(Pljesak)
(Applause)