Well, it was a day Franny got into me, or rather behind me, forcing me out of bed and then after the morning coffee out the door. I had to go hear, she thought, a bunch of kids from 47 Puerto Rican high schools recite from memory a poem in English. The winner of the competition would be sent to Washington DC to represent Puerto Rico in the national competition, which comprises all the fifty states plus the US Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico.
Poetry Out Loud, it’s called, and it was only started in 2006. It got to Puerto Rico in 2008, and there were only eight schools participating. Now, it’s 47, and not just in the metropolitan area—it’s all over the island.
Across the nation, the program, which is sponsored by the National Endowment for the Arts and the Poetry Foundation, draws in 365,000 participants annually. On the island, the program is jointly sponsored by the Department of Education and the Institute of Puerto Rican Culture.
Well, it would be something to see—what would Puerto Rican kids choose to read? Would it differ significantly from the poems gringos chose, or does adolescence carry the day, trump all, shatter the cultural / language barriers.
I was also curious—for many of these kids, English is a second language. How will they navigate Shakespearean English? What about the accent, the intonation? Not for nothing was my mantra “333 jewelry thieves” at Wal-Mart. If you can manage the “th” and the voiced consonants of “V” and “Z” (plus get a good “L” which for many Puerto Ricans is an “R”) you have the basic artillery. But how well can you fire it off?
I’m sorry to say that I can’t completely tell you. The contest was to begin at 9, it actually began at 9:30. A long video from last year’s competition was shown. The Director of the Institute of Puerto Rican Culture was introduced and spoke highly important words about culture (she also, by the way, referred to the contest taking place this morning as the “national” contest and then went on to give her best wishes to the winner who would represent Puerto Rico in the—also—“national” contest. Even poetry is no refuge for ideology….) At this point, we were introduced to the head of the English Department of the Department of Education, who also assured us that culture was important, and then went on to quote a bit of Dickinson—a nice touch.
It was now 10:15, and we had yet to introduce the judges—who came out solemnly as their various academic and professional achievements were listed. So that took some time, since one of them could barely walk, and nearly catapulted down the stairs from the stage.
This left us free to hear the rules of the competition—no pictures with flash, no applause between poems, no cell phones except on vibrate. These rules had to be repeated three times in both English and Spanish, since—well, it’s generally a good idea. We do many things very well in Puerto Rico, but there are times when our zeal, our zest has to be reined in. Otherwise, Mamita will burst onto the stage after her child recites, hug the child, beam at the audience, stand proudly and pose with the child while all 70 uncles / brothers / sisters / aunts / grandparents take pictures and then post on Facebook. Remember—we gotta get out of here by three o’clock.
It took me back, somehow, to the spelling bees that the State Journal used to sponsor. The parents in the audience, nervous for their kids, almost more nervous than the kids themselves. The cameras , the teachers and officials—my own mouth was dry, my palms sweaty, just seeing it.
Well, it was 10:40 by the time the first child stepped foot on stage—with a solid, creditable job of “Alone,” by Edgar Allan Poe. You’ll know it, of course:
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
Well, I understand that—what teenager is not feeling that’s he’s never been as others are? But I was jolted indeed when the next teenager stepped out, and announced that she would recite “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”
Is this real—I thought? Are we all seriously going to sit and listen to “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star?” Somebody is going to start giggling—I had an obvious candidate in mind, and was preparing to dash out the theater—and this kid is gonna be sunk. And what sadistic teacher / mentor suggested this awful choice to this kid? What had she ever done to warrant this? Look, I don’t like kids myself, but neither do I think they should be treated cruelly.
Well, we sat there and took it—we parents and teachers and sibling and interested others. And she got through it, and nobody giggled, and I thought that even on an island where the inexplicable happens with astonishing regularity, I had just seen something wonderfully strange.
It was later, at home, that I wondered—is there something I’ve missed in Twinkle? Are there literary merits, wonderful nuances, subtleties and shades of meaning that I’ve been unaware of? Is it just me?
Well, I looked it up, and if there’s anything there, I can’t find it. But it was a thing to hear, on a Saturday morning in the Santurce sector of San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Alas, it was now close to eleven—I had to get home, eat something, and then go off to the Plaza, to read the portion of 30,000 names allotted for today.
But the handful of kids that I had heard today told me something. There’s a wonderful spirit, a wonderful naturalness in the people, and the kids of Puerto Rico. They were nervous, of course. But something in the air, in the spontaneity, in the emotional lifeblood of Puerto Rico comes through despite the dry mouth, sweaty palms, butterflies in the stomach.
Get ready, DC—you may have a surprise!
