Here is the text of Gorman’s poem, “The Hill We Climb,” in full.
When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.
We braved the belly of the beast.
We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice.
And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.
Somehow we do it.
Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished.
We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.
And, yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge our union with purpose.
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.
And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.
We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.
We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true.
That even as we grieved, we grew.
That even as we hurt, we hoped.
That even as we tired, we tried.
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid.
If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.
That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.
It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.
It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it.
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
And this effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated.
In this truth, in this faith we trust, for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption.
We feared at its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour.
But within it we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?
We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free.
We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation, become the future.
Our blunders become their burdens.
But one thing is certain.
If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.
So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.
Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.
We will rise from the golden hills of the West.
We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution.
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.
We will rise from the sun-baked South.
We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.
And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade of flame and unafraid.
The new dawn balloons as we free it.
For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.
N.B.
"The acclaimed author Marieke Lucas Rijneveld has pulled out of translating Amanda Gorman’s poetry into Dutch, after their publisher was criticised for picking a writer for the role who was not also Black.
Dutch publisher Meulenhoff had announced Rijneveld, winner of the International Booker prize, as the translator of the Joe Biden inaugural poet’s forthcoming collection, The Hill We Climb, last week. But the move quickly drew opprobrium. Journalist and activist Janice Deul led critics with a piece in Volkskrant asking why Meulenhoff had not chosen a translator who was, like Gorman, a “spoken-word artist, young, female and unapologetically Black”.
“An incomprehensible choice, in my view and that of many others who expressed their pain, frustration, anger and disappointment via social media,” wrote Deul. “Isn’t it – to say the least – a missed opportunity to [have hired] Marieke Lucas Rijneveld for this job?
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I discussed this with Mario and Anna on Facebook in P2P Research Clusters
*me
Still I can understand. It is not a matter of getting under the skin but of being in that skin and live (even a short life) involved in it.
*he
Being in that skin" makes sense as ONE of the criteria, but putting it alone on an altar as it seems to be in this case can quickly get ridiculous, or at least feasible only in a few cases. If competence is equal OK, sure give the job to someone "in the same skin". But if that is not the case, give me a translator with a proven record of doing a good job, over one with less experience but the "same skin" every day, otherwise the chances that I will miss what the original author meant are much greater.
Reasoning like that, only 90+ old translators should be chosen to translate memories of WWII, even if there is plenty of younger translators that are much better.
*me
That is not what I meant. If you watch Amanda recite her poem, you should realize that none but a darkskinned female translater could be able to translate this.
As a matter of fact, dutch young women without a bronzeskin experience will not be able to capture the past and present of her words, will not feel the passion, the desesperation and the tremendous hope for a better future of this amazing poet who picked up more than 200 years and miracously turned them in these wonderful, hopeful words.
It should not even be translated!
But if it is, it must be by a young "black" woman.
Translating is not just finding other beautiful words.
It is getting into the skin, a dark skin in this case.
me
I'll give you another example.
The one of the skinny dietist and the overweight woman that I am.
She tells me how I should be. But she has never been in "my skin".
She refers to herself as a super healthy sportive woman. But so am I.
She will never understand what it is to be treated like stupid because fat, she has not been overweight in her life.
Now if I as an overweight nurse help my patients to loose some weight from my point of view, knowing how hard that is, it is easier to accept for them and to understand. To feel.
And if you don't believe me ask Oprah.
he
I do NOT argue that translations done by "similar" people can be the best ones. I just find extremely hard to believe that they can be the only way to get a decent translation. If this were true, everybody could really understand and enjoy, learn from... only stuff written by similar people. Regardless of language, translation isn't even the issue anymore. If I surely can't really grasp what someone of a different age bracket, gender, etc... says, why read or communicate at all?
me
you still don't understand what I mean. I guess that it is because you only read words.
she
I think the point really is, that there is only one job like this. And as a possible spring board, you would hope that it could be given to a translator that can translate in a whole perspective, of nuances, and words. Every good translator would be able to do this, but not every good translator can bring another development to the journey. Employing a young black Dutch translator could be a development.
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Gavi Mensch, Middelburg: 2-3-2021
Dit artikel van dr. Mercola is een vertaling van ‘Chinese Defector Reveals COVID Origin’ Er is ‘iets’ gecreëerd in een lab in China. Moeten we het een virus noemen, of een wapen…?
