Library of Congress's Blog, page 86

John W. Kluge Prize: Drew Gilpin Faust and the Case for the Humanities

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Drew Gilpin Faust. Photo by Stephanie Mitchell/Harvard University.

On Wednesday, Sept. 12, Drew Gilpin Faust – historian, former Harvard University president and author of the Bancroft Prize-winning book “This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War” – will accept the John W. Kluge Prize for Achievement in the Study of Humanity.

The $1 million Kluge Prize, bestowed through the generosity of the late John W. Kluge, recognizes individuals whose outstanding scholarship in the humanities and social sciences has shaped public affairs and civil society. Administered by the John W. Kluge Center at the Library of Congress, the international prize highlights the value of researchers who communicate not only within the scholarly community but also beyond it.

In accepting the prize, Faust will speak about the importance of the humanities, the challenges facing college and university campuses today and questions that have motivated her scholarly work.

Watch the livestream of Faust’s address at loc.gov or on YouTube.

Read an interview with Faust following announcement of the award here.

This Day in History: Deadliest Hurricane Ever Strikes Galveston

A little more than a year ago, Hurricane Harvey hit the Texas coast as a category 4 storm, bringing damaging rain and flooding. Less than a month later, Hurricane Maria struck Puerto Rico with heavy downpours and sustained winds of 155 miles an hour – only two miles an hour shy of a category 5 hurricane. Today, people in both Texas and Puerto Rico continue to grapple with the aftermath of the storms.

More than a century earlier, before satellites and intricate computer modeling detected impending storms, residents of Galveston, Texas – then the state’s largest city – were caught almost completely by surprise by a category 4 hurricane.

The most lethal weather disaster in U.S. history, the hurricane hurtled into the city on September 8, 1900, with devastating results: an estimated 8,000 people died, and the city was leveled, never to recover its former status. Before the hurricane, the fast-developing port city was seen as a potential rival to New Orleans or San Francisco.

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A news photo showing the aftermath of the 1900 Galveston hurricane.

I first learned about the hurricane when I wrote about the Library’s digitization of historical Sanborn fire insurance maps. Created to help insurers estimate fire hazards, Sanborn maps document details such as street names and widths and the location of public buildings, churches, businesses and dwellings. As an example of how researchers use the maps today, a colleague in the Geography and Map Division mentioned to me that Erik Larson, author of the 1999 best-seller “Isaac’s Storm: A Man, A Time and the Deadliest Hurricane in History,” consulted an 1899 Sanborn map of Galveston to reconstruct what the city was like when the hurricane struck. The map is one of many Library resources that offer a glimpse of the storm’s scale and human cost.

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1899 Sanborn map of Galveston showing the city’s layout before the hurricane.

Today, the National Weather Service uses intricate computer modeling, a network of ground- and ocean-based sensors, satellites and hurricane-hunter aircraft to predict the tracks of hurricanes and their intensity. In 1900, the situation was very different. Meteorology was an emerging science, and the Texas Section of the new U.S. Weather Bureau had opened only nine years before.

The bureau’s Washington, D.C., office sent a telegram to Isaac Cline, Galveston’s chief local forecaster, on September 7, warning only of a tropical storm in the Gulf of Mexico that was moving slowly northwest and likely to cause high winds and heavy rain, recounts Erik Larson in “Isaac’s Storm.”

By the morning of September 8, however, worrisome signs caught Cline’s attention: when seawater started washing onto streets bordering the Gulf, he alerted Washington that “such high water with opposing winds” had never before been seen. Still, unsuspecting residents welcomed the storm’s early stages. Children navigated the rising water in homemade rafts, and hundreds of people went down to beach to watch the spectacular surf.

By the time everyone realized the storm’s danger – it roared ashore late in the day, bringing winds of more than 120 miles an hour – it was too late to do anything. Larson envisions initial devastation around 6:30 p.m.:

The sea had erected an escarpment of wreckage three stories tall and several miles long. It contained homes and parts of homes and rooftops that floated like the hulls of dismasted ships; it carried landaus, buggies, pianos, privies, red-plush portieres, prisms, photographs, wicker seat-bottoms, and of course corpses, hundreds of them.

Isaac Cline had built his house, three blocks north of the Gulf, on stilts to withstand extreme weather. But the hurricane’s severe winds and rising waters – the storm surge exceeded 15 feet – were too much. When the house collapsed, Cline, his three daughters and his brother survived by clinging to floating wreckage; Cline’s wife, pregnant with their fourth child, drowned.

As word of the devastation spread, people from outside started arriving to help, among them Clara Barton, famed Civil War nurse and American Red Cross founder. Larson consulted her papers at the Library to tell the story of the storm’s aftermath. “Destruction here is beyond human conception of those who have not seen it,” Barton wrote in a September 19, 1900, telegram.

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Two women search through wreckage.

To document the storm’s effects, Thomas Edison’s film company sent a team of photographers. “Arriving at the scene of desolation shortly after the storm had swept over that city, our party succeeded, at the risk of life and limb, in taking about a thousand feet of moving pictures,” Edison’s film catalog reads. One film depicts the Galveston Orphan’s Home. Although badly damaged, it fared better than Saint Mary’s Orphan Asylum, located just off the Gulf, where dozens of children and their caretakers died.

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In other documentation, the Library’s Prints and Photographs Division has dozens of photographs from different sources showing the storm’s destruction.

Not surprisingly, newspapers covered the hurricane in great detail. Check out a sampling of accounts in the Library’s collection.

On a more hopeful note, the Library also has photographs of the reinforced concrete seawall built after the hurricane to protect Galveston. Seventeen-feet high and initially more than three miles long – it now extends over 10 miles – the seawall has helped to repel Gulf winds and water for more than a century now, reducing damage from the many hurricanes that have struck Galveston since the great storm of 1900.

Today, the city’s Strand – its historical warehouse and commercial trade district, rescued and rebuilt behind the seawall – is a National Historic Landmark and a favorite destination of tourists from around the world.

Pic of the Week: National Book Festival Draws Tens of Thousands

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Librarian of Congress Carla Hayden (left) interviewed U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor on the Main stage of the National Book Festival on Sept. 1. Photo by Shawn Miller.

Crowds of book lovers happily took time out last Saturday from the holiday weekend to celebrate books at the Library of Congress’ 18th National Book Festival.

Held in the Washington, D.C., Convention Center, the festival featured more than 100 authors of books of all kinds – presidential histories, memoirs, graphic novels, spy thrillers, illustrated children’s stories, popular science, poetry and more. Thousands more watched the festival’s Main stage streamed live on the Library’s Facebook page.

Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor was among the featured authors. She launched two new books for young readers at the festival: “The Beloved World of Sonia Sotomayor,” a middle-school adaptation of her best-selling memoir, and “Turning Pages: My Life Story,” a children’s picture book published simultaneously in English and Spanish.

Scroll down to view other photographs from the festival. And mark your calendars for next year: the 19th National Book Festival will take place on Aug. 31, 2019!

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Librarian of Congress Carla Hayden casts a spell on a Harry Potter fan. Photo by Shawn Miller.

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Family-friendly activities are a festival mainstay. Photo by David Rice.

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Authors sign books for long lines of fans at the festival. Here, Kirk Savage signs one of his. Photo by Claire Gardiner.

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Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith (center) and former Poet Laureate Robert Hass talk with moderator Anya Creightney about the unique role of the nation’s official poet. Photo by Kimberly Powell.

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Volunteers roll book festival posters. Photo by Shawn Miller.

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Children can choose from activities of all kinds on the festival’s expo floor. Photo by David Rice.

 

 

Talking Textiles: Marvels of Pre-Columbian America

This is a guest post by Rosemary Ryan, an archaeological research fellow at the Library. She is a student at Towson University specializing in forensic anthropology and archaeology. Her research at the Library supports the “ Exploring the Early Americas ” exhibit and the Jay I. Kislak Collection, made up of more than 3,000 items related to early American history dating to the Pre-Columbian era.

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Rosemary Ryan (left) and Tana Villafana of the Library’s Preservation Research and Testing Division examine dolls from the Ginsberg collection woven by the Nazcas, a Pre-Columbian Peruvian culture. Photo by Shawn Miller.

I love it when an archaeologist decides to lay down her tools, ascend out of the trench and venture into the public domain to talk about her current work, why she is doing it and the kinds of dilemmas she’s encountered along the way. Ordinarily, researchers save this chattering for presentations at their local archaeological association. The reality is that very little of this information makes it to print. But having the opportunity to work alongside curator John Hessler in the Library’s Geography and Map Division has not only been a happy accident, but allowed my curious voice to be heard.

There is quite an array of projects currently underway, but the most pertinent and challenging, due to its sheer size, is the recently acquired collection graciously donated by William and Inger Ginsberg, long-time members of the Library’s James Madison Council. The collection is comprised of 28 individual Peruvian Pre-Columbian textiles, including cocoa-carrying bags called Chuspas and burial dolls.

These artifacts are rare partly because of their condition – all the items acquired have been remarkably preserved due to the accidental coincidence of two circumstances: dry, arid climate and worship of the dead. But they are also exceptional examples epitomizing regional techniques and the cultural importance of a bygone era.

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Right hand of a burial doll, 900–1400 A.D. Photo by Rosemary Ryan.

As part of a universal practice among ancient Peruvian cultures, the dead were buried with garments reflecting their social status, cultural identity or religion. In cases where textiles are found in their original sites, particularly from civilizations that we know little about, garments and accessories can provide influential evidence for understanding different group identities and social structure.

A conundrum faces us, however, with the Ginsberg collection: we do not know the provenance of many of the items, meaning we don’t know the specific archaeological sites from which they came.

My ongoing work at the Library has been to uncover as much as possible about these enigmatic items. In reality, we possess only two ambiguously broad pieces to this puzzle. First, we know the items are Peruvian due to the exhibited designs; second, we know that they are Pre-Columbian (from before 1492). Before the Library acquired the collection, each item had been designated with a speculative description in terms of age and relative culture by dealers and collectors. So how to proceed?

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Close-up of the weaving technique used for a Chuspa from the southern coastal region of Peru, 1000–1400 A.D.

More often than not, we are faced with the reality that there simply is not a lot of information to work with. Undertaking the daunting task of sifting through field notes, journals and books is not exceptionally exciting, and one has to be prepared to discover nothing. Finding a needle in a haystack couldn’t be more applicable, but postponed pleasures are always the sweetest. Not only does it satisfy and fuel all the work you’re putting forth, but it also gives a sense of accomplishment that you’re able to educate the public.

As a self-declared modern-day sleuth and forensic anthropologist, I knew zilch about textiles. I understood that the only method of understanding these items was to start with the basics, instituting my motto: learning by repetition in variation.

I started obsessively studying weaving techniques, reading any material I could lay my hands on and networking with anyone knowledgeable about the craft. The next step was to get to know the artifacts on an intimate level. This meant spending hours unraveling the nuances of each unique weave, making note of the technique, design and coloration utilized. My thought process began to change the more time I spent with the collection. The longer I looked at the handmade textiles, the initial façade of a pretty object faded and I started to put myself in the environment of its designer. Slowly, I saw myself preparing the fibers for the yarn, spending hours at the loom, and influencing the alchemy at the dye basins. I began to appreciate the evolution that went into creating that object and to understand all the decisions where one path was chosen over another.

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Examples of textiles from the Ginsberg collection.

As an archaeologist, I am constantly trying to retrace those paths, to see and understand those moments when a decision had to be made and why. The whys, for an archaeologist, are how we learn about the culture in the obscure past. By looking at the past, we can see when and why spinning one kind of fiber was chosen over another, what changes occurred that led to that judgement and what the consequences of that decision were. Best of all, we can take what we learned from those ancient decisions and apply that knowledge to the same techniques that used today.

So far, as a result of our work on the Ginsberg collection, we have identified the provenance of some of the textiles. I look forward in coming months to continuing my work and learning more from from those ancient weavers of long ago.

Inquiring Minds: Showcasing Library Photos on the West Coast

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Wallis Annenberg. Photo courtesy of the Annenberg Foundation.

Fourteen million pictures have the power to document a nation as diverse as the United States – but such a collection seems almost too vast to comprehend. This year, audiences in Los Angeles were offered a unique look at a cross section of the photography collection at the Library of Congress.

L.A.’s Annenberg Space for Photography organized the largest exhibition of photographs from the Library ever displayed on the West Coast. “Not an Ostrich: And Other Images from America’s Library” included nearly 500 images – from the “first selfie” at the dawn of photography through pivotal moments in history and life today.

The exhibition, closing Sept. 9, was the brainchild of Wallis Annenberg, chair, president and CEO of the Annenberg Foundation, who made the show and a companion film possible in an extraordinary gesture of support for the Library. Here she answers a few questions about the exhibit.

What sparked your interest in photography?

Photography brings me into intimate focus with people, places and things on a timeless basis. I love to look at pictures of the Civil War, sports and joyful people interacting. It is one of the most personal art forms, capturing a moment in time – good or bad – that can be interpreted in so many different ways. I founded the Annenberg Space for Photography because I wanted to share my passion for this art form with the city of Los Angeles and provide a cultural venue solely dedicated to photography. That’s why admission is free, so that everyone in the community can enjoy our exhibits.

What drew your attention to the Library and its massive collection of photographs?

I read an article about Carol Highsmith donating her entire body of work to the Library of Congress, which includes more than 100,000 images. That compelled me to learn more about the treasures held by our nation’s library. Once I understood how large the collection is, I realized how powerful it would be to share some of the stories that live within that incredible photographic collection. We’re so proud to be the first institution to bring a large-scale exhibition of the Library of Congress’ Prints and Photographs Division to the West Coast.

For the exhibition, what kind of story did you hope to tell?

Anne Wilkes Tucker, our esteemed curator, put together an exhibit that truly reflects America in images. Each photograph exposes us to just a fraction of the millions of American stories held in the Library of Congress, from the iconic to the absurd. Guests who have been to the Annenberg Space for Photography have been surprised at the breadth and depth of the images in the Library’s collection. The show has a little something for everyone – from landscapes to portraits to arts, culture, politics, sports and technology. The response has been overwhelmingly positive and is a testament to the Library’s reach throughout the country.

Do you have a favorite image in the exhibition?

There is a photograph from the Detroit Publishing Company called “A Monday Washing” that intrigues me. It is an image from 1900 in New York City showing dozens of clotheslines stretched between apartments. I just love the photo’s composition and the slice-of-life moment it represents.

How do photographs help people understand our history and culture?

Though cameras and technology have changed over the years, nothing captures a moment, an era or a story like a photograph. They are worth a thousand words because they offer proof of life. Still images become part of our collective memory and can remind us of how far we’ve come and how far we still need to go.

For more about “Not an Ostrich,” read this blog post about the exhibit and view the Library images selected for it.

New Online: The Man Who Would Not Let History Forget Him

This is a guest post by Sahr Conway-Lanz, a former Manuscript Division historian.

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Robert Lansing, circa 1919.

Robert Lansing spent the height of his career in the shadow of giants but left a paper trail that ensured the world would know his side of the story. Now the Library of Congress has made an important segment of former Secretary of State Robert Lansing’s papers available online.

Lansing worked alongside two towering historical figures, Woodrow Wilson and William Jennings Bryan. He served as the number two man at the State Department under William Jennings Bryan, who was President Wilson’s secretary of state from 1913 to 1915. Popularly known as “the great commoner,” Bryan had led the Democratic Party for over 20 years and was its presidential nominee three times – in 1896, 1900 and 1908.

When Lansing succeeded Bryan in 1915 as secretary of state, Lansing had his chance to be a statesman of global stature. During his leadership of the State Department, where he served until 1920, the United States entered World War I, declaring war against Germany in 1917. Lansing also represented the United States at the Paris Peace Conference that negotiated the end to the Great War and shaped the world international order that followed.

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Lansing’s account of a March 20, 1917, meeting of Wilson’s cabinet preceding the decision to go to war against Germany.

Yet, even with his important positions during these earthshaking events, Lansing remained in the shadow of President Wilson. Wilson took the lead in shaping U.S. foreign policy during these years and left Lansing out of much of his decision-making. The president instead conferred closely with Edward House, his informal adviser on international affairs and emissary to wartime allies.

Instead of quietly resigning himself to obscurity, Lansing set himself to writing. In eight journal volumes, Lansing recorded his thoughts, observations and opinions on American foreign policy and Wilson over the span of eight years. He called these pieces his “private memoranda.”  The typescripts of his neatly written memoranda, which Lansing had made and indexed, run over 600 pages.

The memoranda cover many of the international issues Lansing confronted as secretary of state, including the Mexican Revolution and the Lansing-Ishii Agreement on U.S.-Japanese relations. They focus, however, on World War I, the Paris Peace Conference and Wilson’s leadership.

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Lansing’s reflections from January 7, 1920, about his growing rift with Wilson and his determination to resign.

One remarkable memorandum provides the most detailed account available of the March 20, 1917, cabinet meeting in which Wilson asked each of his cabinet members for his opinion on whether the United States should declare war on Germany. Wilson kept his feelings toward Germany to himself, but his cabinet was unanimous in support for war, even though several members had previously been vocal supporters of Wilson’s long-standing policy of neutrality in the Great War.

In his memoranda, Lansing had much to say about his disagreements with Wilson. Lansing was especially critical of Wilson’s negotiation of the Treaty of Versailles, the peace agreement hammered out in Paris in 1919. He believed Wilson placed too much faith in the League of Nations and refused to compromise with the Senate in attempting to seek congressional approval of the peace treaty. After Lansing’s opinions became public in congressional hearings on the treaty, Wilson asked for his secretary of state’s resignation.

The details Lansing recorded in his private memoranda helped him to write three books after he left office on the Paris Peace Conference and his experiences during World War I. Much of the criticism that has been leveled at Woodrow Wilson’s foreign policy has utilized Lansing’s critiques as presented in these documents.

Lansing may have felt overshadowed, but he was not silenced.  His private memoranda, along with his desk diaries and notes – now available online – continue to let him have his say.

Leonard Bernstein Centennial: My Father, Leonard Bernstein

To mark the centennial of Leonard Bernstein’s birth—he was born on August 25, 1918—we’re republishing a column by his daughter Jamie Bernstein from the May–June issue of LCM, the Library of Congress Magazine, in which she reflects on her famous dad’s legacy and on the Leonard Bernstein Collection at the Library of Congress. Issues of LCM are available online.

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Leonard and Jamie Bernstein together in 1957.

After our father, Leonard Bernstein, died in 1990, my brother, sister and I realized we had a vast archive to contend with. Where would it reside? We chose the Library of Congress, because in those days, it was the institution most advanced and enlightened about digitization, thereby making their resources available to the public online.

It’s beyond gratifying to see that not only musicians and scholars can access these materials but also students of all ages—and, in fact, virtually anyone on the planet with an internet connection. This astonishing availability is in harmonious alignment with our own hopes for the Bernstein at 100 celebrations; my siblings and I see the centennial as our unique (and unrepeatable!) opportunity to remind Bernstein enthusiasts worldwide of his multifarious legacy—and, even more significantly, to introduce him to younger generations who might not know very much about him.

Over the past two years, I’ve been working on a memoir, “Famous Father Girl,” which comes out in June from HarperCollins. My research steered me to the Library of Congress many times. Not only did the online finding aid help me go on my various treasure hunts, but Mark Horowitz of the Music Division also was brilliant at helping me navigate the archive to find the items I was looking for.

Sometimes he even found me goodies I wasn’t looking for: On one occasion, he unearthed a manuscript of a silly song my father invented for my brother and me when we were very young. I had no idea that song existed anywhere but in my own memory. Seeing that manuscript gave me a profound thrill; it felt like being hurled backward in a time machine.

The word I so often find myself using to describe my father is not a word he knew in his lifetime: “broadband.” The Bernstein collection has this same broadband quality. The contents illustrate a career that traveled across multiple worlds. A partial list of those worlds includes musical theater, symphony orchestras, educational institutions, television and radio, audio and video recordings and extensive participation in humanitarian and civil rights movements. In fact, exploring the multifaceted universe of Leonard Bernstein is a fascinating means of exploring the 20th century itself.

Plus, I found all the family holiday cards! The Leonard Bernstein archive has certainly been an ideal playground for this Famous Father Girl.

Free to Use and Reuse: Pilot Browser Extension Supports Exploration of Historical Images

This is a guest post by Flynn Shannon, who interned this summer in the Library’s Communications Office through the Junior Fellows Program. He is a student at Kenyon College, where he is pursuing a degree in classical mathematics with a concentration in scientific computing. The post was first published on “The Signal,” a blog covering the Library’s digital initiatives.

Before coming to the Library of Congress as a junior fellow, I had no concept of how large or varied its collections are. Over 167 million items are kept at the Library. Of these, more than 24 million are books. That leaves around 143 million more things. Included in this number are such effects as George Gershwin’s piano, the contents of Abraham Lincoln’s pockets the night of his assassination and more contemporary content, such as web comics.

During my time at the Library, I focused on the over 1 million images available digitally, anywhere in the world. Specifically, I was tasked with designing and developing a proof-of-concept Chrome browser extension to increase awareness of and interaction with digital images with no known copyright restrictions. These images are of particular interest because they can be used freely for any purpose.

Once installed, the extension will change the background of each new tab to a random picture from the Library’s collections that is free to use and reuse. The extension will encourage the use of these images by giving users the option to easily download, email and share the photos on Facebook and Twitter. Users will also be encouraged to learn more about the items by interacting with them on the Library’s website. By clicking on the title of any image, the user will be taken directly to the item’s page on loc.gov. Similar extensions have been created by Europeana, the New York Public Library and MappingVermont.

In developing the extension, my first step was to make a manifest.json file. This process is documented in the .zip file you can access on the free-to-use browser extension experiment page.

I was able to use a field called “chrome_url_overrides” to replace the default new tab with a custom web page built like any other using HTML, CSS and JavaScript.

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Basic user interface of the Library’s free-to-use browser extension.

Once I had finished the front end, I needed pictures for the background. After reading reviews of similar extensions, I noticed that the most common complaint was that there weren’t enough unique images. Soon after installing, users began to see the same pictures over and over. Because of the size of the Library’s collections of digital images, I hoped that this wouldn’t be a problem.

The folks at LC Labs pointed me to some Jupyter Notebooks that made obtaining data from accessing bulk images on the Library’s website a breeze. I was able to create a method of getting the metadata I needed about each photo from its URL by making only slight modifications to code found in the notebooks.

My first inclination was to pull from all the photos available on the Library’s website. I quickly found some issues with this approach. I began to come across imagery containing offensive, negative stereotypes. Viewed in the proper context, these images provide an important look into a darker time in history. However, they were not appropriate for the purposes of this extension. In addition, not all of the photos online are without copyright restrictions.

As I began coming up with strategies to filter any offensive and copyrighted content, I had a meeting with the Library’s Prints and Photographs Division. Staff recommended that I use the photos on the Library’s Flickr channel, which have no known copyright restrictions and are curated.

Using a Python implementation of the Flickr API, I was able to find the URL of each image on the Library’s website. From there, I used the previously created method to write a JSON file that is read by the client-side JavaScript to change the image displayed. The current version of the extension is pulling from a set of more than 16,000 images available on the Library’s Flickr channel (although the Library currently has more than 30,000 images on Flickr and adds more nearly every week).

This is a screenshot from the Library of Congress free-to-use extension.

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Free-to-use browser extension displaying an image from the Library with metadata and sharing options.

Try the free-to-use browser extension yourself! You’ll find instructions for download on the Library of Congress Labs Experiments Page – add a comment to this blog post to let me know what you think.

A Library for You

This is a guest post by Librarian of Congress Carla Hayden.

What is a library?

“A quiet place for study and reflection” is one answer that might spring to mind.

If you take advantage of story times and author talks, you might say, “A social place for programs and gatherings.”

Our view here at the Library of Congress is the image of a treasure chest, filled with limitless information and services, ready to explore and amaze if you open it up.

So today, the Library of Congress is introducing a new visual brand that seizes on this concept and amplifies it. It can change to feature different collection items, stories, images and sounds. The potential is limitless, like the Library itself.

What does this mean for you?

The launch of this new visual brand coincides with the upcoming release of the Library’s new strategic plan, a user-centered plan that will drive the Library’s direction over the next five years.

The plan aims to make the Library’s collections and services more accessible to more of you. A fresh visual identity is intended to signal that something new is happening here, and we want you to be a part of it.

In the coming weeks, we will share not only our new strategic plan, but a series of other announcements reflecting our goal to make the nation’s library a place you can connect with in new and meaningful ways.

What is a library? There is no right or wrong answer. But we hope in the coming months and years you will come to think of the Library of Congress as part of your answer.

New Online: “Poetry of America” Recordings

This is a guest post by Anne Holmes of the Poetry and Literature Center. It was first published on “From the Catbird Seat,” the center’s blog.

[image error]This summer, we kicked off our refreshed “Poetry of America” series with a selection of new recordings. Originally launched in 2013 as a counterpart to the Library’s “Songs of America” project, the series comprises field recordings from contemporary American poets. Over the years, we’ve asked poets to choose a singular poem written by another American poet from any period in the nation’s history, record themselves reading the poem and then provide commentary that speaks to how the poem connects to, deepens or re-imagines a sense of the nation. We also ask each participating poet to contribute a poem of their own, which we include alongside the feature.

Below, we’re highlighting excerpts from recordings added in July, including each poet’s commentary to whet your appetite.

Peter Gizzi reads and discusses James Schuyler’s “February”

“I love James Schuyler’s poetry—its effortlessness and grace, its sound, its thick (and at times gnarly) descriptions. A palpable sense of irreality is everywhere present in it; his poems combine the attention of an ethnographic account with the charm of a great dinner guest. Add to this a private reading of the physical world imprinted on his nervous system. In his hyper-real descriptions, colors shift. The words shimmer. The ‘violet sea’ verges on the violent. There’s a deeper cold behind the ‘gold and chilly’ weather as he chronicles a major American city from his window. We see beauty and power twinned, the UN building on big evenings and the green leaves of the tulips on my desk like grass light on flesh.”

Sally Keith reads and discusses Ellen Bryant Voigt’s “Owl”

“I love the way ‘Owl’ (along with all the poems in ‘Headwaters’) is likely to get described as a kind of writerly feat, which it is, but, then, how wrong we would be in settling there. It is the complexity of the innovation in combination with the tender humanity which makes me feel the poem as American. The poem’s belief (if I can say such a thing), felt both in its construction and what it actually says, is not that it has unearthed rare fact, or confessed a dark story, but somehow, and more deeply, that out of pattern and rigor, individuality will emerge, or has, or, better put: our originality is inherent.”

Carol Muske-Dukes reads and discusses Jon Anderson’s “Rosebud”

“This poem is about history and identity in that it is about, as Jon Anderson says, the ‘last important victory’ of the tribes, for the tribes, and also about living in history. Or just about living, he says, how our own lives are gone, disappearing minute by minute. This poem lives in—as the poet says—two landscapes at once; or he implies that it is interior, the exterior, and he seeks to understand each one.”

Diane Seuss reads and discusses Emily Dickinson’s “508 (I’m ceded — I’ve stopped being Theirs —)”

“There is much unspoken in Dickinson’s white space. Her poems, indeed, emerged from white spaces, from a small white woman wearing a white dress. If one could dissect those Dickinson dashes, what untouched subjects would we discover? Still, yet, for a woman writing from the middle of the 1800s, a woman who rarely ventured from her father’s house, the self-claiming in this and so many of her poems is extraordinary, and strikes me as quintessentially American, at least as Americans dream themselves to be.”

Afaa Michael Weaver reads and discusses Paul Laurence Dunbar’s “Little Brown Baby”

“I am always inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar’s work. He had such a struggle—he wrote under censorship and under the pressure of the popular tastes of the day—and when I think about the evolution of the identity of African-Americans, I think about this poem in terms of the period in which it was written: the period of blackface minstrelsy, and how the American character was an imposition on the African-American, but also in that interface between the two larger cultures.”

Stay tuned in the coming months for more “Poetry of America” recordings!