Abstract
Amanda Gorman is perhaps the most well-known and widely read American poet of our current decade. Introduced to many via her stirring performance at the 2021 inauguration of President Biden, Gorman had twice been named a youth poet laureate before her twentieth birthday (Los Angeles’s first youth poet laureate in 2014 and the United States’s first in 2017). A steady stream of high-profile appearances followed, including Super Bowl LV and interviews with Oprah Winfrey and many major press outlets. Her poetry collection, Call Us What We Carry, was published in December 2021 and was an instant number one New York Times bestseller. The collection returned to the spotlight in May 2023 after its final poem, the inaugural poem “The Hill We Climb,” was banned by a Florida school. Gorman has since become a frequent voice and face of resistance to book bans and other institutional efforts to exclude or limit access to books by queer or Black, Indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC) authors.
Perhaps less generally known (although likely no surprise to many readers of this journal) is that Gorman was a sociology major. Her background is quite evident in the pages of Call Us What We Carry, which overflow with insights about the individual, American society and history, and their complex interactions. In light of Gorman’s cultural resonance and because of her keen analysis of all-too enduring societal challenges like the COVID-19 pandemic and systemic racism, this seems an ideal moment to use her powerful collection in our classrooms.
Call Us What We Carry is divided into seven sections organized by style and theme, wide ranging in topic and form but firmly grounded in the events of 2020 to 2021. Gorman engages deeply with the most salient issues of that time—the great losses of the pandemic; the repeated reminders of prejudice, discrimination, and violence against people of color; and the urgency of the global climate crisis. She chronicles and analyzes the isolation, othering, grief, and despair that went along with those. Despite the weight of these topics, Gorman’s overall tone is determined and hopeful. She weaves threads of connection, kinship, love, and hope throughout.
The poems in this collection are of potential value to sociology courses at any level and cover nearly any topic and area of interest. This is certainly true of those that address the COVID-19 pandemic, given its omnipresent impact. Even the dedication speaks to the shared experience of that time: For all of us both hurting and healing who choose to carry on
Gorman confronts the emotional toll of the pandemic throughout the included poems, examining the ongoing effects of the isolation, loss, and trauma experienced by so many. In “Fugue,” she documents the acute phase of the pandemic when we simultaneously struggled with the fear of exposure and the restlessness of isolation: Anxiety is a living body Poised beside us like a shadow It is the last creature standing, The only beast who loves us Enough to stay. (p. 14)
In “& So,” she notes the opportunities to connect through shared grief and uncertainty: Since the world is round, There is no way to walk away From each other, for even then We are coming back together. Some distances, if allowed to grow, Are merely the greatest proximities. (p. 25)
However, Gorman always demonstrates awareness of the way inequality persists even in times of unifying crisis, especially for groups marginalized on the basis of race and ethnicity. In the remarkable “Vale of the Shadow of Death or Extra! Extra! Read All About It,” she shows the way communities of color have been blamed for pandemics at various historical moments. Racialized epithets like “Asiatic cholera” and references to the bubonic plague as an “Oriental disease, peculiar to rice eaters” predate the racist “China virus” label for COVID-19 by two centuries (pp. 83–84). Her words ring painfully true when she writes that “[t]he first step to scapegoating a whole people is to delegitimize their value—to call them a host to nothing but horror” (p. 82).
Her analysis of the ways in which the pandemic illuminated race-based inequality is particularly strong in “[ ]gated,” where she recognizes personal space and the ability to maintain social distance as privilege. The poem presented in its entirety would be a powerful teaching tool, but excerpts convey its sharp insights: Never forget that to be alone Has always been a price for some & a privilege for others. We have yielded Centuries of sidewalk, Trained in this tradition Before we even lived it— What it is to bow our heads & make room for someone else’s pride. (pp. 142–43). . . . Some were asked to walk a fraction / of our exclusion for a year & it almost destroyed all they thought they were. . . . To be kept to the edges of existence is the inheritance of the marginalized. (p. 145)
This collection is no less direct in its discussion of the repeated instances of discrimination and violence against people of color that also took place during the early COVID years. The section “Fury & Faith” is printed on shaded paper, with the first almost black pages fading into light gray ones as the focus of the poems moves from rage to hope. The first poem in this section, titled “America™,” is printed on a black-and-white American flag, its potent text populating the flag’s 13 stripes. The poems that follow take on police violence, Black Lives Matter, white supremacy, and a range of examples and effects of racism embedded in American culture and institutions. In “The Truth in One Nation,” and as she does throughout, Gorman balances stark reality with a persistent belief in the possibility of change: We believe we can transform Without war or wariness, We are stubborn, not simple. Strategic, like a general who sees They may not win this battle. We’re optimistic, not because we have hope, But because only by being optimistic can hope Be ours to have. (p. 169)
Gorman also mirrors and articulates her generation’s clear-eyed perspective on the immediate perils of climate change and related disasters. In “Earth Eyes” (another visually striking page, with the poem’s text shaped like a circle or an eye), she implores older generations to share young people’s sense of urgency: The youth will save us, they say. But even that is its own release. Our short lives now aimed at the oily-headed monsters that reared their teeth before we even gave our first wet croak. Generations of the past order, be our recruits, not our rescues. Oh, how we want our parents red & restless, as wild & dying for a difference as we are. (p. 64)
These topics are inevitably heavy and often painful to confront and consider, but of course, that is also the nature of teaching and learning sociology. Many students will likely relate to the recent histories of loss, fear, and marginalization that Gorman narrates within Call Us What We Carry. At the same time, her indefatigable defense of values like compassion, hope, and recognition of our kinship across difference will, I believe, also resonate.
In “Compass,” Gorman speaks to what arguably is one of the most important purposes of sociology—to help us grow our empathy skills by listening to and learning from others’ lived experiences. This is a benefit of studying the discipline that is often emphasized in introductory sociology courses in particular, and my students frequently name it as one of their most valuable takeaways. Gorman writes about this beautifully in words that I intend to quote in my future Introduction to Sociology syllabi: Lost as we feel, there is no better Compass than compassion. We find ourselves not by being The most seen, but the most seeing. (p. 48)
The study of sociology feels even more essential when we consider the countless harms caused by the othering and “us vs. them” mentalities that proliferated during the pandemic, are inherent to racism and injustice, and underlie so many of our social problems. As described, Gorman considers this often in her work, and in “Another Nautical,” she offers up love as an alternative: There truly is a unity That requires no “they” For us to be threatened by. This is the very definition of love. We’ve never had to hate a human To hug another, never had to be fearful To be fond of the hearts beating out to us. (p. 38)
In “War: What, Is It Good?,” she argues that the pandemic of hate is one that we can least afford to overlook: Hate is a virus. A virus demands a body. What we mean is: Hate only survives when hosted in humans. If we are to give it anything, Let it be our sorrow & never our skin. To love just may be The fight of our lives. (p. 124)
Gorman suggests, in “Every Day We Are Learning,” that this fight requires an active, deliberate pursuit of hope: Just like a skill or any art, We cannot possess hope without practicing it. It is the most fundamental craft we demand of ourselves. (p. 52)
Gorman’s work creates a vision of society where through these practices of love and hope, we can recognize our common history and stake in the future. The collection’s title can be found within “Call Us,” where Gorman explores our collective experience and deep interconnectedness via a corporeal image: A human Microbiome is all the writhing forms on & inside this body Drafted under our life. We are not me— We are we. Call us What we carry. (p. 35)
In addition to the depth and power of Gorman’s words, many other aspects of this collection make it uniquely worthwhile to share with students. Additional visual elements beyond those previously mentioned make the print version engaging and will appeal to many who appreciate that mode of learning. It is also accessible and exceptionally engrossing in its audiobook form, where Gorman’s talent for spoken word poetry is highlighted. Because of her fame and strong presence in all forms of media, there are many opportunities to teach using Gorman’s spoken word work via audio or video clips.
I often use videos of various poets’ spoken word performances in my courses, especially to introduce and encourage conversation around complex topics. Each time I do, students report strong emotional reactions, share their own creative writing interests, and/or begin energetic conversations about their experiences with the topic. Excerpts from Call Us What We Carry would be outstanding lead-ins to lessons about race and ethnicity, inequality, health and medicine, and in-groups/out-groups, to name just a few.
Other ways of incorporating Gorman’s collection into our classrooms might include having students make their own connections between her poems and social issues or sociological concepts. This could be done via a “creative review,” where students review Gorman’s work by making their own poems, videos, podcasts, or other artistic or multimedia pieces (Walters 2023). Alongside this or on its own, a classroom “poetry slam,” where students are invited to perform their own poems (or perhaps some of Gorman’s poems), could be a fun and interactive way of utilizing the spoken word form (Moran 1999). Students could also gain some hands-on experience with the poetic transcription research method, which is an “arts-based research method commonly employed in the analysis and representation of qualitative data” that uses the found poetry form (Romero 2020:211). Call Us What We Carry would be a rich source of powerful language and imagery that students could use to create their own found poetry.
An alternate approach in this form would be to have students examine Gorman’s work in the section “Atonement” because several poems in that section are erasure poems, a type of found poetry. Gorman explains her use of erasure poems (and perhaps clarifies the benefits of poetic transcription in sociology) when she writes that her “pen looks to enhance, evoke, explore, expose the bodies, the truth, the voices that have always existed but have been exiled from history & the imagination. In this case, we erase to find” (p. 90).
An additional way to integrate Gorman’s work into sociology curricula could be to use this collection (and her other writings, performance recordings, interviews, etc.) as part of a Careers in Sociology course (Senter 2020). Not only does her high profile and level of engagement in mass and social media make her an ideal public sociology role model, but she also serves as an excellent example of how a sociology major can prepare one for a successful career in a wide range of fields, including the arts.
Potential challenges of using this collection in the classroom could include students feeling intimidated by poetry. I have encountered this with my students and regularly share that I myself am no poetry expert. Often, students who are English majors or who write poetry as a hobby chime in with their expertise, which creates wonderful opportunities for student-led instructional moments. I also feel (as is hopefully clear from the excerpts included here) that Gorman’s poetry is uniquely easy to relate to and understand. She uses clear and familiar language, even in her more metaphorical moments, and her messages tend to be straightforwardly rendered. That said, it does feel important to note that discussing topics like COVID-19 and systemic racism can trigger a strong trauma response for many, so it is essential to utilize strategies that respect and respond to the emotional and mental health needs of our students (Bedera 2021).
Call Us What We Carry is a gorgeous, accessible, and important collection that connects to sociology in innumerable ways, and Amanda Gorman is a phenomenal example of how a student of sociology can change the world. I encourage all instructors willing to use poetry in the classroom to provide their students with the opportunity to engage with this book together.