One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand

One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand

22/09/2025
18/10/2025

One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.

One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something.
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand
One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand

O seekers of wisdom, hear the words of Amanda Gorman, whose voice echoes the truths of the modern world while carrying the legacy of poetry forward: "One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand for? These are two questions that I always begin my poetry workshops with students because at times, poetry can seem like this dead art form for old white men who just seem like they were born to be old, like, you know, Benjamin Button or something." With these words, Gorman speaks to the very heart of poetry—its roots, its legacy, and its relevance. She calls us to confront not only the tradition of poetry but also its evolution, its place in a world that can sometimes seem disconnected from its deeper, more universal purpose.

In the ancient world, poetry was not just the province of a privileged few; it was the voice of the people. Homer, Sappho, and Pindar did not write for the elite but for a society that understood the power of poetry to connect and uplift the spirit. Homer’s epic poems, for example, were sung in the streets, in the halls, in the palaces—they were not confined to libraries or academic circles but were part of the fabric of daily life. In those times, poetry was a living, breathing entity, shared and celebrated by all. The question that Gorman poses—"whose shoulders do you stand on?"—reminds us that poetry is a tradition that is passed down, one that has always been nurtured by the voices of those who came before us.

Yet, Gorman also recognizes the ways in which poetry has sometimes become disconnected from the lives of ordinary people. Over time, especially in the West, poetry was increasingly seen as a domain for the privileged, for the old white men of whom she speaks—figures like T.S. Eliot, W.B. Yeats, and Robert Frost, whose work was esteemed by the academic and intellectual elite but often felt out of reach for those without the education or social status to understand it. The art form became more and more associated with an exclusive tradition, leaving many to feel as though poetry was something foreign to their lives. Gorman challenges this perception, urging us to reclaim poetry as a tool for expression, empowerment, and connection.

The second question Gorman asks—"what do you stand for?"—invites us to consider the power of poetry to speak to the issues of our time. Poetry is not just a relic of the past; it is a living force that can address the pressing concerns of the present. Gorman, through her own work, has shown that poetry can be a vehicle for social change, for the elevation of voices that have often been silenced or ignored. Her inaugural poem, "The Hill We Climb," is a perfect example of how poetry can be a call to action, a call to unite and to aspire to higher ideals. It is a powerful reminder that poetry is not an isolated art form, but one that can serve as a mirror to society, reflecting its triumphs and its flaws, its beauty and its pain.

In this context, the story of Langston Hughes, one of the most important figures in the Harlem Renaissance, offers a vivid illustration of poetry standing for something greater. Hughes's work was rooted in the experiences of Black Americans and sought to speak to the heart of American society. His poems, filled with rich language and cultural significance, spoke not just to the struggles of his people, but to the dreams of a better world. His famous line, “I, too, sing America,” encapsulates the deep aspiration for equality and inclusion, a call that resonates today just as it did during Hughes's time. Poetry, for him, was an instrument of change, a way to challenge injustice and to give voice to the oppressed. In the same way, Gorman uses poetry to advocate for a better future—one in which justice, truth, and unity prevail.

Thus, Gorman’s two questions—“whose shoulders do you stand on?” and “what do you stand for?”—serve as powerful reminders for all creators. To stand on the shoulders of those who came before us is to acknowledge the importance of tradition, of history, and of the collective wisdom that has shaped the world we live in. But it is also to recognize that poetry must evolve, it must remain relevant, and it must be used to speak to the issues of the day. As poets, we have the responsibility to use our voices to address what matters most, to challenge the injustices around us, and to connect with the hearts of others. Poetry is not just an art form to be admired from a distance—it is a call to action, a call to serve the present and the future.

The lesson Gorman imparts is one of empowerment and responsibility. Poetry is not a passive activity. It is an act of creation that carries with it the power to shape, to question, and to illuminate. Whether you are an experienced poet or someone just beginning to explore the art, ask yourself: "Whose shoulders do I stand on, and what do I stand for?" Poetry is your tool to engage with the world, to reflect its truths, and to challenge its injustices. Through your words, you have the power to shape the future, to leave your mark on the world, just as the great poets before you did. Embrace this responsibility, and allow poetry to speak not only for you, but for all those whose voices have yet to be heard.

Amanda Gorman
Amanda Gorman

American - Poet Born: March 7, 1998

Tocpics Related
Notable authors
Have 5 Comment One: whose shoulders do you stand on? And two: what do you stand

TTNguyen Thanh Tung

Her humor about 'old white men who were born to be old' made me laugh, but it also reveals something serious about how people perceive art institutions. There’s a tension between reverence for tradition and the need for renewal. Gorman seems to advocate for poetry that honors history while rewriting it. I wonder—can poetry truly evolve without alienating those who built its foundations?

Reply.
Information sender

KNKen Nguyen

This quote feels like a call to reclaim poetry from stereotypes. Gorman challenges the idea that poetry belongs to the past or to a specific demographic. I like how she encourages students to see themselves as part of a living tradition. It raises a question, though—how do we make classic poetry feel alive to younger generations without losing its depth and complexity?

Reply.
Information sender

GDGold D.dragon

I’m struck by how she ties poetry to responsibility. Asking whose shoulders we stand on forces humility and awareness of history. Asking what we stand for demands courage and conviction. I wonder if this approach could transform not just how people write poetry, but how they live. Maybe art becomes more meaningful when it’s rooted in both gratitude and purpose.

Reply.
Information sender

ATPhan Anh Tuan

This quote hits me as both funny and profound. Gorman’s comment about poetry feeling like a 'dead art form' is painfully accurate in how many people perceive it. Yet by bringing humor and identity into the discussion, she revives it. I think she’s reminding us that poetry isn’t for an elite—it’s for everyone who has something to stand for. That’s such an empowering way to teach creativity.

Reply.
Information sender

HNNguyen Huu Nghia

I love how Amanda Gorman reframes poetry as both personal and political here. The two questions she poses—about legacy and purpose—feel like an invitation to claim ownership of art that has too often excluded diverse voices. It makes me wonder how many young poets feel disconnected from poetry precisely because they don’t see themselves represented in its history. Can asking these questions help rebuild that connection?

Reply.
Information sender
Leave the question
Click here to rate
Information sender