As part of the 2019 Dear Poet project, students around the country and the world wrote letters to Alberto Ríos in response to a video of him reading his poem “A House Called Tomorrow” aloud. Alberto Ríos wrote letters back to thirteen of these students; their letters and his replies are included below.
Alberto Ríos also wrote the following response to all of the participants of this year's Dear Poet project.
We are living in unsettling times right now. Everything is loud. And loud is a bully—it’s always trying to tell you what to do, what to think, what to like.
It may be hard to contemplate writing a poem about a daffodil as William Wordsworth did, or a cactus wren, or the smell of a washing machine washing, even though we might really want to—beauty is always calling out to us, through all the senses. Trouble is loud and calls for our attention, too—as it should. If someone falls, we of course go over and try to help.
So, the quiet daffodil or world hunger? Great poems have been about everything—trouble, daffodils, indeed any imaginable idea.
To this end, some poems are needed into being, some are remembered into being, some are invented into being.
Trouble, especially when exemplified as injustice, is counter to the human soul. It has to be addressed, of course. That’s who we are as human beings. We need to stand up for what we believe in. But there is so much more. And you as a poet are required to write only whatever you require of yourself—it does not originate with someone or something else telling you what to do. It comes with more magic attached, which you have to learn to trust. You must write what you must write.
If you liked my poem, if one poem intrigues you, it will be good news to know that there are many, many more waiting for you. Not all of them will suit you, but some will, and that will make all the difference.
There’s a pirate’s treasure in literature, but it’s up to you to dig it up. So curiously, the maps are everywhere. Go to a library. Open a book, any book. Start plundering.
—Alberto Ríos
Alberto Ríos reads "A House Called Tomorrow" for Dear Poet 2019.
Dear Alberto Ríos,
Your poem finds me so warmly in a time of un-stillness. I’m moving away from home soon for school. It’s exciting, I’m ready, but this departure has me thinking about inheritance, how much of my home I carry inside me, how much I leave behind. Your poem holds similar questions with such a gentle hand.
“From those centuries we human beings bring with us/ The simple solutions and songs”
When I think about family, I think about the people who hold me, and not necessarily a blood inheritance. I come from my “father’s fathers” but I also come from my dearest friends and the spaces we share. What I want to take with me is that warmth, that tenderness, these “songs” I’ve inherited through a different kind of lineage.
It’s important to“Look back only for as long as you must,” but I want to ask if this poem is also looking horizontally, at the people and places around it. When I think about writing books, I want to do it in community with the people around me as much the ancestors that inform my future.
The thing about moving is, both the people of my past and the people of my present feel so far. One by time, and one by geography. I wonder how do you access the loved ones of this poem? “The house called tomorrow” feels like such an unreachable space, but I agree that we have so many years of light to guide us. The matter of finding that light though, is it as easy as a switch, calling loved ones by names? I wonder how we unleash “a hundred wild centuries”and to do it with care.
Sending all my warmth,
Jackson
Age 19
Youth Poet Laureate of Houston
Southwest Regional Youth Poet Laureate
Dear Jackson,
Thank you very much for your important letter. I’m especially happy to know that my poem had a good effect on you, along with clearly getting you thinking about what’s ahead.
I appreciate what you say about moving, and all the questions that raises for you. Moving is always difficult—change is never easy. But if it’s a change predicated on opportunity, jump at the chance. The harder edge of this is, as you point out, family. I find your way of thinking about family very interesting. Sometimes family is not our best option—that’s a strange thing for me to say, but I understand it. So long as the family we gather leads us to a greater good. I certainly don’t advocate leaving one’s family, as there is indeed a very physical, real, important connection. But real life can sometimes surprise us. Good choices are the best we can hope for in all things. You are eloquent in your observations about this reality. And, of course, it doesn’t have to be either-or, if at all possible, but also-and. Also-and is a good way to think about moving forward. The horizontal look that you mention, the look at those we love best around us, is implicit throughout the poem—it’s the foundational reason we keep moving forward through the generations. What’s around us is everything. What’s around us is the doorway into that house of tomorrow. We don’t live in that house alone. I’ve always thought of “house” as a community that’s chosen by us, by the choices we make now that we are the farthest forward in our lineage. There’s a folk saying in Spanish, “room in the heart, room in the house.” You let in whom you choose, now. Unleashing the “hundred wild centuries”—that’s all about you. And someone has to turn the light on in the house.
Again, thank you for writing to me about the poem. And congratulations on your Urban Word’s Youth Poet Laureate association. You are the future, the tomorrow I’m talking about.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
As I read “ A House Called Tomorrow” I couldn’t help but connect your use of the number fifteen with the fact that in Hispanic, specifically Mexican culture, fifteen marks a girl’s transition to womanhood with her Quinceañera. The Quinceañera grieves the past childhood but also celebrates a new chapter of a young woman’s life. The line “Make us proud. Make yourself proud” resonated deeply with me. As a first-generation college student that is all I have heard all my life: “Make us proud.” Even though I have heard it from my parents, it has always felt like a bigger request. I have felt the weight of my ancestors behind me urging me to continue pushing forward to heights unreached by them. As I sat and wrote countless college essays, I could feel their power pushing me forward. I could feel the thunder of their applause as I pressed submit on all my applications. With everything that I do, I can hear my ancestors urging me to “Be good, then better.” I wonder, when you decided to be a poet, could you hear the thunder of your ancestors urging you forward to tell your story and theirs?
Emily
Grade 12
San Antonio, TX
Dear Emily,
¡Gracias, gracias, y otra vez gracias!
You grasped the significance of the number fifteen wonderfully! It is indeed the centralizing number that starts the poem.
But as to telling my story and the stories of my ancestors—that was not an easy kind of understanding. Thunder was the easiest thing for me to hear. It was everything else, all the quiet things—it took me a long time to understand that my ancestors are just as much in the quiet as the loud. If the loud is their applause, the quiet is all of them trying to let me make decisions for myself, hoping that I know that they’re there if I need them, but never trying to get in the way. They make room for me with their quiet. They open up a path, and they cheer me along. But, they leave it to me.
Thank you for your insights and for hearing your parents and ancestors yourself!
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
As part of a project in my English class, I recently read your poem “A House Called Tomorrow,” and I truly enjoyed reading, analyzing, and contemplating it. As a child of two immigrant parents, I felt that I could heavily relate with the messages of your poem, and immediately upon reading it, I thought about how my life connects to the themes you included in your poem.
I especially loved the lines, “When you as a child learned to speak, / it’s not that you didn’t know words —/it’s that, from the centuries, you knew so many, / And it’s hard to choose the words that will be your own.” As a young child, I spoke the language of Urdu at my house, and I formally learned English at school. However, my school informed my parents one day that my English was not developing properly, so they forced me to speak English in the house so that I could work on my fluency of English alone. Now, I am unable to speak Urdu, although I can understand it, so I can definitely relate with these lines. Out of curiosity, did you have the experience of having to choose between languages as a child?
I also appreciated the first few lines of the poem, “ You are not fifteen, or twelve, or seventeen—/ you are a hundred wild centuries/ And fifteen, bringing with you/In every breath and in every step/ Everyone who has come before you,/ All the yous that you have been,/ The mothers of your mother,/ The fathers of your father.” I loved the rhythm with which these lines flowed. I also felt like I could relate with these lines; the heritage of my family, including traditions, customs, and language, as mentioned above, has played an immense role in my life.
The last two lines of the poem, “And those who came before you? When you hear thunder,/ Hear it as their applause,” were inspirational. I truly enjoyed the manner with which this poem ends. How did you choose these last lines?
In the lines, “The simple solutions and songs, / The river bridges and star charts and song harmonies/All in service to a simple idea,” is there a certain reason as to why you chose those specific symbols to describe the items “we humans bring with us” from our ancestry? I thought that those couple symbols represent one’s heritage well.
I felt that this poem is about using the experiences of your ancestors to build a “house called tomorrow” and make a positive impact on the future society. This poem celebrates one’s ancestry and motivates one to make one’s own “history.”
I was wondering, how did you choose the title for this poem? Did you have some sort of inspiration for it? Also, why did you choose your poem to be in couplets? Personally, I felt that this structure gave a great flow to the poem.
Sincerely,
Aasim
Grade 11
Kansas City, MO
Dear Aasim,
Thank you for your letter and for telling me about your family. I wish I could speak Urdu so I could say thank you in two ways. I won’t pretend that I do, but I’ll say muchas gracias instead.
We share being the children of two immigrant parents. My father was from Mexico and my mother was from England. I had a similar language situation to yours, though mine was with Spanish, not Urdu. I think this was one of the great gifts of my life, understanding that there was always, always, always more than one way to name, and to look at an object or an idea. It gave me a sense of depth, a way to understand the world better by spending more time with it in every word I had to choose. I love the lines about the words in the poem myself, as it seems so real. I have a new grandchild right now and watching her struggle with the world around her, especially as it comes to words, is a wonder. So many words is a gift, even if in the short term it can seem so frustrating.
Languages are solutions, not problems. So many people find this a difficult idea. As you experienced, we were made to speak English in school, even being swatted for speaking Spanish. This was a long time ago, but we don’t forget these things. It’s ironic now that, as a college professor, we require a second language for graduation. It’s so difficult, to see us taking away a language and then trying to bring it back.
I’m so pleased you talk about the rhythm in some of the words and not simply what they’re saying. My last name is Rios—which means “rivers” in Spanish. When I say “river bridges,” I’m talking about how my family bridged all the various places they were from, moving through the unknown like sailors with “star charts,” and finishing with “song harmonies,” which I use very carefully. I like that it all ended up with a musical outcome, but notice that I don’t say “melodies.” This speaks to a family that tried to fit in.
You ask a very good question about my use of couplets in this poem. Quite simply, no line—no one—is alone.
Thank you for this deep reading of my poem and for sharing parts of your life with me.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Mr. Ríos,
Thank you for offering your poem for the Dear Poet Project.
My name is Jessica and I am a twelfth-grade student. Your poem spoke to me because you have showed me the way to which I struggle most to realize. I have always tried to fit in. Every since my father left it was an endless account to please everyone around me especially my mother, seeing my father leave made me feel like a piece of crap. I did and still try to do my best, but I know now it’s okay to make mistakes.
I work a full-time job, graveyard shift and I am a graduating senior. I am excited to start my life. My college classes are all set up for the fall. Now that I am becoming an adult, I know the one thing that’s most important is that I hold true to myself. You said, “you are made fundamentally from the good.” This line in your poem speaks to me that we are all born good and that if we make mistakes, we are not intentionally bad. Sometimes it’s hard for me to keep going when people get me down. I have a lot of self-criticism and doubt. I have let a lot of people get me down, and it breaks my heart more and more. I’m not close to my family like I want to be. However, you said, “…is ourselves. That’s all we need to start. That’s everything we require to keep going.” This made me realize that if I keep pushing myself to improve, I can do anything I put my mind to.
I have a few supporters, but I know one day they won’t always be here so I must remember what you said, “be good, then better.” If I follow this, I know that I will continue to grind and push harder, no one will be able to stop me.
Sincerely,
Jessica
Grade 12
Salisbury, MD
Dear Jessica,
Thank you for letting me in on something that’s so tender for you right now.
Your father leaving is a big part of your life right now, and will always be. But how you fill the emptiness will define you, and stretch you. No one will be able to tell you how to do it, no matter how much they try, as you’ve likely already found out.
And mistakes—you mention how it’s all right to make mistakes. It may be more than all right, since you may not have the guidance system you need. They may indeed be necessary. You may even want to think of them as discoveries. If you do something the right way, then you add yourself to it, and all is smooth. If you do something the wrong way, then the universe disrupts, and you have discovered something. Often it’s not something you wanted to discover, but you can figure this out for yourself. But giving yourself options when others may not be offering you any seems like a good bet, as long as you can stay healthy and happy.
I’m so glad to hear you have a plan for college. Keep looking for yourself. Self-criticism and doubt are actually fine, as long as they keep you moving forward instead of stopping you or making you rely too much on others.
No one can stop you, but no one should want to.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
My name is Christopher, and I’m a senior. I like listening to music and taking photos. I am writing to you in regards to your poem “A House Called Tomorrow.” I really enjoyed your piece.
Your poem reminds me of Robin Williams’ line in Dead Poets Society. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with it, so here it is:
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”
The way I interpreted your piece was the same as I did Williams’ line. You both want us to contribute a verse, our verse. To make our mark on this earth, to find the beauty life has to offer.
But I have always asked myself a question, though: Is this life really worth living?
We live amongst corrupt people whose spirits have been broken. A government that doesn’t care about its people. A racist society that condemns Black and brown people Even if a human life is a human life, they don’t care if we suffocate—people like me. That’s “the bad” you write about, I suppose. So what’s the point? Why should we try to make this world better?
Sometimes it feels like I can’t be “the good” because I was once the bad that you speak of. I used to hurt myself, and I didn’t believe that I had meaning, that this world has no place for a person with bad mental health, who doesn’t know how to cope with feelings, who would rather hurt themselves.
But that’s over. I have changed. I want to be “the good that has come forward.” I want to hear the “thunder” roar because I know I deserve it.
Thanks to you and this poem, I am reminded again that I should look back only as long as I need to. Then I’ll go forward into the history I’ll make.
Much love,
Christopher
Grade 12
Fall River, MA
Dear Christopher,
Thank you for this passionate letter.
Contributing your verse is exactly right.
I loved Dead Poets Society as a movie, too, but what I loved more was what it made me do, how it made me feel, and how I was hungry to make its sense be my sense.
You share some very important things in connecting your thoughts to the poem. While I’m glad your time with self-hurting is over, for example, we nevertheless hurt ourselves in many ways. Some kinds of self-harm are loud and call attention to themselves—in a curious way, this loud is good. Even if we can’t admit it, we hope someone will intervene, and for all the fallout that comes from it—high stress concern, therapy perhaps, funny looks, too many questions about how you’re doing, and so on—even with all this, something does indeed happen. The more insidious kinds of self-harm, however, where nobody pays much attention at all, these are the things to get hold of. Only you can do it. Is life worth living, you ask at one point—well, you won’t know until you live it. And if you live it well, I think you already know the answer to the question. You have a good, strong, affirming take on things by the end of your letter, which I’m so heartened by.
Count on what you are. Count on what you can be.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
My name is David and I am a student in Fall River, Massachusetts. As part of the Dear Poet Project, my English class read your poem, “A House Called Tomorrow”, and it was by far the poem that I enjoyed the most.
I like that you made the best out of the bad, such as when you said that there are a hundred good family members for the one that isn’t and that when you were young, you couldn’t talk because you didn’t know which words to use, not because you didn’t know any words. My favorite part was the last three stanzas. I found it really inspiring and love the idea of thinking of thunder as an applause from your ancestors.
Although the last three stanzas were my favorite, the part that I connected with the most was when you talked about the bad family members. For me, that was my father’s brother. I heard stories from my father of how he used to get drunk a lot, pick fights, was irresponsible, and in general was a disgrace to his family. He even got so angry at my father once that he wanted to kill him, but some friends of my father warned him. Luckily, the good to counter him was my father, who has worked hard his whole life to give me, my mom, and himself a better life. I’ve never met my uncle, but I don’t think I would really want to.
The lines “Look back only for as long as you must,/ Then go forward into the history that you will make” was a line that really interested me. I believe that we have to learn from the past in order to make sure we don’t repeat our mistakes and this line agrees with that, but I like that you specified “as long as you must.” The word “must” implies a minimum, so that we don’t get caught up into the past or start adopting the bad from the past, but the “you” makes it a personal thing, acknowledging that it will be different for everyone and you will have to use your better judgment to figure it out for yourself.
How long did you have to look into the past to be able to make your history? What did you learn from it? What part of your family history was most helpful in figuring out who you are?
Sincerely,
David
Grade 12
Fall River, MA
Dear David,
Thank you for taking time to write to me with such understanding.
I’m glad you can conceptualize thunder as applause along with me, and understand how difficult the sorting out of our words can be. Thank you for sharing with me the story of your father’s brother, who really sounds like someone who is not likely to be your role model. I’m not trying to be funny by that observation—he offers you a clear sense that there are choices in life, and it sounds like you’ve understood this clearly. In a curious way, he is a gift in your life.
What part of my history was most helpful in figuring out who I am is quite difficult to answer—it is all part of a process, part of an ongoing life lived, with choices at every turn. And sometimes we have to risk something—so many things that I didn’t think would turn out well actually did. Perhaps that is the kind of resolve I got from my parents most of all, both of them immigrants.
Onward, David. Don’t get mired in the things that don’t and won’t matter to you. The dark fringes are always going to be out there, but any book or movie will likely show you why that’s not the place to go. Make your choices as best you can, then make your way accordingly.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
I would love to write you some eloquent letter worthy of being published, but in reality, I don’t think that’s how letters should work. So here is what I will say instead: Thank you. Thank you for moving me with your words and showing me that words are far more powerful than they seem from a purely logical view. Words communicate, but yours showed me my world and the world of so many others. The world of those plagued by their own and their family’s history. I know that people may read this and get completely different messages out of it. I know that no one will read this and know exactly what you were thinking when you wrote it. But when I read this poem, I see that there is a life ahead of me that is not plagued by my father’s actions and mistakes. I see that no matter the dishonesty and infidelity of those who came before me, I can still be a good person. Sometimes all I know in this life is that I will not be my father, and most of the time I lower my standards because all I care about is that I am better than my father. This poem has shown me that no matter what those who came before me may or may not have done, I can be the good, and the good in my own family’s history outshines whatever bad there may be. The good in this world can always outshine the bad. So, thank you for showing me this good, and showing me that it can indeed triumph.
Yours truly,
Ellie
Grade 10
St. Louis, MO
Dear Ellie,
I would like to answer your straightforward opening with a simple “you’re welcome,” while at the same time recognizing that in those words I also thank all the people who did this for me as well.
We are sometimes utterly betrayed by those who should be most concerned with helping us and being part of our best-lived selves. But that betrayal, however much it might hurt, is not the definition of us. What we do with it is.
The way in which you read the poem is what matters. That you have thought about it, have understood it at all, have lived with it—all of this matters. This intellectual exercise of reading extends out, now, into life. You are becoming you, and that is the great lesson of the poem, I think. Whether you are better or worse from someone is perhaps less important than being different from them. The judgment absent, you are free to find your own way, mistakes included. Different.
And take heart. As the poem intimates, if someone close to you has hurt you, so many more have helped, whether you know it or not. The hurt is loud, but love, in all its many forms, is so often quiet but lasting. Understanding that is sometimes hard, but what a comfort it is to know as we all move forward.
You make some important observations about the poem and its connections to you. I hope these insights of yours offer you some positive forward movement, some clarity regarding you as tomorrow approaches, you and not someone else.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
Before I get to the endless flattery that is sure to ensue in this letter, first I should start with introductions. I’m Carter, a seventeen years young high school junior from Idaho. The reason I’m writing to you is simply that you wrote to me first with your poem “A House Called Tomorrow.” It started with a statement that struck me “You are not fifteen, or twelve, or seventeen—You are a hundred wild centuries”. This line embodies what it means to learn, age, and grow up. As every teenager who has ever lived, I've felt talked down to at times, like my thoughts were not worth the time of the infinite universe that sprawls out before us. But that line resonated a chord within me-- That line rather than talking at me, was like an invitation to share all my thoughts. However, you did not give me permission it was just an invitation. Most of the older generation would have felt the need to allow me to think, instead you simply welcomed me to share my thoughts. For that basic understanding I would like to thank you.
More graciousness must be shared however because you inspired me; sometimes I forget “That we can make a house called tomorrow. What we bring, finally, into the new day, every day, Is ourselves.”. This world, especially the current state of it, can feel dark and foreboding. As if nothing we do can change our course, it feels almost predetermined. You reminded me that the future will only be what I make of it. If I believe I can’t change the future of course I won’t. So I took your advice to heart, and I’ve started making my house called tomorrow. I will make you, and the generations upon generations before you proud. I will make you proud by building a future and a world I will be happy and proud to live in.
While that is the end of my main thoughts; I would like to comment on a few other lines such as “Be good, then better. Write books. Cure disease. Make us proud. Make yourself proud.” This line is important to me mainly because you put writing on the same level as anything else. You don’t degrade the importance of expression, which is all too easy to do when speaking of the future. As a fledgling writer, I often times feel discouraged by the way people speak of literature and poetry. From your piece I can infer that I should value the work I produce as it might be instrumental in saving the world. Before I sign off I have one question, what do you do when you feel the weight of the sky, like Atlas, pushing down on your shoulders?
Thank you.
Sincerely,
your gracious fanboy
Carter
Grade 11
Boise, ID
Dear Carter,
Thank you for this letter, whose opening made me laugh. You found me out. I did write this poem to you. All my poems are for you!
As I wrote that, I was struck by the truth of it—if not for you, then whom? I choose you.
You have some very positive and affirming assertions in this letter. Quite compelling is the recognition that you are, indeed, the one who will make the next house. That you intend to make us all proud in that process is something that, in turn, makes me proud. Thank you for saying that. But I want to point out something you say toward the end of your letter, something I especially love. It is your observation about my including expression as a regular thing. I have an ethos when I teach, something I’m always repeating to my students: Nothing so important, nothing at all unimportant. All human endeavors count. Writing, physics, bridge-building.
So, thinking about my poem and then writing to me about it means we’ve indeed spent some time together, even if just in words. I’ve very much enjoyed the visit.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Professor Ríos,
Your use of imagery in “A House Called Tomorrow” and “The Border” is one of the many things that I thoroughly enjoy about your poems. I can clearly see the “Double-X” on the “skin of so many” and can hear the “applause” when those before me have moved on.
Being a seventeen-year-old girl, living in a time when we may not feel as though we have the ability to “go forward into the history [we] make” I was really moved by this poem. Not only, by the message you send, but how you said it. You were able to allow me to have a realization that I was “made, fundamentally, from the good.” I lost my father last year and turned to poetry as a way for me to say what I needed to say without people knowing it was me. Not only have you given me the strength to move forward and forget the past; you gave me the strength to be happy with who I am and not to hide myself from the world because, I can make change in the world if I try hard enough.
Living on the border is hard. Not because of the lack of opportunity, but because I can see what really happens when people try to cross the border. I began going across the border to feed the asylum seekers about 3 weeks ago, and I can feel myself in the “white line on a skunks back” when my mother, and I cross. Many of the people that I meet see the border as a “stop sign” because they are forced to wait to come into a country of freedom. Your diction in this work, not only gives me a sense of gratefulness in that someone understands the hardship which comes with living on the border, but that there is hope in others to understand why we live here. We live here not because it's cheaper than living up north. We live here because we know that we can connect with people who need help.
Thank you so much for being a part of this project. You have taught me how to love myself, and have given me the strength to connect with the people around me. I am extremely grateful for this opportunity to speak with you and to be exposed to you're inspiring words.
A New Fan,
Helen
Grade 11
Mercedes, TX
Dear Helen,
I’m so pleased to see that you’ve read various poems of mine, not simply this one. You are particularly referencing “The Border: A Double Sonnet.” I love your discussion of border in all this—in my work and in your thoughts. Thank you for taking the time to write to me, and to start a conversation.
Your observation about why we might live at the border is very important to me. But let me start by thanking you for distinguishing what I say in the poem from how I say it. That is the art of writing poems, and I’m always pleased to have someone recognize it, both for me and for themselves as they move forward into not simply doing things but doing them well. How we do anything, whether it is writing poems or building rocket ships, is crucial to the spirit of our lives.
That said, let me say how sorry I am about your father. I trust that the poem showed you that he isn’t lost at all, but inside you.
And I’m so proud of you as you find ways to help others. The border means many things, including being the line between helping and not helping. I grew up, too, in the circumstances you are describing, and my family was once those people you’re describing. Help was what they needed, and what changed their lives.
But how you help will be so crucial in what you do. So far, you have listened to your heart. We think the North Star is up in the sky, but that North Star is really your heart, what’s inside you, guiding you forward.
I wouldn’t trade growing up on the border for anything.
Please give my best to your teacher, your classmates, and your mother.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
I’m Lana and I’m a freshman. I really liked your poem, “A House Called Tomorrow”. It really made me think not only about where I come from, but how that translates into who I am now. I really liked what you said about the words being your own and how there were so many to choose from. Sometimes I think I’m still deciding which are to be my own.
I’ve read a few of your poems and I always wondered how you were able to put your ideas into words. To be honest, I constantly have a million ideas in my head that never get out because I feel like I don’t know how. Was it always easy to put your ideas into words? Or was it something that took a long time to perfect?
There was a thunderstorm here in Wisconsin the other night and it made me think about what you said about how the thunder is their applause. I think of all the lines that’s the one that stood out to me the most. Probably because people think of thunderstorms as something gloomy or dark, but now I think of it as something else.
I also spent a lot of time thinking about how you said we only come from the good no matter how loud the bad can be. It sort of struck my sixth sense a bit. I think that it wouldn’t matter how loud they are because you choose your own words. “ a hundred wild centuries” also made me think about how the centuries probably were wild. The lessons and experiences of our family ancestors are all what makes up a story, a family’s story.
I like how you said that you are all the you’s that you have been and that you carry them with you in every step. It’s really true, not only biologically but almost with your soul too. I thought about it as if they almost follow you around and watch almost like a caring parent, cheering you on.
I think “ Make us proud. Make yourself proud.” is a very important line especially for someone growing up. Kids always feel pressure from parents to make them proud but never realize that making themselves proud is the best thing they can do. I think that if you spend your whole life trying to make someone else happy, you’ll never truly be happy yourself.
Sincerely,
A fifteen and a hundred wild centuries year-old,
Lana
Grade 9
Milwaukee, WI
Dear Lana
Thank you for sharing your thoughts on my poem with me.
The part in the poem about the words, so many words, we’re faced with as little kids and then having to decide which ones are ours is one of my favorite parts in the poem, too. I have a new granddaughter who is struggling with this right now—apparently, the words she is in love with is ppphhtt, and things that rhyme with that. But she is trying. That’s the point—we are all trying, and it’s critical that we do. We can inherit all sorts of things like language, but we need to choose what is actually valuable to us.
Something I’m always saying is that a dictionary is efficient but a poem is effective. That is, a dictionary has all the words in the world, while a poem has only a few. But those few words are the ones necessary in the moment.
The question you ask about putting your ideas into words is a very good one. Here’s how I think about it. I imagine a kitchen table where I’m sitting down to talk with someone. Conversation with another human being slows us down and helps us organize our thoughts—we have to make sense or they’ll think we’re crazy. And if what we’re saying is boring, they’ll leave. So, this is a good way to imagine what the process of writing is like—the white page is really an elegant tablecloth and someone—your reader—is sitting across the table from you. Make this a really great breakfast, not because of what you ate but because of what you said.
I loved hearing that a thunderstorm made you think of the poem, and that the poem made you rethink thunderstorms. It took me a long time to do something with all that noise. Finally, thinking of it all as applause seemed like a wonderful way to listen to what nature and the centuries were all trying to say to me.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
As I was reading your poem “A House Called Tomorrow,” I got inspired by it because of the words like mothers, fathers, and families. This really means to everyone because their family gives them love which will make them happy. Some people don’t care what their family tells them to do. Suppose your mom tells to throw garbage, some people are lazy and won’t throw it out. They will just sit in the house and do nothing except for playing games.
The sentence that stands out to me was “If someone in your family tree was trouble, A hundred were not”. This really stands out because if there is someone who has pain, the others will try to make them happy. The people who are trying to make them happy will think that his pain will go away in some time. But the people just express that they are out of pain. The real pain is in their heart which will never go away because they will just keep remembering it again and again.
My questions for you is what made you write a poem about this topic. This topic is so inspirational. The people who believe the truth and do not lie can only understand this poem because the main topic is about our lives and what happens in it. Thank you for creating this poem because it really makes me feel inspire and to learn new things in life.
Sincerely,
Nishit
Grade 7
Edison, NJ
Dear Nishit,
Thank you for opening up to me so eloquently. It is the most that I can hope for a poem of mine to do—to make others eloquent about themselves.
Your discussion of pain is so intriguing to me. And it is indeed what I was writing about—the pain that comes from living in an imperfect world. Sometimes, when we should be the ones being helped, others nevertheless get attention. That’s not always fair. But it helps us to understand that before we can help someone else we have to help ourselves, by making the best choices we can, by understanding why these are good choices, and then by living them. Sometimes we help by being a good example. We are helped by seeing a good example as well. But the world is, as I said, imperfect, and sometimes things don’t always work that way. Pain is so often the result. However, that’s largely why I wrote the poem—to explain that whatever is going on in our family our around us, it’s up to us to make good choices even if nobody else is. In that proposition, however, we have to understand that what someone else thinks is right may not be what we think is right. That’s where we have to be forgiving as well, but clear in ourselves.
I want you to know I understand that some of the things you are saying are hard to share. Thank you for trusting me.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
I liked your poem, A House Called Tomorrow because it taught me I might have a little bit of all of my family, but it is I who gets to pick my path and it also reminds me I not only have to make other people proud, but I have to make myself proud and that’s something I have to work on. Another thing it tells me every day is a fresh day where I can start over and not have to keep going with the past. I think it’s a good thing to think that thunder is our ancestors’ applauding us and being proud of us. I like that you think that we’re not just whatever our age is, we’re a hundred wild centuries and our age. You taught me to move forward in life and make history.
Sincerely,
Christina
Grade 5
West Haven, CT
Dear Christina,
I’m very glad you liked the poem. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. Sharing is so often a tender business and difficult to explain to the world, but it’s part of what keeps us human.
Making yourself proud is one of the most important things this poem is trying to say, and you got that right away. You also mention, and recognize, that this takes work. That’s the part we sometimes forget. The work, however, is everything, and that’s what will make us all better. Making good choices, choices that are ours, choices that matter—this is the work.
Taking the time to write to me about something that matters to you is a great step on the road toward making yourself proud. Thank you. I am privileged that you have shared all this because I know it’s an act of courage, speaking your mind and explaining your thinking. Onward!
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto
Dear Alberto Ríos,
Hello, my name is Jene, and I am a 7th grader. Your poem, “A House Called Tomorrow,” is very enticing. The fluent use of words is impeccable. Real life scenarios really help to visualize the poem’s storyline. The deep amount of thought is very intelligent and helps the audience to understand the poem. I have decided to write to you about this poem because of these amazing reasons.
As I interpret it, this poem is about being yourself. You don’t need to be just like the people before you. You can be whatever you want to be. I understand that there can be different interpretations. This is just how I look at it. That’s the best thing about poems, you can use your imagination to see it through your own eyes. Your poem talks about family. Maybe another interpretation could be about how your heritage can affect your decisions. You talk about ages, maybe some people think of your poem of how you are a “reincarnation” of your ancestors. What is your interpretation? I really liked the use of family and close aspects of life. It kept me in the poem as it pulled me in. I appreciate the amount of thought that the poem has, it makes a difference. Just to think, maybe you can’t think about the differences. I like how we can all see your poem as a way to think. Thought is a main aspect of life. Thinking is the center of all creativity. This poem was made by your thinking. Isn’t that amazing, it’s like I can hear how you think.
Being adopted, the feeling of family is different for me. That’s the great part about family, it’s everywhere. We all can be a family. If you believe and can love those around you, anyone can be your family. Real family though, the ones that feed you, the ones that taught you to tie your shoes, those are the people we look up to. It’s impressive how that works, we love our family, and our family loves us. If they really love you, they will let you be yourself. They will let you be different.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Jene
Grade 7
Butternut, WI
Dear Jene,
I really enjoyed the straightforwardness of your letter and what you had to say. It was a good discussion of style and presentation, and I like that you have an open mind about different interpretations.
You ask me what my own interpretation is. It’s funny, but I rarely think that way. I like all your versions, which I myself can make an argument for as to why I wrote the poem. I think perhaps this comes from speaking more than one language, which helps me to understand that there’s always multiple ways to look at something, including every single word. But your comment about a lot of thought going into the poem is quite true. In fact, it made me look at my own family, my own ancestors, in a different light, and brought me closer to them as a person outside of my poet mode. I don’t think I’m a reincarnation of my ancestors, but a product of them. That’s a very different thing, I think. It allows you to be yourself, absolutely, but it also gives each of us a context of belonging.
Be yourself, I guess I’m saying, though it sounds cheesy at first. Be yourself, then get better. That’s the harder work. Trial to triumph—make that your plan.
Thank you again for writing and for thinking enough about the poem that it mattered.
Please give my best to your teacher and your classmates.
—Alberto