they were taken by a man named frank espada, who died in 2014 at age 83. >> he lived many lives. he evolved from someone who was working in the streets of east new york, where i grew up, to someone who was documenting the condition of entire people, >> brown: what's it like to see your father's work in the smithsonian? >> surreal. >> brown: martin espada, frank's son, is an award-winning poet, author of more than a dozen books, a former tenant lawyer, and now professor at the university of massachusetts. his new volume, "vivas to those who have failed;" the title comes from a line by walt whitman; is filled with poems that remember and celebrate his father. >> i am the archaeologist. i sift the shards of you: cufflinks, passports photos, a button from the march on washington with a black hand shaking a white hand, letters in spanish, your birth certificate from a town high in the mountains. the poetry about my father is both elegiac and documentary. poets often in these situations perform the function of preachers, right? people expect you to say something meaningful in this age