By — Jennifer Hijazi Jennifer Hijazi Leave a comment 0comments Share Copy URL https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/poetry/this-new-poetry-anthology-honors-the-scope-of-native-writers Email Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Pinterest Tumblr Share on Facebook Share on Twitter This new poetry anthology honors the scope of native writers Poetry Jul 23, 2018 5:38 PM EST In “New Poets of Native Nations,” readers will not find exoticised verse on “treaties, battles and drums,” editor Heid E. Erdrich assures in her introduction to the 2018 anthology. There is instead “grass and apologies, bones and joy, marching bands and genocide, skin and social work” and much more in the work of the 21 native writers featured in the collection — an answer to what Erdrich and others believe is the systemic misrepresentation of a diverse community. Laura Da’, a poet and teacher featured in the collection, sees tremendous success in the vast array of work, and is tired of the mainstream fetishization of native literature, an issue she attributes to underrepresentation and non-natives writers claiming to write native narratives. “It reinforces other-ness, and I think the subtext of it is, it’s not competing with what’s considered to be the true literary landscape,” Da’ said. This was a core goal for Erdrich’s anthology: tackling the idea that art by native creators can stand on its own in the mainstream, and not be categorized only as ethnic or cultural artifacts. “Unless our poetry conforms to some stereotypical notion of Native American history and culture in the past tense…it goes unrecognized,” writes Erdrich. “We do and we do not write about eagles, spirits and canyons. Native poetry may be those things, but not only those things.” In “Passive Voice,” Da’ recounts a sixth-grade grammar lesson on detecting the use of passive voice by inserting “by zombies” after each verb. The poem was inspired by her research into the use of language when describing mass atrocities and “how often they’re are marked by passive voice where nobody is held accountable, even through the grammar of how these events are memorialized,” she said. I wonder if these Sixth graders will recollect, On summer vacation, As they stretch their legs On the way home From Yellowstone or Yosemite And the byway’s historical marker Beckons them to the Site of an Indian village– Where trouble is brewing. Where, after further hostilities, the army was directed to enter. Where the village was razed after the skirmish occured. Where most were women and children. Poet Tommy Pico — another author in the anthology — is inspired by the Bird Songs of the Kumeyaay nation, from which he hails. Pico describes Bird Songs as travelogues, song cycles that can last for hours that tell the stories of the Kumeyaay finding their way to ancestral lands. Tommy Pico (Photo by Niqui Carter) His own epic poems are a take on that tradition. He writes of migration away from ancestral lands near Baja California and San Diego County and the “trials and tribulations” of settling in Brooklyn — reflections on being close to his culture, yet so far away. “They were like echoes or whispers, and in my attempt to hear them, as if I were a satellite, what I picked up on was poetry,” Pico said. He said his poems are the first Bird Songs to be written in hundreds of years, a practice lost to compulsory — and often deadly — Indian re-education. The United States government began sending indigenous children to federal boarding schools in the 1870s, a practice meant to strip them of their native identities and force them to assimilate to the white, American way of life. Children were routinely punished severely for expressing their native culture, and many of the schools were susceptible to disease. The repercussions of these abusive “re-educations” are still felt by contemporary generations, Pico’s included. “It was it was a cultural genocide as well as an actual genocide,” Pico said. “My response to that is to continually create new culture, because the more stuff I make, the more Kumeyaay culture exists in the world.” But while Pico appreciates the spotlight, there is danger in the mainstream moving on to “the next ethnicity du jour.” He sees a challenge in keeping up the momentum of increased representation of indigenous work, and cautions against audiences glancing over work like this as a fad, only to discard it and move on. Pico writes book-long poems to combat those fleeting attention spans, pushing people to commit to his work. “If you want to get this, you have to read the whole thing,” he said. Yet the release of anthologies like this one heralds an exciting time for Pico and others: an increasing resonance for native writers telling their own stories. “There is a breadth to the contemporary Indigenous voice,” Pico said, then emphasized: “There isn’t actually a contemporary Indigenous voice, there are proliferate Indigenous voices.” Read an excerpt from Pico’s “IRL” included in “New Poets of Native Nations” below: From IRL BY TOMMY PICO Is this ad relevant to you? We would like to enhance your ad watching ex- perience. Yr a garbage person if you can’t take a good photo, is the underlying mess- age of “gay” “culture” in Brooklyn The concept of fame in the United States I hate having my picture taken, I say to this photog- rapher at this party bc every damn party has to b photographed otherwise it doesn’t happen And bc the parties are so boring, if ppl weren’t posing there would b nothing to do but drink. It’s too loud for convos n they don’t let you dance in the city. He says oh come on. I say calm1Y No. n he asks is this an Indian thing? Like does a pic steal yr soul or something? I want to crumple him up in the palm of my hand But I guess it is a NDN thing in the sense that I’m NDN n doing this thing. Posin for pics is like not being able to stare into the sun for too long but kind of the opposite—blank black lens crystallizes the uncertainty within. Is this good, or bad is a sentence in a fight n I hate confrontation. Why do I have to take sides? Switzerland has the strictest privacy laws on the planet, and I have the flyest tank tops in America. Some- how I feel good about it. In Kumeyaay there’s a concept for in- between. Not knowing how to smile, how you look bent over a book Waking up on either coast feels the exact same Sometimes you wake up not knowing how old you are n if Johnny is down the hall in a robe makin eggs. Future leaders are wooshed away from the tribe in a sort of boreal way to feel the greater world, stone hills etc (this is back in the day). This in-between is like gangbusters for Muse. It’s like cat- nip to Muse It’s throb of light in-between the 2 of us Just the 2 of us, you n I. I rub Muse my neck I’m clenching my jaw for like 20 mins waiting for this damn photog to take damn pic. In-between Kumeyaay and Brooklyn— that it has a word, even if the word is lost even if the word doesn’t exist even if I’m lyin to you, is breath tethering Opens throb of light inside me. I don’t have the option of keeping my God alive by keeping her name secret b/c the word for her is gone Keeping secrets is not possible So I give everything away I’m out here all alone trying to wad up enough obsessions to replace her and with it, my God I never got to know her But strangely sometimes when I’m cry- laughing at that scene in Steel Magnolias or I can’t sing the part in that Beyoncé song at karaoke where the music gets all soft and I try to croon ooh baby, kiss me— Maud has to take the mic bc the feeling gets bigger than my voice n the feeling I think it’s her My God ‘s shadow walking down a hall- way away but like I said I lost my voice n don’t know her name Maybe it’s Wa’ashi or Pemu, says this clairaudient to me apropos of nothing But I’ll never know 4 sure So I can’t call after her n then I’m like, crying at a Beyoncé song r u kidding me Teebs get it together bitch My dad grows his hair long Black waves cascade down his back b/c knives crop the ceremony of his mother’s hair at the NDN boarding school I cut mine in mourning for the old life but I grow my poems long. A dark reminder on white pages. A new ceremony. I grab the mic back from Maud Flip for a new song to 98 flash across the karaoke screen Fist breath low n ready James is finally following me back on Insta so I take a somewhat risque selfie send it DM n right after message OOOPS! omg I meant to send that to someone else gosh so embarrassed oops! He responds w/ a pic of his computer screen His phone # on it so we text n he’s like come over n I’m like do u have A/C he says Yes n I just straight up drop the mic n Leave. from “IRL,” by Tommy Pico; originally published by Birds, LLC Tommy Pico is a writer and karaoke enthusiast. Originally from the Viejas Indian reservation of the Kumeyaay nation, he currently lives in Brooklyn. By — Jennifer Hijazi Jennifer Hijazi Jennifer Hijazi is a news assistant at PBS NewsHour. @jenhijaz
In “New Poets of Native Nations,” readers will not find exoticised verse on “treaties, battles and drums,” editor Heid E. Erdrich assures in her introduction to the 2018 anthology. There is instead “grass and apologies, bones and joy, marching bands and genocide, skin and social work” and much more in the work of the 21 native writers featured in the collection — an answer to what Erdrich and others believe is the systemic misrepresentation of a diverse community. Laura Da’, a poet and teacher featured in the collection, sees tremendous success in the vast array of work, and is tired of the mainstream fetishization of native literature, an issue she attributes to underrepresentation and non-natives writers claiming to write native narratives. “It reinforces other-ness, and I think the subtext of it is, it’s not competing with what’s considered to be the true literary landscape,” Da’ said. This was a core goal for Erdrich’s anthology: tackling the idea that art by native creators can stand on its own in the mainstream, and not be categorized only as ethnic or cultural artifacts. “Unless our poetry conforms to some stereotypical notion of Native American history and culture in the past tense…it goes unrecognized,” writes Erdrich. “We do and we do not write about eagles, spirits and canyons. Native poetry may be those things, but not only those things.” In “Passive Voice,” Da’ recounts a sixth-grade grammar lesson on detecting the use of passive voice by inserting “by zombies” after each verb. The poem was inspired by her research into the use of language when describing mass atrocities and “how often they’re are marked by passive voice where nobody is held accountable, even through the grammar of how these events are memorialized,” she said. I wonder if these Sixth graders will recollect, On summer vacation, As they stretch their legs On the way home From Yellowstone or Yosemite And the byway’s historical marker Beckons them to the Site of an Indian village– Where trouble is brewing. Where, after further hostilities, the army was directed to enter. Where the village was razed after the skirmish occured. Where most were women and children. Poet Tommy Pico — another author in the anthology — is inspired by the Bird Songs of the Kumeyaay nation, from which he hails. Pico describes Bird Songs as travelogues, song cycles that can last for hours that tell the stories of the Kumeyaay finding their way to ancestral lands. Tommy Pico (Photo by Niqui Carter) His own epic poems are a take on that tradition. He writes of migration away from ancestral lands near Baja California and San Diego County and the “trials and tribulations” of settling in Brooklyn — reflections on being close to his culture, yet so far away. “They were like echoes or whispers, and in my attempt to hear them, as if I were a satellite, what I picked up on was poetry,” Pico said. He said his poems are the first Bird Songs to be written in hundreds of years, a practice lost to compulsory — and often deadly — Indian re-education. The United States government began sending indigenous children to federal boarding schools in the 1870s, a practice meant to strip them of their native identities and force them to assimilate to the white, American way of life. Children were routinely punished severely for expressing their native culture, and many of the schools were susceptible to disease. The repercussions of these abusive “re-educations” are still felt by contemporary generations, Pico’s included. “It was it was a cultural genocide as well as an actual genocide,” Pico said. “My response to that is to continually create new culture, because the more stuff I make, the more Kumeyaay culture exists in the world.” But while Pico appreciates the spotlight, there is danger in the mainstream moving on to “the next ethnicity du jour.” He sees a challenge in keeping up the momentum of increased representation of indigenous work, and cautions against audiences glancing over work like this as a fad, only to discard it and move on. Pico writes book-long poems to combat those fleeting attention spans, pushing people to commit to his work. “If you want to get this, you have to read the whole thing,” he said. Yet the release of anthologies like this one heralds an exciting time for Pico and others: an increasing resonance for native writers telling their own stories. “There is a breadth to the contemporary Indigenous voice,” Pico said, then emphasized: “There isn’t actually a contemporary Indigenous voice, there are proliferate Indigenous voices.” Read an excerpt from Pico’s “IRL” included in “New Poets of Native Nations” below: From IRL BY TOMMY PICO Is this ad relevant to you? We would like to enhance your ad watching ex- perience. Yr a garbage person if you can’t take a good photo, is the underlying mess- age of “gay” “culture” in Brooklyn The concept of fame in the United States I hate having my picture taken, I say to this photog- rapher at this party bc every damn party has to b photographed otherwise it doesn’t happen And bc the parties are so boring, if ppl weren’t posing there would b nothing to do but drink. It’s too loud for convos n they don’t let you dance in the city. He says oh come on. I say calm1Y No. n he asks is this an Indian thing? Like does a pic steal yr soul or something? I want to crumple him up in the palm of my hand But I guess it is a NDN thing in the sense that I’m NDN n doing this thing. Posin for pics is like not being able to stare into the sun for too long but kind of the opposite—blank black lens crystallizes the uncertainty within. Is this good, or bad is a sentence in a fight n I hate confrontation. Why do I have to take sides? Switzerland has the strictest privacy laws on the planet, and I have the flyest tank tops in America. Some- how I feel good about it. In Kumeyaay there’s a concept for in- between. Not knowing how to smile, how you look bent over a book Waking up on either coast feels the exact same Sometimes you wake up not knowing how old you are n if Johnny is down the hall in a robe makin eggs. Future leaders are wooshed away from the tribe in a sort of boreal way to feel the greater world, stone hills etc (this is back in the day). This in-between is like gangbusters for Muse. It’s like cat- nip to Muse It’s throb of light in-between the 2 of us Just the 2 of us, you n I. I rub Muse my neck I’m clenching my jaw for like 20 mins waiting for this damn photog to take damn pic. In-between Kumeyaay and Brooklyn— that it has a word, even if the word is lost even if the word doesn’t exist even if I’m lyin to you, is breath tethering Opens throb of light inside me. I don’t have the option of keeping my God alive by keeping her name secret b/c the word for her is gone Keeping secrets is not possible So I give everything away I’m out here all alone trying to wad up enough obsessions to replace her and with it, my God I never got to know her But strangely sometimes when I’m cry- laughing at that scene in Steel Magnolias or I can’t sing the part in that Beyoncé song at karaoke where the music gets all soft and I try to croon ooh baby, kiss me— Maud has to take the mic bc the feeling gets bigger than my voice n the feeling I think it’s her My God ‘s shadow walking down a hall- way away but like I said I lost my voice n don’t know her name Maybe it’s Wa’ashi or Pemu, says this clairaudient to me apropos of nothing But I’ll never know 4 sure So I can’t call after her n then I’m like, crying at a Beyoncé song r u kidding me Teebs get it together bitch My dad grows his hair long Black waves cascade down his back b/c knives crop the ceremony of his mother’s hair at the NDN boarding school I cut mine in mourning for the old life but I grow my poems long. A dark reminder on white pages. A new ceremony. I grab the mic back from Maud Flip for a new song to 98 flash across the karaoke screen Fist breath low n ready James is finally following me back on Insta so I take a somewhat risque selfie send it DM n right after message OOOPS! omg I meant to send that to someone else gosh so embarrassed oops! He responds w/ a pic of his computer screen His phone # on it so we text n he’s like come over n I’m like do u have A/C he says Yes n I just straight up drop the mic n Leave. from “IRL,” by Tommy Pico; originally published by Birds, LLC Tommy Pico is a writer and karaoke enthusiast. Originally from the Viejas Indian reservation of the Kumeyaay nation, he currently lives in Brooklyn.