National Book Festival Presents Joy Harjo

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>> Robin Soweka: [Native American language] Hello, how are you all? [ Crowd cheers ] [ Native American language ] My name is Robin Soweka. I'm from the Beard Clan [assumed spelling] and my tribal town is Hickory Ground. And I'm from Oklahoma. [ Crowd cheers, applause ] [Native American language] Thank you. [Native American language] I was asked to say a few words in our native Muscogee language and I was very honored when I got asked. [Native American language] Like I said earlier, I was from Hickory Ground and the honoree, she's also from Hickory Ground. And I'm representing the Ground. And it makes us real proud that one of our own received this honor. [ Crowd cheers, applause ] [Native American language] As Muscogee people we carried our sacred fires in the songs from our homelands to present day Oklahoma, which we still carry on that tradition. Our ceremonial ways, our language, and our culture that's what makes us Muscogee. And we try to stress that to our young warriors, in our young woman. Two traits. I grew up my whole life as a traditionalist. Ever since I was able to go, two traits was always taught us, and we try to teach that today. [Native American language] Humbleness and love. That should be for everybody in every walks of life, every day. [ Crowd cheers, applause ] [ Foreign language ] First of all, I left out, I wanted to say -- I wanted to thank the Creator for giving us a beautiful day that we were able to attend here today. [ Crowd cheers, applause ] [ Native American language, applause ] The honoree, Miss Joy Harjo, she wanted to accept this award, not only on her behalf but for all the native women, from all the native nations, from all over. [ Crowd cheers, applause ] Through hard work and perseverance, anything can be accomplished. [Native American language] In closing, I just wanted to give a big [Native American language]. I'm real honored I was asked to speak. I just want to say, thank you, all. [Native American language]. [ Applause ] >> Please welcome to the stage the 14th Librarian of Congress, Carla Hayden. [ Applause ] >> Carla Hayden: Good evening and welcome to the Library of Congress. I just have to start by saying, wow. [Laughter]. What a wonderful turnout for out new poet laureate. Greetings to the audience in the overflow rooms and to everyone watching the live stream. This proves that poetry rocks. [ Crowd cheers, applause ] And I'd like to thank Robin Soweka, the Medicine Maker of the Muscogee Creek Nations' Hickory Ground for beginning tonight's event with a traditional opening. We thank you and we know that there are other members of the Nation who have traveled from Oklahoma to be here tonight and there is one special guest we want to honor before I bring out our poet laureate. But first, I want to tell you about the Library's New National Book Festival Present Series. And as many of you know, the Library hosts the National Book Festival every year at the Washington Convention Center and we just celebrated it -- celebrated it two weeks ago with more than 140 authors and more than 200,000 attendees. [ Crowd cheers, applause ] And due to the success of the Festival, we wanted to extend it to a year-long author series that will culminate at the convention for the 20th anniversary of the Festival in August 2020. And tonight is the second event of the series and we couldn't be more excited to have it begin Joy Harjo's laureateship. So, to find out more about the National Book Festival Present and to check out library treasures, you can discover them from anywhere in the world, just visit loc.gov. You may know that the library's laureateship is over 80 years old and great poets, such as Gwendolyn Brookes and Robert Frost have held the position. And tonight, as I've said, many people have traveled from far and wide to help us honor Joy as the new United States poet laureate. [ Crowd cheers, applause ] On behalf of the Library of Congress, I am honored to welcome Chief James Floyd. [ Applause ] And we have -- [ Applause ] And we have a gift for you. It is a 1903 photograph of the Muscogee Creek leader Chitto Harjo [assumed spelling] which comes -- [ Applause ] Which comes from the Library's Prints and Photographs Division and was selected by the poet laureate, herself. [ Applause ] >> Principal Chief James Floyd: [Native American language] Hello. Hope you're doing well tonight. It gives me pleasure to welcome you to the program tonight. And on behalf of Muscogee Creek Nation, as the Principal Chief, I extend my welcome to you tonight. It's such a pleasure to be up here at this time. I wanted to speak a little bit about the Muscogee Creek Nation. We are the fourth largest tribe in the United States with more than 88,000 members throughout the world. We have our headquarters in Oklahoma. We live in Oklahoma now but we're traditionally a southeast tribe we call Seven States in the southeast primarily our traditional homeland, most importantly they're the states of Alabama, Georgia, and Florida. We were removed in a Trail of Tears to Indian Territory in the 1830s. The reason I bring that to bear is that Joy is a citizen of Muscogee Creek Nation, we have a beautiful history and beautiful culture to share. And we hope that you'll see the beauty of our people through Joy as she fulfills the poet laureateship during her term. We are also a matrilineal society and women play an important role in everything that we do every day. And so we hope that you also see that in the works that Joy has as she holds this position and she goes out among the world. And so, we have already seen as mentioned before the influence that she's having of the young women of Muscogee Creek Nation -- and the women of Muscogee Creek Nation and the women of the world. To bring them forth the full powers that they have and they should have. So, we're very please tonight and we hope that you enjoy the ceremony. And thank you of the photograph of Chitto Harjo, a member of the Hickory Ground, [inaudible]. So, very pleased to have that and he plays a very important in the history of our nation and, hopefully, you'll learn and hear more about that yourself. [Native American language]. [ Applause ] >> Carla Hayden: And now on to our laureate. Five months ago, after a long process that included nominations by over 90 critics, scholars, art administrators, and previous poet laureates, I got a chance to give Joy Harjo a call. Now she had been told by the Poetry and Literature Center that we had quick question to ask. [Laughter]. And I got straight to the point. Would she serve as the United States poet laureate? [ Whoop from audience, laughter ] That's how we felt. [Laughter]. Everyone in the office that day was excited about the call. Crowded around. We had seen advanced copies of an American Sunrise and we felt that it would be the perfect collection to coincide with her laureateship. And we knew that over the course of nearly a half-century-long career she had published so many great and necessary books, from early poetry collections such as She Had Some Horses and In -- [ Applause ] In Mad Love and War -- [ Applause ] To her recent memoire, Crazy Brave. [ Applause ] We also knew Joy to be an award-winning musician who had long championed the power of voice and song, as well as a dedicated teacher and mentor for generations of writers. And we felt proud that Joy, as a member of the Nation, would serve as our first Native American poet laureate. [ Applause ] Back to the call. [Laughter]. Crowded around. Well, there was a pause. And we felt that we had caught her a little bit by surprise. But thankfully she said yes. And so, we're here tonight to celebrate the start of her historic and much anticipated laureateship. She has already done so much on behalf of poetry. But the country and the world will gain even more from her appointment. She will continue to help all of us see the world anew and understand our past, connect us to who we are, and where we are and show us, hopefully, how we can move forward together. So, please, join me in welcoming the 23rd poet laureate consultant in poetry, Joy Harjo. [ Applause, cheers ] >> Joy Harjo: This room is all my family. You can tell. [ Laughter ] You know, this is the power of poetry. It's brought all of us here. I'm going to start out and thank you [Native American language] Soweka, and Chief, and Carla and this. It's amazing because that, you know, that's how it is. Poetry doesn't just emerge. It emerges from the soul of a community, from a community's history, mythological structures, the heart of the people. And it all goes back to the land because we are the earth. And so we're here tonight to celebrate poetry. I'm going to start out with the land acknowledgement. Please bear with me, with my system here. [Laughs]. We gratefully acknowledge the Native peoples, on whose ancestral homelands we are gathered together this evening, as well as the diverse and vibrate native communities who make their home here. And also, remember all those tribal nation representatives who came here and continued to arrive here in this city to seek justice. [ Applause ] Thank you. I'm joined here with my band. I've got Robert Muller here. [ Applause ] Howard Cloud on bass. [ Applause ] Larry Mitchell on guitar. [ Applause ] I'll introduce them more fully in a little bit. I was back there making up bios for them. [Laughter]. Fictionalized bios. Anyway, we're really honored to be here to celebrate poetry. And we're going to start out, it's going to be chronological. One of the earliest poems, actually, was Remember. Because poetry has been one of my biggest teachers and it's taught me -- it teaches me how to listen. I was the least likely person to be a poet. I was going to be a painter like my grandmother, Naomi Harjo, and my Aunt Lois Harjo. And because I could paint and paint and I didn't have to speak. But one night poetry came to me and said, you're coming with me. You need to learn how to listen and, yes, we know it's going to be a hard road, especially for us who are teaching you. And I took it on and it's been my biggest teacher. Because when you go into the place of poetry as a writer or a reader of poetry, you go into that place beyond time. You go into the place beyond words. It's -- and you find things there. You can find -- you can find yourself. You find ancestors. You find out that those stones nearby can speak and the trees have their own language. Now the scientists are coming out with all kinds of books about this. But this is part of our all-knowledge. This is called Remember. For the ancestors here. [ Music ] Remember the sky you were born under, know each of the star's stories. Remember the moon, know who she is. Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the strongest point of time. Remember sundown and the giving away to night. Remember your birth, how your mother struggled to give you form and breath. You were evidence of her life, and her mother's, and hers. Remember your father. He is your life, also. Remember the earth whose skin you are: red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth, brown earth, we are earth. Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their tribes, their families, their histories, too. Listen to them. Talk to them. They are alive poems. Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the origin of this universe. Remember that you are all people and all people are you. Remember that you are this universe and this universe is you. Remember language that comes from this. Remember the dance that language is, that life is. [ Music ] [ Applause ] Okay. I just -- I need to turn my mic on. And where is my mic? I also wanted to say that every poem has poetry ancestors. Of course, I think of that poem. There's always Walt Whitman hanging out there. [ Laughter ] He's always there. And I think of some of our old songs that always remind us to remember. Remember who we are. Remember to be humble. Remember that we're all here together. Okay. So, this is, She Had Some Horses. [ Applause ] And the ancestors here, there's a lot of them. I think of my -- I'm the 7th generation from a [inaudible]. And he had a thing with horses. So, he's part of this and these traditional. When I started writing poetry, I was a student at the University of New Mexico. And I heard a lot of Navajo horse songs. Those are a part of this, too. And Alan Ginsburg, of course. [ Laughter ] There are several lineages. Okay. Go ahead horses. [ Music ] She had some horses. She had horses who were bodies of sand. She had horses who were maps drawn of blood. She had horses who were skins of ocean water. She had horses who were the blue air of sky. She had horses who were clay and would break. She had horses who were splintered red cliff. She had some horses. [Music] She had horses with eyes of trains. She had horses with full, brown thighs. She had horses who laughed too much. She had horses who threw rocks at glass houses. She had horses who licked razor blades. She had some horses. [ Music ] She had horses who danced in their mothers' arms. She had horses who thought they were the sun and their bodies shone and burned like stars. She had horses who waltzed nightly on the moon. She had horses who were much too shy, and kept quiet in stalls of their own making. She had some horses. She had horses who liked Creek Stomp Dance songs. She had horses who cried in their beer. She had horses who spit at male queens who made them afraid of themselves. She had horses who said they weren't afraid. She had horses who lied. She had horses who told the truth, who were stripped bare of their tongues. She had some horses. [ Music ] She had horses who called themselves, "horse." She had horses who called themselves, "spirit," and kept their voices secret and to themselves. She had horses who had no names. She had horses who had books of names. She had some horses. [ Music ] She had horses who whispered in the dark, who were afraid to speak. She had horses who screamed out of fear of the silence, who carried knives to protect themselves from ghosts. She had horses who waited for destruction. She had horses who waited for resurrection. She had some horses. [Music] She had horses who got down on their knees for any savior. She had horses who thought their high price had saved them. She had horses who tried to save her, who climbed in her bed at night and prayed. She had some horses. [ Music ] She had some horses she loved. She had some horses she hated. These were the same horses. [ Music ] [ Applause ] I'm not always logical in how I proceed and playing saxophone and having to read at the same time doesn't always make sense. [Laughter]. But I've always loved the voice of the saxophone. I came to poetry through music, also. I mean, way, way back music, poetry, and dance they all came into the world together and they get lonely for each other sometimes. This next poem came when I needed it. Well, they all do. Sometimes they come and I don't think I need them. I don't know who they are. They're strange, sometimes. I've wonder -- sometimes I'll wonder what is this about? Even, like, the book, An American Sunrise, I'm still looking at it. Okay, I know the impulse. I know how it started but -- and I've been through this journey and it's just now I'm starting to get what you were trying to teach me. This next one came at a time, it's called, I Give You Back or Fear Poem. And one of its poetry ancestors is Audrey Lorde and her poem Litany for Survival. And I also think of the Muscogee songs for, you know, how you can transform to stop storms from your path and we all need to be able to do that because everyone of us has storms in our path. And this poem came when I needed it and, you know, like [inaudible] I almost didn't make it. You know, I came up through -- this whole country. It's not just native people who deal with historical trauma. It's the whole country. You know, it's not just -- it's all of us. All of us. This is all part of our story and we all have a part of this story. We all have our poems that are part of the story. I release you, my beautiful and terrible fear. I release you. You were my beloved and hated twin, but now, I don't know you as myself. I release you with all the pain I would know at the death of my children. You are not my blood anymore. I give you back to the soldiers who burned down our homes, beheaded our children, raped and sodomized our brothers and sisters. I give you back to those who stole the food from our plates when we were starving. I release you, fear, because you hold these scenes in front of me and I was born with eyes that can never close. I release you. I release you. I release you. I release you. I am not afraid to be angry. I am not afraid to rejoice. I am not afraid to be black. I am not afraid to be white. I am not afraid to be hungry. I am not afraid to be full. I am not afraid to be hated. I am not afraid to be loved, to be loved, to be loved, fear. Oh, you have choked me, but I gave you the leash. You have gutted me but I gave you the knife. You have devoured me, but I laid myself across the fire. I take myself back, fear. You are not my shadow any longer. I won't hold you in my hands. You can't live in my eyes, my ears, my voice, my belly, or in my heart, my heart, my heart, my heart. But come here, fear, I am alive and you are so afraid of dying. [ Applause ] And with this one, so I left -- I'm from Oklahoma. [ Laughs, applause ] I was raised there. A member of [inaudible] Grounds, my family. I grew up with people who love me but we were all going through a lot. But that love sustains. Even as a kid, you can look at -- sometimes you get moments where you can see the story. Children are more capable of -- they see and know more than what we often give them credit for. I mean, go back to when you were a small child and you could see the whole story. You kind of knew what was going on. But I wound up going and part of it, too, was, I think, artists go through this and then you add being a Native artist and then a female artist, then you can feel a little uncomfortable in the world or trying to find how you fit, you know, how you're going to do what you're going to do. And I got the opportunity. I was actually almost going to go to Chilocco. I went to sign up because I wanted to go to Indian school. And they said -- as we were leaving the office my mother said, she can draw. So they sent me to the Institute of American Indian Arts, which, yes. [ Applause ] Which at that time was Bureau of Indian Affairs School and run by the BIA. And it was quite an incredible experiment in education, where we had the best art teachers like Ellen Hauser and Fred Shoulder and Otto Lee Loom [assumed spellings]. All these incredible arts teachers and then we had an antiquated system of, like, the Bureau language, Army language, and you still weren't allowed to speak your native language at school, even -- and that was the late '60s. I guess that's a long, long time ago for some of you. [Laughter]. In the olden days. But it's at school save -- saved my life. And good teachers are part of that. And I -- because and then I wound up -- it did. It saved my life. And now it's turned into this wonderful school, college. And people had that vision all along. And I'm honored to be part of that. So, anyway, I wound up there at University of New Mexico, KIVA Club and part of the Native Rights Movement and the poetry started. That's when I started writing poetry [inaudible]. Because there was something that needed to be said. And I didn't want to be the one to say it. I would never speak up. I was told I was one of the shyest kids at Indian School. That's pretty shy. [ Laughter ] But then this poetry, this poetry started moving about. And I want to acknowledge my first poetry here, David Johnson, at the University of New Mexico. [ Applause ] Where are you? [ Applause ] Where are you, David? Can't see you. [ Applause ] Anyway, he's here. He is here. And this song -- the Earth asks very little for us humans and we're even failing the very little the Earth asks of us because we're all in a crisis right now. Because we need to learn to listen all of us. And poetry is one of those means. You can listen to the Earth, you know, if you -- the Earth has all kinds of songs but often it's in poetry you can hear them. And this is in honor of this beautiful land. It's called, My House Is the Red Earth. [ Music ] This is putting my -- wetting my reed and putting it on prelude. [ Laughter, music ] My house is the red earth; it could be the center of the world. I've heard New York, Paris, Tokyo called the center of the world, but I say it is magnificently humble. You could drive by and miss it. Radio waves can obscure it. Words cannot construct it, for there are some sounds left to sacred wordless form. For instance, that fool crow, picking through trash near the corral, understands the center of the world as greasy strips of fat. Just ask him. He doesn't have to say that the earth has turned scarlet through fierce belief, after centuries of heartbreak and laughter-he perches on the blue bowl of the sky, and laughs. [ Music ] If you look with the mind of the swirling earth near Shiprock you become the land, beautiful. And understand how three crows at the edge of the highway, laughing, become three crows at the edge of the world, laughing. [ Music ] Don't bother the earth spirit who lives here. She is working on a story. It is the oldest story in the world and it is delicate, changing. If she sees you watching she will invite you in for coffee, give you warm bread, and you will be obligated to stay and listen. But this is no ordinary story. You will have to endure earthquakes, lightning, the deaths of all those you love, the most blinding beauty. It's a story so compelling you may never want to leave; this is how she traps you. See that stone finger over there? That is the only one who ever escaped. [ Music ] [ Applause ] This next poem is a -- poetry ancestor of this next poem is Alfred Lord Tennyson's, The Eagle and King David psalms 23, the Lord is my shepherd. And then the poem also came because of an eagle who urged me to go after I had been taking part in -- An acknowledgement and I went back and this poem -- wrote this poem because of that. Eagle Poem. To pray you open your whole self. To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon, to one whole voice that is you. And know there is more that you can't see, can't hear. Can't know except in moments steadily growing, and in languages that aren't always sound but other circles of motion. Like eagle that Sunday morning over Salt River. Circled in blue sky in wind, swept our hearts clean with sacred wings. We see you, see ourselves and know that we must take the utmost care and kindness in all things. Breathe in, knowing we are made of all this, and breathe, knowing we are truly blessed because we were born, and die soon within a true circle of motion, like eagle rounding out the morning inside us. We pray that it will be done in beauty. In beauty. Beauty. Beauty. [ Applause ] Perhaps the World Ends Here. I call it the Kitchen Table Poem. I always think of Jane Cortez, too. I really miss her and her poetry. When I started writing poetry at the University of New Mexico, I went to -- I was trying to -- what partly got me writing is finding Native poets. That there were Native poets writing about our lives. And so, I think, who else is writing real indigenous Native kind of poetry? So, I went to Africa and found African poets. So, they're also poetry ancestors here in this poem. Perhaps the world ends here. The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live. The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on. We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it. It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women. At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers. Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the kitchen table. This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun. Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory. We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here. At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks. Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite. [ Applause ] Now most of you I've met on the road. I've known you -- I mean, I've been doing this, I realized, I didn't -- I think, it's been at least 50 years since I started writing poetry. And I started -- [ Applause ] Writing poetry around the time my daughter was -- Rainy Dawn, was born. She has an older brother, Phil. But it was around that time. And David Johnson, my first poetry teacher, knows about that because we would go -- he was always taking us to do readings and this is how I used to read. [ Laughter ] But -- and that's true. But and then I got a horn and you can't hide with a horn. [Laughter]. So, yes, he would take us around and I never would have thought -- I remember even saying at Indian School, because we were signing up for classes and my best friend was signing up for drama and I said, I will never get on a stage. [ Laughter ] Words are very powerful. [ Laughter ] Well, they are. I mean, you are making your life and your road with your words, with your prayers. I think of poems as prayers. I adore John Coltrane. He's one of my saxophone ancestors and -- [ Applause ] He said he was always talking to God, the Creator. I think that's what we artists do. You know, we're talking, you're participating. You're being a participant when you create and share. So, I've been on the road for quite a long time, not constantly, but on the road. And I met wonderful people. I've only had to have somebody get out of the driver's seat once and take over and drive myself, in driving. But people picking me up at the airport. But so much goes into all of this. And -- anyway, this poem came. It's called, Equinox. And it came when I was waiting to be picked up somewhere up in the middle of Michigan. And I was standing there in the dusk, listening to the birds. They were acknowledging sundown. And then what the spirit of poetry told me is that this is okay. You listen to these birds and you listen, you know, you watch they're acknowledging -- they're not acknowledging the day. They are letting the day go. And what if you let the day go, let all those things that build up, you know, sometimes we say something we shouldn't have or not, you know, we're all human beings. But what if you let all those aches and hurts and bad words, let them go with the sun. Just let them go. Because the sun is letting go as it leaves on its journey. And so, we let it go. And I started thinking of all the things I let go. Like I always say, my list of failures. You might hear about the cool awards and things I -- that have happened. But it's followed by a long list of failures that would go out that door. And then at sunrise, that's why so many of the people who know things, the people that you want to listen to, they're often up at sunrise or they stay up all night, praying, painting. Yes. Well, that's another story. [ Laughter ] And there's a reason that the sun is -- when it comes up over that point, I mean, now the scientists will say they can prove this. But it's true. There's a lot of -- it's a gift. And it comes up over that horizon and it spreads out and it's saying, you know, you are loved. You are here because you were created by a Creator who loves you and wants you to behave. [Laughter]. But it's a good time to get up and say thank you. [Foreign language]. For this new day, for this new opportunity to start all over again. And to ask for blessings for those -- for people. So, this is about standing there, at dusk, thinking about trying to let things go. Equinox. [ Music ] I must keep from breaking into the story by force. If I do I will find a war club in my hand and the smoke of grief staggering toward the sun, your nation dead beside you. [ Music ] I keep walking away though it has been an eternity and from each drop of sun springs up sons and daughters, and trees, a mountain of sorrows, of songs. [ Music ] I tell you this from the dusk of a small city in the north not far from the birthplace of cars and industry. Geese are returning to mate and crocuses have broken through the frozen earth. [ Music ] Soon they will come for me and I will make my stand before the jury of destiny. Yes, I will answer in the clatter of the new world, I have broken my addiction to war and desire. [ Music ] [ Applause ] This next piece is a song from -- my version of a song by Jim Pepper. Muscogee Creek and Kaw. It's called Witchi-tai-to. But we've included in it is one of my poems, The Fight. You know, the fight. We're all involved in the fight within us. At some point, really, it's about finding the balance. So, much in our -- I think in our Muscogee culture and a lot of our -- it's really about finding a balance. Because we are from, you know, we have the house of the peacemakers, the house of the warriors. It's about balancing. So, this is Witchi-tai-to. [ Music, Native American ] Witchi-witchi-tai to. Water spirit feelin' springin' round my head makes me feel glad that I'm not dead. The rising sun paints the feet of night crawling enemies. And they scatter into the burning hills. I have fought each of them. I know them by name. [ Music ] From before I could speak, I used every weapon to make them retreat. Yet, they return every night if I don't keep guard. They elbow through openings in faith, tear the premise of trust and stick their shields through the doubt of smoke to challenge me. I go tired of the heartache of every small and large war, passed from generation to generation to generation. But it is not in me to give up. I was taught to give honor to the house of the warriors, which cannot exist without the house of the peacemakers. [ Music ] [ Applause ] That was Robert Muller. [ Applause ] Howard Cloud. [ Applause ] And Larry Mitchell. [ Applause ] This next one is called Rabbit Is Up to Tricks. [ Laughter ] So, rabbit is our trickster figure. Every human culture has trickster figures. Some of them are coyote. Some they have jesters. And often you find the trickster figure sits close to the person in power. [ Laughter ] Until in some instances they take over the seat of power. [ Laughter ] And that's all I need to say. [Laughter] And this is a contemporary rabbit trickster story. You'll see what I mean. [ Music ] In a world long before this one, there was enough for everyone, until somebody got out of line. We heard it was Rabbit, fooling around with clay and the wind. Everybody was tired of his tricks and no one would play with him and he was lonely in this world. So Rabbit thought to make a person. And when he blew into the mouth of that crude figure to see what would happen, the clay man stood up. Rabbit showed the clay man how to steal a chicken. The clay man obeyed. Then he showed him how to steal corn. The clay man obeyed. Then he showed him how to steal someone else's wife. And that clay man obeyed. Rabbit felt important and powerful. And clay man felt important and powerful. And once that clay man started, he could not stop. Once he took that chicken, he wanted all the chickens. And once he took that corn, he wanted all the corn. And once he took that wife, well, he wanted all the wives. He was insatiable. Then he had a taste of gold and he wanted all the gold. Soon it was land and anything else he saw. His wanting only made him want more. Soon it was countries, and then it was trade. The wanting infected the earth. We lost track of the purpose and meaning for life. We began to forget our songs, our stories. We could no longer see or hear our ancestors, or talk with each other across the kitchen table. Forests were being mowed down all over the world to make more. And Rabbit had no place left to play. Rabbit's trick had backfired. Rabbit tried to call the clay man back. But when that clay man wouldn't listen, Rabbit realized he'd made a clay man with no ears. [ Music ] This morning I prayed for my enemies. And whom do I call my enemy? An enemy must be worthy of engagements. I turn in the direction of the sun and keep walking. It's my heart that askes the question, not my furious mind. The heart is the smaller cousin of the sun. It sees and knows everything. It hears the gnashing, even as it hears the blessing. The door to the mind should only open from the heart. An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend. [ Music ] [ Applause ] Thank you. Thank you, so much. We're going to do two more pieces. This one is from my new book. It's one of my favorite poems in there, is My Mine's Feet. [ Laughter ] He's looking at me, oh no. [ Laughter ] His feet are becoming very famous. [ Laughter ] But it's to honor. You know, I think of a poetry ancestor as Lucille Clifton. [ Applause ] About those hips of hers. [Laughter]. And anyway. This is also a poem about our journey as Muscogee Creek people. Because we were -- it wasn't that long ago, seven generations. I was thinking of this when I was working on my memoir. I was thinking, you know, about my generation and we were asking these questions and coming up and honoring our ancestors as saying, okay, who are we becoming and looking at history. And I thought, it really hit me, when I added it up, we were seven generations from that time of removal. And you know, it happened here in this country just like it's happening right now with the children at the border. You know, those are native people. It's migration. People are, you know, these borders are -- you know, the earth is -- the Western Hemisphere is a person. This globe is a person. So, in this poem, My Man's Feet, because it's about walking. We walked from Georgia, Alabama, and we were all over the southeast and as Chief said, I think, we're the fourth largest nation. And I took a job in Tennessee and University of Tennessee, Knoxville. A wonderful place and was treated very well there. But partly because we wanted to go back. And even though you get warned, don't go back. And I realize now why they say, don't go back. because your heart can break into a million pieces. And because you go back and where are our people, where are the Muscogee Creek people? We're everywhere. Everywhere we went, there were always -- the remnants of our villages all through the southeast. And that's part of the story of America. You know, we're part of the story. We have, you know, we're all -- we have so many stories, all of us, to share with each other. And the only way America will hear this one, we all get a place at the table and we all get to say our prayers, our songs sing together, until all the stories have -- which we have a place. My Man's Feet. They are heroic roots. You cannot mistake them for any other six-foot walker. I could find them in a sea of feet. A planet or universe of feet. They kicked the sky at birth. In that town his great-grandfather found, my man's feet left childhood, past the mineral grit of an oil flush bus to these atomic eastbound lands. His feet are made of his mother's spiritual concern and of his father, historic and mindfully upright. What walkers, from mound builder steps that led to the sky maker past Spanish galleons, stage coach, and railroad snaker. One generation following another. No other feet but these could bear the rock stubborn loyal bear, towering intelligence and children picker upper. That is the one who owns these feet. What an anchor his feet provide for his unmatched immensibility and get up againality. [Laughter] I've danced behind this man in the stomp dance circle, our feet beating in rhythm, man woman, boy, girl, son, and moon jumper. My man's feet are the sure steps of a father looking after his sons, his daughters. For when he laughs, he opens all the doors of our hearts, even as he forgets to shut them when he leaves. And when he grieves for those he loves, he carves out valleys enough to hold everyone's tears with his feet. These feet. My man's wisely humble, ever-steady, beautiful, brown feet. [ Applause ] So, we're going to close with this song. And again, this is -- this is Robert Muller joining me here, keyboards from Santa Fe, New Mexico. [ Inaudible response ] What? >> The original. >> Joy Harjo: The original. [Laughter]. That's right. Okay. Howard Cloud from Albuquerque, New Mexico. [ Applause ] Larry Mitchell, Opelika or Obalika, Obalaga, Alabama. [ Applause ] Who is part of my one-woman show and they would ask him what he was doing? And he'd say, he was playing in a one-woman show. [ Laughter ] And I want to thank the -- oh, my gosh. I know we need to get on with this. So, there's so many people, so many people that came from so far away. And it's always your love. I mean, that's what these poems are made out of, is the love and the challenge -- what we learn from our challenges. It's made up of [foreign language] love. So, thank you. Thank you [Native American language] Carla Hayden for the -- Rob and who -- and the staff, Anya and Ann and Jennifer, [inaudible] been helping. And that so many people, you know, a bunch of students from Haskell and -- yes. [ Laughter, applause ] You know, the support. You know, it's important we pass this on because, you know, we all -- we're all here to serve. You know, I was reluctant to serve poetry but it has been the most -- It's blessed me beyond words. And with this one. Bless This Land. Thank you, [Native American language]. [ Music ] And I can't cry because all my make up will run. [Laughter] [ Laughter ] [ Music ] Last dance in the night is almost over. One last round under the starry sky. We're all going home somehow, someway when it's over. Hey, hey, hey, hey. [ Music ] If you found love in the circle, then hold onto it not too tight. If you have to let love go, then let it go. Keep on dancing. I don't care if you're married sixteen times, I'll get you yet. Going home. Going home. [ Music ] I'm from Oklahoma. Got no one to call mine, a love supreme. A love supreme. A love supreme. A love supreme. Everybody wants that love. Love supreme. [ Music, Native American ] When the dance is over, sweetheart, take me home in your one-eyed Ford. But first, we've got to go pick up my auntie and uncle and grandma, and all the kids. [Laughter] Going home. Going home. Going home. [ Music ] Bless this land from the top of its head to the bottom of its feet. From the arctic old white head to the brown feet of tropical rain Bless the eyes of this land, for they witness cruelty and kindness in this land. From sunrise light upright to falling down on your knees night. Bless the ears of this land, for they hear cries of heartbreak and shouts of celebration in this land. Once we heard no gunshot on these lands; the trees and stones can be heard singing. Bless the mouth, lips and speech of this land, for the land is a speaker, a singer, a keeper of all that happens here, on this land. Luminous forests, oceans, and rock cliff sold for the trash glut of gold, uranium, or oil bust rush yet there are new stories to be made. Little ones coming up over the horizon. Bless the arms and hands of this land, for they remake and restore beauty in this land. We were held in the circle around these lands by song, and reminded by the knowers that not one is over the other, no human above the bird, no bird above the insect, no wind above the grass. Bless the heart of this land on its knees planting food beneath the eternal circle of breathing, swimming and walking this land. The heart is a poetry maker. There is one heart, said the poetry maker, one body and all poems make one poem and we do not use words to make war on this land to bring pain. Bless the femaleness and maleness of this land, for each holds the fluent power of becoming. When it was decided to be in this manner here in this place, this land, all the birds made a birdly racket from indigo sky holds. Bless the two legs and two feet of this land, for the sacred always walks beside the profane in this land. These words walk the backbone of this land, massaging the tissue around the cord of life, which is the tree of life, upon which this land stands. Bless the destruction of this land, for new shoots will rise up from fire, floods, earthquakes and fierce winds to make new this land. We are land on turtle's back. When the weight of greed overturns us, who will recall the upright song of this land? Bless the creation of new land, for out of chaos we will be compelled to remember to bless this land. The smallest one remembered, the most humble one, the one whose voice you'd have to lean in a thousand years to hear. We will begin there. Bless us, these lands, said the rememberer. These lands aren't our lands. These lands aren't your lands. We are this land. And the blessing began a graceful moving through the grasses of time, from the beginning, to the circling around place of time, always moving, always. [ Music, Native American ] [ Applause ] >> Robert Casper: Alright. Just a few words before we let you go. I'm Rob Casper. The head of the Poetry and Literature Center. [ Applause ] And we would love for you to fill out your surveys, which you received as you walked in. They're very useful for us. Also, I want to remind you at the book signing that Joy will sign a maximum of two books per person and she will not be able to write dedications or personalized inscriptions. Otherwise, she'd be here all night and she's spent her time with us in the most powerful way. Finally, I want to let you know that this event, as the librarian said, is part of the library's new National Book Festival Present Series. And the next event takes place here on Tuesday's, September 24, with award-winning writer Edwidge Danticat. You should come here on Tuesday. Check on more of our events at loc.gov. Thanks so much for being here and have a good night. [ Applause ]
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Channel: Library of Congress
Views: 12,005
Rating: 4.7894735 out of 5
Keywords: Library of Congress
Id: Vp7WCEVJE0o
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Length: 96min 5sec (5765 seconds)
Published: Tue Nov 12 2019
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