The First Time I Saw Joy Harjo
Chicago 2017
long, midnight, blue-black hair,
unmistakably hers,
melding into her pitch black jacket
an uninterrupted flowing river of velvet
she, a radiant silhouette,
like the haloed total solar eclipse that would occur later that year, in August
her regal face remains unseen, sustaining the mystery
then she rises like a sun to speak, and i am in her orbit
her first words: “i feel The Lake so very present in me.”
her voice ancient with the Earth in her throat
later,
my glisteny eyes meet her glisteny eyes,
i memorize her face, and her hands tattooed in black ink
she is dignity embodied, i think
she inscribes a protocol for me
in my book of hers, made from trees,
i give her a cord necklace
suspending glass vials of seeds
watermelon, corn, clover and milkweed from my garden in these forced-treaty lands, an onion field once, a portage between two rivers
a reciprocity for her words that seeded me, collaterally,
her poetry an eternal spring
watering my thoughts and words
i want to be worthy of the drink
from How We Became Human
New & Selected Poems 1975-2001
Joy Harjo
Joy Harjo was not only the first poet that I really, truly read, but hers were the first books of poetry that I actively sought and bought and treasured. I am careful about who and what I read.
Her words hold my sustained attention – challenging my intellect, flooding my spirit, and correcting the mis/dis-education I received about land, water, people, plants, animals, Earth, history and culture.
In Spring 2017, on a serendipitous and fated moment’s notice – I hopped in my first-ever rideshare — a Lyft ride to the Latin School in Chicago to hear her speak and to see her beautiful blue-black hair in four dimensions.
“No matter what happened or happens, I believed and continue to believe in the power of poetry. It came and found me.
I had plans to be an artist, a painter. But, it very deliberately chose me. I was the most unlikely candidate! I am a poor listener and was never good at speaking.
I am in service to the spirit of poetry. (The roots of poetry are the same roots as song, and dance.) …
I’ve learned that poetry could
heal the broken heart of a woman who found herself in battle with the man she loved beyond love itself.It can assist in healing humans, creatures, plants, and countries.
It speaks unspeakable truths.
Poetry is almost always present at those major transitions in our lives: birth, marriage, death, and…love. It assists in healing my tribal nation. It’s poetry being sung at the ceremonial grounds or in the Creek churches and because of it we feel ourselves moving together into a greater understanding despite the struggles, the battles.
Joy Harjo
It is one of the toughest teachers. It teaches us how to listen, to even the most difficult truths.
And, by the way, don’t worry about what a poem means. Do you ask what a song means before you listen? Just listen. Meaning lives there in a field of powerful understanding, before it ever makes its way to words or explanations.”
the limineen | earthling, poet & crone 