“I see eagle feathers spinning around my memory of him. I wish those feathers had been attached to his shoulder blades. I wish that he would've flown off the ridge and floated down to that pool… “
Though I am not of your culture and live a world away from your rez , this hurts. The truth of it hurts.
Sherman--A scapel cutting through Rez life--I count on you to speak like this, in a way --and from an experience that I cannot. Formidable and magnificent work
I like this poem. I find the people whom I regularly stop to read, here on Substack, are you, Chris Hedges, Seymour Hersh, Nick Hornby, and Slavoj Žižek. You’re in good company. Good stuff.
Wow - that's some deep stuff. Tragic and beautiful at the same time. You mentioned Jesus - as if he is only for white/European people. It must be hard to see past all the evil that missionaries have done over the centuries. I get it. But please try to see past all the perversion done in Christ's name. Don't forget he was a brown Semitic Jewish human in the Middle East section of earth who taught Love and forgiveness as primary, yet was rejected by his own people and put on the cross by the conquering Roman empire. Jesus could have ran away, but like the boy with the charisma and crazy courage who made the impulsive yet seemingly symbolic sad sacrificial jump - Jesus did not run away but he died using his body as his weapon as is the extreme form of militant civil disobedience - which MLK referred to as playing moral jujitsu on people's conscience to make progress for humanity vs primitive bloody violence and war. Native peoples had war too. I come from conquered proud peoples too - Sicilian, Scottish and Irish - whereas we were not wiped out like Native peoples - some aspects of our cultures were - and there is always a feeling of subjugation and loss that carries on for generations. Humans are a work in progress. God bless this human made mess.
I was left without a response or verbal reaction. This synergistic poem resonated to me very deeply. It is rare how true Art transcends its common roots. I've always been curious how first nations are delegated and their customs emulated. I once researched Shamanism in college for my World Films class. I've been a sensitive person all my lifetimes. There's been some tragic events and it has affected me. Thank you Sherman for exposing your culture in order to educate others on its significance to the greater goodness of the planet.
I never cry, but I started crying after I read this poem. It’s not just a story about the senseless tragedy of the loss of a young man’s life. But for me, I feel the poem is about abandonment on every level, including the abandonment of one’s self. I wish those feathers were attached to that young man’s shoulders and he was lifted up over that pool.
It’s a beautiful poem. I was also reminded that even as a tough old woman, having a good cry is not so bad.
This breaks my heart.
Powerful!!!
Some of life's choices do not offer do-overs. We live with or die by them.
“I see eagle feathers spinning around my memory of him. I wish those feathers had been attached to his shoulder blades. I wish that he would've flown off the ridge and floated down to that pool… “
Though I am not of your culture and live a world away from your rez , this hurts. The truth of it hurts.
Those bartenders were everywhere.
You are still here, Sherman. Thanks for this poem that reminds me of home.
powerful!
Very powerful.
Hard-hitting, powerful images. Thank you, Sherman. My heart breaks and expands with every line.
Thought provoking
Sherman--A scapel cutting through Rez life--I count on you to speak like this, in a way --and from an experience that I cannot. Formidable and magnificent work
Sometimes I want to write a poem back to you. Thanks for inspiring my wonder.
I like this poem. I find the people whom I regularly stop to read, here on Substack, are you, Chris Hedges, Seymour Hersh, Nick Hornby, and Slavoj Žižek. You’re in good company. Good stuff.
Wow - that's some deep stuff. Tragic and beautiful at the same time. You mentioned Jesus - as if he is only for white/European people. It must be hard to see past all the evil that missionaries have done over the centuries. I get it. But please try to see past all the perversion done in Christ's name. Don't forget he was a brown Semitic Jewish human in the Middle East section of earth who taught Love and forgiveness as primary, yet was rejected by his own people and put on the cross by the conquering Roman empire. Jesus could have ran away, but like the boy with the charisma and crazy courage who made the impulsive yet seemingly symbolic sad sacrificial jump - Jesus did not run away but he died using his body as his weapon as is the extreme form of militant civil disobedience - which MLK referred to as playing moral jujitsu on people's conscience to make progress for humanity vs primitive bloody violence and war. Native peoples had war too. I come from conquered proud peoples too - Sicilian, Scottish and Irish - whereas we were not wiped out like Native peoples - some aspects of our cultures were - and there is always a feeling of subjugation and loss that carries on for generations. Humans are a work in progress. God bless this human made mess.
I was left without a response or verbal reaction. This synergistic poem resonated to me very deeply. It is rare how true Art transcends its common roots. I've always been curious how first nations are delegated and their customs emulated. I once researched Shamanism in college for my World Films class. I've been a sensitive person all my lifetimes. There's been some tragic events and it has affected me. Thank you Sherman for exposing your culture in order to educate others on its significance to the greater goodness of the planet.
Fantastic imagery!
Thank you for this tragic poem, so powereful
I never cry, but I started crying after I read this poem. It’s not just a story about the senseless tragedy of the loss of a young man’s life. But for me, I feel the poem is about abandonment on every level, including the abandonment of one’s self. I wish those feathers were attached to that young man’s shoulders and he was lifted up over that pool.
It’s a beautiful poem. I was also reminded that even as a tough old woman, having a good cry is not so bad.