I love this, especially stating the rivers, paths, rocks and trees shared by the tribe. I grew up in the suburbs: we shared parking lots, overpasses, sidewalks. I moved a lot. But even so, there are places I knew, places I now know by how the light changes with the seasons in that particular place, signatures of the land. As ever, thank you for your writing.
Sherman, I am not an Indian, but I live just above the IAIA in Santa Fe and hear the drums and singing during celebrations and my heart pounds. Your poem is for all of us. Thank you.
As Indian so it is with Māori, many of us, including my favourite school friends died in their 20's. A steady attrition since. I miss them and talk about them. Visit their graves in their urupa.
Dear Sherman, such a moving poem. The USA began with the murder of those who were native to the land, and continued with the importation of enslaved people to work it for the new “masters” who had “discovered” it. The destruction and rape of the land began and has continued apace. Words cannot express the grief I feel for what has been happening since that first day of “discovery” nor my desire to restore what has been stolen. Your words bring beauty out of all of it. Thank you. As soon as I knew about this history, at the age of twelve or so, I began to do my best to change things. I am 79 now. Not much real progress has happened. Slavery was outlawed after a horrific war. No restitution has been give to anyone, indigenous or brought here in chains. And now there are those who demand that all mention of this history of shame be expunged from our bookshelves! Words may fail me, but they haven’t failed you. Thank for continuing to use your words, as we all must, regardless of our giftings or lack thereof. Because we are enjoined by God to do justice, love mercy, and to walk humbly before him. ( Malachi 6:8) I write today, having just discovered that, after years of suffering from arthritic spinal stenosis, I have a right to relief from pain! As a nurse, I knew this, but, like you, I was raised to believe I was dirty and undeserving of help or recognition. Abused, from early childhood through abusive marriages, I somehow attracted abusers. Even as a Christian learning the word of God, I felt unworthy to receive an answer to my prayers. “ Jacob have I loved; Esau have I hated”. I knew what my name was! I was not Jacob, for sure! So for years I have been prescribed pain medicine to take the edge off my pain so that I can manage the activities of selfcare. I am retired, have reared my children, helped with grandkids, volunteered ,
worked for social justice, marched, tutored, spoken and written and made donations. As my mobility has decreased and my sight dimmed, my usefulness has decreased. Strangely, I have been realizing that I am loved. By God, and others as well. But my physical pain has increased and my gait becomes more and more shaky. Today I’ve been in so much pain after shopping and pushing my groceries to my apartment using my walker, that I took a pill I had been told by the doctor to use sparingly. It is a schedule one drug. As I sat with an ice pack it dawned on me that I was feeling better. I am feeling actually CONFORTABLE! Is this allowed? Do I deserve relief of pain?! Do you? Do we? I begin to think we do.
As I approach my fifties I am repeatedly shocked by how time has accelerated for some of my classmates with harder lives. I feel paradoxically like I share more with them the older I get, as if those childhood connections are the primary truths about us, even as I'm reminded of how much faster poverty ages some of us.
I'm in totes admiration, I'm feeling the poem, yes, but I'm so aware of your skill... I'm just sitting in awe after listening, and reading. I learn through each of your lines just how good it feels to be on a poem-journey that doesn't end in disappointment. Heart wide open...you do that, you carry a gift for your readers all the way through, without dropping it, without stumbling. I love the way this one ends, like an about-face---and I'm suddenly feeling my own life, with all its tight loves and losses. I love the close connections you carry, Sherman. I love how you remind me of mine...
Beautiful.....and there is that time and space thing with the geography...and soul and knowledge and experience.....there is nothing much better than childhood friends....who are still friends
I love this, especially stating the rivers, paths, rocks and trees shared by the tribe. I grew up in the suburbs: we shared parking lots, overpasses, sidewalks. I moved a lot. But even so, there are places I knew, places I now know by how the light changes with the seasons in that particular place, signatures of the land. As ever, thank you for your writing.
Sherman, I am not an Indian, but I live just above the IAIA in Santa Fe and hear the drums and singing during celebrations and my heart pounds. Your poem is for all of us. Thank you.
Lovely tribute to your high school peers. Thank you for sharing your inmost thoughts. ~Jan Myhre
Good poem. Thank you, Mr. Alexie!
Good poem Sherman. I relate to it.
As Indian so it is with Māori, many of us, including my favourite school friends died in their 20's. A steady attrition since. I miss them and talk about them. Visit their graves in their urupa.
Honour them. Tangi over them.
Thanks for this .
What an interesting and profound notion of them being your “mirrors.”. Wonderful imagery!
I love your poems. My great-grandmother was Cherokee, but I never met her.
Dear Sherman, such a moving poem. The USA began with the murder of those who were native to the land, and continued with the importation of enslaved people to work it for the new “masters” who had “discovered” it. The destruction and rape of the land began and has continued apace. Words cannot express the grief I feel for what has been happening since that first day of “discovery” nor my desire to restore what has been stolen. Your words bring beauty out of all of it. Thank you. As soon as I knew about this history, at the age of twelve or so, I began to do my best to change things. I am 79 now. Not much real progress has happened. Slavery was outlawed after a horrific war. No restitution has been give to anyone, indigenous or brought here in chains. And now there are those who demand that all mention of this history of shame be expunged from our bookshelves! Words may fail me, but they haven’t failed you. Thank for continuing to use your words, as we all must, regardless of our giftings or lack thereof. Because we are enjoined by God to do justice, love mercy, and to walk humbly before him. ( Malachi 6:8) I write today, having just discovered that, after years of suffering from arthritic spinal stenosis, I have a right to relief from pain! As a nurse, I knew this, but, like you, I was raised to believe I was dirty and undeserving of help or recognition. Abused, from early childhood through abusive marriages, I somehow attracted abusers. Even as a Christian learning the word of God, I felt unworthy to receive an answer to my prayers. “ Jacob have I loved; Esau have I hated”. I knew what my name was! I was not Jacob, for sure! So for years I have been prescribed pain medicine to take the edge off my pain so that I can manage the activities of selfcare. I am retired, have reared my children, helped with grandkids, volunteered ,
worked for social justice, marched, tutored, spoken and written and made donations. As my mobility has decreased and my sight dimmed, my usefulness has decreased. Strangely, I have been realizing that I am loved. By God, and others as well. But my physical pain has increased and my gait becomes more and more shaky. Today I’ve been in so much pain after shopping and pushing my groceries to my apartment using my walker, that I took a pill I had been told by the doctor to use sparingly. It is a schedule one drug. As I sat with an ice pack it dawned on me that I was feeling better. I am feeling actually CONFORTABLE! Is this allowed? Do I deserve relief of pain?! Do you? Do we? I begin to think we do.
Who knows what we actually deserve, but if you have a chance to break your cycle of pain, that's a good thing....
Yes, Kathy. God gave us opioid receptors. Prayer for you now, dear lady. Know you are loved.
This is a wonderful poem, Sherman. Thank you!
Just a great and perfectly written piece of feeling. Thanks Sherman. (This one won't leave me alone).
Here's a good teaching poem for my human gegraphy class, Sherman.
Gracias.
As I approach my fifties I am repeatedly shocked by how time has accelerated for some of my classmates with harder lives. I feel paradoxically like I share more with them the older I get, as if those childhood connections are the primary truths about us, even as I'm reminded of how much faster poverty ages some of us.
Cheers to "Class Photo", to those who didn't make it, and to those still marching on (and obviously to the poet himself). Cheers
Powerful. Thank you.
I'm in totes admiration, I'm feeling the poem, yes, but I'm so aware of your skill... I'm just sitting in awe after listening, and reading. I learn through each of your lines just how good it feels to be on a poem-journey that doesn't end in disappointment. Heart wide open...you do that, you carry a gift for your readers all the way through, without dropping it, without stumbling. I love the way this one ends, like an about-face---and I'm suddenly feeling my own life, with all its tight loves and losses. I love the close connections you carry, Sherman. I love how you remind me of mine...
Beautiful.....and there is that time and space thing with the geography...and soul and knowledge and experience.....there is nothing much better than childhood friends....who are still friends