I have spent just one morning in Spokane; drove around the older industrial area, walked the campus at Gonzaga, visited Riverfront Park and the giant Radio Flyer wagon, and of course sought out the falls, probably because your poetry mentions them. What was interesting is that there was a TV series about zombies that filmed in Spokane for several years, and that morning they were shooting around the river. I have pictures of "zombies" acting a scene on the pedestrian bridge that crosses the river just upstream of the falls and the power plant. Not sure what the spirits of your ancestors at the falls thought about that, but such is my one and only highly memorable introduction to Spokane.
Thank you Sherman, this poem brought several thoughts to the surface. When you spoke of pine, basalt, wild grass and sun I immediately thought of Doug fir, granite, moss and clouds. I remember the hard stares I received in the 70's and 80's because of my long hair, but all I had to do was cut my hair to end them. When I realized I didn't need to be the (fill in the blank) that anybody else wanted me to be I found a sense of peace not found elsewhere. Thanks again, great poem.
Thank you so much for sharing this wonderful poem. As a third generation American I have oftener longed to have the kind of connectedness to place that you and your ancestors lived.
My ancestors were German and Slavic on one side and Italian on the other. Both sides arrived in America in the late 1800’s and lived in NY til their deaths. I know little of their cultures except through food and celebratory traditions they brought with them from their homelands. Growing up, spending time separately with each side, was a very different experience. That is my history, my legacy.
Connectedness is still a longing. I have many of those.
A great ode, Sherman. Makes me think of the cities where I'm still connected. Different ghosts, of course, since being white meant I got less richness (and terror) than U!
I can feel you stepping off the plane. Your personal memories as well as the imprint of your elders & ancestors walking with you.
The joy of being there alongside the discomfort of missing your land (both because you no longer live there and also because it was stolen from you) and the knowing you belong in the bigger city.
Okay. Wow. Now this one I really like. I am not up to counting iambs tonight. Does it follow a form? It *feels like it does. Speaking of death and funerals, I am reminded the Mouse of "Bug and Mouse", we've met him before, yeah? Was he Mouse in the film? Crud... my memory is being sketchy, I keep thinking the Joy of Fancy Nancy, coz that was what we were jokin around about. Anyhow, is it the same person? Did Swil have an abrupted finger/thumb? He couldn't have! Or is my memory really going? I have to reread the poem to be able to comment on it. It is dense. So I'll post again.
Once again you have touched places that I did not know existed. How can I a "nice" Jewish boy from the Bronx relate to your experience. I have experienced antisemitism but not at the level you have experienced. I have never felt completely white, perhaps off white would be my color as I am much darker than the average Caucasian with my Ashkenazi ancestry. But I care about things I am not supposed to care about. I have marched and paraded for civil rights, against war and for human rights! But like I said you touched me. Forgive the diatribe.
Years ago you gave a talk in South Dakota and mentioned landing in Sioux Falls and feeling conspicuously Indian. You capture othering so eloquently in your beautiful text.
The link to James Baldwin and leaving the US because: "He could no longer tell
What parts of him were
Formed by his lifelong
Struggle against racism
And which parts were
Made of his own beauty
And mistakes."
really hit. Such a contradiction that so many face without any way to explore. Thanks for providing a way to do that!
WOW. Just WOW.
I have spent just one morning in Spokane; drove around the older industrial area, walked the campus at Gonzaga, visited Riverfront Park and the giant Radio Flyer wagon, and of course sought out the falls, probably because your poetry mentions them. What was interesting is that there was a TV series about zombies that filmed in Spokane for several years, and that morning they were shooting around the river. I have pictures of "zombies" acting a scene on the pedestrian bridge that crosses the river just upstream of the falls and the power plant. Not sure what the spirits of your ancestors at the falls thought about that, but such is my one and only highly memorable introduction to Spokane.
There are zombie-like entities in our traditional stories so I’m sure the ancestors would’ve been entertained!
Beautifully said
Thank you.
Thank you Sherman, this poem brought several thoughts to the surface. When you spoke of pine, basalt, wild grass and sun I immediately thought of Doug fir, granite, moss and clouds. I remember the hard stares I received in the 70's and 80's because of my long hair, but all I had to do was cut my hair to end them. When I realized I didn't need to be the (fill in the blank) that anybody else wanted me to be I found a sense of peace not found elsewhere. Thanks again, great poem.
Thank you, Steve!
Thank you so much for sharing this wonderful poem. As a third generation American I have oftener longed to have the kind of connectedness to place that you and your ancestors lived.
My ancestors were German and Slavic on one side and Italian on the other. Both sides arrived in America in the late 1800’s and lived in NY til their deaths. I know little of their cultures except through food and celebratory traditions they brought with them from their homelands. Growing up, spending time separately with each side, was a very different experience. That is my history, my legacy.
Connectedness is still a longing. I have many of those.
Thank you, Kess.
A great ode, Sherman. Makes me think of the cities where I'm still connected. Different ghosts, of course, since being white meant I got less richness (and terror) than U!
Thanks, Rick!
I can feel you stepping off the plane. Your personal memories as well as the imprint of your elders & ancestors walking with you.
The joy of being there alongside the discomfort of missing your land (both because you no longer live there and also because it was stolen from you) and the knowing you belong in the bigger city.
Beautiful writing, thank you.
Thank you, Donna.
I love where you took this poem and how you ended it. That's some powerful truth.
Thank you, Rachel.
Okay. Wow. Now this one I really like. I am not up to counting iambs tonight. Does it follow a form? It *feels like it does. Speaking of death and funerals, I am reminded the Mouse of "Bug and Mouse", we've met him before, yeah? Was he Mouse in the film? Crud... my memory is being sketchy, I keep thinking the Joy of Fancy Nancy, coz that was what we were jokin around about. Anyhow, is it the same person? Did Swil have an abrupted finger/thumb? He couldn't have! Or is my memory really going? I have to reread the poem to be able to comment on it. It is dense. So I'll post again.
Ok here’s a left fielder, when yr time with us is done will you return to Spokane and be marked as a Spokanian for eternity?
I have a poem about that. I don’t know if I’ll want to be buried in Seattle or on the rez.
Has the poem been published or substacked?
, cnn n.nnnnmmmm I I 7
Once again you have touched places that I did not know existed. How can I a "nice" Jewish boy from the Bronx relate to your experience. I have experienced antisemitism but not at the level you have experienced. I have never felt completely white, perhaps off white would be my color as I am much darker than the average Caucasian with my Ashkenazi ancestry. But I care about things I am not supposed to care about. I have marched and paraded for civil rights, against war and for human rights! But like I said you touched me. Forgive the diatribe.
Thank you, Larry. Not a diatribe at all. You sound honest.
Years ago you gave a talk in South Dakota and mentioned landing in Sioux Falls and feeling conspicuously Indian. You capture othering so eloquently in your beautiful text.
That has happened in a lot of places in the Midwest!
I write epic poetry you can read it at The Mayor's substack. Title (The Trash Poem).
I loved it well done 👏