Thank you for sharing these comments about language, culture, and identity. About the last piece: My husband and I both products of Europe who live in the US. What you say about missing the place where you're not is so true. We're happiest when traveling to the other place.
Are you serious about "settler-adjacent"? I'm gullible. I love your definition of powwow singing. Works for drumming/chanting/singing under all circumstances. Is it more chanting or more singing?
I like Language Lessons. Wondering what the shape and taste of your traditional language is and what concepts it conveys.
What would your poems be like on the page and in the air?
Were the old people dissuaded from speaking their language at school? In Aotearoa our ancestors were told not to speak te reo and sometimes beaten.
The trauma sometimes makes it hard for their descendants to learn.
There has been a renaissance since the 70's. It's on TV and radio, signs. The new Govt campaigned on English speaking and signage, ridding departments of their Māori names....but even the most ardent hater knows around 50 words because they are in common parlance.
I like to think we've colonised part of them in an educational way.
Amazingly gems put together like a watch maker might do. Always a question, 'Where to be buried'. Fortunately for me, my 'bio fam plots are all taken. My choices are limitless.
"Indigeneity here in Aotearoa is when the community you claim as your own also claims you back."
This was written recently by a tribal leader in response to a member of the new government here who wants to hold a referendum on our founding treaty document. This person claims identity in the tribe because of his great great great grandmother. But he knows nothing of their ways of thinking and belief in the sacred and spiritual nature of our treaty.
We are not all one people.
It's peculiar that homogeneity is held up as aspirational, when the indigenous culture walks in two worlds and those who seek to assimilate us can only ever walk in one.
Illuminating - the issues of identity are so complex. Nothing gets any clearer. I grew up and still live in a place that is increasingly defined by language. I don't speak that language. My language is English, but my 'tribe' is not. I use the word 'tribe' as Seamus Heaney did, for example in his poem, 'Casualty': "He had gone miles away
I wrote a comment on Mike Rothwell’s article on the Kingdom of Kush in northern Sudan. The place is called Merowe and is famous for its steep sided pyramids and a couple of Nubian temple ruins. On one of the temple walls, I saw a dog in a relief carving that depicted a “breed” that looked identical to a ubiquitous “breed” I once referred to as the African Brown Dog, known for its delicately sculpted ribbed cage, scrawny tail, skulking demeanor, and the ability to exist on virtually nothing except for garbage. Unloved, slinking from hut to hut in search of morsels and remaining just beyond the trajectory of hurled stones, I discovered that the same kind of dog “breed” exists everywhere in the developing world. I eventually decided they are the prototype dog, and every else was developed from their original breeding stock. I also decided that they are what dogs regress to when given procreation free reign.
Honestly, this is probably a good analogy of the human condition. Adam and Eve were the humankind equivalent to my Third World Brown dogs, and as the people of the world swirl around and intermarry, our descendants will probably once again look like Adam and Eve. So much for “good breeding” and “master races.” We are all variations on the mutt theme.
It's a whole other vocabulary story up here in Canada. Talk about 'condescending as hell'. You've already massively offended by writing 'indigenous' in lower case. And 'Indian' is basically 100% verboten. 'Settler' is popular up here, too, but mostly among settlers, at least in my experience.
I have a tough time thinking about settlers in a positive light myself. The damned English exiled my forebearers from Scotland and sent them to France for some minor infraction, arms dealing, iirc. Soon enough, my people were exiled from France for some other minor infraction. I use “exiled” as a verb, because it was done to my people and not by them for what appears to me as no fault of theirs, more or less. Well, maybe only a few, obviously very minor infractions, but very few. So how can we be settlers when we were the ones who kept getting tossed from place to place?
So true! I think my ancestors came from Acadie via France but then I kinda have creole cousins (city dwellers) with my last name. The only informal geneology I have contains a bunch of Spanish names, too. (Re)settling is what humans do.
I just read that colts are born with their eyes open, it takes a week or so for puppies to open their eyes, and kittens a little longer. Humans don’t get their eyes opened until after they get married.
Wondering what this conflict of indigenous/native/Indian self-refrencing is about as I watch similar vocabulary wranglings around identity. I sometimes think it is related to the quest to find the "pure" position, a position seen as one of power, transcendent even (not accountable for what is going on). I think we must learn to wade through, surf on, live within the muck. At any rate, I find the issue you have outlined interesting.
“Going, going, gone.” That’s a song my heart knows. It led me from a strictly religious home before I was old enough to vote, when my body was all fire and impatience and my brain didn’t have the ability to process what that early exit meant.
Now decades on, I too “pour wilderness into a cup,” often from a wild spot where I’ve parked my van called Ruby for a night, all of me together finding new meanings in the nuances of that song.
These essays are can’t-hold-back little-sounds-of-appreciation-out-loud beautiful, Sherman. Hope you don’t mind me riffing on them.
I love to see how my words inspire people to their own words. So are you living the van life? I see folks posting about their van lives on Instagram and it's fascinating and strange to me. I've lived in the same house since 1996!
I bought on old Ford van in 2019 and have been building a home in her belly and traveling in her since. So, living the vanlife indeed. It has been strange and fascinating to me too. ;)
Life’s give and take is interesting. When I hear that you’ve known a home for nearly three decades or, say, about people who’ve been partnered for just as long or longer (I’m single), I feel a tug of longevity with place, partner. I guess, in a way, it’s like your “Self Portrait.”
I was about to respond with some poetic thought but then I realized that at least some of my most pressing concerns about van life is how I, at 6-2 and 250 pounds, would need to get a BIG VAN.
Thanks, Samuel.
The last two sum up something so human and yet unnameable quite well.
Alternate Life sounds like a great novel. The Great American Indian Novel maybe? 😁
Thank you for sharing these comments about language, culture, and identity. About the last piece: My husband and I both products of Europe who live in the US. What you say about missing the place where you're not is so true. We're happiest when traveling to the other place.
Are you serious about "settler-adjacent"? I'm gullible. I love your definition of powwow singing. Works for drumming/chanting/singing under all circumstances. Is it more chanting or more singing?
Yup, "settler-adjacent" is a real thing.
12 tiny nuggets of golden personal insight that I am glad you shared.
Thank you, Linda.
I like Language Lessons. Wondering what the shape and taste of your traditional language is and what concepts it conveys.
What would your poems be like on the page and in the air?
Were the old people dissuaded from speaking their language at school? In Aotearoa our ancestors were told not to speak te reo and sometimes beaten.
The trauma sometimes makes it hard for their descendants to learn.
There has been a renaissance since the 70's. It's on TV and radio, signs. The new Govt campaigned on English speaking and signage, ridding departments of their Māori names....but even the most ardent hater knows around 50 words because they are in common parlance.
I like to think we've colonised part of them in an educational way.
It's like language judo!
What a great idea for writing. Tiny essays for tiny victories. 👍🏻
Thanks, Eric
Amazingly gems put together like a watch maker might do. Always a question, 'Where to be buried'. Fortunately for me, my 'bio fam plots are all taken. My choices are limitless.
Thanks, Jeff.
"Indigeneity here in Aotearoa is when the community you claim as your own also claims you back."
This was written recently by a tribal leader in response to a member of the new government here who wants to hold a referendum on our founding treaty document. This person claims identity in the tribe because of his great great great grandmother. But he knows nothing of their ways of thinking and belief in the sacred and spiritual nature of our treaty.
We are not all one people.
It's peculiar that homogeneity is held up as aspirational, when the indigenous culture walks in two worlds and those who seek to assimilate us can only ever walk in one.
Illuminating - the issues of identity are so complex. Nothing gets any clearer. I grew up and still live in a place that is increasingly defined by language. I don't speak that language. My language is English, but my 'tribe' is not. I use the word 'tribe' as Seamus Heaney did, for example in his poem, 'Casualty': "He had gone miles away
For he drank like a fish
Nightly, naturally
Swimming towards the lure
Of warm lit-up places,
The blurred mesh and murmur
Drifting among glasses
In the gregarious smoke.
How culpable was he
That last night when he broke
Our tribe’s complicity?
‘Now, you’re supposed to be
An educated man,’
I hear him say. ‘Puzzle me
The right answer to that one.’"
I wrote a comment on Mike Rothwell’s article on the Kingdom of Kush in northern Sudan. The place is called Merowe and is famous for its steep sided pyramids and a couple of Nubian temple ruins. On one of the temple walls, I saw a dog in a relief carving that depicted a “breed” that looked identical to a ubiquitous “breed” I once referred to as the African Brown Dog, known for its delicately sculpted ribbed cage, scrawny tail, skulking demeanor, and the ability to exist on virtually nothing except for garbage. Unloved, slinking from hut to hut in search of morsels and remaining just beyond the trajectory of hurled stones, I discovered that the same kind of dog “breed” exists everywhere in the developing world. I eventually decided they are the prototype dog, and every else was developed from their original breeding stock. I also decided that they are what dogs regress to when given procreation free reign.
Honestly, this is probably a good analogy of the human condition. Adam and Eve were the humankind equivalent to my Third World Brown dogs, and as the people of the world swirl around and intermarry, our descendants will probably once again look like Adam and Eve. So much for “good breeding” and “master races.” We are all variations on the mutt theme.
It's a whole other vocabulary story up here in Canada. Talk about 'condescending as hell'. You've already massively offended by writing 'indigenous' in lower case. And 'Indian' is basically 100% verboten. 'Settler' is popular up here, too, but mostly among settlers, at least in my experience.
I have a tough time thinking about settlers in a positive light myself. The damned English exiled my forebearers from Scotland and sent them to France for some minor infraction, arms dealing, iirc. Soon enough, my people were exiled from France for some other minor infraction. I use “exiled” as a verb, because it was done to my people and not by them for what appears to me as no fault of theirs, more or less. Well, maybe only a few, obviously very minor infractions, but very few. So how can we be settlers when we were the ones who kept getting tossed from place to place?
Sometimes my head hurts just thinking about it.
So true! I think my ancestors came from Acadie via France but then I kinda have creole cousins (city dwellers) with my last name. The only informal geneology I have contains a bunch of Spanish names, too. (Re)settling is what humans do.
And love is blind!
I don't believe that one. Love has many eyes!
I just read that colts are born with their eyes open, it takes a week or so for puppies to open their eyes, and kittens a little longer. Humans don’t get their eyes opened until after they get married.
Stretch out history long enough and the Mongols could be described as settlers.
Add to that anyone who ventured on their knuckles out of Olduvai Gorge.
'Vocabulary"
Wondering what this conflict of indigenous/native/Indian self-refrencing is about as I watch similar vocabulary wranglings around identity. I sometimes think it is related to the quest to find the "pure" position, a position seen as one of power, transcendent even (not accountable for what is going on). I think we must learn to wade through, surf on, live within the muck. At any rate, I find the issue you have outlined interesting.
Control of language = control of culture.
What a nice Saturday morning read. i like vignettes.
Thanks, Kim!
Thanks, Kim!
“Going, going, gone.” That’s a song my heart knows. It led me from a strictly religious home before I was old enough to vote, when my body was all fire and impatience and my brain didn’t have the ability to process what that early exit meant.
Now decades on, I too “pour wilderness into a cup,” often from a wild spot where I’ve parked my van called Ruby for a night, all of me together finding new meanings in the nuances of that song.
These essays are can’t-hold-back little-sounds-of-appreciation-out-loud beautiful, Sherman. Hope you don’t mind me riffing on them.
I love to see how my words inspire people to their own words. So are you living the van life? I see folks posting about their van lives on Instagram and it's fascinating and strange to me. I've lived in the same house since 1996!
I bought on old Ford van in 2019 and have been building a home in her belly and traveling in her since. So, living the vanlife indeed. It has been strange and fascinating to me too. ;)
Life’s give and take is interesting. When I hear that you’ve known a home for nearly three decades or, say, about people who’ve been partnered for just as long or longer (I’m single), I feel a tug of longevity with place, partner. I guess, in a way, it’s like your “Self Portrait.”
I was about to respond with some poetic thought but then I realized that at least some of my most pressing concerns about van life is how I, at 6-2 and 250 pounds, would need to get a BIG VAN.
🤣