In honor of Indigenous Peoples’ Day 2021

In honor of Indigenous Peoples’ Day, and in recognition of the contributions to the cultures of North America made by many Native Americans, I strongly recommend you lay your hands and eyes on a copy of one or more of these books, and read it / them. I’ve read each, enjoyed the readings and am the better for it.

American Indian Cultural Corridor, Franklin Ave. Minneapolis

Photo by J. Harrington

First, edited by Joy Harjo, the current United States poet laureate, is A Norton Anthology of Native Nations Poetry, When the Light of the World Was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through. Next, this time by Joy Harjo the poet, How We Became Human, New and Selected Poems, 1975 — 2001.

Heid Erdrich is, by birthplace, a native Minnesotan. She is a member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Ojibwe. In addition to her own volumes of poetry, she edited the volume New Poets of Native Nations, which includes, inter alia, several poems by Minnesota’s recently appointed Native American poet laureate, Gwen Nell Westerman, who is also co-author of Mni Sota Makoce, the Land of the Dakota.

Our final recommendation, for today, is the volume Ojibwe, Waasa Inaabidaa, We Look in All Directions, by Thomas Peacock and Marlene Wisuri.

De Wakpa Taŋka Odowaŋ / Song for the Mississippi River

By Gwen Nell Westerman

20 September 2018

 

Long before Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man.
            Before Ol’ Man River.
            Before Wade in the Water.
Long before Schoolcraft and verItascaput.
            Before Father Hennepin and St. Anthony,
            Before Misi Ziibi.
Long before Hernando de Soto.
Otakaheya
In the beginning,
De Dakota Makoce
This was a Dakota place.
The water was pure.
The water was wakaŋ.
Sacred.
mni
pejuta tokaheya heca.
Water was
Water is
our first medicine.
The water was part of the land.
And therefore part of the people.
And in this place,
We flourished.
From Bdote,
where the Mni Sota Wakpa joins
the Wakpa Taŋka,
We followed the rivers,
interconnected waterways,
interconnected lifeways,
Itokaġa
southward to ḢeMniCaŋ and
Bde Iṡtamni, the “Lake of Tears.”
Waziyata
Northward the Big River
took us to Owamniyomni
the whirlpool created by ḢaḢa Wakpa
the curling waters of the falls.
We knew the river’s rise and fall,
channels and gorges,
every meander, every floodplain,
from Bde Wakaŋ to Mniti
Mille Lacs to the Lake of the Woods,
Rainy Lake to Thunder Bay,
where our burial mounds remain.
Wiyoḣpeyata
Westward to Saskatchewan
the head of the Churchill River,
along the Ballantyne River,
named Puatsipi by the Cree—
            Dakota River.
To Bdote, the beginning
of the Mississippi of the North
and the Little Minnesota.
These were our waterways
and our lifeways.
Our medicine.
And we, too, want to sing
a song for the water,
a song for wakpa taŋka
so we listen
we listen
listen
and then
on the edge of a dream
the songs come.
Condensed from the fog
Like dewdrops on cattails,
They form perfectly clear.
Whispering through leaves,
heavy voices rise up,
drift beyond night
toward the silent dawn,
and sing.
            Hekta ehaŋna ded uŋtipi.
            Heuŋ he ohiŋni uŋkiksuyapi kte.
            Aŋpetu dena ded uŋtipi.
            Heca ohiŋni uŋdowaŋpi kte.
            Mni
            Mni pejuta
            Mni wiconi
            Mni wakaŋ
Always on still morning air,
they come,
connected by
memories
connected by
water.

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