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Brian Standing Bear Wilkes

THANKS GIVING |
SKYWALKER FALLS TO EARTH |
TO THE GODDESS OF LOVE | CONCRETE HERBAL

Brian Standing Bear Wilkes whose Cherokee name is Yona Gadoga, draws on 20 years of experience in journalism. He is known for incisive works that go straight to the heart of the subject matter. He has taught poetry at Middlesex County Community College, and currently holds regular classes in the Cherokee language in Morris County. As chief of the Hawk Band of the American Cherokee Confederacy and editor of CHEROKEE VOICE, Standing Bear's duty is to restore a sense of community among the scattered Cherokee groups of the Northeast. Wilkes lives in Flanders, NJ. He reads in Cherokee, Lenape and English. In April of 1998, he hosted a Skylands event: "Celebrating Literary NJ: Native Voices from Turtle Island" with native poetry and music and chanting, composed of readings in the languages of our indigenous or original peoples, as well as in English.

THANKS GIVING


It's their National Holiday again, as they celebrate the day
their Lord gave them clear title to our lands and our lives.

"Thank you, Sweet Jesus, Thank you, King George;
Bless us, dear Di-Gel, now let us engorge!"

Somewhere between the gluttony and the drunkenness and pre- Christmas sales,
they'll salute our contributions: moccasins and succotash and sassafras tea.
They'll speak of us as if we're already dead, crying in their spiced cider and
pumpkin pie about how wonderful it would have been to have known us
(such a shame we're all extinct).

Their Sunday supplements will feature fascinating snippets of our languages
as the words survive in place-names and animal-names,
unaware that we consider our languages to be gifts from God,
gifts which, like us, can never be destroyed.

Yes, the roast-turkey-scented air will be filled with smarmy cliches about
"honoring the earth" (feathers and trinkets and beads, oh my!)
But we, being picturesque and prone to handicrafts,
living close to the land, being one with nature, they'll never mention that

we had our societies so well-organized that we could afford a three-hour work
day,
we took care of our sick and elderly without bureaucracy and paperwork,
we used technology so elegantly simple they still can't tell it from ordinary
rocks,
we understood tectonic plates and the earth's molten core,
we studied advanced math and brain surgery,
we devised calendars with split-second accuracy over thousands of years,
we sailed the oceans before Columbus,
and decided there was nothing out there we needed.
No, if they quote us all, they'll say "ugh" or "woo-woo-woo"

Thanks Giving? Yeah, we've already given.
You're welcome
Don't choke on it.

SKYWALKER FALLS TO EARTH

[We have legends of supernaturals called Skywalkers. The same word is sometimes
used for high-steel workers. My father was one of these. The inspiration for
this piece came from a conversation with Det. Tom Culp of the NJ Bias Crime
Officers Association, and from Joe Weil's "The Glue Man."]

Skywalker Falls to Earth

Father was a Skywalker,
striding the lodge-poles of iron, sinking meteor-hot rivets,
meeting the Sun on Her own terms.

He built the bridges across the Monongahela,
conferred with eagles and hawks,
then set up the lights at Three Rivers Stadium.

The Demons would send winds and rains, and distractions,
and the curse called "mis-step";

Skywalkers are Immortals.

But then the Trickster blew a poison into my father,
somewhere between his soul and his tympanic membrane,
and the demon named Vertigo stole his powers.

He concealed his wound, surviving on sheer will and Anti-Vert;
until one day the Elders barred him from the path to Heaven,
and he became Mortal again.

They would come home from the rolling mill and drink coffee around the
kitchen,
trading stories about their days walking the sky..
Mohawks, Slavs, and Irishmen.

"Glad to be out of that," they'd say,
"Oh, sure, the money was good, but,
you know, Iíve got a family now."

And they would remember Frank or Stan or Jose'
who had mis-stepped, and crunched it.

Never would more than three be mentioned at one sitting.
Perhaps that would tell the demons where they were;
perhaps it could be misunderstood as fear.

"Glad to be out of that," they'd say,
"Iíve got a family now. Any more coffee?"

And we, their families, never doubted
that they would have traded us in an instant
to walk the Sky again.

TO THE GODDESS OF LOVE

[This is an example of a style of verse called idigawesdi in Cherokee..
"speaking it into existence." While the verb structure doesn't translate well,
the recipient of this address gradually shifts from the Goddess herself to the
human woman, suggesting that the Goddess, who loves the speaker, will now
inhabit the woman of his desires. It dates to at least 1800.

Up to 20 years ago, scholars were still saying Native Americans had no
"literature."]


TO THE GODDESS OF LOVE
(free translation from the Cherokee)

In the world you live, Awesome Lady,
now you have drawn near to me.
In this world you rest, Woman of Joy,
never is one lonely with you, for you are the most beautiful...

In an instant you have transformed me and covered me over with joy;
never is one lonely with me, and life shall never be dreary.
You have brought me down above the Path of Happiness
so that my feet may touch the ground;
Here in the middle of the world you have placed me.

I shall stand upright upon the earth, I shall walk in righteousness;
never is one lonely with me, for you have made me handsome.
You have lodged me in the pavilion of Joy;
I shall be in it as it moves about the world
and no one with me shall ever be lonely.
Truly, I shall never become blue.
In a moment you have brought me to this, and transformed me.

And now in the world is a woman you have created lonely
head to toe she is veiled in loneliness,
and her loneliness leaves its trace wherever she sets her foot.

Never is one lonely with me, for you have granted me happiness,
Let her put her soul
into the very center of my soul
never to turn away
In the midst of other men, she shall not consider them;
they shall be as repulsive to her as unclean creatures.

You have ordained me to be the Joyful Man,
I shall stand with my face toward the Sun and Sky,
and I shall never despair...
I am sheltered by the white pavilions of happiness wherever I go.

Your soul has walked into the very center of my soul.

--- interpretation by Brian Standing Bear Wilkes
traduttore e tradittore ("the translator is a traitor" Italian literary
expression)

Concrete Herbal

Dedicated to the healer who told me that f I wanted really strong herbs, I
should seek out the ones who survive in the city.


CONCRETE HERBAL

A stand of thistles, prickly blue
leans defiantly against a creosoted pole.
Downtown chickory, leaves sharp,
with aged sinew stalks
assumes the position against the wall.

Nannies mind toddlers in sunlit playgrounds
pigeons choose bugs and pastry crumbs for nestlings
but dandelions grow in darkness
shrouded in crumpled trash and abandoned newspaper.

Never watered and fertilized like some windowbox wimp,
but raised on beer barf and dog piss,
grown up in gasoline fumes and diesel oil,
deafened by the sounds of traffic, and starlings,
and radios blasting from passing cars,
orphaned blossoms still punch cracks in grey sidewalks
to grip rough bricks and cheap aluminum window frames.

Concrete herbs endure.
Use them with respect, friend;
they've paid a bitter price for their strength.

Copyright © 1997 by Brian Standing Bear Wilkes. All rights reserved by the author.

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