Poet & Asst Prof @UCalgary | Author: Wound Archive @gordonhillpress; Bonememory @ucalgarypress; Empathy in Contemporary Poetry after Crisis @Palgrave
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![on poetry & history by Aracelis Girmay after Joy Harjo On a panel of men who spoke about history & poetry, she sat quietly for much of it. They, the men, were saying strong things, good things but in authoritative voices, voices that knew they knew things. & she remained the only quiet one. She listened as if she weren’t listening. Her face looked forward. Her quiet seemed distant. It had a straight back. & then she interrupted one of the men & said something like, “That reminds me of the time…” & she spoke of a fellow Native American teacher in her region who committed suicide near the end of one of the years, & how he must have been hurting & isolated & in pain, but not many people spoke about that, or spoke about his death or their loss when he died. It was swept under the rug, that was the phrase she used, & she said she was at home one day & looking out of the window & she noticed a black thread... [ran out of space. this poem is in the collection, the black maria, 2016]](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Gnz4PRAXMAAbbRa.png?name=orig)
ALT on poetry & history by Aracelis Girmay after Joy Harjo On a panel of men who spoke about history & poetry, she sat quietly for much of it. They, the men, were saying strong things, good things but in authoritative voices, voices that knew they knew things. & she remained the only quiet one. She listened as if she weren’t listening. Her face looked forward. Her quiet seemed distant. It had a straight back. & then she interrupted one of the men & said something like, “That reminds me of the time…” & she spoke of a fellow Native American teacher in her region who committed suicide near the end of one of the years, & how he must have been hurting & isolated & in pain, but not many people spoke about that, or spoke about his death or their loss when he died. It was swept under the rug, that was the phrase she used, & she said she was at home one day & looking out of the window & she noticed a black thread... [ran out of space. this poem is in the collection, the black maria, 2016]
ALT Toni Morrison writes, All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Back to the body of earth, of flesh, back to the mouth, the throat, back to the womb, back to the heart, to its blood, back to our grief, back back back. Will we remember from where we’ve come? The water. And once remembered, will we return to that first water, and in doing so return to ourselves, to each other? Do you think the water will forget what we have done, what we continue to do?
