Color Drawing by Anonymous (collected as Tsimshian Art) |
Interview with Ojibwe Poet David Groulx by Black Coffee Poet
“I remember as a kid, dreaming about a poem. There was a huge hand coming out of the clouds writing on a scroll, a poem about an aboriginal man, man it was the most beautiful poem I’ve ever read, I was reading it as this hand from the clouds was writing it and a voice from behind me told me to get up and write it down, I said I would do it later as I wanted to finish reading it and I couldn’t remember a word of it by morning, maybe I’ve been looking in my mind for that poem ever since.”
_________
I have a deep yearning to visit the office of a highway
connected to the missing and murdered Aboriginal women in Canada . I am
outraged, yet powerless without any direct contact with the victims or their
communities. I am not local, yet I find an office which oversees one of the
most afflicted highways. I walk in, and am immediately distracted by an
environment of mundane administrative and bureaucratic office work. I wait among a
few chairs, deeply incensed by the seeming apathy. There is no information or
any immediate signs which would point to the atrocities being committed under
their watch. I am called up. The two office workers appear as under a
guise of extreme passivity and banal normalcy. My presence is reacted to with
equal monotony. They review maps of the highway layout with me, and yet their
striking imbecility leads me breathless with an introverted silence. I leave disappointed
with myself.
For creative sources on social justice and arts activism dedicated to the missing and murdered Aboriginal women of Canada, start with More of Black Coffee Poet
_________
"to the foreign drum of an impenetrable toxicity
left unconsumed and needed by feet
lit under concrete sustained magic
of the urban disillusioned,
northern mind
bringing the steady rings of a consciousness
prepared as the instrument of a government culture
performing the theatrical stronghold of minority no-release
fish-burdened town of extracted marrow
through procedural temperaments
that go unled and steam up
with chaotic strictures
that demean the meaning
of man and woman
or masculine-
feminine time"
- excerpt from "Northern mind"
I saw a heartbreaking special on rape in the Dakota reservations - the males with nothing but the rationalizations of the predator, the women who risked shunning and even death for even speaking of it, the elders who ignore it as much as possible, and the government that is hopelessly undermanned, without real jurisdiction and not a little apathetic. Nothing happens right on the rez, at any level, the best things turn to shit and the worst things turn to hell. I can sense it's a different kind of thing in Canada, more stoic, less crazy but the desperation no less for being quiet. Victimization that can only be countered by valuing who one is -- what seems almost an impossible task at this late date -- but I hope.
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