by NONA BLYTH CLOUD

November is Native American Heritage Month in the United States. Unfortunately, it seems to get scant attention, and far too many Americans know very little about the First Peoples of this hemisphere. Try to imagine that you believe everyone in Europe, the Middle East and North Africa all spring from the same culture, with very similar languages, traditions and ways of living, and you’ll begin to see the size of the misconception that “all Indians are alike.”

Much of how they lived before Columbus bumped up against what he thought were islands in the Indian Ocean, and misnamed all the inhabitants of the Western Hemisphere “Indians,” has been lost, even to Native Americans, through wars, forced migrations and a long history of broken treaties with the ever-acquisitive people of European heritage. The U.S. Congress did not grant citizenship to Native Americans born in the United States until June 2, 1924, 133 years after the ratification of the Bill of Rights.

But many voices tell stories of their lives today, even though they are not often heard in the “mainstream” of literature or the media. I’ve chosen four distinct voices here, as a tribute to this often-overlooked American history month.

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Esther Belin (1968 – ) is a Diné (Navajo is a Spanish name) multimedia artist and writer who grew up in Los Angeles, California. She is a graduate of the Institute of American Indian Arts and the University of California, Berkeley. Her first poetry collection, From the Belly of My Beauty (1999), won the American Book Award from the Before Columbus Foundation. Her second book, Of Cartography: Poems, just came out last month.

Belin’s parents were relocated from the Southwest in the 1950s as part of the federal Indian relocation policy, and her work reflects the experience of a Native American living in urban Los Angeles. The attempts to assimilate Native Americans into mainstream American culture, as well as racism, alienation, and substance abuse are frequent themes in her work. In a 2000 interview for SAIL (Studies in American Indian Literatures) Belin said, “I see myself as an interpreter of what happened in my parents’ generation, and I want to let people know about their experiences, especially with boarding schools and relocation. I see my books as an anthropological text—telling what it’s like for Native people.”

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/esther-belin

Blues-ing on the Brown Vibe

I.

And Coyote struts down East 14th
feeling good
looking good
feeling the brown
melting into the brown that loiters
rapping with the brown in front of the Native American Health Center
talking that talk
of relocation from tribal nation
of recent immigration to the place some call the United States
home to many dislocated funky brown

ironic immigration

more accurate tribal nation to tribal nation

and Coyote sprinkles corn pollen in the four directions
to thank the tribal people
indigenous to what some call the state of California
the city of Oakland
for allowing use of their land.

II.

And Coyote travels by Greyhound from Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA thru
Dinétah
to Oakland, California, USA
laughing
Interstate 40 is cluttered with RVs from as far away as Maine
traveling and traveling
to perpetuate the myth
Coyote kicks back for most of the ride
amused by the constant herd of tourists
amazed by the mythic Indian they create

at a pit stop in Winslow
Coyote trades a worn beaded cigarette lighter for roasted corn
from a middle-aged Navajo woman squatting
in front of a store

and Coyote squats alongside the woman
talking that talk
of bordertown blues
of reservation discrimination

blues-ing on the brown vibe
a bilagáana snaps a photo
the Navajo woman stands
holding out her hand
requesting some of her soul back
instead
she replaces her soul with a worn picture of George Washington on a dollar bill

and Coyote starts on another ear of corn
climbing onto the Greyhound
the woman
still squatting
waiting
tired of learning not to want
waits there for the return of all her pieces.

III.

And Coyote wanders
right into a Ponca sitting at the Fruitvale Bart station
next to the Ponca is a Seminole
Coyote struts up to the two
“Where ya’all from?”

the Ponca replies
“Oooklahooma”
pause
the Seminole silent watches a rush of people climb in and out of the train
headed for Fremont
the Seminole stretches his arms up and back stiff from the wooden benches
pause
he pushes his lips out toward the Ponca slowly gesturing that he too is from Oklahoma
Coyote wanders
“where ’bouts?”

the Ponca replies
“Ponnca City”
pause
the Seminole replies
“Seminoole”

Coyote gestures to the Ponca
“You Ponca?”
the Ponca nods his head in affirmation
Coyote nods his head in content
to the Seminole
Coyote asks
“You Seminole?”
pause
the Seminole now watching some kids eating frozen fruit bars
nods his head

and Coyote shares his smokes with the two
and ten minutes later
they travel together on the Richmond train
headed for Wednesday night dinner at the Intertribal Friendship House.

IV.

And Coyote blues-ing on the urban brown funk vibe
wanders
in and out of existence
tasting the brown
rusty at times
worn bitter from relocation.

“Blues-ing on the Brown Vibe” from From the Belly of My Beauty, © 1999 by Esther Belin – University of Arizona Press

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Coyote, the trickster, appears in many tribal traditions, especially in the American Southwest. Like tricksters in other cultures, such as Set in Ancient Egypt and Loki in Nordic mythology, Coyote can be sometimes helpful, and sometimes harmful.

bilagáana is the Diné word for white people

The Ponca people were originally in Ohio, where they lived in small longhouse villages and raised crops of maize, beans and squash. They moved west as the white settlements began encroaching on them, adapting to the life of the Great Plains as hunters of bison, but then were pushed onto reservations in South Dakota and Oklahoma.

‘Seminole’ is a name which became a white catch-all applied to any native inhabitant of Florida, but the majority of these Floridians were moved out in 1838-39, with other tribes from Eastern U.S. states, by armed soldiers of the U.S. Army, over the ‘Trail of Tears’ to forced resettlement, on land in Oklahoma considered worthless by the white man – until oil was discovered.

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