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Joy Harjo Poems
I must keep from breaking into the story by force for if I do I will find myself with a war club in my hand and the smoke of grief staggering toward the sun, your nation dead beside you.
Nearly everyone had left that bar in the middle of winter except the hardcore.It was the coldest night of the year, every place shut down, but not us.Of course we noticed when she came in.We were Indian ruins.She was the end of beauty.No one knew her, the stranger whose tribe we
She Had Some Horses
She had horses who were bodies of sand. She had horses who were maps drawn of blood. She had horses who were skins of ocean water.
Quotationsmore quotations »
It's important as a writer to do my art well and do it in a way that is powerful and beautiful and meaningful, so that my work regenerates the people, certainly Indian people, and the earth and the su...Joy Harjo (b. 1951), Native American (Creek) author. As quoted in Listen to Their Voices, ch. 7, by Mickey Pearlman (1993).
Comments about Joy Harjo
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I must keep from breaking into the story by force
for if I do I will find myself with a war club in my hand
and the smoke of grief staggering toward the sun,
your nation dead beside you.
I keep walking away though it has been an eternity
and from each drop of blood
springs up sons and daughters, trees,
a mountain of sorrows, of songs.
I tell you this from the dusk of a small city in the north
not far from the birthplace of cars and industry.
Geese are returning to mate and crocuses have
broken through the frozen earth.
Soon they will come for ...