EAGLE POEM

To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can't see, can't hear;
Can't know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.

Joy Harjo's official website

Joy Harjo at Poetry Foundation

Joy Harjo at Academy of American Poets

Joy Harjo interviewed by The Rumpus

 As a poet, I was present at the beginning of the multicultural literary movement in the mid-'70s. There was great resistance in the academy. There still is. I was told that a voice against my hire in a major university believed that multicultural literature was a sham. This was in 2000. A colleague in my first university hired in the mid-'80s sauntered into my office and called me a primitive poet. And anything of indigenous/aboriginal origin often falls away into the "disappeared" or "exotic other" category.

Some of us emerge despite the difficulties. Poetry is always diversifying. That is the nature of art. There will always be stalwarts of Euro or even other classical traditions, who dismiss any version or branch. This is true in Muscogean dance traditions, jazz, or any other form.