Cherokee. On both my mother and father’s side, back there three, four generations. I like the fact that I have some of that blood in me, too. At least enough to enable me to be a part of the tribe, if I wanted to. There’s a story about my great great grandfather coming to Baltimore from Oklahoma with 100 head of horses to set up a stable around the turn of last century. A reverse Trail of Tears, I guess. I’ve yet to find the documentation. You know, in a place where you are a stranger it’s good to know who, or what, you are. The late Gogosi, or Carroll Arnett was a fine Cherokee poet. Here are a few poems from his New and Selected Poems Night Perimeters (Greenfield review Press, 1991).

Last May

I watched two
barn swallows swoop
the field we had
just planted.
unlike the two
National Guard jet
fighters which had
roared us again
and again an hour
earlier, the swallows
were not armed with
four rockets each and
did not anger me
because I knew
what nation they
guarded, and I sang
aloud to honor them
and their nation.

Sweat

In the closed dark
of the lodge I hear
the rocks sing
and sing again as
water is poured, feel
the spirits of rock
and water searing,
cleansing.
I pray in
gratefulness.
This is the only peace
there is.

The Old Man Said: One

Some will tell
you it doesn’t
matter. That is
a lie. Everything,
every single thing
matters. And
nothing good
happens fast.

The Old Man Said: Two

The wisdom of an
animal may be
measured by
the quantity of its
excrement.
See
how little of his
waste brother deer
leaves behind.

Song To Move On

li uh lo lo la lo lo
li uh lo lo la lo lo
li uh lo lo la lo lo
li uh lo lo la lo lo