Two Iñupiat poets who did a reading in Anchorage

For almost a week now, I have been delaying this post on these two Iñupiat poets, Cathy Tagnak Rexford and d g nanouk okpik. That's because on the Monday after they did their reading at the International Gallery of Contemporary Art in Anchorage, as part of the Still North series, they drove out to Wasilla and I met them at Kaladi Bros. 

It was then that I came to understand that, not only were they superb poets, but they have led amazing lives.

I wanted to tell at least a tiny portion of their life stories, but to properly do so, I needed some time that I did not have. I kept thinking that I would find that time the next day, but each day would pass and the time would not materialize for me.

And now I am about to leave for Barrow.

I do plan to tell their story in a special edition of Uiñiq Magazine that I am working on. I do not think that I will have time to write it until I put the issue together. Perhaps, after it comes out, I will find an excuse to revisit Cathy and d g and put the story here, for readers who will not see Uiñiq Magazine.

So, for now, I will just say this: they are close relatives, who grew up not even knowing about each other. d g did not even know she was Iñupiaq. As a baby, for complicated reasons, she was adopted out to a white family in Anchorage. Her adopted parents never told her she was adopted, they raised her as if she were white, but she noticed that she wasn't.

She wanted to find out who she was and therein began a long story that took her to an Indian college in Northwestern Montana, where she learned the spiritual ways of the people from that part of the country. Due to privacy laws, she could learn nothing about her origins but, after prayers and a sweat with her friends and mentors in Montana, she set out on a journey that took her to see Senator Ted Stevens and that ultimately led her to what might seem a chance reunion with her mother, or perhaps one that was not chance at all, but guided. Later, she met Cathy at a Lower 48 powwow and then wound up going to school with her at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Sante Fe, New Mexico.

Both are accomplished and published poets who work to find and encourage other young Native writers.

The reading of poetry that they did was from their works published in the book, Effigies.

With their generous permission, I include a poem from each here.

A Wind Drives Over the Waters

by Cathy Tagnak Rexford

A small brown Dukha girl

offers her hand

bearing black medicine

to a short fine haired reindeer

a wind drives over northern Mongolian taiga.

A round aged Inupiaq woman

stretches wet sealskin

over white driftwood

lashing tightly with oiled sinew

a wind drives over Northern Alaskan tundra.

A stout fearless Inuit boy

sits on softened spruce branches

daydreams of spearing the land

as lichen islands surface in salt water

a wind drives over treeless Nunavut plains.

A tall agile Yuit man

treading on fragrant wet moss

watches breathless - a rusting of the soil

A wind drives over Chukotkan sedges.

Cathy Tagnak Rexford, reading.

Cathy Tagnak Rexford takes her bow.

The standing-room only crowd listens, some with eyes eyes closed to better to see the mental images evoked by the words of the poets.

Foist

by d g nanouk okpik

Bones surfaced on the old land

as the earth thaws and cracks.

In Kuukpik area we find them,

let no one be in any doubt,

of the remedy from Anatkuq,

for the red illness. She prepares

the poultice in the mortar bowl,

Cotton grass, seal liver, rainwater.

The soil rattles with bleached

ivory bones, bones clack and claw,

at the walls of glaciers melting,

crossing all darkness into grey.

I roam in a sideslip of clouds,

I paint a sign used in music,

algebra, marking in the direction

of light-shadow, as if for a fossil record.

I meet her bringing lead pieces

for making spark, pumice burns slowly.

Coldest moon reacts to the equinox,

the age of the earth is already intact.

d g nanouk okpik reads.

d g nanouk okpik takes her bows. She made her beautiful deerskin and fur outfit, which reflects both her Inupiaq heritage and that of the Lower 48 Indians who gave her guidance, herself.

I look through Little Miller's kiosk and see someone look back at me; poets on hold for one more day

Today, I took my coffee break at the drive through on the south wall of Little Miller's. When I drove to the window, I looked through and saw these two, and the guy looked back at me, with suspicion. They got their order before I did. I hoped that he would then come over and ask why I took their picture, so that I might learn their names and get a meaningful observation from them.

But they just drove away.

How would it be, to be young, and to drive away with a beautiful young woman at my side?

That used to happen. It was wonderful. Nothing was more wonderful than that. And now that beautiful young woman is aging and when she sits beside me as I drive, it is wonderful. If you were to ask me what my most enjoyable experiences of the last few years have been, I would put my long drives with Margie at my side right up at the top, along with hanging out with little Kalib (yes, my children, to hang out with you is most special, too).

But since she got hurt January 17, she no longer sits beside me. She needs the entire back seat to support her leg. She cannot stay in the car very long as it leaves her in too much pain.

Now, I must leave for awhile. Day after tomorrow. Who will drive for her?

Yet, I must go, as you will understand when you get to the bottom of this post.

On my way home, I detoured, to extend the drive. Along Shrock Road, this dog trotted by, going the other way. 

Right now, I sit at my computer as "Alaska News Nightly" plays on KSKA, our public radio station. The story is how the recession appears ready to smack tourist based industries in Alaska. Cruise ship bookings are down. They just interviewed a man who depends upon cruise ship passengers to make his living. He felt grim.

That's the Catch 22. I don't want anybody to lose their job. I want those who have no job and need one to find one.

Yet, the places in Alaska where cruise ship passengers congregate are much nicer when the cruise ship passengers are not here. It's a fact. Much nicer. And they are here during the nicest time of the year. Such a short time.

Cruise ship passengers, please do not take offense! Buy your tickets and come and visit our great land, with not only my blessing but my invitation. This land belongs to you as much as it does to me.

It's just one of the conumdrums of this life. The more people who come to enjoy a wonderful place, the less enjoyable that place becomes.

There's nothing to be done about it, but to accept it - and to get a new airplane when I can, so I can go to where few tourists travel.

Yet, I have $150 in my wallet, $19 in my checking account and not a dollar in savings. How can I buy a new airplane?

I could use some of that cruise ship passenger money.

Two skating partners from years past, photographed in different places

This is Alyssa, who used to figure skate with Lisa and Melanie, and even partnered up with Lisa when the two skated in plumpy raisin outfits. Once, she traveled with Lisa, Melanie and Margie to Seattle to skate, and stayed with them in a hotel. She popped up at Cafe Darte' a few days ago, but I did not recognize her.

Today, she asked me if I was related to Lisa and Melanie. Now I know who she is.

We always knew that these little girls would grow up, we just didn't realize it.

And here is Lisa, Alyssa's raisin skating partner. I recognize her, of course. I went in to town to attend an evening of Iñupiat poetry reading, but had dinner with her at Beartooth before going over.

I have more from today to blog - or yesterday, I should say, since it is now 1:00 AM - but it is too late so I will make just this short note and then go to bed.

Perhaps I will blog more about today tomorrow.

Both daughters come to visit, separately

Yesterday, she said she might come out and have breakfast with us this morning, but she arrived a bit before 3:00 PM. I still offered to take her to breakfast, but she was not in the mood for it and neither was I, to be honest.

She found a box that Kalib plays with when he is here and opened it up. "My kitty!" she exclaimed, for she did not know this kitty would be in it. She said it had been a very long time since she had seen the kitty, which was a gift to her from Jacob.

To me, it looks less like a kitty than a tiger. A white tiger. See that creature walking across the floor? That is Chicago. Chicago is a kitty, albeit full-grown for probably a decade now.

Chicago? A decade old? Chicago Kitty?

Where does the time go?

And speaking of tigers, Melanie was not certain whether or not she would come to India with me to attend the wedding of my Muse, the beloved Soundarya Ravichandran.

Today, Melanie announced that she has decided to come. It was the email from Murthy that convinced her.

We leave one month from tomorrow.

It will be fun, except that the nights will be dark there.

I can hardly take a dark night, during that time when the Alaska night is light.

It takes a lot to drag me out of Alaska during the season of light.

For Sandy and her wedding, I will venture forth into the night that is dark.

We waited until 4:00 to go get coffee, to see if Lisa would arrive. But she did not, so we went without her. As the car was warming up, we saw our neighbors from four houses down walk by with their two dogs. 

It was strange to see those two dogs on leash, but there they are.

We went to Mocha Moose, where they still have a sign up that says "Palin Fever." After this past week, none of us were feeling even the slightest bit of affection for our governor - who, for a brief period in history, I actually did admire and adore. This did not stop me from drinking Mocha Moose coffee, which is usually pretty good but today was subpar.

Immediately after I drove us back home, Melanie climbed into her little car and drove away. I don't know why, but her visits always come to this. She drives away and goes home.

Immediately after Melanie left, Lisa showed up, carrying laundry. She cooked us dinner: stir fry chicken and straw mushrooms. It was quite excellent.

After dinner, I took Lisa to Dairy Queen for ice cream. As we neared the Parks Highway, I heard the whistle blow. I was thrilled. I pulled out my pocket camera, put it on the dash, and, grateful for the fact that I had a red light before me and no car behind be, pointed it toward the railroad tracks.

And then the train came rumbling through!

It was thrilling - as it always is.

I never get bored with the train.

I love the train.

I have never ridden on it, but I love it.

Maybe this summer I will ride on it, and blog about it.

And I hope to ride the train in India, this time.

Last time I did not.

About that cup of coffee... plus two dogs, three cats, and an airplane

Last night, I was just too exhausted to post an entry, so now I discover that yesterday has gone. No one knows that I came out of the Wasilla Post Office to see this dog and her lady sitting in a truck.

This is wrong. The world needs to know this. The burden is upon me. Sheba is the dog; the woman is Debbie. Debbie says that Sheba is an exceptionally bright and intelligent dog, sweet and loving.

Of course, I would have liked to have learned more about Sheba, but Debbie needed to get into the Post Office and I needed to get into my car.

The temperature was 10 degrees F and the wind was stiff, as you can see by the flag across the street. I wore only a light jacket and that wind was going right through it, so I could not chat long with Sheba and Debbie.

You can see that Sheba is, indeed, sweet and loving, but I did wonder about the intelligence part. Then, as I got back into my car, I glanced over just in time to see Sheba arrange a Rubic's Cube - only the most intelligent of dogs can do that.

This is one of those images that fails to come across blog size, but that's me, reflected in the left side of the window at the Well's Fargo Bank drive-through. Those two ladies behind the window have just removed a check written to me and are about to put into my account.

They will tube $200 back to me, and then I will drive to Taco Bell, which is only about 100 yards away.

Pretty convenient, huh?

If you click on the picture, you can see it a little bigger.

Of course, I would not want to frighten you.

Back home: Royce, Chicago and Martigny share a sunbeam. The two calicos tend not to want to share anything with each other, save for a hiss and a flying claw, but they shared the sunbeam.

Late  yesterday afternoon, I was out again, headed toward a coffee kiosk but first found myself near Anderson Lake. Anderson Lake is where I kept my airplane before I crashed it. In the winter, I kept it on skis atop the lake; in the summer, alongside the little gravel strip adjacent to the lake.

Out of curiosity, I drove onto the lake to see if anyone had claimed the spot where I used to tie down..

They had. Another Citabria was now tied down where the Running Dog used to sit and wait for me. That was a really good life. I miss it terribly.

Except for the color, this Citabria looks just like mine did, before I broke it. I had a different brand of skis, though.

Mine were better.

Now, about that cup of coffee... the one that I referred to Saturday, at the IHOP breakfast...

I am a little reluctant to tell the story...

Just as I am a little reluctant each time I post a coffee picture, and tell a coffee story.

I am reluctant, because I have informed a number of my relatives down in Utah and Idaho about this blog, plus a few friends from the life that I was born into and lived until about three decades back.

I do not wish to shock, dismay, disappoint, or disillusion any of them. I do not wish to shake or weaken their faith, even though I no longer follow it.

In the culture and religion that I grew up in, to drink coffee was a sin. In their degree of wickedness, sins had an order to them. With one exception too complex to get into here, the gravest and most evil of all sins was to commit murder, to shed innocent bled. For this, God would not forgive.

Then there was sex, conducted outside of marriage. This could be forgiven, but not easily. One would have to first suffer the searing pains of conscience, confession and penance.

Not far below these two in magnitude of evil was the consumption of alcohol, the smoking of cigarettes, and the drinking of "hot beverages" - widely recognized as coffee and tea.

Playing cards was pretty damned evil, too - as was saying "damn!" unless you were a righteous person and were using the word to a righteous end. Then damn was fine. Brigham Young himself was known to use the word a few times.

So, you see, I grew up without learning a good many of the social skills generally required to get one through this life. Unless one settles in Utah or Southern Idaho. My family sure hoped I would, but I could not.

Yet, as reluctant as I am to do so, I said that I would tell the story so yesterday, well after 5:00 PM, I set out for my afternoon coffee break, determined to take a new picture that was a little bit different from some of the other coffee images that I have placed here. I would use that picture to illustrate the story.

I remembered this little kiosk that sits exposed to the mountain vista of the Chugach. I decided that I would get my coffee and take my picture there.

But when I arrived. it was closed.

This kiosk closes at 5:30. I arrived at 5:31.

I thought I would photograph it anyway, but then I saw the young woman who had just closed shop (you can see her in this picture if you click on it) walk out the back. I feared that it might frighten her if I took the picture as she walked from the building, so I put my camera down.

Then the raven flew into the picture. I had to take it.

The raven, Raven himself, is a most important character in traditional Eskimo belief.

It was the Eskimos who taught me how to drink coffee.

The first instance happened on Halloween of 1982. This was not the first time that I had drank a cup of coffee, mind you. I had consumed a few cups after youthful drunks, intent on getting sober before a responsible adult spotted me, but that was different.

On that Halloween, I flew into the St. Lawrence Island village of Gambell with a group of Inuit thespians from Greenland, known as Tukak Teatre.

We came in on a big, fast, two-engined airplane but even then, we would not have been able to land had the wind not been blowing straight down the runway. That wind was strong. Fifty. Maybe MPH. Maybe knots. The pilot just said "the winds doing 50."

The temperature was not that cold - nine degrees, F, but I had not yet learned how to dress for Arctic conditions and in it that wind, it felt frigid - damn frigid.

Worse yet, I turned my hand in such a way that the wind caught the cusp of my right glove, ripped if off my hand and shot it off into the distance to disappear in the blowing snow. Maybe it went off to Russia. On a clear day, you really can see Russia from Gambell. To my knowledge, our governor has never been in Gambell.

A villager pulled up on a three-wheeler and offered me a ride.

I hoped on behind him and pulled my bare hand as far up my coat sleeve as I could.

It was a wild ride, through the wind, and over bumps that he did not even slow down for.

"This is the real bush!" he shouted back at me.

Then he dropped me off at the home of my host.

I went inside, almost frozen.

My host offered me a banana and a cup of coffee.

I took both.

I wrapped my hands around the cup and savored the heat as it radiated into them.

I then lifted the coffee to my lips.

I drank. I felt the heat spread outward from my esophagus and belly throughout my body.

I treasured that heat. It was wonderful.

When I was done, I asked for another.

The picture above, by the way, is from today. I went back to that same kiosk and got there before 5:30. Before I ordered, I stopped in the Three Bears parking lot across the street, and took this shot of Morgan, serving a customer.

And here is Morgan as she serves coffee to me.

The St. Lawrence Island experience did not make me a coffee drinker. My faith in the religion of my birth had already been terribly shaken by then, never to recover, but still I had no desire to drink coffee. It had brought heat to me when I was cold, and that was that.

I did not drink my next cup until May of 1985. This was the spring that I began to follow Inupiat whalers out on the ice as they went out to hunt the bowhead, upon which their life and culture is built.

At whale camp, I had basically three choices of beverages - coffee, tea and, when someone would drive their snowmachine to the community and come back with a sled-load of fresh supplies, an occassional Pepsi. The coffee and tea were made by melting old ice that the salt had leeched out of, or glacier ice that had floated into the ocean to become lodged in the sea ice.

If I was really quick, I could sometimes snag a cup of that water immediately after the ice had been melted over the Coleman, but mostly, I drank tea, and coffee.

My pee turned dark, and stained the snow in a shade that I had never seen before - just like the hunters who I was with.

Then one day, I was out in the ocean off the village of Wainwright in a tiny, tiny, boat. That boat, along with several others, was attached to a heavy rope the other end of which had been looped around the tail of a bowhead whale, 58 feet in length. On the shore side of us, huge pressure ridges - the tallest reaching up to seventy feet, jutted out of the ice.

On the seaward side, the pack ice drifted. The sun, which hung low over the northern horizon, caused eery and strange mirages to form above it. Castles would appear, and then disappear. A man would show up out there - a really tall man, looking at us, and then shrink away until he became just a shard of ice.

Our forward progress was slow, maybe two miles an hour, if that. The boat ride would be long - nine hours - and cold.

"The way to stay warm out here," one of my boat mates told me, "is to drink lots of coffee, and pee often."

Some survival experts will tell you not to drink coffee at all in cold weather situations, but nobody knows more about staying warm than do Iñupiat whale hunters.

So I drank lots of coffee and I peed often - and always into a rusty Folger's can, which I then emptied over the side of the boat.

I could go on and on. I could tell you about the times spent as a guest in Iñupiat homes, when friends and relatives wander in and out of the house at all hours of the day or night, just to visit, to play cards, to dip their frozen or dried meat into seal oil, and to drink coffee.

I would join in. Then I would go to bed at maybe 1:00 AM, maybe 3:00 AM, maybe 4:00, so full of coffee that I was certain I would lay awake for the rest of the night.

But I would sleep well.

Better than I almost ever do, for I am a chronic insomniac.

Today, after I bought a cup for me and another for Margie, I turned back towards home.

I had not gone far when I saw a car parked at the corner of Bogard and Trunk. On it was a sign that read, "puppy."

I could not let such a newsworthy event pass by unphotographed, so I pulled over and stopped.

So did these two. I thought they might take the puppy. They didn't.

The girl oohed and aahed for a minute or so. The boy seemed to want just to go. They did, before I could find out anything about them.

The lady who was giving the puppy away did not want her face to be in the photograph, but she did not mind if the puppy was. So I left her face out of the picture - although there still might be a clue or two here as to her true identity, should anyone who knows her see the picture.

She said the puppy was the last of eight. The others had all been given away.

The puppy was vexingly cute. When I petted it, it looked at me with eager, pleading eyes and I felt a sore temptation to bring it home - but five cats and one St. Bernard already live here.

I resisted.

But look! On the dash!

It would appear that the puppy is a coffee drinker, too!

Wasilla Creek runs just behind the spot where the woman and the puppy had parked. As I drove away, I saw the woman get out, and carry the puppy toward the creek. In some places, this would be a worrisome sight. But not here. That creek was frozen solid.

The puppy just needed to pee.

Too much coffee, obviously.