Poetry Centered
Poetry Centered
Jake Skeets: Saad, Where We All Started
Jake Skeets curates poems by Diné poets centering on translation and the way that the Diné language orients its speakers to the world, which exists before them. He shares Rex Lee Jim’s invocation of voice as what brings life (“Language”), Laura Tohe’s embodiment of meaning in rhythm and sound (“Niltsá Bi'áád, Female Rain” and “Niltsá Bika', Male Rain”), and Luci Tapahonso’s blending of Diné syntax with English (“Hills Brothers Coffee”). Skeets closes with his poem “Emerging,” which traces the act of translation between English and Diné.
Watch the full recordings of Jim, Tohe, and Tapahonso readings for the Poetry Center on Voca:
[00:00:00.00] [MELLOW MUSIC]
Julie Swarstad Johnson:
[00:00:02.99] This is Poetry Centered, the show that brings you voices of poets as recorded in the archive at the University of Arizona Poetry Center. This archive is called Voca, and the poems are selected for you in each episode by a contemporary poet. I'm Julie Swarstad Johnson here to welcome you on behalf of the Poetry Center.
[00:00:24.61] We're joined today by Jake Skeets, poet and author of the collection Eyes Bottle Dark With a Mouthful of Flowers. He's an assistant professor at the University of Oklahoma, and is currently the Grisham writer in residence at the University of Mississippi. In this episode, Jake brings together recordings of Rex Lee Jim, Laura Tohe, and Luci Tapahonso, all Diné poets, as is Jake.
[00:00:51.97] Through these selections, Jake traces a theme of translation and the ways that the Navajo language orients its speakers to the world and the land which always comes first. He closes with a poem of his own that moves between English and Diné. Jake, thank you so much for bringing these poems to us today.
[00:01:10.84] [MELLOW MUSIC]
Jake Skeets:
[00:01:13.19] Hello, yá'át'ééh. This is Jake Skeets, and I'm recording this at my desk at the Grisham House in Oxford, Mississippi, where I'm the current Grisham writer in residence at the University of Mississippi. And I'm honored to share these poems written entirely by Diné poets that deal with translation and the way our environment is a kind of language.
[00:01:42.20] The first poem I am sharing with you is the poem “Language,” by poet Rex Lee Jim, recorded at the Poetry Center on November, 14, 2001. The poem is written in three languages as part of Rex Lee Jim's trilingual poetry collection Dúchas Táá kóó Diné. Jim reads the Navajo and English version in this recording. The Diné word for language is considered saad, but here, Jim makes a note that perhaps the more accurate translation is voice. The refrain in the poem, "Language I am, sacred language I am. Sacred language, this I am, would then become, Voice I am, sacred voice. I am sacred voice, this I am."
[00:02:40.49] And either translation here is the accurate one, because language itself is meant to be flexible. It is settler colonial structures that fix language so rigidly. English after all, is a language of absolution. There is no nuance in the English language, no freedom to move about meaning or sound. There is only the sentence. No rivers, no fields, no oceans. And this was weaponized by settlers to create a rhetoric of us versus them, citizen versus savage, et cetera, et cetera. Because like Jim observes for us in the poem, we respond to words spoken around us. Language codes our reality. And there can be no room for freedom when conquest is the goal.
[00:03:41.40] It is at this juncture that poets today are resisting those colonial structures, like the sentence, like the line, like the temporality of it all. What does it mean to speak with mystery as opposed to absolution, to allow a word to mean multiple things at the same time? Diné worldview shows us that this is possible because saad is both language and voice.
[00:04:14.21] Poetry itself is an act of translation. And for this episode, I've gathered three poems written by Diné poets who remind us of the capacity of language, its turns, its contours, its blemishes, its design, its song, its prayer, its mourning one after the other, its rivers, its skies. And so we start with the poem “Language” by Rex Lee Jim.
Rex Lee Jim:
[00:04:51.66] The next one I would like to read is called “Language.” I will read the one in Navajo first and then in English. I can't read the one in Gaelic, somebody did the translation for that.
[00:05:18.03] “Saad. Hodeeyáádą́ą́' honishłǫ́, adą́ą́dą́ą́’ honishłǫ́. Dííjį́ honishłǫ́, yiską́ągo honishłǫ́, ahóyéel'áágóó honishłǫ́. Saad shí nishłį́. Saad diyinii shí nishłį́. Saad diyinii díí shí nishłį́.
[00:05:31] Shee nitsáhákees, shee nahat'á, shee tsohodizin, shee ni'dit'a', shee yáti'. Saad shí nishłį́. Saad diyinii shí nishłį́. Saad diyinii díí shí nishłį́. Ts'ídá t'áá ał'ąą ánísht'éego honishłǫ́, shinahjį́' nitsáhákees ał'ąą át'é, shinahjį́' nahat'á ał'ąą át'é, shinahjį́' tsodizin ał'ąą át'é, shinahjį́' sin al’ąą át'é, shinahjį́' saad ał’ąą át'é. Saad shí nishłį́. Saad diyinii shí nishłį́. Saad diyinii díí shí nishłį́.
[00:05:08] Shinahjį́ iiná ałtaas' áí hólǫ́. Ó'ool'į́į́t ałtaas' áí yisht'į́, yódí ałtaas' áí yisht'į́, nitł'iz ałtaas' áí yisht'į́. Díí biniiyé nohokáá' dine' é baa ádinisht’ą́, nohokáá' dine'é diyinii, nohokáá' dine'é ílíinii, nohokáá' dine'é jooba'ii. Díí biyi'dę́ę́' hahosiists'į́į́hgo liná doo nídínééshgóó k'ee'ąą yilzhish. Díí biniiyé nohokáá' dine' é baa ádinisht’ą́. Saad shí nishłį́. Saad diyinii shí nishłį́ ádinisht’ą́. Saad diyinii díí shí nishłį́.
[00:06:26] Ahóyéel' áágóó honishłǫ́, yiską́ągo honishłǫ́, dííjį́ honishłǫ́, adą́ą́dą́ą́' honishłǫ́, hodeeyáádą́ą́' honishłǫ́. Saad shí nishłį́. Saad diyinii shí nishłį́. Saad diyinii díí shí nishłį́.”
[00:06:46.96] “Language.” After having reflected on this poem over several years I think voice might be a better translation for saad rather than language, but I will read it with the word language throughout.
[00:07:06.40] "Language. In the beginning I was, yesterday I was, today I am. Tomorrow I will be, forever I will be. Language I am, sacred language I am, sacred language this I am. People think with me people act with me, people pray with me, people sing with me, people speak with me.
[00:07:32.11] Language, I am sacred. Language I am. Sacred language, this I am. I come in many different forms. Because of me, people think differently. Because of me, people act differently. Because of me, people pray differently. Because of me, people sing differently. Because of me, people speak differently.
[00:07:53.89] Language I am. Sacred language I am. Sacred language, this I am. Because of me, there are many different cultures. I value different ways of doing, I value different goods, I value varied hard goods. These are why I gave myself to the Earth's surface people, a holy people, a respected people, a compassionate people.
[00:08:19.89] From within them my sound, in this way life continues to expand. These are reasons why I gave myself to the Earth's surface people. Language I am. Sacred language I am. Sacred language this I am. Forever I will be, tomorrow I will be, today I am, yesterday I was. In the beginning I was. Sacred language, I am. Sacred language, I am. Sacred language, this, I am."
[00:08:59.19] [MELLOW MUSIC]
Jake Skeets:
[00:09:05.39] The second recording I want to share with you is a pair of poems written in Diné and English titled “Niltsá Bi'áád” and “Niltsá Bika'” by Navajo Nation poet laureate Laura Tohe recorded on March, 26, 2011. Niltsá Bi'áád when translated to English is Female Rain or a rain that embodies what can be considered more feminine attributes. Of course, the English here positions female as opposite male, and comes weighed with the conditions of colonial gender constructs.
[00:09:43.70] Here however, feminine rain is not opposite nor counter to male or masculine rain. In the English language, this can be weaponized to instill a kind of gender construct or family dynamic, but within Diné worldview, there are times when we all embody both elements. And our family dynamics are vast with each part of our family tree embodying one or both of these attributes.
[00:10:12.09] You see, the rain Tohe is describing in “Niltsá Bi'áád” is a light rain. Maybe it's still sunny out and there's a gentle sprinkling or just water in the air. This rain is the kind of rain you bathe yourself in to cleanse and wash away worries of the world. This rain is a healing rain and generally precedes or follows a more turbulent monsoon or summer thunderstorm or Niltsá Bika', the male rain.
[00:10:42.15] During these more violent thunderstorms, we were always told to stay inside. You stay quiet, not out of fear, but of reverence. Tó éí ííná. Water is life after all. We witness the kind of storm outside and we respond. In this way, the weather is a kind of language. And in the poems, you can hear the way that the Diné words embody the rhythms of the rain they are wanting to translate.
[00:11:14.31] In “Niltsá Bi'áád,” if you listen closely, you can hear the way the Diné words begin to rhyme as if in song, as if in prayer. In “Niltsá Bika'” there are some very strategic consonant and vowel sounds. The slash L or shl sound, the glottal stop, and the open O and A sounds, the poem starts with the harsher slash L sound along with glottal stops that indicate a kind of muscling through the words.
[00:11:48.00] Even Tohe struggles for a split second, then, as if a sudden downburst, the poem opens up with a series of O and A sounds. Both poems mirror the rainstorms because the storms are a language. The environment is our first language. We feel the sun, the cold, the rain, the sand. In Diné, we have words that are direct embodiments of the world around us.
[00:12:21.06] Words like łį́į́' which means horse, and comes from the nasal sounds of horses. And words like tó, which means water. So if the job of the poet is to be a technician of language, the job of the poets is to then be a technician of voice, of sound, of the weather, of the horses, of the trees, of the water, because they all make up our language. They have a language of their own. And if you listen carefully, you will begin to hear it. Here is “Niltsá Bi'áád” and “Niltsá Bika'” by Laura Tohe, read in both Diné and English.
[00:13:07.77] [MELLOW MUSIC]
Laura Tohe:
[00:13:11.25] I'm just going to read a couple of more poems about rain, both in English and in Navajo. And then let my collaborator, Steve, talk about his work.
[00:13:29.79] “Níłtsą́ bi’áád. Níłtsą́ bi’áád Shá’di’ááhdę́ę’go dah naaldogo’ alzhish k’ós hazlį́į́’ honeezk’ází níltsą́ bi’áád bitázhool bijooltsą́ áádóó níłtsą́ bi’áád biyázhí bídii’na’ Naaniiniiłkaahgo níłtsą́ bi’áád biyázhí hazlį́į́’ ch’íl látah hózhóón dahtoo’bee ’ałch’į’ háazhah áádóó nihik’inizdidláád.”
[00:14:00.93] "Female rain dancing from the South, cloudy, cool and gray. Pregnant with rain child, at dawn she gives birth to a gentle mist. Flowers bow with wet sustenance luminescence all around.”
[00:14:19.18] “Níłtsą́ Biką́'. Níłtsą́ biką́' Aadę́ę́ łį́į́' diłhiłgo tł'éé' nahalingo bił ch'éldloozh báhách'į́'go naayéé'ee k'ehgo ts'ida deesk'aazgo áhoolaa tó yíląąd dóó níyol tsoh áhoolaa Hashké níłtsą́ biką́' naazbaa' tł'éé' bíighah atah názhnoodahgo yiską́ áádóó łį́į́ bił anááldloozh anaa' yę́ę t'áá 'ákǫ́ǫ́go 'aliilaa.”
[00:14:51.07] "Male rain. He comes riding a dark horse, angry, malevolent, cold, bringing floods and heavy winds. Warrior rain, having a 49 night, then rides away, leaving his enemy behind."
[00:15:07.39] [MELLOW MUSIC]
Jake Skeets:
[00:15:15.79] The last poem I want to share with you is written by [shinálí ?] and the first Navajo Nation poet laureate Luci Tapahonso. The poem is a highly requested one, and remains to this day my favorite poem of all time. There were many recordings of this poem to choose from, but I chose the recording from February, 16, 2011. But any recording would have done, because it's a poem that has stayed with me for years.
[00:15:45.13] It was the first poem I read by a native poet. And it was the first poem that showed me that a life of poetry is possible for someone like me, a rez kid growing up among the sagebrush and pinyon trees. Every time I read it, it shows me that Navajo stories, stories that come from where I come from, are important ones to tell.
[00:16:08.77] The poem is titled “Hills Brothers Coffee.” And while it's a poem written entirely in English, I believe it's still an act of translation. The poem has a very peculiar diction and syntax, especially, in lines like "The store is where I'm going to." I've written about this line before, and the line is written with a dense syntax. Object, subject, and then verb. Whereas a normal sentence would read subject, verb, object. Or "I am going to the store."
[00:16:46.00] This syntax, while strange to the common reader, is one I'm familiar with. It's how my mom and dad talk, it's how my aunts and uncles talk. The mixture of Diné and English. If language molds our reality, and the landscape around us shares a language, then this poem shows us that language also orients us to the world. We don't step into the world, the world steps around us.
[00:17:19.51] I think of the poem “Keeping Things Whole,” by Mark Strand. And the opening lines, "In a field, I am the absence of field. I'm not going to the store, the store is where I'm going." The world comes first, the land comes first. It's a small reorientation, but I believe it's an important one to make. The land is not an object, the land is alive. It moves where we move. "The store is where I'm going to."
[00:17:57.56] Now, let's imagine the two translations placed together in a couplet. "The store is where I'm going. I am going to the store." The couplet sets up a chiasmus structure, they run parallel to each other. While some might see disunity, I see balance.
[00:18:20.87] Two things existing at once. And that's the kind of world we live in now, and we find the best parts of it, like sharing a cup of coffee with your uncle and laughing and telling stories, everything existing all at once. So here is “Hills Brothers Coffee,” by [shinálí ?], my grandmother through clan, Luci Tapahonso.
Luci Tapahonso:
[00:18:51.59] “The other poem is about my mother's brother. This is the other poem that's always on request. And it's a poem that Bill Shatner of Star Trek fame read at a poetry festival in Las Vegas.
[00:19:09.44] [LAUGHTER]
[00:19:10.79] This was when I lived in Kansas. And he called and left a message on my answering machine. And he said, This is Bill Shatner, and I want to read your poem. And I listened to it and I thought, I don't know who that is. And I thought, If he's serious, he'll call back again.
[00:19:31.29] So this was like before email. And my husband came home from work and he listened to the messages, and said, Did you hear? That's Bill Shatner. And I said, really? And yeah, he was-- and he got all excited. And he was saying, Did you call him back? And I said, no, I don't know who that is.
[00:19:48.99] [LAUGHTER]
[00:19:50.01] And he telling me, That's Star Trek, that's Captain Kirk. And I said, oh, I didn't know that.
[00:19:59.68] [LAUGHTER]
[00:20:00.67] So anyway, I called him back and then he told me what he wanted. And so I talked to his assistant, and then he called me back later. And he called me and I answered the phone, and I didn't know him. And I'm of that generation that calls everybody Mr. or Ms. And so I was calling him Mr. Shatner, and he said, oh, please, call me Bill. So that's how I first became acquainted with Bill Shatner.
[00:20:37.47] [LAUGHTER]
[00:20:39.63] And this is the poem that he read. I didn't ever hear that version, that would be interesting to hear. This is called Hills Brothers Coffee.
[00:20:50.79] "My uncle is a small man. In Navajo, we call him shidá'i, my mother's brother. He doesn't know English, but his name in the White way is Tom Jim. He lives about a mile or so down the road from our house. One morning, he sat in the kitchen drinking coffee. I just came over, he said, The store is where I'm going to.
[00:21:20.19] He tells me about how my mother seems to be gone every time he comes over. Maybe she sees me coming then runs and jumps in her car and speeds away, he says smiling. We both laugh just to think of my mother jumping in her car and speeding. I pour him more coffee, and he spoons in sugar and cream until it looks almost like a chocolate shake. Then he sees the coffee can.
[00:21:53.85] Oh, that's that coffee with the man in a dress like a church man. Oh, that's the one that does it for me."
[00:22:05.58] [LAUGHTER]
[00:22:07.02] "Very good coffee. I sit down again and he tells me, Some coffee has no kick, but this one is the one. It does it good for me. I pour us both a cup, and while we wait for my mother, his eyes crinkle with the smile. And he says, Yes, oh yes, this is the very one, putting in more cream and sugar. So I usually buy Hills Brothers Coffee once or sometimes twice a day. I drink a hot coffee and it sure does it for me."
[00:22:56.13] [LAUGHTER]
[00:22:57.54] [MELLOW MUSIC]
Jake Skeets:
[00:23:04.15] "It sure does it for me." That poem, these poems, have moved so much of my own poetics and they have inspired me to learn more and more about the Diné language. To be transparent, I'm not a fluent speaker of Diné, but I'm learning, I have been learning. I have been taking Navajo language courses since I was in elementary school. I have every published dictionary and language manual for Diné, I even have it on my Duolingo.
[00:23:38.89] From my experience, there seems to be a disconnect between expectation and reality. In Navajo language classes, they teach us primarily vocabulary words, how to count to 10, how to introduce yourself, and various household objects, but they don't teach us how to string these things together. So my translation work starts in English, and I work my way back to Diné at a very elementary level.
[00:24:12.03] I was asked to share a poem with you all, and the poems I've shared so far have dealt with translation and the way language moves us, orients us, and surrounds us. So the poem I chose to read for you is a poem I wrote after attending a craft talk by Layli Long Soldier who discussed the kind of poetry and translation exercises she developed for her communities back home on the Oglala Lakota Nation.
[00:24:46.68] In the exercises, Long Soldier has the students translate very simple sentences. Sentences like, I have hair, I eat elk meat, I have a bowl. And from these simple sentences, the students weave together complex thoughts like I have a river, but no cup. Those of course, are very loose paraphrasing from my weak memory of the craft talk.
[00:25:18.10] This poem was inspired by that move to focus and weave together simple statements and so I started with simple ideas in Diné. Words like wind, night, springtime, and summer, and those became the acts in the poem. Then came the sentences, like, I am walking into a cornfield, It has beautiful clothes, There is water, I have a bowl.
[00:25:53.76] In Act Three, I have the word for sunlight, and a sentence I borrowed from a Diné language dictionary that when translated to English means light reflecting in a meadow and rocks in a line toward the horizon. Except, I swapped the word for rock with the word for language. Saad, where we all started. I end with the final word Bóhoosh’aah, which means I am learning.
[00:26:27.33] But I feel the more accurate translation is the final line of the poem, which is a line I borrowed from Long Soldier's writing exercise. We all stand in the sun, We all have empty bowls, We all desire the river, We are all learning. Language is flexible. It moves, it breathes, it pools around our feet. Here is my poem “Emerging.”
[00:27:02.94] "Act One. Níyol. Dah adii’ąągo dá’ák’ehgóó deeshwoł. Act Two. Chahałheeł. Once upon a time five-fingered being, cold air, sunrise, stepped into a sentence. Nizhónígo bi’éé’ holǫǫ dooleeł. Éé’tsoh diłhiłgo yii’ doo’nah. They stepped further into the words. There is water. łeets’aa’ nímazí shee hólǫ. There is a meadow, a winter's meadow, gathering in a bright morning.
[00:27:55.06] Act Three. Dąąn. Shándíín; Hootsoh ayóo bits’ą’dinídíín. Saad ‘adííłhéelgo yiiłtsą. Act Four. Shį. Bóhoosh’aah. I stand in the sun with an empty bowl meant for a river.” Bóhoosh’aah. I am learning, I'm learning, I'm learning, I am learning."
[00:28:31.15] Ahéheeʼ. Thank you so much for spending this time with me. Ádaa'áhólyą́. Take care of yourselves.
[00:28:38.95] [MELLOW MUSIC]
Julie Swarstad Johnson:
[00:28:47.07] Thank you so much, Jake, for drawing attention to the work of Diné poets on Voca, and for adding your own voice to the mix. Listeners, thank you as always for choosing to spend this time with us. We'll be taking a break through the end of this year, but we'll be back again next year, most likely in late January. Until then, you're invited as always, to check out Voca and listen to some of those 1,000 plus hours of recordings, or catch up on some past episodes of this show. We're wishing you all a safe and restful end for this year.
Aria Pahari:
[00:29:20.93] Poetry Centered is a project of the University of Arizona Poetry Center, home to a world-class library collection of more than 80,000 items related to contemporary poetry in English and English translation. Located on the campus of the University of Arizona, in Tucson, the Poetry Center Library and buildings are housed on the Indigenous homeland of the Tohono O'odham and Pascua Yaqui.
[00:29:48.71] Poetry Centered is the work of Aria, Pahari that's me, and Julie Swarstad Johnson. Explore Voca, the Poetry Center's audiovisual archive online at voca.arizona.edu.
[00:30:05.96] [MELLOW MUSIC]