On a sunny autumn morning, Chance and I hiked up Illinois Canyon at Starved Rock State Park to the tiny waterfall and large pool at the head of the canyon. We were alone, and I got lost photographing the colors and forms in the water as the fall leaves floated slowly toward the stream that emptied the pool.
I hope you can enjoy the stillness and beauty of this morning and imagine what you want in these images. I will also share some parts of three poems from Roberta Hill Whiteman. She was a professor of English and American Indian Studies at University of Wisconsin-Madison until she retired last year, and is an enrolled member of the Oneida.
. . . Through their songs,
the wind held on to visions.
We still help earth walk
her spiral way, feeling
the flow of rivers
and their memories of turning
and change.
From These Rivers Remember, Roberta Hill
. . .
In their songs, the wind held
on to visions. Let’s drop our burdens
and rest. Let’s recognize our need
for awe. . . .
From These Rivers Remember, Roberta Hill
. . .
Sit where there’s a center
and a drum, feel the confluence
of energies enter our hearts
so their burning begins to matter.
. . .
From These Rivers Remember, Roberta Hill
. . .
This is Maka co-ka-ya kin,
The Center of the Earth.
From These Rivers Remember, Roberta Hill
I hope you can take a few minutes and let her read the entire poem to you. The full text of the poem is also found on this Library of Congress link. She then goes on to offer some of her background and of this poem. She mentions that she lived on Roberts Street in St. Paul in the 80s and 90s, and that was the address of the NTEU local I would work at often in Minnesota during that time.
. . .
Yet within this interior, a spirit kindles
moonlight glittering deep into the sea.
These seeds take root in the hush
of dusk. Songs, a thin echo, heal the salted marsh,
and yield visions untrembling in our grip.
. . .
From Dream of Rebirth, Roberta Hill
. . .
I dreamed an absolute silence birds had fled.
The sun, a meager hope, again was sacred.
We need to be purified by fury.
. . .
From Dream of Rebirth, Roberta Hill
The National Park Service announced this week that it is partnering with the American Indian Alaska Native Tourism Association
to help facilitate regular, robust and meaningful dialogue between Tribes and the NPS. Strengthening relationships with Tribal governments is a cornerstone of the Biden-Harris Administration and this partnership will ensure that the perspectives, voices and traditions of indigenous communities are incorporated into exhibits, outreach and cultural tourism programs in national parks.
. . .
as if without a history, I should always walk
the cluttered streets of this hapless continent.
Thinking it best I be wanderer,
. . .
From In the Longhouse, Oneida Museum, Roberta Hill
. . .
I rode whatever river, ignoring every zigzag,
every spin. I’ve been a fragment, less than my name,
shaking in a solitary landscape,
like the last burnt leaf on an oak.
. . .
From In the Longhouse, Oneida Museum, Roberta Hill
You can read the full text of In the Longhouse, Oneida Museum at the Poetry Foundation website. Each of these poems are also in the anthology When the Light of the World was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through compiled by U.S. poet laureate Joy Harjo which you can get for Native American month in November.
I hope you enjoyed the visit to the pool by Illinois Canyon.