Joy Harjo Presentation
Poet and musician Joy Harjo, winner of the 2017 Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize. She got the tattoo on her hand during a trip to Tahiti and says, “The figures are related to ocean guardians and are basically protection for my writing and music.”
(Photo: Karen Kuehn)
(This was originally written as a writing assignment for a college poetry class in May 2018, in which we chose a specific poet to describe to the rest of the class and a single poem of theirs to analyze in detail.)
Joy Harjo was born on May 9, 1951, in Tulsa, Oklahoma, as a member of the Muscogee Creek Nation of Native Americans. She had a rough childhood; her birth father was an abusive drunk, and her stepfather was a racist who kicked Harjo out of her house when she was sixteen. She moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where she enrolled in the Institute of American Indian Arts. At first, she pursued painting as a means of artistic expression. However, she was inspired by several Native American writers, including her mentor Simon Ortiz [Acoma Pueblo], to pursue creative writing (although she has stuck with painting as well and has illustrated all the covers of her poetry collections).
Harjo would earn a B.A. from the University of New Mexico and an M.F.A. from the University of Iowa. Since then, she has held teaching positions at the Institute of American Indian Arts, Arizona State University, the University of Colorado, the University of Arizona, and the University of New Mexico, and has earned several awards for her poetry, including the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers’ Circle of America, the Wallace Stevens Award from the Academy of American Poets, the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America, the American Indian Distinguished Achievement in the Arts Award, and most recently, the Ruth Lily Prize in Poetry.
In addition, she is a musician, singing and playing the alto saxophone and flute with her bands Poetic Justice and Arrow Dynamics. Her live poetry readings are also noted for their musical quality, with Harjo singing the words as much as she speaks them.
Harjo has been described as one of the most influential writers of the Native American Renaissance of the late 20th century. Although her poetry covers a variety of different themes, it almost always ties back to Native American storytelling and history, their values, symbols, and mythology, and the many struggles they have endured in the past and the present. She also frequently tackles issues of feminism and social justice and the need for transcendence and remembrance as the world moves farther away from its simpler past.
The Poetry Foundation identifies her individual poetry collections as having their own running themes within them. Her first, The Last Song (1975), looks into “the fragmented history of indigenous peoples,” while What Moon Drove Me to This? (1980) “blends everyday experiences with deep spiritual truths.” She Had Some Horses (1983) includes prayer chants and animal imagery, while Secrets from the Center of the World (1989) features color photographs alongside Harjo’s poetry, which critic Dan Bellm suggests “in very few words the relationship between a human life and millennial history.”
Finally, In Mad Love and War (1990) tackles violence against Native Americans and attempts to deny their heritage, while much of her later collections, including The Woman Who Fell from the Sky (1994), How We Became Human: New and Selected Poems (2002), and Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings (2015) includes various indigenous myths and folklore, using them to explore and create cultural memory.
Analysis of “When the World as We Knew It Ended”
This poem seems to summarize the history of the United States since the end of the Indian Wars of the 1800s from the point of view of the Natives themselves. The second stanza, in particular, seems to depict the white men who claimed their land as they abuse it for profit. The two towers are an apparent reference to the World Trade Center, while the two brothers seem to be referring to Charles and David Koch. The fire dragon may be referring to climate change and its harmful effects. Meanwhile, Harjo portrays the Natives as doing everyday chores and errands like making food and caring for babies, helplessly watching as the Earth they once called home crumbles around them.
Back when In Mad Love and War was discussed in the Poetry Workshop class I took in the Spring 2016 semester, I couldn’t help but draw parallels between Harjo’s work and that of Cormac McCarthy, particularly his 1985 novel Blood Meridian, which dramatized the atrocities the outlaw John Joel Glanton and his gang committed against Natives, Mexicans, and others around the Mexico border circa 1850. Both Harjo and McCarthy deal with injustice against Native Americans in their respective works. Indeed, the eighth stanza of the poem, which talks about how the presidents and emperors of the world would “own the trees, stones, and everything else that moved about the earth, inside the earth, and above it,” reminded me of Judge Holden from Blood Meridian. One of the many “sermons” given by the judge (who may or may not be a figure analogous to Satan or H.P. Lovecraft’s Nyarlathotep) advocates man subjugating nature so he cannot be subservient to it and ends with this memorable quote: “The freedom of birds is an insult to me. I’d have them all in zoos.” Harjo’s poem rightfully points out that that attitude will only end up hurting us in the long run.
However, the poem does end with a note of optimism. “And then it was over, this world we had grown to love” might usually signal the type of depressive mood presented in McCarthy’s The Road. Instead, Harjo describes people planting crops, raising babies, and playing music while new life seems ready to be born from the soil. In the end, Harjo portrays the Earth as a phoenix prepared to be reborn from the ashes, and we humans are still around to enjoy this new age.
I’m not sure I have much more to add to this piece. I still have the copy of In Mad Love and War that I received for my 2016 poetry class on my bookshelf. I wonder if that’s what started my longtime fascination with Indigenous cultures.
I still think the message of optimism in the face of climate disaster at the end of Harjo’s poem and my essay still rings true today, even though things have gotten much since I wrote this. Sure, things might look bad, and they are, but they can always get worse unless we step up and demand a change for the better.
Stay tuned for the next two-part article, where I debunk the myths conservatives tell about the LGBTQ+ community, with the second part dealing with myths specific to the trans community. If the first part isn’t out by next weekend, then you’ll have another college nonfiction essay. Either way, see you then!
Also, I would be remiss if I didn’t share with you one of my favorite poems, not just by Joy Harjo but by any poet: Remember. OK, love you! Bye!
