Repensky Reads 

Reconnecting with Indigenous poetry

By Allison Repensky (arepensky@css.edu)

November 22, 2024

     November is Native American Heritage Month! During this time, we honor and recognize the unique histories, cultures and contributions of Native American and Indigenous peoples. Here in Minnesota, we stand on and inhabit the ancestral homelands of the Anishinaabeg and Dakota peoples. Locally, we are on the land of the Fond du Lac Band of the Lake Superior Anishinaabe (also known as Chippewa or Ojibwe). There are 11 federally recognized tribes in Minnesota alone, seven of which are Anishinaabe and four of which are Dakota. 

     In Anishinaabemowin, we call November Gashkadino-giizis, or the Freezing-Over Moon—the time of year when water begins to freeze over, and the final harvests and hunts occur before winter settles in. It’s the perfect opportunity to get cozy and read some contemporary literature as we immerse ourselves in celebrating Native American Heritage Month! 

     This month I revisited the profound works of two contemporary Indigenous poet-activists: Natalie Diaz and Molly McGlennen. While their poems approach the experiences of Indigenous peoples in vastly different ways, each beautifully captures the complexities and intricacies of being Indigenous in today’s world. 

     Natalie Diaz’s “The First Water is the Body” is a deeply moving exploration of the innate connection between water and Indigenous communities, particularly in the wake of the Standing Rock Sioux protest against the Dakota Access Pipeline. Diaz is a Mojave (Akimel O’odham) poet, language activist, educator and former basketball player who directed a Mojave language revitalization program in Arizona. Her 2020 collection of poetry, “Postcolonial Love Poem,” won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and includes the critically acclaimed poem “The First Water is the Body.” I highly recommend it—not only to honor Native American Heritage Month but for year-round reflection.

      In “The First Water is the Body,” Diaz intertwines the fate of our water with that of the people, linking ecological violence and the ongoing genocide and erasure of Indigenous peoples. Her words leap from the page with an urgency that is both heartbreaking and hopeful, feeling both like a hug and a punch to the gut. In her exploration, she challenges us to recognize, live and breathe the relationships that work to keep us alive: “We think of our bodies as being all that we are: I am my body. This thinking helps us disrespect water, air, land, one another. But water is not external from our body, our self. /… The water we drink, like the air we breathe, is not a part of our body but is our body. What we do to one—to the body, to the water—we do to the other.” A violation of the water’s body is a violation of the human body, of us, our culture and our survival—it is tantamount to harming ourselves and our culture. When the veins, the lifeblood of the Earth’s body, are threatened, so are the living, breathing things that rely upon it. 

     In contrast, Molly McGlennen takes a different creative approach in her poetry collection “Our Bearings.” With roots in both Anishinaabe and German heritage and originally hailing from Minneapolis, Minn., she currently teaches English and Native American Studies in New York. Her 2020 collection of poetry, “Our Bearings,” presents “a poetic mapping of Indigenous urban space” and claims Minneapolis is rich with narratives of past, present and future urban Anishinaabe life. 

     McGlennen’s poetry adds a layer of complexity to our understanding of urban Indigenous experiences, weaving another thread into the intricate, colorful tapestry of Indigenous identity. “Our Bearings” is a simultaneous act of protest and healing, grief and joy, making it an ideal pick for Native American Heritage Month. In doing so, McGlennen eloquently asserts that the history of the Anishinaabeg people cannot be erased from the skyscrapers and modern buildings; rather, we are etched into the city’s essence like a ghost trace: “The mnemonic pegs are how / to recall the medicine of story / encircle the node / which is to say mode / of learning observation.” 

     This Native American Heritage Month, let’s take McGlennen’s words to heart. Let’s “recall the medicine of story” and engage in the rich traditions of “learning” and “observation.” Giga-waabamin, niijiiwag! That means “See you later, friends!” in Anishinaabemowin.