tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56237872013-05-14T12:19:45.879-10:00This is Joy Harjo's ongoing journal of dreams, stories, poems,music, photographs, and assorted reports from her inner and outer travels about Indian country and the rest of the world .Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.comBlogger652125JoyHarjosBloghttp://feedburner.google.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-44866435268025750992013-05-08T04:44:00.003-10:002013-05-08T04:44:19.898-10:002013-05-08T04:44:19.898-10:00

...a time of evaluation and giving thanks. My experience in the world grows more complex. The simple truths deeper and more defined. Mvto out there for all those who have touched my life. In this Internet age this includes the blog circle.

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-57575501551618384222013-05-07T14:52:00.001-10:002013-05-07T14:52:19.895-10:002013-05-07T14:52:19.895-10:00

UTAH RIVER WRITING WITH PAGE LAMBERT and JOY HARJO Sept. 10-13, 2013 Westwater Canyon, Colorado River  4-days  Women-only river trip with special guest Mvskoke (Creek) Nation writer and musician Joy Harjo.  This trip celebrates Joy’s new memoir Crazy Brave. Her seven books of poetry include She Had Some Horses, The Woman Who Fell From the Sky, and How We Became Human, New and Selected

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-81440477452380063622013-04-23T13:06:00.001-10:002013-04-23T13:06:30.007-10:002013-04-23T13:06:30.007-10:00

Fragmented poetry and interrupted forms could be the natural creation of poetry shards, evidence of a world broken apart, or shredded meaning.

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-87382417364068280842013-03-24T02:14:00.002-10:002013-03-24T02:14:43.654-10:002013-03-24T02:14:43.654-10:00

Yesterday the National Council of the Muscogee Nation turned down money to help start an arts council to benefit all tribal members. It was a bare bones budget.It would have resulted in an online almanac of Mvskoke artists, an assessment of the state of Mvskoke arts and artists, an examination of other indigenous models, a five year strategic plan, finding the best housing in the tribe, a look

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-85189820075423116352013-03-04T19:20:00.001-10:002013-03-04T19:20:29.024-10:002013-03-04T19:20:29.024-10:00

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Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-8135768730673857692013-02-21T12:18:00.000-10:002013-02-21T12:18:07.952-10:002013-02-21T12:18:07.952-10:00

Back to the last day at my Ucross writing studio, after my last workout with Radha Blank. The closest gym is in Sheridan, thirty miles away, so we made our own workouts that have included many kinds of dance (mostly done to soul, funk, r and b and hip hop), workout, step, stretches, dips, and ending with those dreaded planks. In three weeks we've lost some weight, can do stretches that were

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-75452275627389698802013-02-21T08:52:00.001-10:002013-02-21T08:52:50.158-10:002013-02-21T08:52:50.158-10:00

Read that bottle nose call their loved ones by names. I don't believe that's a unique phenomenon to dolphins or humans.

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-86899179722513702512013-02-18T07:19:00.002-10:002013-02-18T07:19:58.909-10:002013-02-18T07:19:58.909-10:00

More snow, more wind, but I am finding the story--Everything I've written in these last two weeks I abandoned yesterday. I start again. That's how it often works when creating any new story, song, dance, painting...Discipline and wildness meet in creativity.

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-77436436513715850322013-02-13T05:41:00.001-10:002013-02-13T05:41:20.219-10:002013-02-13T05:41:20.219-10:00

When we enter this world with waking consciousness we put on our earthly suit of clothes. We move slower, but the principles are the same. Sometimes I like to move through this conscious realm as if I were dreaming. In dreaming we are more in touch with how our thoughts create immediately and dynamically. If I think myself into the heart of the song, there I am, or a plant, or a knot of pain that

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-22126646541342098042013-02-12T07:55:00.002-10:002013-02-12T07:55:25.616-10:002013-02-12T07:55:25.616-10:00

Dealing with the doubt monsters this morning."Once the world was perfect, Granddaughter, and we were happy in that world. Then we took it for granted. Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind.Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head and all manner of demon thoughts jumped through.We destroyed the world we had been given. Each stone of jealousy, each stone of fear, greed, and envy

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-20826153389139878732013-02-11T08:06:00.002-10:002013-02-11T08:06:50.658-10:002013-02-11T08:06:50.658-10:00

Nothing like sleep on a windy, snowy night then waking to a bright sun made even brighter after a dark and difficult journey. Therein is the story of life, this flicker back and forth between shadow and light.

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-30900508170145622912013-02-07T08:01:00.002-10:002013-02-07T08:01:38.251-10:002013-02-07T08:01:38.251-10:00

I realize this morning as I write my play that I will have to ride a beat to get my protagonist's voice down in poetry...like driving a car with the top down on a path through the heart.

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-29939942306270312762013-02-06T08:26:00.002-10:002013-02-06T08:26:41.123-10:002013-02-06T08:26:41.123-10:00

This morning thinking of the island of Aitutaki, after hearing of the tsunami in the Solomon Islands. I spent one of my best days in this world there. We were let off at one of those proverbial South Pacific islands: white sand, coconut palms--an emerald jewel in a turquoise sea. We gathered shells, the most beautiful we could find. We each made little piles. Soon, the shells sprouted crabs and

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-77312263166413830712013-02-01T04:17:00.001-10:002013-02-01T04:17:07.982-10:002013-02-01T04:17:07.982-10:00

Sun climbs into the sky with a baby On his back. He wants to show his daughter The creation story, how all the colors of dawn Become humans, plants, animals and winds. There is nothing quite like this light anywhere else In the universe he tells her. Earth is one of the most beautiful beings yet much suffering Is brought to bare here. As the sun lifts up on his elbows to peer over the edge, all

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-44421113355396637482013-01-31T06:47:00.001-10:002013-01-31T06:47:29.950-10:002013-01-31T06:47:29.950-10:00

Last night went to my cousin's Wednesday night stomp dance practice at the local Creek Indian community center. I always learn something. Last night as we danced and I listened to the back and forth in the call and response, I understood how the animals and birds gave us the gift of songs.

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-10385641906054123852013-01-28T10:05:00.001-10:002013-01-28T10:05:50.534-10:002013-01-28T10:05:50.534-10:00

I walked out into Monday to balmy breezes and daffodils lifting up from the earth. It's too early but maybe our concept of early is shifting, will shift. One of the primary universal laws is that change is ever present. I am constantly reeducating myself to be a real human being. A real human being knows that everything in this universe, even time, is a being. We "civilized" human beings are

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-40053015842816771022013-01-21T14:14:00.001-10:002013-01-21T14:14:26.847-10:002013-01-21T14:14:26.847-10:00

Reading Sidney Bechet's "Treat It Gentle: An Autobiography". I can hear an influence for Jean Toomer's "Cane"--A treasure in my research for We Were There When Jazz Was Invented. "The only thing they had that couldn't be taken from them was their music. Their song, it was coming right up from the fields, settling itself in their feet and working right up, right up into their stomachs, their

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-68850042526916976482013-01-21T07:33:00.001-10:002013-01-21T07:33:03.979-10:002013-01-21T07:33:03.979-10:00

This morning--a new poem I followed beyond fear, the same fear every artist encounters when stepping into the unknowing. Now, if I owe you an email, will try to catch those up---I work harder, it seems, with email than I ever did with phones, letters and faxes as message carriers. In fact, email culture is out of control. These messaging systems, while convenient and quick, eat time. And they are

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-48463535030370837992013-01-20T06:46:00.003-10:002013-01-20T06:46:33.512-10:002013-01-20T06:46:33.512-10:00

Fresh from dreaming:  I am taken to an incredible tree. The tree appeared to begin in the sky. It was so beautiful, ephemeral, a kind of lightness that appears rarely in this world. It seemed to start high up in the sky, and it filled anyone who saw it with awe. It appeared to be not of this world yet you could see the etheric body leading down to this world. I have never seen anything like it.

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-57439325335404442102013-01-14T07:25:00.001-10:002013-01-14T07:25:41.161-10:002013-01-14T07:25:41.161-10:00

I was up late again working until past ten on a Sunday--Working twelve to fourteen hour days through the weekend and starting again on Monday made me feel a little weary. I either have to change my attitude or let something go or get some help...probably some portion of each of these. My first look at the spirit of the day, it was turned away in a droop. I decided to use a technique that my

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-61788212516336944952013-01-12T03:14:00.001-10:002013-01-12T03:14:10.342-10:002013-01-12T03:14:10.342-10:00

Up writing--in those moments between everything and now I saw the shape and trajectory of my play, We Were There When Jazz Was Invented. It's like seeing the house you always wanted to live in, complete with a courtyard and openings to the stars and music blasting heart trails. And stories of making it despite the guns of history, dancing, feasting and the kind of quiet that comes from awe. In

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-55091828317296048912013-01-10T18:06:00.002-10:002013-01-10T18:06:39.327-10:002013-01-10T18:06:39.327-10:00

Working through Charlie Parker "Anthropology" on horn (slower than Mr. Parker), and blues exercises on bass--studying the origins of blues and jazz, and working through over a hundred emails---and on, and on, and on---

Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5623787.post-65713076037943093212013-01-09T13:00:00.001-10:002013-01-09T13:00:36.530-10:002013-01-09T13:00:36.530-10:00

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Joy Harjonoreply@blogger.com0