American - Poet | May 9, 1951 -
I started writing to save my life.
Joy Harjo
LifeWritingMy LifeStartedSave
I chose poetry. Actually, poetry chose me.
PoetryMeActuallyChose
I never fit in. Everyone knew my dad was Indian. I was half-Indian.
NeverEveryoneFitKnewIndianDad
The radio is playing jazz, and I listen to the sound of the trumpet playing a solo until I become that sound.
JazzBecomeListenSoundRadioSolo
When explorers first encountered my people, they called us heathens, sun worshippers. They didn't understand that the sun is a relative and illuminates our path on this earth.
PathSunPeopleEarthUnderstandUs
Humans are vulnerable and rely on the kindnesses of the earth and the sun; we exist together in a sacred field of meaning.
TogetherSunMeaningEarthSacred
I hear from my Inuit and Yupik relatives up north that everything has changed. It's so hot; there is not enough winter. Animals are confused. Ice is melting.
WinterConfusedEnoughIceAnimals
Someone accompanies every soul from the other side when it enters this place. Usually it is an ancestor with whom that child shares traits and gifts.
SoulChildSomeonePlaceSideGifts
I love the sound of the saxophone. It became my singing voice, and it sounds so human. The saxophone could carry the words past the border of words. It can carry it a little bit farther.
LovePastWordsSingingBorder
The creative act amazes me. Whether it's poetry, whether it's music, it's an amazing process, and it has something to do with bringing forth the old out into the world to create and to bring forth that which will rejuvenate.
MusicCreativePoetryAmazingWorld
Bottom line, I have to follow what my soul says, or my spirit. And my spirit said that poetry and the arts should be without borders, should be without political borders.
SoulPoetryPoliticalMy SoulSaid
My mother wrote lyrics and sang but was overtaken by life with four children and worked.
LifeMotherChildrenFourLyrics
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