(READ DOWNLOAD) ⚶ She Had Some Horses Ð eBook or E-pub free

Friday afternoon I take a taxi to the Buenos Aires Airpark On my flight to Uruguay I read She Had Some Horses, by Jay Harjo The poems seem somehow familiar, somethingI am trying to put my finger on ityesthey remind me of poems I have read in workshops at university there is nothing technically wrong with them, but there is nothing outstanding about them either They evoke some imagery, but little emotion My friend meets me at the airport and drives me to his home That e Friday afternoon I take a taxi to the Buenos Aires Airpark On my flight to Uruguay I read She Had Some Horses, by Jay Harjo The poems seem somehow familiar, somethingI am trying to put my finger on ityesthey remind me of poems I have read in workshops at university there is nothing technically wrong with them, but there is nothing outstanding about them either They evoke some imagery, but little emotion My friend meets me at the airport and drives me to his home That evening, after eating grilled lamb on a patio in back of his house, I gaze over what he calls a backyard , which is a hundred acres of rolling land surrounded by barbwire fence with a small herd of horses that graze on the grass Once in a while one of the horses will take off running, and two or three will follow its lead, running, jumping in the air, kicking their hooves about, neighing like they are laughing, manes and tails flowing Running about, it seems, just to run about to have fun to be happy to be alive I note how gracefully horses move How proud they stand when they stick their heads up from grazing to look about That night, I read the book again I begin to notice a subtle tugging from the poems, an evasive yet imperative beckoning The next morning, I read the book a third time The poems stun me Each one dazzles me, has my full attention like the way I notice a woman is beautiful and interesting in a way I did not on a first meeting with her, but upon a second and third encounter, moves me, enters me, will not leave me One of the better poems in the book is The Woman Hanging From the Thirteenth Floor Window She is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window Her hands are pressed white against the concrete molding of the tenement building She hangs from the 13th floor window in east Chicago with a swirl of birds over her head They could be a halo, or a storm of glass waiting to crush her.The woman hanging from the 13th floor window on the east side of Chicago is not alone She is a woman of children, of the baby, Carlos, and of Margaret, and of Jimmy who is the oldest She is her mother s daughter and her father s son She is several pieces between the two husbands she has had She is all the women of the apartment building who stand watching her, watching themselves.She is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window on the Indian side of town Her belly is soft from her children s births, her worn Levi s swing down below her waist, and then her feet, and then her heart She is dangling.The woman hanging from the 13th floor hears voices They come to her in the night when the lights have gone dim Sometimes they are little cats mewing and scratching at the door, sometimes they are her grandmother s voice, and sometimes they are gigantic men of light whispering to her to get up, to get up, to get up That s when she wants to have another child to hold onto in the night, to be able to fall back into dreams.And the woman hanging from the 13th floor window hears other voices Some of them scream out from below for her to jump, they would push her over Others cry softly from the sidewalks, pull their children up like flowers and gather them into their arms They would help her, like themselves.But she is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window, and she knows she is hanging by her own fingers, her own skin, her own thread of indecision.The woman hangs from the thirteenth floor window crying for the lost beauty of her own life She sees the sun falling west over the gray plane of Chicago She think she remembers listening to her own life break loose, as she falls from the 13th floor window on the east side of Chicago, or as she climbs back up to claim herself again.The image of the woman hanging by her fingertips on the window ledge is vivid She is depicted metaphorically as EveryIndianWoman, but she could just as easily be EveryWoman, the poem is written that well Every reader feels empathy with The Women, as do the spectators on the street below Thusly, EveryOne is up on the ledge with The Woman, right beside her, or as her The poem begins tragically but ends victoriously There is hope to escape the fall from the ledge in the sense of self reclamation After all, hasn t everyone been hanging from a ledge at least once in his or her life at least some sort of a metaphoric ledge The rest of the poems are just as vivid as they are emotional.As Published on Fox Chase Review A beautiful collection of poetry I feel like Joy Harjo doesn t try to censor herself or present herself as someone she is not She offers a different, grittier woman s perspective that isn t afraid to talk about the dark places What I love about this poetry is that you can feel the flow, the stream of consciousness that strings words together to make an abstract thought come into focus Harjo writes about women and what it feels to be connected to a greater feminine entity, something old and s A beautiful collection of poetry I feel like Joy Harjo doesn t try to censor herself or present herself as someone she is not She offers a different, grittier woman s perspective that isn t afraid to talk about the dark places What I love about this poetry is that you can feel the flow, the stream of consciousness that strings words together to make an abstract thought come into focus Harjo writes about women and what it feels to be connected to a greater feminine entity, something old and sacred She also writes about coming to terms with all of the parts of ones self especially well My favorite poem in this collection bears the same name as the book s title She Had Some Horses Anyone who knows horses, knows they all have unique individual personalities Some even have personality flaws depending on the beholder Anyone who knows horses also knows how strong they are, how powerful You can t ignore their presence when you encounter one As a horsewoman, this poem speaks to me I love the connection drawn between women and horses, it is deep and true We are all ugly and beautiful, strong and vulnerable We all have some horses She had some horses.She had horses who were bodies of sand.She had horses who were maps drawn of blood.She had horses who were skins of ocean water.She had horses who were the blue air of sky.She had horses who were fur and teeth.She had horses who were clay and would break.She had horses who were splintered red cliff.She had some horses.She had horses with eyes of trains.She had horses with full, brown thighs.She had horses who laughed too much.She had horses who threw rocks at glass houses.She had horses who licked razor blades.She had some horses.She had horses who danced in their mothers arms.She had horses who thought they were the sun and theirbodies shone and burned like stars.She had horses who waltzed nightly on the moon.She had horses who were much too shy, and kept quietin stalls of their own making.She had some horses.She had horses who liked Creek Stomp Dance songs.She had horses who cried in their beer.She had horses who spit at male queens who madethem afraid of themselves.She had horses who said they weren t afraid.She had horses who lied.She had horses who told the truth, who were strippedbare of their tongues.She had some horses.She had horses who called themselves, horse She had horses who called themselves, spirit, and kepttheir voices secret and to themselves.She had horses who had no names.She had horses who had books of names.She had some horses.She had horses who whispered in the dark, who were afraid to speak.She had horses who screamed out of fear of the silence, whocarried knives to protect themselves from ghosts.She had horses who waited for destruction.She had horses who waited for resurrection.She had some horses.She had horses who got down on their knees for any saviour.She had horses who thought their high price had saved them.She had horses who tried to save her, who climbed in herbed at night and prayed as they raped her.She had some horses.She had some horses she loved.She had some horses she hated.These were the same horses I cannot stress how beautiful these poems are. I have no business reading poetry that goes beyond Shel Silverstein because I have a hard time getting it When I would read it to myself, it was like reading a foreign language Words that went in one ear and out the other for the most part read but not truly comprehended I assure you that this is no fault of Joy Harjo s I am just an amateur I can only tell you how beautiful the poems were when I began walking around my house and reading them out loud I can only gush about the word choi I have no business reading poetry that goes beyond Shel Silverstein because I have a hard time getting it When I would read it to myself, it was like reading a foreign language Words that went in one ear and out the other for the most part read but not truly comprehended I assure you that this is no fault of Joy Harjo s I am just an amateur I can only tell you how beautiful the poems were when I began walking around my house and reading them out loud I can only gush about the word choice and admit that I cried and cried while reading The Woman Hanging From The Thirteenth Floor Window.I am a poetry novice and even though I don t always know what is going on and even though I may be relating lines or whole poems to something so muchtrivial than what the poet is writing about, even I know something beautiful when I see it This year 2019 , Joy Harjo became the first Native American Poet Laureate of the United States I m delighted about that This book was published in 1983, and I look forward to reading some of herrecent books, since most good poets keep getting better over time.I m enjoy learningabout indigenous culture and beliefs While not a huge fan of nature walk poems, I very much love poems about animals In other words, there was a lot to enjoy in this collection For me, the most poignant p This year 2019 , Joy Harjo became the first Native American Poet Laureate of the United States I m delighted about that This book was published in 1983, and I look forward to reading some of herrecent books, since most good poets keep getting better over time.I m enjoy learningabout indigenous culture and beliefs While not a huge fan of nature walk poems, I very much love poems about animals In other words, there was a lot to enjoy in this collection For me, the most poignant poem was about the plight of a woman in a tenement in east Chicago, the Indian section Harjo made it a point to place it on page 13 The Woman Hanging from the Thirteenth Floor Window She is all the women of the apartment building who stand watching her, watching themselves The protagonist is repeatedly referred to as the woman hanging from the thirteenth floor window The repetition works for several reasons It echoes the never ending trials of the woman s life and makes readers, new onlookers, feel that we must also be losing strength to hold on much longer.This stanza took my breath away what breath I had left when I reached it She thinks of Carlos, of Margaret, of Jimmy.She thinks of her father, and of her mother.She thinks of all the women she has been, of all the men She thinks of the color of her skin, andof Chicago streets, and of waterfalls and pines.She thinks of moonlight nights, and of cool spring storms.Her mind clatters like neon and northside bars.She thinks of the 4 a.m lonelinesses that have foldedher up like death, discordant, without logical andbeautiful conclusion Her teeth break off at the edges.She would speak Usually I lose my patience with this much repetition, but I thought it perfect in this poem.My quote of the week came from Remember Remember you are all people and all people are you This wisdom is stated in different ways in different cultures, from do unto others to the African proverb I am because we are and greeting I am we There s the secret to world peace,to look for what we have in common and live like we care for those beyond our front door or border Although egos continue to live by me first, poets have yet to give up the ideal Great collection.bleak,explorativea beautiful Native road to the artistry of our nations Poet Laureate. What a singular American voice, and in her poetry, a kaleidoscope of meaning and reckoning and revelling I am nearly always looking for a new way to look at time when I read poetry I think time is one of our biggest brainwashings in our cultures and societies, so other ways of thinking and feeling it is my personal philosopher s stone I also started her autobiography Crazy Brave, which also crosses all of time s boundaries Time winds around the earth and spirits and deep despairs in these What a singular American voice, and in her poetry, a kaleidoscope of meaning and reckoning and revelling I am nearly always looking for a new way to look at time when I read poetry I think time is one of our biggest brainwashings in our cultures and societies, so other ways of thinking and feeling it is my personal philosopher s stone I also started her autobiography Crazy Brave, which also crosses all of time s boundaries Time winds around the earth and spirits and deep despairs in these poems, and always brings it to an earthy or sensual dimension, and I loved them I am also thrilled that she is our first Native American poet laureate while also deeply, achingly, ashamedly aware how desperately wrong that is And ultimately, as other poets have said, poetry helps us reconcile contradictions like that, and these poems are perfect examples, the juxtaposition of heartbreak and glaciers making a whole or trees and prayers, for stars and identity, or landscape external and in a body Read and rethink everything, and revel in our land and our planet while knowing the legacy of our theft reverberates in everything This city is made of stone, of blood, and fish There are Chugatch Mountains to the east and whale and seal to the west It hasn t always been this way, because glaciers who are ice ghosts create oceans, carve earth and shape this city here, by the sound They swim backwards in time.the bones that cracked in your heart each time you missed the aboriginal music that you wereThe cedar tree outside the window is one of many What prayers are said to it What voices are raised to sacred blue sky within its branches Stars illuminate its form The moon comes around in a repetitious pattern, and the sun slopes down into a familiar sea She thought she woke up Black willow shadows for walls of her room Was it sleep Or the star dancer come for her dance There are stars who have names, who are dreams There are stars who have families who are music She thought she woke up Felt for skin, for alive and breathing blood rhythm For clothes or an earring she forgot to take off.I dreamed of a Canadian plain, and warm arms around me, the soft skin of the body s landscape And I dreamed of bear, and a thousand mile escape homeward.I am memory alive not just a namebut an intricate part of this web of motion, meaning earth, sky, stars circling my heart centrifugal.Remember the sky that you were born under, know each of the star s stories Remember the moon, know who she is Remember the sun s birth at dawn, that is the strongest point of time Remember sundown and the giving away to night.Remember the earth whose skin you are red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth brown earth, we are earth Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their tribes, their families, their histories, too Talk to them, listen to them They are alive poems Remember the wind Remember her voice She knows the origin of this universe Remember you are all people and all people are you Remember you are this universe and this universe is you Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you Remember language comes from this Remember the dance language is, that life is Remember.Your face tilted a soft angle to the light Even in your sleep you sense direction Your eyes are closed to the brightness but you breathe in sun like sunflowers do The sense of light is like another kind of touch, like air and water to the skin I thought my dance alone through worlds of odd and eccentric planets that no one else knew would sustain me I mean I did learn to move after all and how to recognize voices other than the most familiar But you must have grown out of a thousand years dreaming just like I could never imagine you You must have broke open from another sky to here, because now I see you as a part of the millions of other universes that I thought could never occur in this breathing And I know you as myself, traveling In your eyes alone are many colonies of stars and other circling planet motion This is a classic, of course, and very influential in helping me write my first collection I recently taught this book at the Tohono O odham Nation and the distracted or stoic students snapped to attention when I began to read the title poem Who wouldn t The tenor of their poems they re writing to submit to a collection of native poems was very similar in content and image It was lovely to read something to them that struck a chord. (READ DOWNLOAD) Ø She Had Some Horses Ü In this powerful collection of poetry, Creek Indian Joy Harjo explores womanhood s most intimate moments Professor, poetry award winner, performer, and former member of the National Council on the Arts, Harjo s prose speaks of women s despair, of their imprisonment and ruin at the hands of men and society, but also of their awakenings, power, and love Like Jacklight, She Had Some Horses was written and published before I was born I find myself turning to the early collections of powerful, dangerous women, almost for a kind of fecund, uncivil reassurance that long before I was a smear of grease, women have been doing this work that they will be doing it long after I am a trace of ash Harjo s poems are bountiful, bursting with galloping horses, fat stars, a woman as gold as the river bottom , memories swimming deep in the blood I come her Like Jacklight, She Had Some Horses was written and published before I was born I find myself turning to the early collections of powerful, dangerous women, almost for a kind of fecund, uncivil reassurance that long before I was a smear of grease, women have been doing this work that they will be doing it long after I am a trace of ash Harjo s poems are bountiful, bursting with galloping horses, fat stars, a woman as gold as the river bottom , memories swimming deep in the blood I come here to drink from a low, wide trough the water of these poems is experience, is re birth, is a full, sonorous canter