That's because I'm nervous.
[SPEAKING NAVAJO]
I'm from Northern Arizona, Rock Point.
There's a, about 9.3 miles Southwest of there, place
called Limestone Mesa.
That's where I'm from.
We started off about 6:00 this morning from there.
It was a long drive.
But I traveled down with my parents and my nephew.
When I read or lecture, or when I travel,
I like to travel with my family.
In the Navajo, we are taught to value family.
[SPEAKING NAVAJO]
That's why we're here.
We just came from dinner.
Just can't believe how much you city folks eat.
[LAUGHTER]
The people who took us to dinner,
they finished their plate, and those of us on the rez,
we just got a little bit.
But anyway, I'm glad to be here.
I will be reading some poems both in Navajo and English.
Most of my writing is in Navajo, and most of the--
not most of them, all the courses I teach in the college
are in Navajo.
So all my students write their papers,
and research papers and everything in Navajo.
[SPEAKING NAVAJO]
So I want to start off with a poem called, "That is Not
Spreading Out" Do the first one in Navajo.
I think when we listen to poetry,
sometimes we tend to focus and concentrate more
on the content, or the meaning.
We forget the rhythm, and the music,
the song that's in the poetic expression.
So, please listen to the poems in Navajo,
and listen to the music of it, and I'm
certain you'll find meaning in that rhythm.
[SPEAKING NAVAJO]
And here is the rough translation.
"Spreading Out."
From the house of the sun, the word to the house of the Earth,
the word.
The voice of little air is the blanket here, my voice begins.
The voice of big fly is the blanket
from the house of the Earth, the word to the house
of the sun, the word.
The sound keeps coming back.
I am a boy of the dawn.
My voice stops at the Juniper tree.
My voice is silenced there, and I'm happy about this death,
because my voice the resurrection
comes with a baby's first cry, and my voice resounds with joy.
Yes, my voice sounds anew.
Way in the future, my voice is sounding.
[SPEAKING NAVAJO]
Listen with me, carefully.
Somewhere beyond the sunbeam leap in the mystical way
my voice continues to sound.
In a sacred way, my voice continues to resound.
In a respectful way, my voice continues
to resound, resound, resound, resound.
Behind me in that space, the magpie's voice is heard.
It has already dawned.
The first streak of white light on the horizon.
Behind me, at that time, talking God's song is heard.
It has already dawned, the yellow light
just before sunrise.
In a mystical way, the song continues.
Listen to the singing, singing, singing.
Way ahead of me in that space, way ahead of me in that time.
In the earthly forms of prayers and songs,
my voice continues to resound, my voice has resounded,
dawn continues to unfold.
Dawn has unfolded.
Birth continues to come.
Birth has come.
With my varied songs, with my varied prayers,
of my varied soft goods, with my varied hard goods,
my voice sounds forward, down, and continues
forward, earth moves forward, continues to resound,
continues to resound, continues to sound, sound, sound, sound.