And so I keep finding things in here.
I'm going to start with one, and I've gone back and forth on it.
In fact, I did a whole new order of poems
while we were sitting here, and then I
think I might revert to what I have.
But I hesitated with this one, because I don't think
the translation is up to the Yup'ik part.
But I can't say that, I am not a Yup'ik speaker,
but I can see the end words in the Yup'ik part.
But it's called "Prayer Song Asking for a Whale."
And I think about the roots of American poetry
and the roots of poetry in which we
exist in a realm in which we're absolutely
interdependent with Earth.
We are Earth.
There's this interdependence.
And so what we speak and how we move about
has everything to do with is embedded in that relationship.
Poetry is the closest to power language that we have
because you're so exact.
And we use poetry to speak really what can't be spoken.
We use poetry to go beyond words,
of course, which is ironic because we
have to use words absolutely precisely like a harpoon,
in a way.
You might want to say in that way
to get to where we're going even beyond language.
Poetry demands that we speak beyond language.
So I think of this "Prayer Song Asking
for a Whale" and thinking of it's a prayer song that are--
I think of my poems, a lot of them
is songs that ultimately poetry music and the roots of poetry
always lead to music, always lead to dance.
And then I think about this relationship
because what this poem "Prayer Song" says
is that you can't do a prayer song asking for a whale
without there being some relationship.
And so I'm going to read the poem in English.
This is before.
I'll just read the little part here.
And I have a special connection, I
want to say, to St. Lawrence Island.
I have not been there.
I always meet people from their music.
And I have met several people and then whalers.
And I wanted to honor them by trying to at least acknowledge
them in this place.
And one time, I had a person from St. Lawrence Island
bring me whale from there, whale meat, all the way to Santa Fe.
And we said in the hotel room, I brought some blueberries from
the grocery store, and she had her [ilu?_].
And we sat there on the floor of the hotel room.
It was wonderful eating muktuk, and berries,
and thanking the whale.
I was so deeply honored, so I want
to read this poem, too, because of that occasion.
And I think with this whole book, what throughout the book
illustrates is that really it's that relationship.
It's not some kind of New Agey thing.
This is absolutely essential as we're seeing now
with climate change, with the Earth responding
with fires the superstorms that we see, tornadoes that are 10,
20 times is as strong as they used to be when I was a child.
Before the whaling season, the boat captain
would sing ceremonial songs in the evening.
The ceremony of sea singing was called ivaghulluk.
I'm probably not saying it right.
The boat captain would sing these songs
in such a low reverent voice that you could hardly make out
the words, and that's because he was
singing as close as he could in English to whale songs.
Especially before the whaling season began,
the songs of petition were sung to God
in a prayerful pleading voice.
"The time is almost here, the season of the deep blue sea,
bringing good things from the deep blue sea.
Whale of distant ocean.
May there be a whale.
May it indeed come within the waves.
The time is almost here.
The season of the deep blue sea, bringing good things
from the deep blue sea.
Walrus of distant ocean.
May there be a whale.
May it indeed come within the waves.
The time is almost here, the season of the deep blue sea,
bringing good things in the deep blue sea.
Bearded seal of distant ocean.
May there be a whale.
May it indeed come within the waves."
I would just love to--
So I went on an expedition to try to find this song
or find a singing of it.
I could not find it.
I could not find one.
But anyway, a lot of our poems are like that.
I think many of our poems, whether they're
in the English language or any other language,
probably 96% of the world's poems
are love poems, bring me this man,
bring me this woman, or falling apart, make them go away.
I see somebody else over the horizon,
or bring us food, or praising the plants.
I mean, think about it.
That winds to so intrinsically through all poetry.
Our place in the seasons where we are.
The plants around us.
It's all so intertwined.
And, of course, he sings out-- you have to sing it
from a place of belonging.
You have to belong to the sea.
You have to belong to the whale and so on.