I was part of a workshop one time.
And one of the poet leaders of the workshop was tough.
He was really berating people because they
didn't study the masters.
And I believe in studying the masters too,
but my definition of the masters is a bit different from his.
And he was telling people that you got to study the masters,
and it's very important.
And he named, he said he had 20 poets
that he had people study so that they would know the masters.
He named 10 of them, all white males, mostly dead.
Which is fine, you know.
But when I spoke after he did, and he is a friend.
We're friends.
We agree on nothing, but we're friends.
And I said that I was sure that had he
been allowed to name the entire list of 20,
he would surely have included Joy Harjo.
He would surely have included Li-Young Lee.
There were many people he would surely have included had he
been allowed to name them all.
And I thought about that and I thought about mastery.
This is called "study the masters."
Like my aunt Timmie.
It was her iron or one like hers that
smoothed the sheets the master poet slept on.
Home or hotel, what matters is he
lay himself down on her handiwork and dreamed.
She dreamed too: words, some Cherokee, some Maasai,
and some huge and particular as hope.
If you had heard her chanting as she ironed
you would understand form, and line, and discipline, and order,
and America.