[APPLAUSE]
History falls through us or we fall through history.
Wow.
Thank you so much, Halee.
So I first met Halee in the context of In-Na-Po
in Minneapolis.
But I first met--
I first, first met Halee in Seattle
when Halee won the James Welch Prize and gave a reading there.
And so can you see why Halee won the James Welch Prize?
So thank you so much, Halee.
[CHEERING, APPLAUSE]
Give it up for all of the fellows.
Those readings were spectacular.
[CHEERING, APPLAUSE]
Last night I met somebody who was torn about whether she could
come tonight because there was a competing
meeting of the astronomy club, and she is here tonight.
And did I not promise you stars?
Did I not promise you stars?
Thank you for being here.
Thank you so much.
And thank you for all the celestial poetry we've gotten.
Wow, our next reader.
I had the great fortune, as did many of us today at In-Na-Po,
of being in the presence of our next reader
this afternoon at a workshop where he then
proceeded to force us to write two full pages, nonstop, in 15
minutes.
And it was incredible.
It was an incredible experience.
I'll give you just a moment of my experience of it.
I started writing about my childhood home,
about a creek bed I used to run around in,
about the crawdads I used to pick up and run around
with and chase my younger siblings with.
And then because we were at the base
of a mountain full of saguaros, full of ancestors,
I started thinking about ancestors,
and I started thinking about lost ones
in my life and my family.
And it was a beautiful experience.
So that's what this next reader can do.
That's what Bojan can do.
So I can't wait to hear his reading.
Bojan Louis is Diné of the Naakai dine'é, born
for the Áshííhí.
He is the author of Sinking Bell:
Stories and a book of poetry, Currents, both of which
received an American Book Award, am I right?
Both?
Yes.
Amazing.
He's been a resident at MacDowell
and teaches creative writing at the University of Arizona.
Bojan.
[CHEERING, APPLAUSE]
Good evening.
Thanks for having me.
Thank you, Kim, Elise, Ofelia, Tyler, all the fellows.
You all are just dope as hell.
The future looks good.
I can grow old in peace now.
[LAUGHTER]
Speaking of old, Max, yeah, shit, I can't see anything.
[LAUGHTER]
I'm going to read an old poem from Currents,
and then some new poems.
This has been sitting in a box for, like, eight months, so.
Poetry is slow and painful, I don't
know if anyone told you that.
It's called "Arc Flash."
The stars went off and on, as if wired
by to-hell-with-it electricians
tired of lighting scrap-patched houses
connected by threads of predawn smoke
to invisible weavings in the sky.
Dim questions and silent answers,
cattle gaunt and wanting, grazed between weeds across the valley,
interrogated the dirt of wash and creek.
How long since you've been clay after rain?
Started awake at midnight, and under influence,
I sought my car to kill the soft snores beside me.
Hauled ass out of urban desert decay
to sandstone cliffs five hours away,
where centuries of wind and more recent roadway gusts
have made a half pipe of its base,
though not enough to topple the edge of the mesas level.
Hours from Phoenix, oasis greedy and artificial,
I needed crystal, my dad's home and ceremony,
less familiar mountain tobacco,
not to guide my spirit, used to mornings being lit,
but to remind my tongue of blood,
cold coffee made by other men's women
who dispel me with smokes from cheap packs set
within reach on their knees.
Maybe they wish, aside from my soon departure,
that I shared their danger,
bastards who make home confinement and needs hush.
I left and arrived months before the rainy season,
though cuts along the cliff face over crystal shimmered with mica
like stars burnt out, taking eons
to reveal their absence in myth-heavy constellations.
The sun risen isn't for me,
cattle being herded, or darkness in the room.
I left to wake alone.
Here, a few cars idle without drivers
warm up before the workday, while smoke from houses
vanishes and releases the night sky.
[APPLAUSE]
That was a sestina I couldn't quite get,
and I think I became that--