I mean, right?
Wow.
Wow!
I was going to add that one of the other things about Robert
is that every time I looked at him,
he was face down in his laptop, like,
furiously working every single second of the day.
Every little bit of off.
And there was one time when I was
going to go sneak a snack out of the kitchen,
and Robert was working in the living room area.
And I just didn't want to bother him, and I'm glad I didn't.
So thank you so much for that.
That was really beautiful.
Speaking of beautiful, our next poet is an amazing potter.
And, something about Max is that he speaks in poems,
and particularly when he's talking about his process.
We had the great fortune, as I mentioned,
of learning how to do pinch pots with Max and the generosity
and the beauty of that process.
And we fired it on the land.
We built a fire together and we fired it just on the ground,
on the earth.
And it was a stunning process.
But the best part was just hearing Max talk about the work.
So Max is both a poet and a potter.
And sometimes he's even a pirate.
I've heard.
[LAUGHTER]
And his poems are like his pots.
They're sprung from the earth and they're touched by fire.
They're little beautiful perfections
made of spirit and generosity.
Max Early is a Laguna Pueblo poet from Paguate, New Mexico.
His work is published in Poetry Magazine, Green Linden Press,
Poetry Northwest, and many others.
He currently teaches at the University of New Mexico's art
studio department as the Pueblo pottery instructor.
Max Early.
[CHEERING AND APPLAUSE]
Thank you, Rob, for those kind words.
I'll go ahead and get started.
I'm going to read four poems.
The first two will be from my first book, Ears of Corn:
Listen.
This is what happens when you get old.
[MAX AND AUDIENCE LAUGH]
That's the first thing to go.
In the Black Blue Hue of Sunrise Dawn.
In the black blue hue of sunrise dawn,
Mother fire keeps me warm.
I pray and breathe on the dry flowers,
An offering to the Deer Spirit.
Consumed by the flame,
My prayer goes up in smoke--
Rainbow full of colors for the deer to see.
They say, Moo puu-cha ga-schot-tsee,
Guy on-yeh, shro egu sheh:
Look at the beautiful rainbow,
Let's go over there.
Climbing the hill in pursuit,
Fresh deer tracks everywhere.
Directly in front of me, Guysh-beeshru
The rays of sunrise glisten on the antlers.
We have found the rainbow,
Now it's time to go home.
Home to the mountain lion,
Singing hunting songs of praise.
Tribute and honor to the deer,
Corn pollen prayers scatter in the wind,
Bless us again, Deer Spirit.
[APPLAUSE]
Thank you.