Joy Harjo is curious about the world. About the why and how of things, of people and in particular, Indian people. She is dedicated to the beauty of music, language and literature. A cultural-activist proud of her Muscogee heritage, Harjo combines elements of storytelling, prayers, and song in her work. Her writing is drawn from the realities of American culture, feminine individuality and the Native American tradition of praising the land and spirit. Harjo is the quintessential American poet – her words are poetry, and her poetry is music.
Harjo graduated from the Institute of American Indian Arts and went on to receive a B.A. from the University of New Mexico, and an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop at the University of Iowa. She has been a writer and consultant for the Native American Public Broadcasting Consortium, the National Indian Youth Council, the National Endowment for the Arts and Silver Cloud Video, and has taught at the Institute of American Indian Arts, Arizona State University, University of Colorado, University of Arizona and University of New Mexico. Harjo recently relocated to Hawaii. “When I came to Hawaii for a performance in 1992,” says Harjo, “I immediately felt comfortable and right away wanted to make this my new home.” Harjo immediately plunged into an island lifestyle by joining a paddling club and riding horses in Waimanalo. She also has adapted her poetry and prose to the issues and natures of Hawaiians as well as to those of her own nation.
Since the publication of her first book in 1979, What Moon Drove Me To This? (I. Reed Books), Harjo’s poetry has received international acclaim. Published collections include She Had Some Horses (Thunder’s Mouth Press, 1983) and the award-winning In Mad Love And War (Wesleyan University Press, 1990), a daring collection of work which affirms the erotic self, with themes of music and the voices of those who have been violated. Secrets From The Center Of the World (Suntracks, University of Arizona Press, 1989), a collaboration with photographer/astronomer Stephen Strom, is a powerful combination of photographs of Navajo country and Harjo’s stunning poetry. The Woman Who Fell From the Sky (W.W. Norton & Co., 1996) is a collection of Harjo’s snapshots of life’s observations, where horse imagery is a prominent part of her work. Unlike her earlier books that contain a number of prose poems, She Had Some Horses (Thunder’s Mouth Press, June 1997), contains only free form poems. The poems, which are highly rhythmic, explore universal human lives that use alcohol to escape pain and seek love. In A Map to the Next World (W.W. Norton, 2000), Harjo travels through many worlds, across many boundaries. Muscogee tribal song and storytelling, Navajo and Hawaiian philosophies, and the music of the Middle East. The poetry of western civilizations can all be heard in these songs and stories that bear witness to the cruelties of history and the miracles of human kindness at the border between this century and the next.
As Harjo increasingly travels around the world, she is becoming known to a wider audience. Her books have been published in rapid succession, and her work is widely anthologized. The anthology, Reinventing the Enemy’s Language, Contemporary Native Women’s Writings of North America (W.W. Norton, 1997) is perhaps Harjo’s most outstanding effort. Ten years in the making and coedited with Gloria Bird (Spokane), it is a formidable literary collection of Native American women writers. In addition to the written language, Harjo has combined her poetry with music by forming the group Poetic Justice, which released its CD, Letter from the End of the Twentieth Century (Silver Wave, 1997), which has sold well worldwide, and receives considerable airplay.
Harjo has received a treasure trove of awards and grants, such as: the Oklahoma Book Arts Award, the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers’ Circle of the Americas, the Bravo Award from the Albuquerque Arts Alliance, an Arizona Commission on the Arts Creative Writing Fellowship, two NEA Creative Writing Fellowships, the Oakland PEN, Josephine Miles Poetry Award, a 1994 Witter Bynner Grant for Poetry, a Deming Foundation Grant, the American Book Award from the Before Columbus Foundation in 1991 for In Mad Love and War, the Mountains and Plains Booksellers Award, the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America for the best book of poetry in 1991, the American Indian Distinguished Achievement in the Arts Award, the Woodrow Wilson Fellowship at Green Mountain College in Poultney, VT in 1993, and an Honorary Doctorate from Benedictine College in 1992.
Joy Harjo with her band.
For her musical collaboration with Poetic Justice, Harjo has also won a few music awards, notably: Musical Artist of the Year for 1996-1997 for a CD Recording from the Wordcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers, and the 1998 Outstanding Musical Achievement Award presented by The First Americans in the Arts.
Harjo is a member of the PEN Advisory Board and the PEN New Mexico Advisory Board. She has been a member of the Native American Public Broadcasting Consortium Board of Directors from 1987-1990, The Phoenix Indian Center Board of Directors in 1980-81, the Coordinating Council of Literary Magazines Grants Panel for the Fall of 1980, the National Endowment for the Arts Policy Panel for Literature 1980-83, the New Mexico Arts Commission Advisory Panel 1979-80 and 1984, and the National Third World Writers Association Board of Directors (which is no longer functioning).
Harjo is busier than ever. Yet, despite her increasing fame outside the Native community, Harjo lives a considerably low-key life. She has found her new home in Hawaii refreshing, and can often be found relaxing at home with extended “family” members and friends.
Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, Harjo grew up in a broken home in an urban environment. “I grew up in Tulsa, which was the Northern border of the Creek nation east of the Mississippi, and I am a member of the Muscogee tribe in Oklahoma. Well, it wasn’t easy growing up. I grew up in an alcoholic home until I went to Indian boarding school in Sante Fe, New Mexico, at the Institute of American Indian Arts which at the time was considered an experiment in education. The main curriculum was art and there were Indian students from all over the country. I believe that experience really saved my life . . . and many other people’s lives.”
When Harjo speaks of her work, she speaks musically and for her, poetry and music are one entity. When asked when Harjo discovered her voice, she says “Well, I think that’s ongoing. I didn’t begin writing until I was in my twenties while I was a student at University of New Mexico. Some of my literary influences are Simon Ortiz, Leslie Marmon Silko, Flannery O’Conner, James Wright, Pablo Neruda, Meridel Le Sueur, African writers, African American writers, Hispanic writers, the singers and the people of my tribe, John Coltrane and Bob Marley. Although I grew up around country western music and I don’t especially like it, I am drawn to Patsy Cline’s music, which has also been a major influence. I mean, there have been a lot influences, not all of them particularly mainstream literary.”
As a poet, Harjo draws heavily on the oral traditions and music of the Muscogee people. While much of her work evolves from personal experiences, Harjo delves into the human condition: alcoholism, spirituality, the history of colonialism and in particular, the family lives of many urban Indians and their consequent suffering, not unlike her own. First and foremost, Harjo writes of being a woman. A theme recurring in her work is that of the victim overcoming fear of the oppressor in whatever form. Another striking element found in her work is the close ties between human nature and the land itself. Her style is a casual, conversational lyricism intertwined with daring use of metaphors, often set in a “prose poem” format.
“I think everybody writes for themselves first,” says Harjo. “I have a special responsibility to my community. Ultimately, I ‘feel’ my audience for a particular poem, but I believe when you write, you write first to please that creator within yourself.”
When asked about the growing debate about Native literature in the literary community, Harjo says, “When you talk about Native literature, you must recognize the fact that it is not new. It only seems new because we are writing in English. There are old literatures that go back for centuries that have not been written down. As a matter of fact, they are oral literatures that are often forgotten, especially in this American culture which refuses to recognize the oral tradition as literature because it’s not written down.”
“This is where Native literature begins . . . it starts there and is sacred and secular but I think the sacred informs everything. I don’t know what to say about literature except that it’s ongoing and that sometimes we are working in new forms that are made up of a mixture of the older forms and ideas, and we infuse them with ourselves here in the late twentieth century. That’s the way its always been.”
Harjo has been shaping and molding her work for almost twenty years. Her exploration of poetry, sound, rhythm and music has always been part of her craft. The energy generated by Harjo’s journeying and social connections create a powerful sense of identity that incorporates everything into the poetic self. She is constantly breaking ground, continually committed to personal growth and the evolution of her craft, so much so, that she has added music to her words.
What is surprising is that Harjo took so long to officially “marry” her music with her poetry, and did not begin performing until 1992 when, in the garage studio of future band-member and percussionist, Susan Williams, she and Williams wrote the music for “For Anna Mae Pictou Aquash . . .” (In Mad Love and War). They later recorded it for New Letter On The Air, a nationally syndicated poetry program, and Poetic Justice was born. Says Harjo, “I just go towards what I love and what moves me. I think that’s mainly what any poet does and from the very beginning, music has always moved me. I didn’t start playing music until I was much older, until about ten years ago, but I always wanted to incorporate it in some way because of my experience of poetry . . . you can’t have poetry without the music.”
Harjo, who plays saxophone and speaks poetically potent lyrics over a tribal-jazz-reggae backdrop, explains that “the term ‘Poetic Justice,’ is a term of grace, expressing how justice can appear in the world despite forces of confusion and destruction. The band took its name from this term because all of us have worked for justice in our lives, through any means possible and through music.” Harjo and Williams, together with band members John Williams, Frank Poocha, Willie Bluehouse Johnson and Richard Carbajal, have travelled extensively, performing at many venues ranging from the Olympics Centennial Park as part of the Cultural Olympiad in Atlanta, Vancouver Writers Festival, to the Festival of the Living Word in New York City. They have toured with musical artists Indigo Girls and Bonnie Raitt, and have toured in Europe as well.
“The music is from our respective tribal music,” continues Harjo, “from Muscogee, Northern Plains, Hopi to Navajo; reggae, a music born of indomitable spirit of tribal people; jazz, a revolutionary movement of predominately African sources and rock and blues, music cradled in the south that speaks of our need to move with heart and soul.”
Since its inception, Poetic Justice has become the vanguard in the Native music movement, which has only recently made important inroads in this area. Music publications such as Billboard Magazine began featuring Native music more frequently, and after 14 years of intense lobbying by Native American musicians, they have finally earned a “Native American Music” category at the Grammys.
“As long as bands like Poetic Justice receive more airplay and touring attention,” says Harjo, “ it is inevitable that we will find a place in the mainstream music scene.”
Despite the group’s growing acceptance in the music world, the literary community’s has been less enthusiastic about Harjo’s incorporation of music and poetry. “I think it is getting more acceptance in the mainstream. But you must understand, I make the poetry hierarchy, those people who believe that poetry in English must be derived from European sources, very uncomfortable.”
“First of all let’s talk about the poetry itself. A few years ago I was attacked in an article by someone who said the only reason I am getting any attention is because I am Indian. This is the attitude by the ‘superior colonist – if it’s Indian or African, it can’t be poetry, it can’t be real. Can you imagine? Especially in the wave of this multicultural movement, which is really not new . . . the world is multicultural, this country is multicultural, being Indian is multicultural – there are several hundred tribes in North America which have their own distinct culture. There are all these people of color in the world, and in America, the African and Native oral traditions figure prominently in American language, that is, it’s the real poetry of America. So how can anyone deny us, belittle us and ignore us?”
“Now that I have taken it a step further, by bringing the poetry and music together, as it has always been, the literary critics have said ‘this is a travesty, you don’t mix poetry with music because it’s too emotional, the poems should stand by itself on the page.’ But you know, I work out of a different tradition. Certainly the European tradition informs my work because I write in English, and there is in fact some very fine poetry written in that tradition, but I really dislike having that tradition defined as American poetry. And despite what some may believe, I am part of the mainstream. I am Muscogee but I’m also an American. That’s a paradox but that’s the truth of it. And I’m a part of American poetry.”
How important is it for Harjo’s work to be accepted by a large audience? “I think I would write and perform no matter what. It is inside of me. I feel it is part of my sense of being, to speak as a member of my tribe and for my words to be embraced by my tribe. That is my first obligation. It’s interesting because it is very paradoxical that I feel so strongly connected to my tribe, almost nationalistic at times, but it’s this great love and commitment that gives me the inspiration I need to keep going.”
“Right now, I find my writing is taking a new direction. I’m writing in really long lines in which the page is turned sideways and I think that has to do with being influenced by native Hawaiians, Middle Eastern and East Indian music – I find myself wanting to explore even longer lines. I know that people identify this as ‘prose’ and the long lines make them nervous, but I really don’t care. I am intrigued by the direction the long lines are taking me. I want to see what will happen, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my craft. I feel that as an artist I am obligated to be a craftsperson, so I work on my poems a lot. I think it’s important for them to be well-written and well-crafted.”
Harjo strongly identifies first and foremost with being Muscogee, and she is frustrated that her commitment to her tribe is not taken seriously by others. “I have European blood and am therefore light-skinned, which has presented its own difficulties. People will always prefer those who are either lighter or darker-skinned. It cuts both ways – the darkest ones and the lightest ones always get crap. I’ve had to deal with that attitude from both the Native and non-Native communities. And even though I’m a full member of the Muscogee tribe and fully committed to my tribe in everything I do, sometimes its just not enough. I was really hurt one time when a beautiful, beautiful full-blooded Indian woman told me that she wished she looked like me. I was shocked this woman would give up her full-bloodedness for the sake of lighter skin. This happens time and time again, not only in the Native community, but in the black community, as well. And you have the reverse – the light skinned person who wishes to be darker to be accepted and recognized in their tribal communities. It’s part of that whole dehumanization process. It’s insane. It has nothing to do with the soul. It certainly has to do with how people in this country put worth on color, and it’s even sadder that people of color have swallowed this form of colonial racism as well.”
“I’ve had a lot of people who are mixed black and Indian come up to me because I’ve written about this and they thank me. Too many of them have been silenced in their own communities because they identify with both of their cultures and are usually admonished for it.”
“There’s a history of connection between Africans and Indians, particularly with Southern tribes, like the Cherokee and Muscogee who originally came from the South where the slave trade was prominent. There is African American descent in my family – I have the family pictures which prove it and I’m trying to find out the names and connection to that community. I think it is important for all people to seek the truth about themselves because they will probably find something that will connect them to other people.”
In recent years, there has been a rising concern in the Native community about the treatment of Indian people in American history, how they are perceived in the media, and what the general public feels about the Native population. This is a very heady topic for Harjo and she speaks not only as a poet, but as the cultural activist that she is. “There is a lot of crazy stuff happening around Native culture,” says Harjo, “and I think it’s due to the fact that the image of Indians have remained so perverted and strange. People think they can manipulate what Indians are supposed to be, which doesn’t make much sense.”
“We still have to contend with people who are still caught up in that process of colonization, and they might do it under the guise of helping and that’s often been done, like the missionaries, and you find some of these same people in Native American literary criticism. Unfortunately, most of the so-called academic critics of Native literature are not Native, and so we get a lot of people making presumptions, knowing very little and thinking they are defining the literature for us. You certainly don’t find this as prevalent in the Hispanic and African American communities.”
“On the flip side, while we have Native critics like Elizabeth Lynn Cook and Gloria Bird who make clear, honest assessments of Native people, and who are active and related to their communities, there are those who, after years of living apart from their Indian identity and community, suddenly decide they are Indian and begin making a living on it in the non-Native community which knows nothing about Indians.”
“The general public never left colonialism behind. They can have people living next door to them that are Indian and don’t even know it, yet they seem awestruck when they find out. At the Denver Indian market, a huge one, early on opening day, the place was filling with Indian artists who were setting up. This white family came in, a mother, father and a couple of kids. The kids were looking around excited about seeing real live Indians. They were real disappointed and asked, ‘but where are the Indians?’ And that goes back to what I was saying about those perverted images of Indians commonly found in the media, particularly in movies which have kept us frozen in time. And they hang onto those images tenaciously – just when we thought all of our politicking and talking had stopped cowboy and Indian sets, and that whole thing, a movie like Pocahontas comes out and there is yet another wave of false images courting a new generation of kids who have become absolutely enthralled by these negative images. It seems people want us buried in these images.”
“We are only one half of one percent of the population, so we often don’t count in terms of numbers because we don’t exist. I can’t tell you how many times I’m identified as Hispanic or something else. I’m not saying being identified as Hispanic is a bad thing – it’s just not the thing that I am. Muscogee. Indian. But when I identify myself as Indian, it’s like an anomaly. Indian people face this constantly. For example, when I pitch a book, the first question is, ‘is it an Indian book?’ Then I’m asked, ‘well how many Indians are there?’ and ‘is there an audience?’ They’re saying there are no Indians, and therefore no audience and no interest, and that’s just not true.”
“Despite all of the politics, I’m excited about works written by new people, the different forms and directions they are taking, and I am especially excited about the rise of Native American writers. I think that we’ll always have a place – this country is Indian country – and that we are going to exist, and our literature will always exist. This country, as we know it, is disappearing and is beginning to reshape itself with the real people who live on this land, and that which is true and that which is real will remain.”
