Cedar Man<\/p>\n
I<\/p>\n
The sculptor grows calmer on the beach;
\nwaits for the block of wood to talk with his hands,
\nbring the song and path his knife must take,
\nclear to the edge where his ancestors sit.
\nThe Old Ones show him in dreams and hallucinations
\nthe knife is blind to the creature of beauty embedded
\nin the wood until his rage dies and he offers
\nthe storm a piece of his skin.<\/p>\n
He dances on one foot to ease the fury
\nthat froze his hands closed three seasons,
\ntosses in the air cedar chips to honor the tree
\nhis elders name \u201clife-giver,
\ngreat mother of the forest.\u201d
\nHe grows tired of a life as barren
\nas the wolf\u2019s jaws in a blizzard.<\/p>\n
Like a log along the shore, he drifts
\nin no direction like a man without shadow.
\nHe watches bone, shell, feather,
\namulet and agate drop to his feet.
\nStepping from silence to silence
\ndown the path of inner-darkness,
\na voice emerges from his entrails.
\nIt calls for him to dig for his life,
\nwhittle out the confusion knots he fed with fear
\nand the last words that nearly lodged
\npermanently in his throat.<\/p>\n
II<\/p>\n
He kneels to cup water to his lips,
\nsalt his nerves with the moves that will
\nfree him from the trap.
\nHe hopes the fool dancing in the square
\nwill not be him or the hatchet toes of Trickster.
\nFrom the balls of his feet the currents
\nswirl and shake through an octopus\u2019s eye.<\/p>\n
In the pounding surf and spray
\nhe sees his love at home tending the fire,
\nthe healing poise of her supple body.
\nBirds flying above the beach in every direction
\nknow from the sparks that he holds her
\nin his mind the way light holds
\nthe grain of red cedar.<\/p>\n
III<\/p>\n
On the third day he bends south
\nlike a cattail in the marsh.
\nWind weaver carries the voices of old friends,
\ngrandfathers who place his knife at the source,
\neach wave of cloud falling to the cliff,
\nthe last rock, the last cave.<\/p>\n
Now a figure of earth, sky, air and water,
\nhe opens his hands to the formless haze
\nshaping itself into a songbird of the mind,
\na grandmother who loves his failures
\nand angers as much as the full net of his dreams.
\nThrowing four logs on the fire
\nhe starts to carve a nest for the song sparrow.
\nThe night chant loosens the star points
\nof his fingers, hones his blade for the grip
\nof wonder, puts him within the guttural
\ndrumming of his bowels.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Duane Niatum<\/a> has published numerous collections of poetry, including\u00a0Ascending Red Cedar\u00a0Moon<\/em> <\/a>(1974); Song for the Harvester of Dreams<\/a> <\/em>(1980), which won the Before Columbus Foundation\u2019s American Book Award; and Drawings of the Song Animals: New and Selected Poems<\/a> <\/em>(1991). His most recent book is The Pull of the Green Kite<\/em><\/a> (Serif & Pixel Press, 2011). A former editor for Harper & Row\u2019s Native American Authors series, Niatum also edited the Native American literature anthologies Carriers of the Dream Wheel<\/a> <\/em>(1975) and Harper\u2019s Anthology of Twentieth Century American Poetry<\/a> <\/em>(1988). His own poetry has been widely anthologized and translated into more than a dozen languages.His honors include residencies at the Millay Colony for the Arts and Yaddo, the Governor\u2019s Award from the State of Washington, and grants from the Carnegie Fund for Authors and the PEN Fund for Writers. Niatum lives in Seattle and has taught at Evergreen State College and the University of Washington, as well as area high schools.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Cedar Man I The sculptor grows calmer on the beach; waits for the block of wood to talk with his hands, bring the song and path his knife must take, clear to the edge where his ancestors sit. The Old … Continue reading