From Publishers Weekly
Combining Native American history, personal confession and social critique in a clear, conversational style, Ortiz tends to avoid metaphor and elaborate language or fixed poetic structures. The first of five sections centers on time spent in diverse institutions: the academy, writers' colonies, various academic conferences, jail and detox centers. In "Headlands Journal," an essay that mixes poetry and prose, Ortiz begins with a meditation on Native populations in prison, moves to tell a story about three visiting Chinese artists and then by the end of the essay addresses his anger when someone calls the Acoma Pueblo language "foreign." The series "What Indians?," written for the Venice Biennale, addresses with humor and anger the control that the dominant culture has over Native American self-representation: "Real or unreal. Real and or unreal. They were made up. It didn't matter." Those who turn to Ortiz's work for its mixture of insightful, no-nonsense political analysis and poetry rooted in Acoma culture will be more interested in the last three sections of the book. There are numerous poems about the importance of the land and of the continuing struggle to regain the land, such as "Telling and Showing Her" and "Acoma Poems," printed in both the Acoma Pueblo language and English. If, as in poems like "Beauty All Around: A Moment on the Lakota Prairie," Ortiz moves too easily from the sunset ("beauty all around me") to a series of questions about cultural appropriation, this book still asks crucial questions as much as it argues for beauty. (Mar. 14)
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From Booklist
"I don't want a lot. Just enough," writes Ortiz, and what he wants, what his poems ask for, is respect for Native Americans and inclusion within mainstream society. He longs for justice for his people and for everyone. He wants all children to be loved and raised to love others. He wants everyone to appreciate the earth's splendor. The much-awarded author of many books of poetry and the magnificent short story collection,
Men on the Moon (1999), Ortiz expresses anger and despair in poems that nonetheless are permeated by gentleness and in which silence is every bit as eloquent as words. His meticulous use of repetition and rhythm ensure that the reader feels the pulse of his words and therefore understands them with more than mere intellect. Given the displacement and marginalization of Native Americans, Ortiz explains, he writes in perpetual exile, and, indeed, as he moves from sharp social critique to lyric metaphysical reflections, from lament to prayer, he is searching for home, for peace, for a better future.
Donna SeamanCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
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