The Poetics of an Indian Elder (Part One)

I grew up speaking the language of my people. It wasn’t until school I had to learn English. They just marched us into the classroom and started talking English. We had to learn.

I remember how funny it sounded when I first heard it. There were so many words. The teacher could talk for an hour and not even stop. She could talk about anything. She didn’t need to move her hands, even. She just talked. Some days I would sit and watch her just to see all the words she said. One other boy once told me he thought she said as many words in a day as there were stars in the sky. I never forgot that.

When I learned English I realized it was a trick. You could use it to say the same things a hundred ways. What was important to Indian people was saying something the best way. In English you had to learn to say things a hundred ways. I never heard anything like it. I still watch white people talk and I’m surprised at all the words. Sometimes they will say the same thing over and over and over in different ways. They are like a hunter who rushes all over the forest hoping to bump into something instead of sitting quietly until he can capture it.

~as told to Kent Nerburn in Neither Wolf Nor Dog