Tag: Alexie

Hi Friends,

I’ve had four nosebleeds in the past 24 hours, so I guess I have blood on the brain. Two of my favorite poems about blood are both by Sherman Alexie — “13/16,” which I’ve sent you before if you’ve been on this list awhile; and today’s poem-a-day, “Giving Blood.” Do you have a favorite blood poem?

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. To learn more about National Poetry Month, visit www.poets.org, the website of the Academy of American Poets, where you can also subscribe to a more official-like poem-a-day list.

Best,
Ellen

Giving Blood

I need money for the taxi cab ride home to the reservation and
I need a taxi
because all the Indians left this city last night while I was sleeping
and forgot to tell me
so I walk on down to the blood bank with a coupon that guarantees
me twenty bucks a pint
and I figure I can stand to lose three or four pints but the
white nurse says no
you can only give up one pint at a time and before you can do that
you have to clear
our extensive screening process which involves a physical examination
and interview
which is a pain in the ass but I need the money so I sit down
at a wooden desk
across from the white nurse holding a pen and paper and she asks me
my name and I tell her
Crazy Horse and she asks my birthdate and I tell her it was probably
June 25 in 1876 and then she asks my ethnic origin and I tell her I’m an
Indian or Native American
depending on your view of historical accuracy and she asks me
my religious preference and I tell her I prefer to keep my
     religion entirely independent
of my economic activities
and then she asks me how many sexual partners I’ve had and
I say one or two
depending on your definition of what I did to Custer and then
she puts aside her pen and paper
and gives me the most important question she asks me
if I still have enough heart
and I tell her I don’t know it’s been a long time but I’d like to
give it a try
and then she smiles and turns to her computer punches in my name
and vital information
and we wait together for the results until the computer prints
a sheet of statistics
and the white nurse reads it over a few times and tells me I’m
sorry Mr. Crazy Horse
but we’ve already taken too much of your blood
     and you won’t be eligible
to donate for another generation or two.

“Giving Blood” by Sherman Alexie was also featured for Poem-a-Day April 24, 2008.
“13/16” by Sherman Alexie was featured for Poem-a-Day April 27, 2009.

13/16

1.
I cut myself into sixteen equal pieces
keep thirteen and feed the other three
to the dogs, who have also grown

tired of U.S. Commodities, white cans
black letters translated into Spanish.
“Does this mean I have to learn

the language to eat?” Lester FallsApart asks
but directions for preparation are simple:
a. WASH CAN; b. OPEN CAN; c. EXAMINE CONTENTS

OF CAN FOR SPOILAGE; d. EMPTY CONTENTS
OF CAN INTO SAUCE PAN; e. COOK CONTENTS
OVER HIGH HEAT; f. SERVE AND EAT.

2.
It is done by blood, reservation mathematics, fractions:
father (full-blood) + mother (5/8) = son (13/16).

It is done by enrollment number, last name first, first name last:
Spokane Tribal Enrollment Number 1569; Victor, Chief.

It is done by identification card, photograph, lamination:
IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN TO SPOKANE TRIBE OF INDIANS, WELLPINIT, WA.

3.
The compromise is always made
in increments. On this reservation
we play football on real grass
dream of deserts, three inches of rain

in a year. What we have lost:
uranium mine, Little Falls Dam
salmon. Our excuses are trapped
within museums, roadside attractions

totem poles in Riverfront Park.
I was there, watching the Spokane River
changing. A ten-year-old white boy asked
if I was a real Indian. He did not wait

for an answer, instead carving his initials
into the totem with a pocketknife: J.N.
We are what we take, carving my name
my enrollment number, thirteen hash marks

into the wood. A story is remembered
as evidence, the Indian man they found dead
shot in the alley behind the Mayfair.
Authorities reported a rumor he had relatives

in Minnesota. A member of some tribe or another
his photograph on the 11 o’clock news. Eyes, hair
all dark, his shovel-shaped incisor, each the same
ordinary indentification of the anonymous.

4.
When my father disappeared, we found him
years later, in a strange kitchen searching
for footprints in the dust: still

untouched on the shelves all the commodity
cans without labels—my father opened them
one by one, finding a story in each.

Hi Friends,

Today’s poem is by Sherman Alexie, from his first collection of poems and vignettes This Business of Fancydancing (1992).

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.

—Ellen

Poems by Sherman Alexie were also featured for Poem-a-Day April 24, 2008 and Poem-a-Day April 17, 2010.

Giving Blood

I need money for the taxi cab ride home to the reservation
    and I need a taxi
because all the Indians left this city last night while I was sleeping
and forgot to tell me
so I walk on down to the blood bank with a coupon that guarantees
me twenty bucks a pint
and I figure I can stand to lose three or four pints but the
white nurse says no
you can only give up one pint at a time and before you can do that
you have to clear
our extensive screening process which involves a physical examination
and interview
which is a pain in the ass but I need the money so I sit down
at a wooden desk
across from the white nurse holding a pen and paper and she asks me
my name and I tell her
Crazy Horse and she asks my birthdate and I tell her it was probably
June 25 in 1876 and then she asks my ethnic origin and I tell her I’m an
Indian or Native American
depending on your view of historical accuracy and she asks me
my religious preference and I tell her I prefer to keep my
     religion entirely independent
of my economic activities
and then she asks me how many sexual partners I’ve had and
I say one or two
depending on your definition of what I did to Custer and then
she puts aside her pen and paper
and gives me the most important question she asks me
if I still have enough heart
and I tell her I don’t know it’s been a long time but I’d like to
give it a try
and then she smiles and turns to her computer punches in my name
and vital information
and we wait together for the results until the computer prints
a sheet of statistics
and the white nurse reads it over a few times and tells me I’m
sorry Mr. Crazy Horse
but we’ve already taken too much of your blood
     and you won’t be eligible
to donate for another generation or two.

***

Hi Friends,

Today’s poem is by Sherman Alexie, from his first collection of poems and vignettes This Business of Fancydancing (1992).

April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. You can learn more about National Poetry Month at www.poets.org, the website of the Academy of American Poets.

Enjoy.
Ellen

“Giving Blood” by Sherman Alexie was featured again for Poem-a-Day April 17, 2010.
Poet Sherman Alexie was also featured for Poem-a-Day April 27, 2009.