Tuesday, June 21, 2016
The Flying Basket: Paint me as the corn to dance The red, white, and blue corn, the black corn. Paint me as the mixed-color corn, The laughing corn, the crazy corn. Make music for me on the rasping sticks and on the basket drums. Sing me a song for making arrows with the feathers of the eagle, for he is brave. Shake your gourd rattles that it may dance for a healing. Sing all night before the battle and Have the War Chief utter a magic speech to remove the enemy’s power. It was the summer season of the stinging creatures When it is unlucky to sit and tell stories. The time when the washes flow, The time when we recite a magic poem to the red Saguaro fruit wine And dance skipping, carrying rainbows, all in white. There appeared to me a large storage basket floating The kind of basket that the women weave from the inside, Standing tall to reach the top. The flying basket sent down a beam and carried me away. Here I fly in the realm of the ancient condor Perhaps a passing eagle will give me a power song. Below I see the Rez Boyz heading out to KOHN at Gu-achi Soon they’ll be kicking out the jams. We hit them with a ray in their rear-view mirror Causing them to pray that we’re only a black helicopter patrolling the border. Switching gears now, we’re flying over the hills and back in time to when our power songs were everything. We’re going back to when the young men raced for miles to get a vision and a song Hoping to see a hawk or a Mt. Lion in their exhaustion. “Be good so an animal will talk to you,” their Mother’s told them. By singing, men brought rain and accomplished all good things. The animals gave them their songs. Hovering above the Earth we re-enter the present time. We must be getting close to home, we’re picking up Rez Radio in the stratosphere: “A shout-out to the Fry-Bread Crew and to the Yeast-Bread Crew, and a big shout-out to Girl. We have a letter from Jimmy who sends his love to his Beautiful Tohono O’odham women “Never fear, Jimmy’s here!” “The other stations might as well take down their power towers, KXCI and Rez Radio Rule!” “10 minutes until Poet’s Moment, Ron Cipriani is just pulling up in his limo.” Out the craft’s portal I see a passing Trans-Atlantic jet Look! It’s Al Perry carrying the Waila jams to France. His Cisco Band and Native Creed CD’s will show The French what accordion music is all about! “We’ll see you on the flip-side Al,” if they ever bring me back! Waking up here, I am alone in the Tecalote fields Where the corn is growing green and the tassels are waving in the breeze. There goes my flying silver storage basket. Peeling out in hyper-drive back to it’s own dimension. Send in the painted clowns with their shining stones, Brush me with feathers, dream me a power name, For I have seen the Earth from space.
Monsoon New Year: Monsoon has arrived! It is the true New Years for the people of the Desert who live at the Black Lava Hills. From the cave at Wak-i-rii where the deer are, to the place where voices come up out of the earth. Koati, coyote, and los Changos del Desierto Sonora have longed for the rains to pour down up them. Ceremonial dancers at the oasis are singing for the rain. Their headdresses of many feathers sway and call to the clouds: "May the waters flow down from the Baboquivaris to fill our Charco reservoirs, and our flood water fields." The makers of the red Saguaro fruit wine drink to bring the first summer shower. Giving thanks for the torrents over the airwaves, Broadcasting to the planets from the Waila nation. Beaming to the stars from Schooson, Arissonac, The sun-filled voices of our native D-Jays bring their humor to the night. The Rez Radio listeners are dancing and splashing in the first rain of the New Year. Across San Xavier to the tower at Gu-achi, Thunderbird arrives with the monsoon. His thunder booms a Shout-out, to the Fry-Bread crew, And greeting to the man in the round maze within the Baboquivaris. (By MJA Roe Bennett)