Hello, good afternoon. Welcome to the National Museum of the American Indian.
Thanks to those of you who have stuck around with us through the entire lineup of Sounds of Awareness.
This afternoon dedicated to music and poetry from throughout North America.
We have our final performance of the day with Leanne Simpson
She's Nishnaabeg. She's a poet, spoken word artist, and a scholar.
And her and her band have dedicated time to the Walking with Our Sisters project
dedicated to missing and murdered Aboriginal women, First Nations women of Canada.
So they are here today all the way from Toronto to share their melodic words,
and I hope you will join me in silencing your cell phones and giving them a very warm welcome.
[Applause]
Boozhoo kina weya. We're so happy and honored to be here
in [Native language] today.
Our first song is called Road Salt,
and it's about a friendship between a deer and a crow
and the word for crow in my language is aandeg.
[Music]
pacing the side of the highway
waiting for rhythm to break
sweating for one more hit
before i come out as a fake
road salt makes me twitch
and more comfortable in my skin
aandeg can love without trust
i assume that means she's kin
dawn gets eaten by morning
one lick turns into three
aandeg just sits and surveys
i know she can't lie to me
licking the road is its own humiliation
just like hostages first trap themselves
aandeg's the bird on a wire
like im a deer on nobody's shelf
this is how to die in a war
they insist doesn't exist
aandeg never has the whites of my eyes
unasked questions, unsurveyed cysts
dawn gets eaten by morning
one lick turns into three
aandeg just sits and surveys
i know she can't lie to me
the snow will drown without suffering
the road salt still managing dreadfear
aandeg hacking overhead
until we're mid-road again next year.
dawn gets eaten by morning
one lick turns into three
aandeg just sits and surveys
i know she can't lie to me
dawn gets eaten by morning
one lick turns into three
aandeg just sits and surveys
i know she can't lie to me
dawn gets eaten by morning
one lick turns into three
aandeg just sits and surveys
i know she can't lie to me
[Music]
[Applause] Miigwetch. Thank you,
I am Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg and our territory is on the north side of Lake Ontario.
and so we're pleased and honored to be here at the National Museum of the American Indian
This is our first performance in the U.S., so miigwech to Korah for having us.
It's a little colder where we live, even than today,
but spring is just starting.
So last week I was out tapping a sugar bush and starting to collect sap to make maple syrup
And this song is called The Oldest Tree in the World
and it's about, it's a love song to the oldest maple tree in my territory,
which has been aged at about 400 years old.
So I was thinking about what the tree has seen, the changes.
[Music]
im worrying about
what you're drinking
you're worrying about
what i'm breathing
i like you
because you
never
talk
too loud
i breath it out
you breath it in
i like you
because you all hold
this all together
with the parts i can't see
i breath it in
you breath it out
you: 11 times my age
me: draped in clouds of youth
i think we're the same
i think i know what you've seen
but it's not true
i don't know
i don't
i don't know how to say this
without embarrassing you
but i do know
i believe in saying things
i do know
i believe
in the telling
your wrinkled grey skin is gorgeous
and
i hope you don't know what's happening.
[music composed by Nick Ferrio]
[Applause]
This song is about ice fishing. It's about what happens when a poet goes ice fishing.
Not a lot of fish get caught, but a poem gets written.
And I, it's sad because this year we didn't get to go ice fishing
because the lake didn't freeze, because the climate is too warm.
[Music]
[poem titled She Hid Him in Her Bones]
i am lying down flat on my back on the ice of chemung.
the wind is water falling over my frame, borrowing the parts i can't hang onto.
he says to me he wants to die really slowly so he doesn't miss anything.
i tell him i'm not that brave, i want to miss everything.
the ice-wind is singing a single, suspended note with no breath, no phrasing and a benevolent intensity.
he talks about a methodic retreat into the background.
in the same breath, he talks about fighting like hell til the end of everything.
the hole in the ice is healing into slush and the line is starting to freeze.
i make my inside wind and the outside breath the same temperature.
he's reading the signs and forecasting tomorrow.
i'm taking inventory of unasked questions, wondering which holds the most regret.
he gets in the truck and tells me to get in.
i say, "i'll walk".
he nods and shuts the door, stopping to wait until i turn towards the shore.
[Applause]
One of the great things about my band is that their all really incredible solo musicians
so you should check out their CDs as well.
That was Nick Ferrio on the lap steel all the way from Peterborough, Ontario.
[Applause]
This is my sister, Ansley Simpson. She's a singer-songwriter out of Toronto,
with a new album called Break Wall coming out shortly.
[Applause]
And on the cello is the famous Cris Derksen.
[Applause]
This next song is called Caribou Ghosts, and it's going out to all the water protectors at Standing Rock
all of the people who are standing up and fighting the good fight, and Black Lives Matter.
It's a protest song.
[Drumming]
[Music]
we are always almost drowning
we are the best trained troops
that refuse to fight
we are hyped up on aesthetics
and tripped up
by real life
we don't have time to feel these feelings
so we save that for
another day
we don't have to plan for the win
because we always loose
anyway
caribou ghosts & untold stories
bad timing
and smashed hearts
train tracks six pack riff raff
deadening regret,
a collection of old parts
we get these tiny gifts
of tremendous, unclouded
by past dues
we get these tiny moments
but there's never
enough glue
so we'll tie ourselves together,
with bungee cords
and luck
bring the fish,
the fire,
the new knife
catharsis is still elusive
so we'll file that
for another day
meet me at the underpass
rebellion
is on her way
meet me
meet me at the underpass
freedom is on her way
rebellion is on her way
rebellion is on her way
caribou ghosts & untold stories
bad timing and smashed hearts
[Notes: the line "train tracks six pack riff raff" is by Zacheus Jackson. music composed by Jonas Bonnetta]
[Applause]
The next piece is called She Sang Them Home.
And there used to be a resident population of salmon in Lake Ontario,
and they used to migrate up through the rivers and the lakes in my territory
until they built a lift-box system, and now we haven't had any salmon in my territory since the early 1800s.
And so I wrote this piece imagining that the lift-boxes had mysteriously disappeared
and I was the first salmon back in the Otonabee River.
[Music]
bozhoo odenaabe
shki maajaamegos ndizhinaakaz
it's been a long time.
owah
odenaabe
owah
odenaabe
it's this way, i can feel
my lateral line pulling forward
let me let me
taste you
owah that feels good on my gills
my kobade told her daughter about that feeling
and my great grandmother told her daughter
my grandmother told my doodoom and my doodoom told me
it was better than they said.
i've never felt like this
it's easy here
odenaabe odenaabe odenaabe odenaabe
bubbling
beating
birthing
breathing
bubbling
beating
birthing
breathing
bubbling
beating
birthing
breathing
bubbling
beating
birthing
breathing
owah odenaabe
i never thought we'd meet.
careful with me odenaabe
i'm not strong like those old ones.
who fasted and swam up here ever year
weweni odenaabe
weweni
there are more coming from chi'nibiish
chi'nibiish
saagetay'achewan
pimadashkodeyaang
kitchi gaming
odenaabe
kitchi gaming
atigmeg zaageguneen
asin saagegun
atigmeg zaageguneen
kitchi gaming
odenaabe
pimadashkodeyaang
saagetay'achewan
chi'nibiish
you're quicker than i thought
is jijak still here?
an old one told me
"land of jijaak land of migizi"
we're bringing all the ones that are gone
don't worry about your wounds odenaabe
they'll heal now, they'll heal now they're gone
we're bringing an event
it's ok odenaabe
you can cry now
they're gone
it's over now
we're all going to be ok
they're gone.
and there is more of us waiting to be born.
[Applause]
The next piece is called How to Steal a Canoe
Where I live, I live about 3 blocks from the Canadian Canoe Museum
And so when I'm in a place like this, I like to sing to all of my relatives who are here,
sometimes behind glass cases and sometimes on display.
but for me, these are relationships, and for me, they're not objects, they're relationships.
[Music]
kwe is barefoot on the cement floor
singing to a warehouse
of stolen canoes
bruised bodies
dry skin
hurt ribs
dehydrated rage
akiwenzie says, "it's canoe jail"
the white skin of a tree is for feeling
and slicing and rolling and cutting and sewing
and pitching and floating and travelling
akiwenzie says "oh you're so proud of your collection
of ndns. good job zhaganash,
good job"
kwe is praying to those old ones by dipping her fingers
into a plastic bottle of water
and rubbing the drops on the spine of each canoe
soft words
wet fingers
wet backs
kwe and akiwenzie are looking each canoe in the eye
one whispers back, "take the young one and run"
kwe looks at akiwenzie
akiwenzie takes the sage over to the
security guard and teaches him how to
smudge the canoe bodies. fake cop is basking in guilt free importance.
kwe takes the her off the rack,
and onto her shoulders
she puts Her in the
flat bed and drives to Chemong
she pulls Her out into the middle of the lake
and sinks her with 7 stones
just enough to
fill Her with lake and
and suspended Her in wet
kwe sings the song
and She sings back
kwe sings the song
and She sings back
[music composed by Cris Derksen]
[Applause]
The lyrics from this set are being published as [?] in a book called This Accident of Being Lost
and it's a book of poetry and short stories.
so watch at your book stores for that, if there are still book stores.
[Music]
listen to the hesitant beat
sit at the edge of the woods
shape shift around the defense
ban the word "should"
follow that bluebird
past the smoke & contraband
my frightened lower back
a witness on unkept promise land
hide under mindimooyenh's skirt
wrap swamp tea around your chest
fill your empty with smoked meat
vomit this mess
weave spruce into your fix
forget missed shots and mean boys
tie these seven pieces of heart
use whiskey as your decoy
play by the skin of old teeth
the ritual of giving thanks
laughing hearts and feeding fires
compasses & riverbanks
im just going to sit here past late
the stars don't care at what cost
you breath while i whisper a song
"this accident of being lost"
im just going to sit here past late
the stars don't care at what cost
you breath while i whisper a song
"this accident of being lost"
im just going to sit here past late
the stars don't care at what cost
you breath while i whisper a song
"this accident of being lost"
[Music]
[notes: mindimooyenh means old woman, music composed by Tara Williamson]
[Applause]
So the book is called This Accident of Being Lost. That's the title track from the book.
The next piece I did not write. It's a poem by Bukowski,
but he was kind of a jerk, so we decolonized it and edited it for him.
[Laughing Heart, Poem by Charles Bukowski, edited by Leanne Betasamosake Simpson]
[music composed by Ansley Simpson]
your life is your life
don't let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light
it may not be much light
but it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the aunties will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can't beat death
but you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the ancestors
wait to delight in you.
(you are marvelous
the ancestors delight in you)
[Applause]
This next song is called Leaks, and it's from my first album slash book called Islands of Decolonial Love.
It's a piece that was written about my daughter, who was 5 at the time
and we were picking wild leaks in our territory
and we ran into a really racist man, and she was destroyed
sort of, by that incident, and it was heartbreaking,
because I couldn't protect her. And so, I wrote her this.
dirt road
open windows
beautiful one, too perfect for this world
the immediacy of mosquitos
humidity choking breath
my beautiful singing bird
five year old ogitchidaakwe
crying silent, petrified tears in the backseat
until the dam finally bursts
you are the breath over the ice on the lake.
you are the one the grandmothers sing to through the rapids.
you are the saved seeds of allies.
you are the space between embraces
she's always going to remember this
you are rebellion, resistance, imagination
her body will remember
you are dug up roads, 27 day standoffs, the foil of industry prospectors
she can't speak about it for a year, which is 1/6 of her life
for every one of your questions there is a story hidden in the skin of the forest.
use them as flint, fodder, love songs, medicine.
you are from a place of unflinching power,
the holder of our stories,
the one who speaks up
the chance for spoken up words drowned in ambush
you are not a vessel for white settler shame,
even if I am the housing that failed you.
[Applause]
This is our last track. So, miigwech for coming. You've been a fantastic audience
Really happy to be here. If you get a chance, go up to level number 4
and check out Our Universes, the Anishinaabe section.
You'll learn a little bit more about some of the pieces we've been talking about
some of the cultural references
This song is about eagles, and our word for eagle is migizi
[Music]
[a poem titled These Two]
two clandestine eagles find you in the front of this line up signing things and pretending nice,
wearing professionalism like it's a halloween costume.
and the leading one drops in from behind you
and the tip of her wing grazes the small of your back
in an oval that's method and rhythm like it's all you'll ever have
and she is not going to waste one second of it.
then the second one comes in on a sharper angle and tight circles your form
starting at your roots,
rising and then falling.
her feathers are the wind on the hairs of your skin
and she's flying conical spirals up past your head
and then down again brushing your heels
the backs of your knees,
the cracks on your lips,
all the while the first one's wing is whispering to the skin of your lower back,
while her beak is sucking the burning panic from the place you keep it hidden,
behind the sorrow in your breast's bone.
[music composed by Ansley Simpson]
[Applause]
I just want to say thank you all so much for coming. That does conclude our Sounds of Awareness afternoon.
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