Jillian Morris is Kanien’kehá:ka, turtle clan and band member of Six Nations of the Grand River Territory now living in Collingwood. She will be sharing stories and experience passed down through the oral traditions of Kanien’kehá:ka culture in her regular column, entitled Ka’nikonhrí:io, (The Good Mind) published on CollingwoodToday.ca.
*****
Shé:kon sewakwé:kon, greetings all.
Earlier this month I was announced as Collingwood’s new Poet Laureate. I am excited and honoured to be recognized in this way.
I know I talk about responsibility a lot. It really does keep me humble and grounded in focusing on the ways I can contribute to healthier communities. It’s a common thread that is weaved into traditional stories, songs, and prayer. If I subscribe to those teachings, then I’m accountable to them.
I try to be mindful of how I may be perceived. I don’t want to speak for anyone else, my nation, and certainly not an entire race. I do want to represent well, and this new role is no different.
I understand how important the arts are to so many. It’s creative expression, it’s an outlet, it’s inspiring, it can be cathartic for both the creator and the consumer. It’s also an effective medium to connect diverse cultures, backgrounds, and experiences. We can learn so much through sharing in someone’s gifts.
I’m more likely to stop scrolling to examine a visual piece or enjoy the creative prose of a spoken word performance or listen intently to the lyrics of song. The arts can captivate and take you away from the less remarkable.
I started writing poetry when I was a teen. I was living on reserve, my home of Six Nations. I was trying to understand why being native meant that I was a target for prejudice and middle-aged “adults” to sling racial slurs at. I didn’t understand why I was worth less.
I didn’t share my poetry. I didn’t want to. It represented hurt, shame, and self-doubt.
I didn’t realize then that it also represented resilience.
I took a lot of years off from any type of creative writing. I went to post-secondary, raised a family, had a career…proved “them” wrong.
And lost me along the way.
I feel like I’m living my redemption story now. To honour that teen who internalized the ignorance of others. To opt-out of prescribed ideas of success.
The responsibility I spoke of earlier is to all those who can relate in any way to this small piece of my story.
The unveiling of the diversity mural here in Collingwood will have happened by the time you read this. I want to share with readers the poem that I am reciting for this occasion.
WE ARE
By Jillian Morris
The returned earth of untold ancestors
The blood and clay of our Mother
I am, you are, we are
The scattered stars that gaze upon us
The fair counsel of our Grandmother
I am, you are, we are
The rapid passage of guiding waters
The cleansing roar of our Grandfathers
I am, you are, we are
The soft moan of gentle breath
The fierce bellow of the biting gale
I am, you are, we are
The propitious light of days anew
The ceaseless fervor of brotherly love
I am, you are, we are
The enlightened myth and the trying truth
The disorderly entanglement of abundant story
I am, you are, we are
The carnal
The celestial
We are
Skén:nen, peace.
