I mention in my profile that I have the honor of being friends with some truly amazing women. One of those women is Pamela Steele. If you know me, it the one friend I refer to as "you know, the friend I went to see in Oregon". She is one of my oldest friends and years have made her my dearest. There has always been an almost telepathic link between us, you know, that friend that always calls just when you need them. She for me and I for her.
I went to see Pam in the summer of 2000 (I think) it was pre 9-11 and pre-cancer. I went during July because she as involved in the Nez-Perce Indian homecoming powwow, called Tamkaliks. She and I registered the dancers. I saw the most amazing faces, faces from the past, colorful costumes and head dresses , heard the chants, the drums and tinkling of the little bells on their clothing when they walked past, and the sheer joy on the faces of the oldest during their dance. The entire thing was hypnotizing, an out of body experience. We stayed way into the night and once we went home, opened the windows so that we could still hear the drums and chants. I feel asleep listening to sounds of the past, wondering what it was like when these sounds were the norm rather than an event, understanding that while I was enchanted by them now, how they certainly could have created fear in a settler's heart.
I failed to mention that Pam is a writer, a poet. PUBLISHED !
Her first book is titled "Paper Bird"
One of my favorite pass times, when visiting with Pam is just closing my eyes and having her read to me.
As I was reading "Paper Bird" I realized that Pam had been listening to those same drums, and was able to put on paper, what I felt.
INTER-TRIBAL
The sound of powwow drums
deflected off the face of the hill
puses the curves of river
and enters the deep pocket of her sleep.
A wave of chant lifts the edge of the curtain,
trailing three sharp beats, then silent.
She sits straight up in bed, then stands,
waking tribes of blood cells, feels
the keen stretch of skin over bone.
She lifts a heel, frames her hips
with her palms, and when the next
beats enter the veil of curtain, she steps
into a Bedouin shimmy, and her feet
begin to remember what it is
they've been trying to remember.
-Pamela Steele/Paper Bird
I went to see Pam in the summer of 2000 (I think) it was pre 9-11 and pre-cancer. I went during July because she as involved in the Nez-Perce Indian homecoming powwow, called Tamkaliks. She and I registered the dancers. I saw the most amazing faces, faces from the past, colorful costumes and head dresses , heard the chants, the drums and tinkling of the little bells on their clothing when they walked past, and the sheer joy on the faces of the oldest during their dance. The entire thing was hypnotizing, an out of body experience. We stayed way into the night and once we went home, opened the windows so that we could still hear the drums and chants. I feel asleep listening to sounds of the past, wondering what it was like when these sounds were the norm rather than an event, understanding that while I was enchanted by them now, how they certainly could have created fear in a settler's heart.
I failed to mention that Pam is a writer, a poet. PUBLISHED !
Her first book is titled "Paper Bird"
One of my favorite pass times, when visiting with Pam is just closing my eyes and having her read to me.
As I was reading "Paper Bird" I realized that Pam had been listening to those same drums, and was able to put on paper, what I felt.
INTER-TRIBAL
The sound of powwow drums
deflected off the face of the hill
puses the curves of river
and enters the deep pocket of her sleep.
A wave of chant lifts the edge of the curtain,
trailing three sharp beats, then silent.
She sits straight up in bed, then stands,
waking tribes of blood cells, feels
the keen stretch of skin over bone.
She lifts a heel, frames her hips
with her palms, and when the next
beats enter the veil of curtain, she steps
into a Bedouin shimmy, and her feet
begin to remember what it is
they've been trying to remember.
-Pamela Steele/Paper Bird
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