You Can Believe
Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. This one started out as a big reflective piece that quickly got away from me, so I am going to scrap all that and keep it short and sweet, something I rarely do around here. Don’t get accustomed to it!
*shakes fist at sky*
Here’s the news: yesterday morning, August 14, 2023, just before 9am I received a call from Greg Gianforte1, the governor of Montana. He was calling to tell me he has selected me to be the next Montana Poet Laureate. I will hold the position for two years. I’d like to figure out a way to go full Snoop Dogg on this but I’m just going to say it’s pretty exciting and I’m very grateful to all the people involved in making it happen because it truly is a community effort. You may read the official press release HERE. You may also read the first article about it, written by my friend Anna Paige on behalf of the Montana Free Press, HERE. If more come along – I’m talking to my pal Cory Walsh at the Missoulian on Thursday, for example – I’ll share them.
I make a point to note the actual date because it was five years to the day that my first book, One-Sentence Journal, was released. Isn’t that a crazy coincidence?!2 OSJ truly is where it all started; I wouldn’t be here without that book and how it literally changed my life. It’s lead to this newsletter, it is directly responsible for me meeting the Milkweed folks, which led to the contract for next year’s Becoming Little Shell, all of it. I am so grateful for all the people who loved that book, talked about it, shared it with other people, everything. It’s been a grassroots word-of-mouth success that I never expected and I will be eternally grateful for. I’m still doing events for it. It really blows my mind.
As for what’s next, I don’t really know. My friend Mark Gibbons, who has just wrapped up his term as Montana Poet Laureate, set an incredibly high bar for what might be accomplished. He documented on video the work and personalities of so many Montana poets, beyond anything ever done before. What an accomplishment. If you want to see the two of us yucking it up during his Poets in Montana series, you may do so HERE. I mostly intend to take whatever it means to be poet laureate out on the road, which I know Mark wanted to do but couldn’t because of Covid. Maybe we’ll do a couple things together, I don’t know. I hope we do.
Miigwech, as ever, to all of you supporting me here too. This poet laureate gig doesn’t come with any financial compensation, so I’ll be able to get away and do stuff because of the support you show me here via paid subscriptions. Your generosity has allowed me to do a lot of things for free, and continue to do them. I am grateful for that too. If you are moved to, you may support me – and for the next two years at least directly support Montana poetry – via a paid subscription to this newsletter.
You may also buy a copy of One-Sentence Journal3 or my second book, Descended from a Travel-worn Satchel. I’m a big fan of that one too.
Not much else to say about all this for now. I’ll close with this poem that appeared in OSJ that I read in public all the time, as recently as this past Friday at a wonderful event in Billings. I wrote it the morning after Trump was elected in 2016, when the whole world surrounding me felt like a funeral. The poem has changed in ways here and there over the years. It is a flag planting, of sorts. We all have a stake in this world, don’t we?
My friends, believe me – I’ve heard all the comments related to “too bad it has to come from him” and I get it. The political situation in Montana is pretty bad and our governor is in the front of it. There couldn’t be anyone I disagree more with politically and, probably, morally. At the same time, I bet the minute or two he spent on the phone with me was the extent of his involvement. He said he “crowd sources” the decision and I believe him. There are plenty of people in the state’s art community still trying to fight the good fight on behalf of the Arts here whether it is this governor running things or anyone else. I would rather consider my selection as something done by those beleaguered excellent people in spite of our governor, not because of. I don’t want to make light of their efforts.
There are no coincidences.
OSJ is essentially out of print now except for the copies I provide myself to Fact & Fiction or anywhere else who asks me to. The publisher is small and just can’t foot the bill for the quantities necessary to keep legitimate distribution viable. I’ll keep it alive at least until Becoming Little Shell is out and maybe longer, or if I find another publisher who might want to reissue it. We’ll see.
WOOHOO!!! Well-deserved!
I am reminded of this marvelous poem by Bobby Lefebre (forgive me if you already know it):
They invite me to a thing where the men in suits
all look the same, and they twirl and clink wine
glasses as the cheese sits next to the olives on
plates too small to fill anything but image—
everyone is secretly starting, and they laugh at
each other's jokes even though they are not
funny, they talk about golf and last quarter's
returns, and they ask me to read something that
is joyful and festive and celebratory, something
inspiring that will make people feel good about
gathering, but 50 migrants just died in a truck
at the border, and the Supreme Court is an active
shooter, and the police filled another Black man
with 60 holes, and I am not a typical poet, but
the elders have taught us that the job of an
artist is to reflect the times, so I get on that
stage and I do what I do the only way I know how,
and when I am done, someone tells me the position
of Poet Laureate is supposed to be apolitical,
and I say, "maybe it is, but I am not," and
sometimes, the only thing better than a standing
ovation is a room full of silence. A mentor once
told me that sometimes your job as an artist is
to be invited somewhere and ensure they never
invite you back.
So fucking awesome!!!