Joan Naviyuk Kane
All men knew a secret of the northern part
of an old world, a less perfect

idea. For the bicornuate woman,
it is an island. If there, the birds

lose our trust, we might learn

their language. After all, we have
been taught
to read and write,

to remove our hands
from other work
as we watch water twist into rock:

to cover our wounds,
staying alive light after light.

For something, I worry.
The moon pronounced with clarity

its known topography. Our letters
and lists, reconstructed grammars:

they replace the ways in which we were
grabbed, then pushed and shoved.

A fine wife and her children
set to rove with indefinite orders:

lineal migration on a small scale,
a purpose was not nautical,

but conflictual. Of those men,

we knew I could never do
them any good. In this way

I forget, and let the wind
(river). It gales and tears
at my shoulders and wrists.
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Uvaŋa atiġa Naviyuk. Ugiuvaŋmiuguruŋa suli Qawiaramiuguruŋa. Apaigia John (Kokuluk) suli aanaigia Barbara (Anamaq). I’m called for my namesake Naviyuk. I’m from King Island and Mary’s Igloo. My grandparents are John and Barbara Kokuluk. My grandfather made a living as a renowned hunter and ivory carver. This poem is in part about the seabird rookeries he carved out of walrus ivory and the ones he taught my uncles to carve. 

Joan Naviyuk Kane on "Rookeries"
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"Bent Toward Justice"

"Outliers in their century, [June] Jordan and Muriel Rukeyser both felt poetry could and should have moral purpose. Both also have new posthumous books out spanning their long careers."

via THE NEW YORK TIMES
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Cover of Jill Osier's book, The Solace is Not the Lullaby
What Sparks Poetry:
Eric Pankey on Jill Osier’s The Solace Is Not the Lullaby


"Osier is a poet I have never met and about whom I know very little, but her poems are mysterious, rich in their clarity, uncanniness, and clairvoyance. Her work feels at once familiar and strange, and that quality has haunted me."
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