Bay Area Living

Poet Songbirdtakes flight to find herself >
By Barry Caine

Her first name means first light or dawn, Abena Songbird says, "because the Abenaki people, coming from the East, are the first-light people or people of the Dawnland."

A poet and singer, Songbird is a member of the Abenaki tribe. The Oakland resident says the Abenaki are recognized by her home state of Vermont and by Canada, but not by the U.S. government.

"You have to have a sense of humor because Indians do not even exist in some people's minds," says Songbird, who will be among the poets, musicians and authors performing at the Fifth Annual WATERSHED Environmental Poetry Festival, a free event that runs from 11 am to 4 pm Sept. 9 at Berkeley's Civic Center Park.

"Some native people don't want to be called American Indian because we were here before America, " Songbird, 43, says. "Some native people in Canada call themselves First Nations People. I like that because my tribe goes beyond both borders."

"Some of us prefer to be called Indian instead of Native American because maybe it's what our grandparents called themselves…And some of us like to be called Native American because it's less offensive (than) to be labeled by someone like Columbus who didn't know he was coming here and thought he was in India."

"He used the label 'endios' - of God - which is where the term Indian may have come from. If you ask most native people, they will want to be called by their correct tribal name, or just by their name and not a label."

When not writing or performing, Songbird works as a coordinator for the Native American Cultural Center of San Francisco. Her first poetry book "Bitterroot" (Freedom Voices Press) is due out Sept. 9 and should be available at the WATERSHED Festival.

Can you describe your poetry?

It's a combination of laughing and tears with a little drumming and chanting thrown in…I think I try to go between words and bring something back. I try to weave something. I try to catch things that are on the wind. I think I said somewhere that I am a song catcher. I try to catch what's really there, something I could see if I were clear-eyed, and maybe give my own little spin on it…Sometimes it comes out just like breath. Sometimes it's a dream that inspires it. Sometimes it's something funny or tragic happening to Indian country…My job is to craft it so that when it comes out it comes out more as a painting, or a basket woven so it will hold water.

Can you give an example of your subject matter?

my poem, "We Use Our Hands" refers to a time in history when the Abenaki people were starving. They had to capture songbirds. They set out snowshoe traps, and used human hair or horse hair to catch the bird, to make little nooses. And then they had to eat the songbirds. So the songbirds gave their songs to the people literally.

Where does your book's title "Bitterrot," come from?

it's actually an herb that people use traditionally for healing sore throats. It's a dried root you put in your mouth and suck on. What it could symbolize is opening the throat to heal so that the sound of the voice that comes out and what is said is healing.

I also used it because of its dual meaning of something bitter that also makes something good. So metaphorically it's about growing up with the pain of alcoholism and the secrets of being of mixed heritage, the knowledge of the history of Indian people and the beauty that's also there, the pain and the beauty.

You mention breath a lot, as in a spiritual sense. What do you mean?

I think I'm talking about the flow of something, the rivers, the waters, expression. The breath is connected to prayer and music and poetry and the sacredness of life.

How does someone experience this breath? When you're touched by something, awakened by something, when something touches your heart, clears your vision, life seems a little richer, a little more focused. And you want to cry, or you want to smile. Something touches you and you want to give it form. It could be beadwork, making fry bread, loving your children, weaving a rug, making a basket. You can be an artist in life not matter what you do when you are touched by something and you feel a need to give expression.

 
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