Crazy Brave

Joy Harjo begins Crazy Brave by gesturing to the East as the location of beginnings: “a door to fresh knowledge.” Harjo also reveals that the East is the direction of her place of birth, in. Narrating the complexities of betrayal and love, Crazy Brave is a haunting, visionary memoir about family and the breaking apart necessary in finding a voice. Biography & Autobiography Multi-Cultural Nonfiction. Norton & Company. BE CRAZY BE BRAVE MAKING THE IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBLE MAKING THE IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBLEMAKING THE IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBLEMAKING THE IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBLE Lead with your. In Crazy Brave Joy Harjo writes about growing up with an abusive stepfather, developing her love and vision for poetry, and escaping from the cycle of abuse again later on in her life. Harjo grounds this memoir in tribal myth and ancestry. Crazy Brave Summary These notes were contributed by members of the GradeSaver community. We are thankful for their contributions and encourage you to make your own. Written by people who wish to remain anonymous.

EAST

East is the direction of beginnings. It is sunrise. When beloved Sun rises, it is an entrance, a door to fresh knowledge. Breathe the light in. Call upon the assistance you need for the day. Give thanks.
East is how the plants, animals, and other beings orient themselves for beginnings, to open and blossom. The spirit of the day emerges from the sunrise point. East is also the direction of Oklahoma, where I was born, the direction of the Creek Nation.

Once I was so small I could barely see over the top of the back seat of the black Cadillac my father bought with his Indian oil money. He polished and tuned his car daily. I wanted to see everything.
This was around the time I acquired language, when something happened that changed my relationship to the spin of the world. It changed even the way I looked at the sun.
This suspended integer of time probably escaped ordinary notice in my parents' universe, which informed most of my vision in the ordinary world. They were still omnipresent gods.
We were driving somewhere in Tulsa, the northern border of the Creek Nation. I don't know where we were going or where we had been, but I know the sun was boiling the asphalt, the car windows were open for any breeze as I stood on tiptoes on the floorboard behind my father, a handsome god who smelled of Old Spice, whose slick black hair was always impeccably groomed, his clothes perfectly creased and ironed. The radio was on. Even then I loved the radio, jukeboxes, or any magic thing containing music.
I wonder what signaled this moment, a loop of time that on first glance could be any place in time. I became acutely aware of the line the jazz trumpeter was playing (a sound I later associated with Miles Davis). I didn't know the words jazz or trumpet. I don't know how to say it, with what sounds or words, but in that confluence of hot southern afternoon, in the breeze of aftershave and humidity, I followed that sound to the beginning, to the birth of sound. I was suspended in whirling stars. I grieved my parents' failings, my own life, which I saw stretching the length of that rhapsody.
My rite of passage into the world of humanity occurred then, through jazz. The music was a startling bridge between familiar and strange lands. I heard stomp-dance shells, singing. I saw suits, satin, fine hats. I heard workers singing in the fields. It was a way to speak beyond the confines of ordinary language.
I still hear it.

- Over and over and over.
When you gonna come back, baby?
- Over and over and over.
Why did you leave me?
The god of all things reached
Behind the counter, pulled up a sour dishrag and
Cleaned off the mess.
- We all went tumbling down.
I said, over and over and over.
- We all went tumbling down.

My mother's singing attracted me to her road in this world. It is her song that lit my attention as I listened in the ancestor realm. Secret longing rose up in her heart as she sang along with the radio. The music threading the atmosphere in what was known as Tulsa, Oklahoma, or 'T-Town,' in 1951 was songs for falling in love, songs for falling out of love, songs to endure the purgatory of longing, or improvisational swing jazz, country, or songs just for the sake of kicking it.
Tulsa was a Creek Indian town established on the Arkansas River, after my father's people were forcibly removed from their homes in the South in the mid-1800s. When they arrived in these new lands, they brought sacred fire. They brought what they could carry. Some African people came with them as family members, others as slaves. Other African people arrived independently, established their own towns. European and American settlers soon took over the lands that were established for settlement of eastern tribes in what became known as Indian Territory. The Christian god gave them authority. Yet everyone wanted the same thing: land, peace, a place to make a home, cook, fall in love, make children and music.

A lovely conversation on twitter has sparked me to dust off the old blog to talk about how twitter is a much more feminist friendly space than blogging ever was. It started when a Boring Man on an attachment parenting blog linked to a post of @bluemilk’s which suggested that given the massive demands that attachment parenting (AP) can place on women, it would be really helpful for AP types to have a bit of a think about engaging with feminist thought. The Boring Man thought this was scary, and it would send all the menz who were otherwise well disposed to AP to the fainting couch if some(woman) happened to mention that a bit of thinking might not go astray if they were going to suggest to their partner that this is how they would like to parent.

I started blogging in 2004, and it was entering the online space that persuaded me make my lifelong options virtual trading identification as feminist explicit, concrete and LOUD. I felt I needed to, because there was so much crap, misogyny, woman-ignoring and general bad form going on in the politics blogging scene which was where I first cut my chops.

I was brought up feminist, and didn’t really spend much time in “real life” around people who found the idea of women being strong, powerful, interesting and engaged a challenge. I was ignorant, I didn’t really know how much hate was still out there. It shocks me still.

I learnt fast. I learnt about my own massive blind spots. I needed to do a lot of listening about what it was like to live with race prejudice, with transgender prejudice and with ableism. (And later insert here – funny to speak of massive blinds spots and not mention any of the wonderful fat positive tweeters/bloggers whose insights help me every day). I will never be “finished” listening, but I’ve found it helpful to scope out the dimensions of my blind spots and I’ve found great joy in applying my attention and learning. In particular I pay respect to @iLauredhel and @TigTog, the first Hoydens, for making that learning accessible to so many of us.

I also pay respect to the literary critic feminists such as @adelaidebook for showing me the importance of patient and detailed analysis, the strength that it takes to keep going and the forebearance to front up for the eleventy millionth time to say “From your comment I can only conclude that you – and perhaps other male commenters here (at LP, for instance) – have not actually gone so far as to read the women’s comments in the thread. This is wrong and makes you look stupid.”.

I pay respect to @Lucytartan whose commitment to gentleness and whose suppleness of thought permeates all of her communication and has informed her valuable critiques of how feminists engage each other online, and has helped me start to imagine more clearly what a nonviolent world might be like.

I pay respect to @cristyclark who taught me a lot about gentleness in parenting, and what it looks like to live a life of principle.

I pay respect to @drnaomi, my first online feminist friend, for learn about options trading teaching me that solidity in ourselves is good for everyone around us.

I pay respect to @dogpossum, who has stood up to challenge her heart-community of dancers about sexism and has not backed down.

I pay respect to @bluemilk, for her curiosity, her energy and her sharp, sharp mind that is always bringing something new and valuable to my attention.

I pay respect to @herbalgill for her integrity, her humour and the way she wraps that biting wisdom with such options trading websites kindness.

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And I pay respect to my darling @tammois, for making me remember why it’s so fucking goddam important that we riot against what is wrong and insufferable.

And to all my other sisters – to @katejclifford, and to @anti_kate, and to @amandarose, and to @mindyhoyden – thank you. You are my sisters, and I love you. I love that together we are making a beautiful place where Australian feminists can talk, and snark and debate and speak the truths of our lives to each other.

So rare. So fine. (There are bits of this song we need to ignore for present purposes, but I welcome alternative songs that are more sister-focused. Send me the name and I’ll whack it in Also, volume up, it’s way soft.)

I am sure that I have omitted some names that should be here, and I would like y’all to please feel free to share some love and respect for our wonderful community.

… Only very slightly later!

Already I realise my omissions – I pay respect to @frala_fontaine who has shown me that we are mistresses of our own destiny, and to @bellsknits who has taught me what resilience looks like when you live it every day and to @charlotteshucks who sees that what makes us beautiful and powerful is also what makes us hilarious.

Expect more updates

Here’s another update

@kissability for reminding me that poetry makes our spirit strong and that there is unutterable beauty in our face every day if only we would see it, particularly when we are in the middle of a fucking fight.

But wait there’s moar!

I’ve just had a realisation sparked by a tweetversation with @ilauredhel that I have not included some of the fantastic fat positive women who have really helped me inhabit my large body –

I pay respect to @definatalie for her commitment to being brave and to speaking truth.

Crazy Brave Joy Harjo Pdf

I pay respect to @awesomefrances for living yellow.

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and some radfatty love has come in from the awesome @yayforhome. Respect to her to and her beloveds – @Fatheffalump and @mymilkspilt. Respect also to the beautiful #fattylove nominees from @definatalie @52stations @lillianbehrendt @afrotitty @shecametostay @allygarrett @polianarchy