• Address 720 East Locust Street | Milwaukee, WI 53212
  • Phone 414.263.5001
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm | Sat-Sun 12-5pm | Closed Mon
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
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readings & workshops
November 19

Poetry Reading: Santee Frazier & Franklin K.R. Cline

readings & workshops
November 21

Offsite Talk: Native American Identity & the Politics of the Poetic Image 

readings & workshops
December 3

Ultimate Truth Poetry Reading and Book Release

readings & workshops
December 6

Heddy Keith author of Through it All

readings & workshops
December 9

Poetry Reading: Tonya M. Foster & Samiya Bashir

performances
December 10

Alternating Currents Live presents Nicole Mitchell Quartet

special events
January 27 -28

24th Annual Poetry Marathon & Benefit

Diane Glancy

Diane Glancy, an author of Cherokee heritage and professor emeritus of Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota, writes from the viewpoint of a feminist, postcolonial, literary nationalist, Christian, and American. As she balances her own complex identity, she mirrors the diverse perspectives of 21st century citizens. She occupies multiple histories, but never forgets allegiance to truth. 

Glancy was the 2008-09 visiting Richard Thomas Professor of Creative Writing at Kenyon College. In 2009, she received an Expressive Arts Grant from the National Museum of the American Indian to write a play on the history of Native American education called The Catch. Among her awards are two National Endowment for the Arts Fellowships, a Minnesota Book Award, an Oklahoma Book Award, an American Book Award, and the 2011 Best Native American Film at the Trail Dance Independent Film Festival (Duncan, Oklahoma). A new collection of nonfiction, The Dream of a Broken Field, was published in 2011 by the University of Nebraska Press. Her latest collection of poems, Stories of the Driven World, was published in 2010 by Mammoth Press (Lawrence, Kansas). She currently lives in Shawnee Mission, Kansas.

Selected Poems

Horned Being


Diane Glancy

 

There are nights they come back as human
it's a transformation of sorts
they don't want to come
but something in them makes the change
the transference to other
to see what it would be to walk on nearly two legs
with antlers still on its head
buckskin on its bones
the world is always moving, the last field report said
he'd discover changing slots
whatever they are
it was the last we heard
but scribbled on the pages we received
one leg amputated from a trap
one hand forward, the other back
the four directions for a navel. 

 


Disparities of the Driven World

 


I tried to preserve [them] for the new
world but they were reluctant retreating
to their villages their blubber-oil lamps
their smudge on everything. I grew
weary depressed I could hardly lift my
head they lifted for me / poured
whatever it was they said into a cup /
those who didn't want me here / their
heads appeared in the ice-block igloo:
they could see a snout animal they said / a
few short tusks in its mouth / ears on its
nose / an animal covered with loops / its
head merely jaws / other restless spirits
Nalaqnaq and Kigutilik they drew for me
moving at a run / large bumps at the
joints / those apprehensions /
apparitions / and seeings not there / I lost
my verve my snap my progress [get this
snow out of my face] this thought grafted
onto what? I grew SPOOKED at the
ice ridges couldn't get my sled across
abrupt changes shifts in weather the cold
the cold the unrelenting handle on the
hard pump of darkness.