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Woodland Pattern™    Book   Center Poetry Archive		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.

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.

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