On Kenkwite:ne by Claire Maracle
By Quraysh Ali Lansana
Hi, I’m Quraysh Ali Lansana, a poet, author and professor in Tulsa, Oklahoma, here for Poets on the Plains. Today, I’m delighted to explore a poem by one of my close friends and favorite Oklahoma poets, Claire Maracle.
Claire Maracle is a Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk) member of the Six Nations of the Grand River, raised as a guest on Muscogee, Osage, and Cherokee land. This experience directly informs their work in rematriation and their conviction that language is the key to transcending displacement. They co-founded Poetic Justice, bringing literacy and poetry workshops to carceral settings. They are Executive Director of Words of the People, restoring Indigenous Languages and worldviews by opening pathways to Indigenous Language expression. Their poetry has appeared in This Land Press, Anti Heroin Chic, Emerge Magazine, New Words Press, Wayfarer Magazine and elsewhere.
The poem of theirs that I’ve selected to share is Kenkwite:ne
Here’s the poem:
Kenkwite:ne
I’d say I wasn't ready for spring
But that would be a lie
My sister says spring is dramatic
And so am I
I gather more than I
can carry
Refuse the vessel
Burdened by abundance
I do not cry.
Spring
I eat her down the middle
midnight whimpers my name
Begs us to be lovers again
I ask for nothing but what I came with
Your hair is holding up the ceiling
What you steal has a name
What has been stolen is
Never really gone
The leaves come back the same
Even when our teeth piano swan back the lake
I take armfuls of jonquils and smile even though
sometimes
the light
asks of us
to be coming back to life
to be climbing up the mountain wild
to paint the ground green.
Did you know our eyes can see
more shades of green than any other color?
It's the color that means life
What the light asks of us
is to come alive
I’d say I wasn't ready for spring
but that would be a lie
Kenkwite':ne is a Mohawk word that, translated into English means ‘The Spring’. The concept of Kenkwite’:ne speaks to the idea of creating a safe environment for a seed to grow in. Culturally, it represents a time of new life, growth, and fresh beginnings—symbolizing how a seed is nurtured in a safe environment to sprout.
This poem speaks to me in a variety of ways and modes. It weaves historical, cultural and personal experiences via the speaker’s own journey and metamorphosis.
Now that we are grounded in the meaning of the word, the poem’s first stanza opens like a stubborn crop during harvest:
I’d say I wasn't ready for spring
But that would be a lie
My sister says spring is dramatic
And so am I
That stubborn, reluctant crop being the speaker, doubting growth and the ability to see possibility. But, even the speaker realizes this is delusional, that spring will come regardless, that change is inevitable. The introduction of “my sister” functions both literally and figuratively as an aspect of the safe environment the speaker needs for growth. Good-natured ribbing as well, reflected in the inference that the speaker is as dramatic as the change in season. In Oklahoma and the entire High Plains listening area, we know spring brings its own unique theatrics.
The second stanza collapses in on an internal facet, or condition of the speaker’s struggle with change, and also speaks to distance from heritage:
I gather more than I
can carry
Refuse the vessel
Burdened by abundance
I do not cry.
The idea of taking more than one needs is a scarcity mentality, which is an indictment of western civilization’s rugged individualism and greed. That the speaker also “...refuses the vessel/burdened by abundance…” only furthers this construct. “I do not cry” is a direct and jarring statement that again addresses the distance between self, historical awareness and cultural indifference. The speaker, and the poem, wrestle with these in an effort to find roots.
The poem begins to turn slightly in the third stanza, as the speaker faces change, but with guarded vulnerability:
Spring
I eat her down the middle
midnight whimpers my name
Begs us to be lovers again
I ask for nothing but what I came with
Here, the speaker remains insistent on defining the terms of this relationship, even as “...midnight whimpers my name/begs us to be lovers again.” “I ask for nothing but what I came with” feels like the speaker giving in, reluctantly, though “...what has been stolen is/never really gone.” And what has been stolen? Land, culture, heritage and memory.
“The leaves come back the same” opens the fifth stanza, which is a line, like many in this delicate poem, has many layers. One could read this as monotony, as centuries old reoccurrence, as a phenomenon we take for granted, and more. The subtlety of this line sets us up for the poem’s close regarding what the light asks of us. That spring urges us to life, to live, to be reborn. To come alive.
The poem ends as it begins “...I’d say I wasn't ready for spring/but that would be a lie.” Such a rich, satisfying round conclusion that redefines the speaker’s initial anxiety, certainly with all that spring brings, but more so with the change of self. In the maelstroms of data centers, toxic lettuce and climate change, have we forgotten about the earth and nature? Claire Maracle reminds us in this very personal, yet universal, poem.
Thank you for being with us for Poets on the Plains. I’m Quraysh Ali Lansana, poet, author and professor coming to you from the Greenwood District of Tulsa, Oklahoma.
POETS ON THE PLAINS HOST
Quraysh Ali Lansana is author of over twenty books in poetry, nonfiction and children’s literature. Lansana is Applied Associate Professor of English/Creative Writing and Media Studies at the University of Tulsa, where he is also Director of the African American Studies program and the Media Lab. Lansana is an alumnus of the Tulsa Artist Fellowship and was formerly a Lecturer in Africana Studies at Oklahoma State University-Tulsa where he also served as Director of the Center for Truth, Racial Healing & Transformation.
He is a founding member of Tri-City Collective and serves on the Board of Directors of Oklahoma Humanities and the Tulsa Press Club. Lansana is a Curatorial Scholar for The Thomas Gilcrease Institute of American History and Art. He is a Cave Canem alumnus and a member of the first cohort of the Culture of Health Leadership Institute for Racial Healing Fellowship. https://www.tricitycollective.com/quraysh-ali-lansana
FEATURED POET
Claire Maracle is a Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk) member of the Six Nations of the Grand River, raised as a guest on Muscogee, Osage, and Cherokee land. This experience directly informs their work in rematriation and their conviction that language is the key to transcending displacement. As Executive Director of Words of the People, their decade of arts activism is driven by the belief that fluent futures are built not through preservation alone, but through unyielding visibility and the active, creative celebration of living languages.
An interdisciplinary artist and organizer, their leadership spans over a decade of arts activism. Claire’s work bridges storytelling, liberation, and collective care. They co-founded Poetic Justice, bringing literacy and poetry workshops to carceral settings, (now in every prison in Oklahoma) that provided a framework for education as liberation. They served as Creative Director & Lead Educator for Louder Than a Bomb Oklahoma, instrumental in helping Tulsa launch the first regional offshoot of the Chicago program. Claire dedicated their time to mentoring youth in spoken word as a tool for self-determination and collective healing. Their poetry has appeared in This Land Press, Emerge Magazine, New Words Press, Frontier Poetry, Wayfarer Magazine and elsewhere. https://clairemaracle.com/
