Donald Traxler's Poetry

Friday, February 8, 2019

I Have Been the Observer / ᎠᏯ ᎨᏒᎢᏎ ᎠᎦᏎᏍᏙᏗᏍᏙ

I have been the observer
through many lives.
I have seen them come
and I have seen them go,
and something survives.

I am still here.

ᎠᏯ ᎨᏒᎢᏎ ᎠᎦᏎᏍᏙᏗᏍᏙ
ᎤᎪᏗᏗ ᎥᎴᏂᏙᎲᏗ ᏗᎬᏩᎶᏒ.
ᎠᏯ ᎪᏩᏘᏎ ᎾᏍᎩᏛᏁ ᏅᎳ
ᎠᎴ ᎠᏯ ᎪᏩᏘᏎ ᎾᏍᎩᏛᏁ ᎠᎾᎩᏍᏗ,
ᎠᎴ ᎪᎱᏍᏗ ᎬᎵᏱᎵᏌᏎ.

ᎠᏯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏙᎢ ᎠᎭᏂ.

Yes/No

Fun fact: Both Cherokee and English can express yes/no with "grunts." In fact, it's the normal way to do it in Cherokee. But the Cherokee grunt for "yes" sounds more like the English grunt for "no." So I would not assume that one comes from the other.

The normal way to say yes in Cherokee is (phonetically) uh-uh. This is written "v v" in Roman letters, or "ꭵ ꭵ" in Cherokee script. The pronunciation, though, is "v: v'" (Ꭵ: Ꭵ'). This means that the first part is lengthened, and the second part has a stress accent. The English "grunt," which has only been used in writing since about 1899, has an "h" sound at the beginning of the second part; the Cherokee does not, but at least the stress accent is similar.

In English the "no" grunt (which has only been used in writing since about 1924) is differentiated from the "yes" grunt by having a strong glottal stop (the sound of the "tt" in the Cockney pronunciation of "bottle") at the beginning of each part, and no "h" sound.

Fun but irrelevant fact: English has another grunt, "uh-oh," an expression of dismay, which has only been used in writing since about 1971.

It appears that in Cherokee pitch is moving toward becoming a stress accent. Neither pitch nor stress accent has ever been part of Sequoyah's syllabary, which I also use for Udugi. Pitch is not recognized in Udugi, but the stress accent on a word can change its meaning, as it also can in Cherokee. For example, ama' is water, but a'ma is salt. So, when it is important, I'll represent some stress accents with an apostrophe. Ꮀ:Ꮹ'? ᏩᏙ'.

In an attempt to make Udugi a little more Cherokee-like, I'll also start allowing omission of the copula (the verb "to be") in some sentences where it is unlikely to cause confusion. Example: hia wesa. (ᎯᎠ ᏪᏌ). ("This is a cat.")

ᏩᏙ

Thursday, February 7, 2019

The Body Is an Analogue / ᎠᏰᎸ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎩᏂᏠᏱ ᎠᏓᏅᏙ

The body is an analogue of the self,
its layers are like the strata
in an ancient riverbed.
If you go deep enough,
you'll reach the fossils
of prehistory--
and many other lives.

ᎠᏰᎸ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎩᏂᏠᏱ ᎠᏓᏅᏙ,
ᎾᏍᎩ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎩᏂᏠᏱ
ᎭᏫᏂ ᎯᎸᎯᏳᎢ ᎤᏪᏴ ᎥᎿᎢ.
ᎢᏳᏃ ᏂᎯ ᎭᎦᏔᏎ ᏰᎵᏊ ᎭᏫᏂᎮ,
ᏂᎯ ᎪᏩtᎣᏎ ᏅᏱᎩᏔ ᎢᏳᏍᏗᏗᏁ
ᎢᏅ-ᏧᏩᎫᏔᏅᏒ ᎥᎿᎢ--
ᎠᎴ ᎤᎪᏗᏗ ᏐᎢ ᎥᎴᏂᏙᎲᏗᏁ.

Wednesday, February 6, 2019

Heart and Mind / ᎠᏓᏅᏙ ᎠᎴ ᎣᏓᏅᏛ

Heart and mind are put to flight,
as the body reaches out for its twin.

ᎠᏓᏅᏙ ᎠᎴ ᎣᏓᏅᏛ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏩᏗᏱᏔ ᎤᎳᏫᏛᏓ ᏗᏜ,
ᏥᎸ ᎠᏰᎸ ᎠᏙᏯᏅᎯᏓᏎ ᎾᏍᎩ ᏗᏂᎳᏫ ᏗᏜ.

Monday, February 4, 2019

The Morning Sun

The morning sun blasts in,
bringing a hurried, new episode
of the dream.
As I work, I think
about many things.
Why do I bear in my flesh
the mark of the followers
of Aknenaton?
What is the responsibility
of a translator?
Must the truth
be always told,
and is it safe?
Akhenaton's sun disk
tells me
that it is not.
Truth, like the sun,
can burn us.

The Poet's Day Off

I haven't had any for a long time. (Days off, that is.)

How y'all doing? It's really great to be here in [your city, wherever that is].

I've just finished my third beer. Don't usually do that, but it IS my day off. Anyway, something about that third beer made me think of something that happened a few years ago. Actually, I was four years old at the time. My father, who would have been about 25 at the time, had come home late from work, after drinking beer with the guys at a bar and watching stag movies (probably not what you think), and was trying to establish a precedent with my mother that it was OK for him to do this. Mom, who would have been about 24 at the time, wasn't having any of that.

Mom: "how many beers did you have?"

Dad: "I don't know, probably about eight."

This was not a good start for Dad, and he lost that round.

But Mom saved the knockout for the next week, on the same day. Sure enough, Dad was late getting home. I knew something was up, because Mom was wearing a close-fitting black dress and a picture hat, and a lot of perfume. She prepped me beforehand so I wouldn't be scared, telling me that she was going to tell Dad that she was going out, but that she wasn't really going to do it, but just didn't want him drinking and coming home late anymore. She met Dad at the door in what she imagined to be a whorish getup (but my Mom was quite a looker, and the effect was really beautiful).

Dad; "What's all THIS about?"

Mom: "I'm going to Tijuana."

Dad: "What do you mean, you're going to Tijuana?" (They both pronounced it like "Tia Juana.")

Mom: "Well, if you can go out drinking and watch films of naked women, I can go to Tijuana."

Poor old Dad was down for the count, and he never recovered.

I learned a lot from my Dad. First, I learned a great work ethic (which is why it's been so long since I've taken a poet's day off). Second, I learned to always appreciate what I have. Third, I learned to never exaggerate the amount I've had to drink.

I also learned to never forget our anniversary. But that's another story.