Canku Ota - February 2020 - 'Being Attentive To Loss Doesn't Have To Be Devastating.'

	Canku Ota
	(Many Paths)
	An Online Newsletter Celebrating Native America
	February 2020 - Volume 18 Number 2


	"Being Attentive To Loss Doesn't Have To Be Devastating."
	by Joan Naviyuk Kane, Harvard College

Joan Naviyuk Kane, Alaska

Video by Justin Saglio/Harvard Staff

TRANSCRIPT

Joan Naviyuk Kane: Some people call King Island the heart of a mountain.
My ancestors survived on King Island for millennia, but our language is facing the pressure of tremendous erasure. But I'm using my voice, my writing, and my family to preserve my heritage.

[Joan speaking in Inupiaq]

I am a writer, a teacher, and a mother.

King Island is a beautiful granitic rock that rises steeply out of the Bering Sea.

[Joan's children practice Inupiaq]

There are, I think at last official count, between 100 and 150 speakers of the King Island dialect of Inupiaq.

The language itself is important to me because my grandfather didn't ever speak a word of English. My mother, during the assimilation era, as a boarding school student, she was physically punished for speaking the Inupiaq language. She insisted to people that King Islanders had to keep our language alive. But also to honor the long tradition of our languages and our cultures.

[Joan's son singing in Inupiaq]

I started writing poetry, by hearing poetry before I knew it was a poem.

Having King Island songs and the language in me, is lyric, I think has been really important to my sensibilities as a poet, without knowing, in a way, that it was different.

I would say that I didn't really start writing poems sincerely until I was an undergraduate at Harvard. I had the experience of having my work recognized early on, with my first book, which allowed me to write subsequent five or six books of poetry.

As Inupiaq, though people we may be living far from our ancestral homelands we still have that connection to place and to each other through language. There are so many things changing, I think, for people in the arctic. There's an opportunity to really look at literature as a way to bridge divides, to speak with their family and their communities about languages that we still have access to and have not lost.

This poem is called 'Ilu'

Uluaq, ukak, niaqu?—

Inukguru?a.

Panik aakaa

Avvak.

Uyagauramik.

Maatnami imma pitaiqutuq.

Kurgit, nugi, tagiuq—

Akkuni,

Atniqtu?a.

Nalurusi.

Aakaa puuyanatu?a.

[Translation]

Cheek, tongue, headache—

I am a human being.

Daughter mother

Asunder.

A shard of rock.

Now what was is no more.

Rivers, wind, salt—

A while ago

I got hurt.

You were all unaware.

Mother I forgot.

Portrait
Alaskan poet Joan Naviyuk Kane is fiercely dedicated to sustaining her Alaska Native language, a devotion she learned from her grandmother, who as a young woman had to dig in her heels and defend its importance against an increasingly hostile English-speaking society.

Kane relates to her grandmother's tough times and challenges. No corner of the world was remote enough to escape the horrific flu pandemic of 1918. For Kane's grandmother and her sisters, the death of their parents at that time meant traveling on foot from Mary's Igloo, Alaska, their remote Inupiaq reindeer hunting camp on the Seward Peninsula, to a Catholic mission 20 miles away.

"I think they were 2, 4, and 6 when my grandmother and her older sister switched off carrying their younger sister along the Pilgrim and Kuzitrin Rivers," said Kane. "They thought that the way to survive was to get to where there might still be people living, and they knew there was a church or mission at this hot-springs location."

(Image 1) Alaskan Native poet Joan Naviyuk Kane is teaching her two sons, John and George, the Qawiaraq dialect of the Inupiaq language. (Image 2) Walrus and mastodon carvings from the Kane family. Ivory carving is a discipline handed down through generations of men in Kane's family. It is her hope that her two sons will be able to learn, but climate change has drastically affected the population of walrus, a traditional source of ivory for the Inupiaq. Stephanie Mitchell/Harvard Staff Photographer

The orphaned sisters were raised by the mission's Ursuline nuns, who taught them English, French, and Latin. But through that process, they and other Alaskan Native survivors of the pandemic remained dedicated to speaking their first language, the Qawiaraq dialect of Inupiaq.

"This is at a time when many Native people were physically beaten, even in American schools … for speaking anything other than English," said Kane. But "through this experience of having learned a number of languages, she was able to instill in King Islanders of my mother's generation a real pride in the [Inupiaq] language," said Kane. "She insisted that King Islanders keep our language alive, and … use it … to connect with others." That care and attention to culture and language carried through the following generations of Kane's family, down to her own children.

Kane returned to her alma mater this fall as a Hilles Bush Fellow at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study, and while back in Cambridge she is expanding her written work beyond poetry in a collection of essays exploring themes of indigeneity, gender, and motherhood.

Kane believes that exposing people to written Inupiaq is essential to the language's depth and influence. Her poems are written in both Inupiaq and English, and her family owns the only known written dictionaries of the dialect, which her older son is working to digitize so they can be shared within their community and far beyond.

"King Island Inupiaq is predominantly a spoken language, and I have found as I've developed in my career as a writer and as a teacher that I really have a responsibility to use the language as a written language," said Kane. "Because there are so few in-person speakers of the dialect alive, the written language can extend and reach far more people than our spoken language can."

Today, there are between 100 and 150 primary speakers of Inupiaq remaining, a number that Kane hopes will grow through carrying on and spreading her grandmother's practice of teaching the language.

"When [a] language is lost, when a word … is no longer spoken or invoked or used or remembered, in some ways that is irrecoverable," said Kane. "That said, there are so many ways to reconstruct what's lost, and I think being attentive to loss doesn't have to be devastating. It can really inform people to take action and to participate — not just keep [something] alive, but actually think about the capacity of the human imagination … to create something new."

ABOUT JOAN NAVIYUK KANE
Joan Naviyuk Kane (A.B. '00) is the author of poetry and prose collections including 'The Cormorant Hunter's Wife' (2009), 'Hyperboreal' (2013), 'The Straits' (2015), 'Milk Black Carbon' (2017), 'A Few Lines in the Manifest' (2018), 'Sublingual' (2018), and 'Another Bright Departure' (2019). Inupiaq with family from King Island (Ugiuvak) and Mary's Igloo, Alaska, Kane is the 2019-2020 Hilles Bush Fellow at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study. She was a 2018 Guggenheim Fellow in Poetry.