"An Indian without Reservation - Part Two" Poetry by Ralph Ianuzzi

The Poetry of Ralph Ianuzzi
February Poetry Feature

We, the First People

I'm proud to belong to one of the original clans
Whose Ancestors occupied all of these lands
Before we were "found" by some wandering seaman
Who knew just where he was and we became "Indian"

Talk to me of our victories, and I will listen
Tell me about our history, a tear will glisten
Stories of how life used to be, bring a rueful smile
Drums and flutes will find me dreaming all the while

In order to "save" us, they killed us
Our peaceful cultures were "dangerous"
And they thought they could just ravage us
But by fighting back, we became "savages."

Call us lazy indeed - we're not driven by their greed
To gather "materials" about them
But my question is
How did we exist
For hundreds of centuries without them?

The Children of Indians

I was also one of those;
The children who'd been taken then.
The punishment the white man chose
Was that their parents were forsaken them...

Because they were the children of Indians

They'd divide us so we wouldn't fight;
that's what they supposed back then.
They'd turn our red skin into white
and convert us to their religion...

Because we were the children of Indians

But listen close and you can hear
the grumbling - the eruption's near.
We've been silent but now it's time;
the earth is rumbling - the awaited sign...

For us the children of the Indians

The Panther streaks across the sky.
Tecumseh's footsteps shake the earth.
We now begin to raise the cry
to rise and fight for all we're worth...

Because we are the children of Indians.

And the Families once divided
are gathering now to fight.
'Cause we, the children, have long decided
we'd rather be Indian than white...

Because we are the children of Indians

So listen close and you can hear
the grumble of the earthquakes here.
He who's slept now gives the sign
The rumble begins - it's now our time...

We're no longer children - We're the Indians!

The Band of Arrows

Today alcoholism is nothing new
Neither are drugs - for there are many
But we Indians number very few
From Apache to Zuni - we can't lose any

Don't give in to the alcohol spirit
nor in drugs is an escape to be found
what's in your soul, your very own spirit
is what keeps your feet on the ground

This disease of our population
Was simply a means to destroy us
If we battle this scourge on our nation
The result would be something joyous

The arrow tale above all others
Teaches each can be broken with ease
But if bound together with many others
Is stronger than all our enemies

So drop the bottle and grab a hand
of someone who really cares for you
Together we'll be one strong arrow band
Instead of just a broken few

Some Folks

I've met some folks who seem well-intentioned
And show real concern when we Indians are mentioned
But it's sometimes hard to tell them apart
From those who have their own welfare at heart

There are some folks seeming to care for others
And show concern for our sisters and brothers
But why does it always surprise you to learn
That somehow they always get more in return.

They give with one hand and take with the other -
(They'd probably rob their own father and mother)
And then as soon as your back is turned,
They'll try to steal back what they said you had earned.

That is the treatment we have come to expect;
As opposite as possible from what we respect . . .
I guess they assume we won't ever react -
But watch out! We're Indians, and we will be back!

The Dream of the People

Hear the drumbeat, the ka-ching-ka-ching
of the dance bells and bear claws
see the feathers of the dancers
whirling this way and that
as the bodies in motion

Follow the intricate steps
of the dance around the fires
For "Tomorrow the hunters will take to the plains
for the winter's buffalo store"...

...Or so goes the dream of the People

The same ceremony, performed in woodlands,
For the bountiful hunting of deer;
the same for the coastal people,
And of rivers and lakes
who must canoe to the fish;

And those who would reap
The harvest that nature sires
For thus was it always, as told by our ancestors,
but pitifully, no more...

...And thus goes the dream of the People

Mother Earth can take but so much
And so, too, this People of Ours,
Before We may both retaliate as much
And take back what once was Ours.

An Indian without Reservation

Everyone I tell so - accepts me as Indian
but nobody wants me to be one.
Everyone really rejects me as Indian
the minute I try to be one.

Keep my hair short, dress just like them
Is all I've done throughout life.
The whites all want me to be just like them,
But they forget - this is my life.

Everyone knows that I'm Indian,
But this really seems to upset them
Forgive and forget that I'm Indian
Is the only way that I can live with them.

But I can't, can't you see, for I am what I am,
And what I am, dammit is Indian!
Though I was raised white American,
I've always been, and will always be...Indian.

They adopted me out just so they could change
my original certificate of birth
but try as they might, they can't rearrange
my Heritage, established at birth.

In this country I can be what I want
As long as what I want isn't Indian,
This is something I cannot flaunt
Still to some, "The only good one's a dead one."

Everyone knows that I am Indian,
And this really seems to upset them
Forgive and forget that I am Indian
Is the only way they'll let me live with them.

But I can't, can't you see, for I am what I am,
And what I am, dammit is Indian.
Though I was raised white American,
I've always been, and will always be...Indian

I can be Indian behind closed doors
And can be one amongst my kind
But if I try it amongst whites outdoors,
I'm told I'm not the right kind.

The American society existing today
can't have me there to remind them
of atrocities performed in such a way
they would rather just shove behind them.

Yet everyone knows that I am Indian,
and this really seems to upset them
Forgive and forget that I'm Indian?
If I can't be one, I won't live with them.

For I can't, can't you see? For I am what I am,
And what I am, dammit, is Indian.
Though I was raised white American,
I've always been, and will always be...Indian.

I know what I am but by law can't prove it
they claim my record can't be opened now -
That's because at adoption they sealed it
I'm supposed to accept being white now

Some of My People won't accept what I am
because I'm not from the reservation
but accept that I am because what I am
an Indian without reservation!

And everyone knows that I'm Indian,
I don't care that this really upsets them
To forgive and forget that I'm Indian?
I'd much rather live without them.

For I can't, can't you see, for I am what I am,
And what I am, bless it, is Indian.
Though raised by the white American,
I've always been, and will always be: Indian.

I Carry No Card

I don't carry a card that says I'm Indian
And it's something I may never get
I won't be shoved in a box by anyone
And though they've tried they haven't got me yet

I refuse, I guess, because of my conviction
That our ancestors never needed the thing
And I'm afraid, I guess, of a prediction
They'll brand us like they did the Jews or something

We've been restricted much too long
And been evicted much too often
And the fact is that where we belong
Is anywhere outside this coffin

In truth, they've always tried to bury us
in the hopes that we'd just disappear
but we refused to yield to the various
Attempts to drive us away from here

For here we belong and here we will stay
And as long as we accept each other
There's no need to carry a card that says
"I am Indian" to one another

(On a sad note, I now carry a card so that
I can be "counted as an Indian." Gee, I
thought I was born that way!)

In The Name Of the Future

Nuclear reactors are out there,
each of which can destroy its own state.
Underground pipelines can rupture,
learn this, before it's too late.

Bacteria and poisons are carried
by underground springs, which are pumped,
with what their technology has buried:
Nuclear and toxic wastes, which are dumped.

Gasoline tanks, medical wastes and more -
Manufacturing and chemical plants
Point to the destruction in store.
Don't they know they don't stand a chance?

So that We're not trapped with mouths agape,
Learn where and when all this can go
So that We might devise Our escape
To areas either on high or below.

We must create our own survival list,
'Cause they don't seem to have a clue.
For the world we know will cease to exist . . .
The Seers are right, the calendars true.

They've devised their own self-destruction
Which must be avoided if We're to survive,
So gather your Families and give Them instruction
Of what's needed in the world We'll revive.

The Only One of My Kind

I'm the only one of my kind right here in this big old city
All the rest of my kin are way up north and that's a pity
So I'm the only one of my kind in Philadelphia
'Cause I'm a full-blooded Potawatomi/Chippewa

It seems that all the people that live here have somebody
That they can claim as one of their own - I mean everybody
But it seems that the only person I've got here is my wife
You better believe I'll keep her close for the rest of my life

None of us Indians have much family any more
So I'm gonna hold onto what I've got forevermore
Otherwise my being here would only make me lonely
'Cause like I said I am but one - and the one and only

About the Author

Ralph Ianuzzi        My Tribal name is Sauganash Tooshkenig. I am Potawatomi- Chippewa.
       My brothers and I were forcibly removed from our parents by the then-existing policy of five Midwestern states. I was five years old, Michael was seven and Timothy was three. This policy either promoted, or at the very least, condoned, the removal of Native American children from their natural parents in order to further the process of assimilation (the deculturization of the native peoples) in order to make us more "acceptable" to the white community.

What I Have to Say        To further the insult, my brothers and I were separated. I was light-skinned and therefore could be passed off as "white" to the adoption community. My brothers, on the other hand, were dark-skinned. They were told to say they were Mexican, in order to make them more appealing to the adoption community.
       It took us thirty-five years to find each other. By that time, my father had already passed away and my mother only had a couple more years to live.
       That is my story... Thank you for reading my poetry.

To learn more about Mr. Ianuzzi's poetry, writing and original art, please visit his website, www.nativeflair.com. (Scroll down to find links to his other pages.)

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Reader's Comments

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I understand.
You are not forsaken.
You are not alone.
The creator is your author.
He holds your hand.
Michael Wilcox <treel@olm.com> - Tuesday, March 30, 2004 at 08:46:22 (EST)

My name is Noganosh Tooshkenig. I live in Southern Ontario. There is only one family by the name Tooshkenig and I am from that family. I am curious as to how you aquired your "tribal name". Also, can you give me an accurate translation of that name, Tooshkenig?

Where exactly where are you from and your roots? Who gave you that name? Please understand the reason for this inquiry. I am proud to be who I am and that is that name I will live and die by. That name belongs only to my family and I would like to know if you are actually a relation before you carry that name. My Father is the oldest living Tooshkenig that is alive.

I would really appreciate a response. I check my email on a regular basis.

on behalf of the Tooshkenig family,
N. Tooshkenig
Noganosh Tooshkenig <Noganosh@kent.net> - Saturday, October 18, 2003 at 13:34:45 (EDT)

Your poem "The Drumbeat" is amazing. At school, we have to write an essay on a poem written by a person that represents a heritage of our ancestry, so thank you for providing me with this excellent poem. The writing of the essay comes easy thanks to you.
Marissa - Monday, August 04, 2003 at 02:06:40 (EDT)

i hope u dont mind answering a question for me, what does broken arrow mean.
carol gibney <cazann55@hotmail.com>
- Sunday, November 17, 2002 at 06:20:36 (EST)

I am Ralph's adopted sister. I would like to express my great appreciation of his writings.... could you please pass my email address on to him? Thank You
Leona C. Bull <leonacaro@yahoo.com>
- Thursday, September 05, 2002 at 16:55:59 (EDT)

Most excellent work sir!
Lee Ennis <lee_ennis@afreelancewriter.com>
- Sunday, February 10, 2002 at 08:23:22 (EST)

These are strong and evocative poems. They are words of pain and anger, hope and love, for a people, a way of being. They are not easy words to read but honesty is never easy just necessary to get on with life. Thank you.
Patricia <redoaks@thunderstar.net>
- Thursday, February 07, 2002 at 12:51:09 (EST)

I live in Canada, we have a man named Charlie Smoke who has no card. He used his wife's social insurance number to get a job teaching (had no birth certificate) He wants to cross the border to and from the United States freely, no one has that right.
I found your poetry immensely moving, very well written and I applaud your work!
betty
- Tuesday, February 05, 2002 at 08:48:22 (EST)

You have not just written wonderful poetry, you have written a history lesson. Such a sad history, and you are actually a living witness to the things done in the name of 'civilisation'. So sad for your parents and I hope you get to meet lots of relations.
Cecile Hare <cecilehare@go.com>
- Sunday, February 03, 2002 at 18:55:07 (EST)

Ralph it gives me great pleasure to finally see your beautiful poetry published here on the Kudzu Monthly. I am once again moved to read these poems. They are very moving. Thank you for allowing us to share them with our readers.
LouHarper <luharper@brightok.net>
- Sunday, February 03, 2002 at 15:07:07 (EST)

Thanks for sharing your unique insight to the Native-American.
Molly <grimmysmolly@aol.com>
- Friday, February 01, 2002 at 20:24:34 (EST)

I read each one of your poems with emotion. Your talent is amazing, your nessage is important and your pride in yourself and your people is to be commended. Thank you for sharing your work.
brenda ross <brerfox@dowco.com>
- Friday, February 01, 2002 at 15:28:46 (EST)

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