Whipped Cream

after 11 inches of new snow

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

IMG_0513

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Podcast 7 of Tribal College History

The Tribal College Journal has just published podcast 7 of Christine Reidhead’s sessions with me about tribal college and university history.  This podcast is primarily about Verna Fowler and I founding the College of the Menominee Nation in Northern Wisconsin.  The link:

Our History: Memories of the Tribal College Movement (Podcast 7)

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Unusual Landscape

a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Unusual Landscape

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Mammals

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

They tried to tell us
you didn’t have souls—
but I knew better.

Your eyes showed it.
Your sense of humor
spoke it.

The way you took care
of your young
screamed it.

They tried to tell us
you didn’t have souls,
but I knew better.

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Print

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Winter, with bellowing cheeks,
blew and spat ice and snow
across the fields and streams,
across the woods and sides of lakes,
leaving a jagged and spiked print—

Like the Australian Aborigine
who puffed out his cheeks
and spat minerals
across his hand
in a cave on a wall,
leaving his print for humanity.

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Review of Under the Tail of the Milky Way Galaxy

Carolyn Kane, the author of an award winning novel, Taking Jenny Home, a Professor Emeritus of English at Culvert-Stockton College in Canton, Missouri, just reviewed Ethel’s book, Under the Tail of the Milky Way Galaxy, for the Peninsula Pulse.  The review can be read here:

https://doorcountypulse.com/review-under-the-tail-of-the-milky-way-galaxy-by-ethel-mortenson-davis.

In the review Kane says that “Davis’ poems might be described as extended haiku because their images are sharp and spare, and because they contain the element of contrast that a reader should expect in a well-crafted haiku.”  It is a wonderful review.

Underthewaycover.jpg

 

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Poetry

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I will call you dignity.
You are my mother.
You elevate our character.
And I will call you generosity;
you are my father.
You give us a largeness
that frees us from small meanness.

As for you, humanity,
I will call you lost.
Remember when you said,
“What good is poetry?”
“I cannot shape it into a vessel
and drink water out of it.”
“I cannot form it into a purse
and hold my money in it.”

Now, my lost one,
you have fallen into a hole.
You are on your hands and knees,
calling in the darkness
for your mother and father,
calling for poetry to be written.

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