Feeling a little Gay

When you read, or doing anything for that matter, you fall back on your own experiences as a frame of reference. While reading "A House Made of Dawn" I had noticed a few things that had piqued my interest. I didn't feel like bringing them up in class though because as a part of a minority you do not want to seem like the person that is harping on issues. When the issue of homosexuality came up in class, yet again, I failed to bring up my views on the matter. There was some observations that I had with my reading that I thought fell in line with the issue that was brought up durring class.
The first thing that jumped out at me was the sex scene between Abel and Angela. The scene is written in Momaday's usual descriptive manner. This makes the issue of the language regarding Abel even more interesting. The way the he views here is almost clinical. On page 57 his description is one that puts me in mind of the way that one would describe a horse rather than someone who you are about to inter into sexual contact with. This weird tension comes back with the sex scene between Abel and Milly. The part that jumped out at me was the questioning after the act. He asks her "Did you like it Milly? It was good again, wasn't it, Milly?" He has to ask, he has to be reassured of his sexual prowess. None of this is that unusual or weird for a heterosexual man.
The issues that really makes me question Abel is the interaction with the White Man. He kills him, in a rather brutal manner. There is a odd moment after Abel first attacks the albino where he reaches for him " Abel heard the strange excitement of the white man's breath, and the quick, uneven blowing in his ear, and felt the blue shivering lips upon him, felt even the scales of the lips and the hot slippery point of the tongue." What was the White Man trying to do? Seems pretty homoerotic, no?
I do not think that Abel is "gay". I do however think that there is some deep questions that he has to answer for himself. Maybe he is scared of his own sexuality. Maybe he is bisexual, maybe certain aspects the male physique are erotic for him. It does not really matter. What matters is that Abel is insecure, he is insecure and scared. So scared that he as to take extreme measures to distance himself from them, even going as far as killing a person. There are many aspects of himself that he does not understand. Instead of trying to answer some of these question for himself he turns that mystery into fear and self loathing, aiming the anger inwards in increasing self destructive behavior that reflects outwards onto the people that try and help him.

Feilds

I grew up at the top of the valley, where the Cascades break off into the Costal Ranges and the Sierra Nevadas. While these stunning mountains are part of the skyline of my memory the foothills that lead to them are my idea of home.
Something about the rolling hills that my hometown was nestled in always have always intrigued and fascinated me. They stretch out from me towards the mountains slowly building up on each other to the base of the dark peaks. They are full of mystery, hiding ghost towns and dry river beads. There is a stoicism there. This is the land as it was, as it has been, and as it continues to be. It is empty and vast only broken in its silent waves by tiny ribbons of concrete that meander thoughts its hills and valleys. Dry as a bone they flow like water, one building from the next waving away like the sea. Vast yet ending. They call to me. In my weakest time I retreat into them. Driving with no real direction, just towards a sense of isolation.
The colors rotate throughout the year, changing with the season. The rich emerald of spring burns quickly away, giving in to out predominate season, summer. The color matures, creamy gold dominates the landscape, folded upon itself in infinity, dotted with the dusty green of the creeks oasis. From far away the hills are as smooth as velvet. The drawn out heat of summer leads into the chill of fall, not much changes out in the hills. First rain. The brittle stalks of star thistle loose the last of their color and stand gray and lifeless among the stripped scrub oaks. The sense of death is short lived. In the dark of winter life starts again. Lime and verbena shades dust the hills. The green grows low to the ground, huddling under its dead relatives, waiting. Waiting for the sun, waiting to grow into richer shades of green once again. 
This cycle continues as I move away, and I am always drawn back to it.

Anchorage

One aspect of Joy Harjo's poem "Anchorage" that really interested me was the connections to the elements that she uses. The first stanza lays out the scene in relation to these aspects. "The Chugatch Mountains to the wast and the whale and seal to the west." Here she orients the readers. She is using not only using the physical element of the mountains but also the element of nature with the placing of the larger sea mammals.  She reinforces the importance of the elements with the second half of the stanza. Her illusion to the glaciers as "ghosts" and their ability to shape the landscape goes beyond the physical aspects of what they can do. She uses them to represent the break between past and present, nature and urban. They represent the power of nature, when it is allowed to exist. Throught the poem she returns to the idea of the elements representing nature. She speaks of fire, "boiling earth cracked open", air, "another ocean we can't see" in addition to the earth and water of the first stanza. These images are juxtaposed with gritty urban vignettes to highlight the battle between the two. The forces of nature versus the "progress" of man. 

I am not good at this

So I totally posted this on the wrong blog...oops 
I really enjoyed the readings from this week. The poems were an interesting departure from more classical literature that had previously been covered. Both the poems share some commonalaties but each have their own tone and voice.
Both of these poems deal with the issues of misconceptions about native Americans and the issues that  arise from that ignorance every day. The first poem by Diane Burns is the softer of the two. It takes a dryer more sarcastic tone to Chrystos poem, which is filled with rage and desolation. Both writers deal with the struggle of overcoming deep stereotypes within and through their work. They both utilizes a dark humor that at times seems a bit macabre.
We are supposed to write about how we personally relate to these works. I do not think that I can honestly do that. I do not have any experience with what these two people have gone through. I have never been brutally and systematically discriminated against. I can not empathize with them. That does not however mean that I don't care. That raw nerve that these poems get to is amazing. I might not be able to understand their situation but I can understand exhaustion, I can understand rage, I can understand isolation and fear. These poems reach more than just people who can understand, they reach to the heart of what makes us human.