Indian Trains

These are some beautiful and moving poems. The pattern of language, the vividness of the images, there is so much to love in here. So glad I finally picked this one up.

I cannot think of praise high enough for these poems. The specificity of sound creates a highly intimate vocal experience in the reading, particularly aloud. So many of these poems vary on the prose format, and they are lovely. Some absolute favorites are "YOU DIDN'T WANT A DOLLAR YOU WANTED ME" and "COLFAX RESERVATION BLUES". This book of poems was transformational for me, and I think that those reading it will agree.

While in Durango, Colorado I came across an amazing independent bookstore, Maria's Bookstore, where I picked up Indian Trains by Erika T. Wurth (Apache/Chicksaw/Cherokee). Her poetry has appeared in several literary magazines, as the poems from this collection appeared in Boulevard. Wurth's work is full of devastation with the chance of renewal, but is also filled with biting humor. In fact, her first poem is called "Grandma was a Beat Poet": "Grandmother / was an Indian beat / poet // her daddy worked on the railroad // yes that same railroad / that beat his city Indian heart to death." The confessional, yet surprising, tone continues throughout the work. There is a sense of urgency to tell her stories, the stories of family and of being Indian, as in "As a Ruby": "She was tiny, precise and beautiful as a ruby, my sister...she wanted it all, and deserved it, her wild arms reaching for everything, and coming home, empty as the tank of gas in her car, always almost breaking down, but making it home, just in time to catch that last Indian train out of town." Wurth's heartbreaking wishes come through, the wishes for American Indians, as in "Time to Dance": "I want our lives to be a fancydance, for every Indian to run straight into the imagination without stopping for a drink first." Another of Wurth's strengths is how she portrays and works out of the idea of "place." Her poems are mile-makers of the places she's lived and left, like in "Colfax Reservation Television": "In this city / love comes cheap / and in a bag." Her poems follow the motions of moving, in and out of Durango, in and out of hopes and dreams: "Walking home in Durango, a prayer in the middle of the night, waiting silently for the dawn." Most of all, Wurth's use of poetic language and irony are raw and intense, like in "How to Finance an Illusion": "If eyes are windows to the soul, the house is empty and dad's drunk again....His family sits in the living room, waiting for just enough money to finance our illusions." This is the first book of a poet I hope to read more from, someone who is daring enough to open up an often unsung American scene. I am thankful that her voice shines.(This appears in September 2009's seveneightfive, too.)

Just loved it.