(Page 13)
Summer is the time to go harvesting
to go breathe underwater
like otters
it’s the time for braving extreme colds
that aren’t so extreme at home
here the earth has remained living and
moist
not like on your skyscraper streets
here the earth takes sun showers
it still feeds on its light
in summer we take out the pales for
raspberries
with the hope of finding some that are
blue
of bequeathing the speed of visions to our
dreams
and to the colours of summer that they get
lost in them
since the earth is still feeding
it absorbs heat so that we may find the
cool
that’s why you’ll still see
our skirts and our hats
even in the middle of July
Pages 30-31
My language threaded its way between the
trees
it formed itself within the curves and
crannies of the territory
just like Innu Assi, it is imperfect
of a rigid nimbleness and of dead colours
it is everything this Earth has given it
it has constructed itself through the wind
and seasons
it has fed on the perfumes of lichen
and of the evening calm
it has forged its limbs
with the lakes and the rivers
it has taken refuge behind the wisdom of
stars
it has fled when captivity was too close
by
your language built itself within history
through the remorse and the bad luck
it was hardened and contracted
so that it may lay the appropriate pomp
your language had to flee from its palace
to stake a claim to evasion
I take your language to speak about my own
since for so long there has been a war
without end, yours becomes stronger
it hides behind a curtain
of weakness and of fear
but my language is porous
it is wood and mud
it has no restrictions
it will not put on airs for you
it is the sound of the lamprey
it has neither label nor manoeuvre
while my language has fewer words than
yours
and you are so proud of this
know that the words we are missing
do not come from this Earth that also
shelters you.
Page 57
I look at your blonde hair
and your sunglasses
and you – you stare at my hands
as if I had gotten into a fight
that’s just the skin of Nitassinan
that’s just the song of the territory
the frequencies you are hearing
do not come from the river or from the
asphalt
they are coming from inland
where I cannot go
since the perils are too great
for my young years
eukuan ne, that’s just what I’m trying to
tell you
a smiling people whose smile is wounded
a people of all the sorrows held up by the
beauty of the world
the greatest treasure with a sordid past
a sky of gold and a soul of morbidity
you were told that it was rough
and you thought you were ready
but I can see you hiding your tears
behind that good ally mask.
Pages 69-70
An Innu song
is the closest a man will get
to his wounds
since he is good, tall, and strong
he has the full thickness of his armour
the voices that vibrate throughout the
Nation
are those of the men who speak for the
others
and in a form of symbiosis
the words travel across the whole
Nitassinan
from Natuashish to Mashteuiatsh
they tell us the stories of broken hearts
chilled by the ice and the tundra
they tell us the vibrations of the wild
earth
and of its unknown crannies
or frenzied legends
and myths around the fire
I will give them to you
since in a way
they are all I have left
of what you are asking of me
I don’t have much left of these roots
aside from the extremities that teem
with chords and melodies
it is not much
but I give myself to you, naked and
emptied
the voices that cradled me, so little
the wounds of men in captivity.
see Jérôme Melançon's review of Alexis Vollant's Nipinapunan here
Multi-talented artist Alexis Vollant hails from the Innu community of Pessamit, in the Côte-Nord region of Québec. Mostly active in the musical and literary realms as a pianist, baritone, composer, arranger, chorister, writer and poet, he offers a new voice for Indigenous arts in Québec and in Canada.
Beyond his musical life, Alexis is also a poet. In May of 2023, his first poetry collection called Nipinapunan was published by Éditions Hannenorak. The work was received with good enthusiasm in Québec. He was a guest writer at the Acadian Poetry Festival (2023 Edition) which took place in Caraquet, New-Brunswick. He is currently working on a novel manuscript with the financial aid of the Canada Council for the Arts.
Jérôme Melançon writes and teaches and writes and lives in oskana kâ-asastêki / Regina, SK. His third chapbook is Bridges Under the Water (2023) was published with above/ground press, as were Tomorrow’s Going to Be Bright (2022) and Coup (2020). His most recent poetry collection is En d’sous d’la langue (Prise de parole, 2021), and he has also published two books of poetry with Éditions des Plaines, De perdre tes pas (2011) and Quelques pas quelque part (2016), as well as one book of philosophy, La politique dans l’adversité (Metispresses, 2018). He has edited books and journal issues, and keeps publishing academic articles that have nothing to do with any of this. He’s on various social media under variations of @lethejerome.