“The Crow Story”

by antoinette nora claypoole

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Ed Little Crowcame into my life at a time when genocide as an ongoing threat to the Diné (Navajo) near Big Mountain, Az. became a serious counter culturefocus—in the early 1980’s. Many of us in the Northwest were rallying to supportthe Diné Grandmothers who were inresistance to forced relocation. And in that support for future generationsmovement. There was always Crow. Aquiet force, like Winter water. That freezes and splits the white man’s asphalt.His resolve and shapeshifting nature swift and solid, elusive andever-vigilant. Clear,translucent. Yes. You see he is everything of inspiredparadox, untired strength. Courageand poetic grace. Open space and resonant contradiction of time and place. Hispoems, memories etch infinity. As Eddie is equally an enigma and a man ofstamina. He has survived IndianWars only he can describe. Withall the emotions being a father has nurtured. Reflecting the endlessness of ourquest for life’s significance.

For many years some folks in Ashland, Or. called him “that Chinese man” and he liked that. The ways a white world mixes up facesand places was/is humorous to Eddie. We decided it was just because he has always had that long dangling chinhair going on. O my. That peoplecouldn’t quite know if he was Lakota, Laotian or downright intergalactic. Butwe, his family, knew he was born on the “rez” in South Dakota, a Lakota, Dakotaman through and through. Hisstories about Gramma days explain that. Along with the only photo he has of hismom. Who passed away soon after the snapshot on the front cover of this bookwas taken (Crowrarely talks of how he lost his Mom but on a good day he will tell you of Tommythe dog, also in that picture). And so. Thething about Indian Country that Crow taught me was resolve. And feeling theheartbeat. Simoultaneous keys tosurvival. Folded into seriousreflection of connection. ToEarth. To Sky. All wrapped up inrainbow colored paper for everyone to open. At the same time. An Indian piñata in the madroned watershed of time. He welcomes everyoneinside the dusty road to camp.

Ed Little Crow, in the 30 years I have known him hasnever flinched from speaking truth. He explains in these pages:

I am an Indian soul

Trapped blocked by concrete forms

And chaotic carelessness

Listen and you can hear my ancestors

Voicing their discontent at the broken hoop

Atribe with out a golden dream

This collection, this book, is fused with lament, necessary rants and poetic integrity,testament to Crow’s unwavering belief that the flaws of humanity areuniversal. And skin color resolvesnothing that the human soul hasn’t already either forgotten or surmounted. As you read his words, you can hear ravens and yes a gaggleof crows. Over head. Over heart. These are realities thatlife gives Ed. And he then shareswith us. All the while. He.Dreaming. Over all these yearsreadily sharing with all who meetand have loved him. No one isforgotten. Everyone is included inCrow’s world everyone’s inside the dream. Together. Dreaming of a true world. In his language that is... A opchine wala ohkon.

antoinette nora claypoole

October 8, 2009

on my way back to Oregon

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Dreaming of a True World by Ed Little Crow

“The Crow Story”

by antoinette nora claypoole

order book