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DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. What is an anchorage?
2. What city is the poem about? Why is it made of stone, blood,
and fish?
3. Is the landscape created by the author attractive? Prove your
impression.
4. Describe the pictures of the city given by the author in your own
words and comment on their symbolic meaning.
5. What happens as the author is walking down the 4th Avenue?
6. What is the 6th Avenue associated with in the poem?
7. What do the last four lines mean? How do they summarize the
meaning of the whole poem?
8. What is the message the poet wants to convey?
9. What is the role of metaphors and epithets in the poem?
10. How are the problems of race and ethnicity treated in the poem?
11. How is the poem related to A Litany for Survival?
12. Does Joy Harjo agree with the author of A Litany? Which of
the poems is more optimistic? Why?
WRITING
Both A Litany for Survival and Anchorage for Audre Lords speak
about the survival of those who was never meant to survive. Write a
short comparative essay about the two poems paying attention to the
problems of race and ethnicity.
TEXT 4
STILL I RISE
by M. Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
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Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
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Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Who the speaker in the poem?
2. Whom does the poet address?
3. What hardships and difficulties of life are described in the poem?
4. What is meant by the phrase: “I am a black ocean, leaping and
wide”?
5. What were the gifts inherited from the ancestors referred to in
the line: “Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave”?
6. What characteristics of Black culture can be found in the poem?
7. Comment on the phrase: “I am the dream and the hope of the
slave.”
8. Does the refrain “I Rise” make the poem sound as an oath/a
creed? Why/Why not?
9. What is the message of the poem?
10. How does the structure of the poem contribute to the poet’s aim?
11. What similes and comparisons make the poem especially
expressive?
12. What is the role of metaphors in the poem? Give examples.
13. Does this poem have anything in common with M. L. King’s
speech “I Have a Dream”? Prove your point by providing examples.
ASSIGNMENT
Prepare a very good reading of the poem. Learn the poem by heart.
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TEXT 5
A HAIRCUT
by I. S. Nakata
Indians mistake me for one or their own; in Chinatown they give
me a menu written in Chinese; and once even a Japanese kid asked me
if I was Korean. My ancestors are full-blooded Japanese, but I have
had to get used to people thinking I’m something else.
Like that time I went to the barber college on North Clark Street
for my cut-rate haircut. It’s a place where student-barbers get on-thejob training, and that’s where I met this guy. He was last in line, and
he kept staring at me as I walked in. I just stared back.
Finally he smiled and said with a southern drawl straight out of
Alabama, “Say, you’re Indian, aren’t you?”
I looked into the long mirror on the opposite wan. “No,” I told the
guy, “I’m not an Indian.”
“Not an Indian?” Alabama said. “I would have sworn you were.”
“I’m not.”
Alabama shook his head and said, “You can’t fool me. I’ve been
all over the country. Seen all kinds of Indians. Cherokees in the
Carolinas and Georgia and Alabama. Navajos in Arizona and New
Mexico, Winnehagos in Wisconsin, and even some Shastas once in
the mountains of California. I know you’re some kind of Indian.” I
shook my head, crossed my arms in front of my chest, and took a deep
breath. “No.”
“Cherokee?”
“No, not Cherokee.”
“Not Sioux, are you?”
“Never been in North or South Dakota,” I said.
“Winnebago?”
I didn’t answer. I knew a lot about the Winnebagos. After World
War II at an Army post just outside Paris, I had met a Winnebago
Indian from Black River Falls, Wisconsin. Jameson, I think his name
was. A medic. And in the week or so that we were at the Army post
we spent a lot of time talking and eating. Every night we would go
and buy a couple of long loaves of bread fresh from the baker’s oven,
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and we would eat and talk for hours. He made me promise to visit him
in Wisconsin when I got back to the States.
“That’s God’s country — where the Winnebagos live,” I told
Alabama. “Plenty of hunting and fishing, especially for muskellunge.”
“Muskellunge, hub?” Alabama said. He looked impressed.
“Yeah, muskellunge. Most people call them muskies. Good eating,
too. Salted, fried, or broiled in the ashes of hickory wood.”
“Wish you was there, huh, Chief?”
“Yeah, nice place,” I said.
“So you’re a Winnebago?” he said with a happy nod.
“I never said that. I am not a Winnebago.” I turned away.
“Now, now, Chief. Don’t get mad,” Alabama said. “I’m your
friend. Yes, sir, I’m truly your friend. I’ve worked with Indians and
helped lots of them working for Standard Oil. The reason I thought
you were a Winnebago is because you know so much about them.”
“I don’t know so much.”
“You do. You sure do, Chief.” He looked slyly around and then
lowered his voice. “You running away from here, Chief? Maybe from
the police?”
“I AM NOT RUNNING AWAY FROM THE POLICE,” I told him.
“Okay, Chief,” be said quickly. “I didn’t mean no harm.”
For a long time Alabama didn’t say anything. Some of the guys
ahead of us moved up in line and we moved along, too. Soon Alabama
had a choice of sitting or standing. He sat down on the bench and slid
over to make room for me. Then he began again.
“So you’re not a Winnebago, huh?”
I didn’t answer him.
“Crow?”
“No, I am not a Crow,” I said very sharply, although I had nothing
against that tribe.
He rubbed his chin with his left hand and thought hard. “Arapaho?”
I shook my head.
“Navajo, then?”
I smiled. The Navajos were a tribe that I’d be proud to be part of.
Great weavers, great in handicrafts, and among the best when it came
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to farming. I’d once gone to an art school in Kansas City with Custer
Begay — a Navajo and a fine artist. I started thinking about Custer
and his beautiful drawings of Indians on horseback. Then I
remembered some of the great times we’d had and I began to laugh.
Alabama slapped his knee and said, “You’re a Navajo! From
Arizona!”
This guy would not give up!
“Well,” I said with a sigh, “I was once on a reservation in
Arizona.”
I really had been, too. I’d been sent to live in a relocation camp for
Japanese-Americans during World War II, before I volunteered for the
Army.
Alabama’s eyes lit up. “I knew it! You couldn’t fool me. What
reservation was it, Chief?”
“Poston, Arizona,” I said, remembering the internment camp. “On
the Colorado River.”
“I mean,” Alabama moaned, “what tribe was it?”
“Nipponese. We were scattered a bit until Uncle Sam gathered us
up and put us all together again.”
Alabama nodded a couple of times. “Well, I sure do think that was
the best thing to do, having the government look after you all.
Nipponese, eh? That must very small tribe. Never heard of it, Chief.”
I had enjoyed my joke. Alabama wanted something else, but I
wasn’t going to be anyone else but myself.
“A Nipponese is a Japanese. I am Japanese.” I spoke slowly,
feeling a little self-conscious as I wondered how I am supposed to say
I am what I am.
Alabama rubbed his chin and looked puzzled. “Jap, eh? Wouldn’t
think it to look at you. You could pass for Indian any day.”
“Japanese,” I said.
“Sure, sure, Jap-a-nees. Japanese. But you were born in the U.S.A.,
weren’t you? You can’t talk American like that without your being
born here.”
“I was born in Hawaii.”
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“Well, you’re American like the rest of us, then. A man should be
proud of what he is. Aren’t you?”
Did I sense a threatening tone in his voice?
“I am pleased that I am who I am, Alabama,” I told him. “It’s good
to be alive.”
“Sure is, all right,” he said. “But you’re wrong about me. I don’t
come from Alabama.”
“No?”
“No!” He stood up because it was finally his turn to get a haircut.
“I’m from Georgia,” he said in a loud voice, and proud of it.
“Sorry I made the mistake,” I told him. Then I shrugged.
For the life of me I couldn’t see what difference it made if he came
from Georgia or Alabama.
NOTES ON THE STORY
southern drawl — the stress and intonation pattern of speech used
by people born and raised in the American South
muskellunge — a variety of trout
a relocation camp for Japanese-Americans — during World
War II, Americans of Japanese ancestry were confined to special
camps because of security concerns
Nipponese — Japanese
Jap — socially stigmatized term for people of Japanese origin
CULTURAL ASSOCIATIONS
Look up the following entries in the Dictionary of U. S. Life and
Culture (Жизнь и культура США: Лингвострановедческий
словарь) or other dictionaries and encyclopedias:
Arapaho
Arizona
Carolinas, the: North Carolina and South Carolina
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Cherokee
Chief
Colorado River
Crow
Hawaii
Indian
medic
Navajo
New Mexico
North Dakota
Shasta
Sioux
South Dakota
Standard Oil
Uncle Sam
Winnebago
Wisconsin
COMPREHENSION CHECK
Some of the statements below are true and some are false.
Choose the false statements and say why they are incorrect.
1. The narrator’s ancestors are full-blooded Japanese.
2. The barber college is a place where professional barbers get on-
the-job training.
3. The man at the barber college was from Alabama.
4. The man thought that the narrator was an Indian.
5. The narrator had traveled all over the South and North Dakota.
6. Muskellunge can be salted, fried, or boiled in the ashes of
hickory wood.
7. ‘Alabama’ thought the narrator was a criminal hiding away
from the police.
8. The Navajos are a tribe good at handicrafts and farming.
9. The narrator said he was a Nipponese.
10. The narrator was born in Georgia.
11. His interlocutor came from Alabama.
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DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. What are your feelings about the narrator and the man he meets
at the barber college?
2. How would you describe the narrator’s attitude to ‘Alabama’?
3. What difficult past experiences does the narrator mention?
4. How does he feel about his past life?
5. Why doesn’t the narrator disclose his ethnic identity at once?
What is his attitude towards it?
6. Judging by the story, how are Native Americans treated in the
U.S.A.?
7. In what way are the narrator and ‘Alabama’ similar?
8. Does it make a difference whether a person comes from Georgia
or Alabama?
9. What is a stereotype?
10. Can we say that both the narrator and his interlocutor are
guilty of stereotyping?
11. How does it feel to be judged on the basis of a stereotype?
Have you ever had such an experience?
TEXT 6
SURE YOU CAN ASK ME A PERSONAL QUESTION
by Diane Burnes
How do you do?
No, I am not Chinese.
No, not Spanish.
No, I am American Indi — uh, Native American.
No, not from India.
No, not Apache.
No, not Navajo.
No, not Sioux.
No, we are not extinct.
Yes, Indian.
Oh?
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So that’s where you got those high cheekhones.
Your great grandmother, huh?
An Indian Princess, huh?
Hair down to there?
Let me guess. Cherokee?
Oh, so you’ve had an Indian friend?
That close?
Oh, so you’ve had an Indian lover?
That tight?
Oh, so you’ve had an Indian servant?
That much?
Yeah it was awful what you guys did to us.
It’s real decent of you to apologize.
No, I don’t know where you can get Navajo rugs real cheap.
No, I didn’t make this. I bought it at Bloomingdales.
Thank you. I like your hair too.
I don’t know if anyone knows whether or not Cher is really Indian.
No, I didn’t make it rain tonight.
Yeah. Uh-huh. Spirituality.
Uh-huh. Yeah. Spirituality. Uh-huh, Mother
Earth. Yeah. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Spirituality.
No, I didn’t major in archery.
Yeah, a lot or us drink too much.i
Some or us can’t drink enough.i
This ain’t no stoic look."1
This is my face.
CULTURAL ASSOCIATIONS
Look up the following entries in the Dictionary of U. S. Life and
Culture (Жизнь и культура США: Лингвострановедческий
словарь) or other dictionaries and encyclopedias:
Apache
Bloomingdales
Native American
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