The Memory Field – Jake Skeets
Emergence Magazine Podcast
Emergence Magazine
4.7 • 627 Ratings
🗓️ 1 December 2020
⏱️ 31 minutes
🧾️ Download transcript
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| 0:00.0 | Welcome to Emergence Magazine's podcast. I'm Emanuel Vaughn Lee, executive editor of Emergence |
| 0:08.1 | magazine, located on the unseated ancestral lands of the Coast Mewalk people of present-day |
| 0:14.7 | Marin County. Each week, we feature a new interview, narrated essay, or story, exploring the threads connecting ecology, culture, and spirituality. |
| 0:31.6 | Jake Skeets is Black Streak Wood, born for Water's Edge. He is Denei from Vanderwagon, New Mexico, and the author of the Poetry Collection, |
| 0:42.3 | Eyes Bottled Dark with a Mouthful of Flowers, winner of the National Poetry Series, |
| 0:47.3 | and the American Book Award. |
| 0:50.3 | In this essay, Jake offers a Dene perspective of time, memory, and land. |
| 0:57.0 | As he reveals a new realm of depth and relationship in our memories, which are woven within |
| 1:02.0 | both time and land, he conjures a deep reverence for the spaces we remember and explores the fields |
| 1:09.0 | of memory that can unfold through language and storytelling. |
| 1:17.6 | Yacht E. Matthew Jake Skiy's in the Shia. |
| 1:22.6 | So now Jinnin the Shlin, to go by and Bashes Chin, |
| 1:25.6 | Tchini Daschette, or two-gojind dash nila. |
| 1:29.3 | Memory is a touchy thing, and I mean that in the realest sense. |
| 1:36.3 | The earliest memory I have is of my hand feeling the chin stubble of an older man. |
| 1:42.3 | The room is evening lit. My hand reaches out and I |
| 1:48.0 | graze the chin's prickly skin. The older man smiles. I can't see his entire face. I don't |
| 1:57.0 | recognize the house we are in, but it feels like a small home. I see the color red, but I don't recognize the house we are in, but it feels like a small home. |
| 2:01.6 | I see the color red, but I don't know what in the room is red. |
| 2:07.6 | Maybe it's the man's jacket, made of a shiny fabric with a red band across the back and chest. |
| 2:16.6 | I hear no sound, taste no thing, and I smell no distinct |
| 2:22.3 | aroma. I can only feel the rugged chin and my hand gliding across it. Then the smile of the man. |
... |
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