Map to the Next World

Joy Harjo

In her latest collection _A Map to the Next World: poetry and tales_, Joy Harjo appears to be losing her best poetic voice and falling into the trap of expediency. There are moments where her abilities shine, but for the most part this collection reads more like a collection of journal entries to herself.

I've noticed lately how there's a trend with many established poets to move away from stanzaic form, or even traditional prosaic forms of poetry and create narrative snippets or observations. I know this is still considered poetry, but part of me feels these pieces are coppouts and instead of taking the time to shape the mud and glaze of the images, they just throw the darn thing into the kiln and call it good. This is what I'm seeing with Harjo's work, lately.

She has reached a state where her message has completely gotten in the way of her creating poetry. I'd read pieces where she has given extremely meaningful titles, such as "twins meet up with monsters in the glittering city," "there is no such thing as a one-way land bridge," or "Returning from the Enemy," or "In the beautiful perfume and stink of the world," expecting poems filled with images and passages that will blow the top of my head off and leave me feeling something. Instead, I felt absolutely nothing and I found myself saying: seen it, heard it, done it, am it... what great wisdom do you wish to convey to me?

There were several points where she completely put me off, such as the pieces about her grandchild's birth. At times it seemed as if she felt this child was the Indigenous Savior and that no other birth in the world was as easy and pleasant and that no other child had "Old Soul" eyes. It felt as though Joy was regressing from the voices she found in _She Had Some Horses..._ and _In Mad Love and War_ to a "Young Soul" voice, and perhaps this is why I found it annoying and I grew impatient. I noticed her voice shifting in her collection _The Woman Who Fell From the Sky._

I found this collection to be very disappointing and frustrating, because there are moments when you think: now that could have been a good poem. And you know she has it in her. It's because of this that I kept on reading, hoping to see a jewel. But alas, it seems that Joy is searching for something and not quite sure if she wants to be a Jazz saxophonist, vocalist, poet, teacher, wanderer or Elder. Or she wants to be them all, but she can't make up her mind which one to risk the most on.