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Linda Hogan

  • This land is the house / we have always lived in.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • title poem, Calling Myself Home ()
  • From my family I have learned the secrets / of never having a home.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • "Heritage," Calling Myself Home ()
  • Blessed / are those who listen / when no one is left to speak.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • "Blessing," Calling Myself Home ()
  • Death is dancing me ragged.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • "The Women Are Grieving," Eclipse ()
  • The crocodile doesn't harm the bird that cleans his teeth for him. He eats the others but not that one.

  • ... she realized that white people rarely concerned themselves with Indian matters, that Indians were the shadow people, living almost invisibly on the fringes around them, and that this shadowy world allowed for a strange kind of freedom.

  • They liked to romanticize the earlier days when they believed the Indians lived in a simple way and wore more colorful clothing than the complicated Indians who lived alongside them in the modern world. They believed the Indians used to have power. In the older, better times, that is, before the people had lost their land and their sacred places on earth to the very people who wished the Indians were as they had been in the past.

  • And there is also the paradox that the dominating culture imbues the Indian past with great meaning and significance; it is valued more because it is seen as part of the past. And it is the romantic past, not the present, that holds meaning and spiritual significance for so many members of the dominating culture. It has seemed so strange to me that the larger culture, with its own absence of spirit and lack of attachment for the land, respects these very things about Indian traditions, without adopting those respected ways themselves.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • "The Sacred Seed of the Medicine Tree," in Northern Lights ()
  • Poetry is a string of words that parades without a permit.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • in Janet Sternburg, ed., The Writer on Her Work, vol. 2 ()
  • Once a century, all of a certain kind of bamboo flower on the same day. Whether they are in Malaysia or in a greenhouse in Minnesota makes no difference, nor does the age or size of the plant. They flower. Some current of an inner language passes between them, through space and separation, in ways we cannot explain in our language. They are all, somehow, one plant, each with a share of communal knowledge.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • in Lorraine Anderson, ed., Sisters of the Earth ()
  • We make art out of our loss.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • "Making Do" (1986), Braided Lives ()
  • I resented my mother for guessing my innermost secrets. She was like God, everywhere at once knowing everything.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • "Aunt Moon's Young Man," in Susan Cahill, ed., Growing Up Female ()
  • It is, perhaps, the darkest pain of the contemporary human that we are losing everything of true worth from this world. In all the four directions, the animals are leaving. Through our failed humanity they are vanishing, and along with them we are losing something of utmost importance: the human traits of love, empathy, and compassion. As we lose the animals, it is not only clear that our own health will soon follow, but some part of our inner selves knows that we are losing what brings us to love and human fullness. Our connection with them has been perhaps the closest thing we have had to a sort of grace.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • "First People," in Linda Hogan, Deena Metzger, and Brenda Peterson, eds., Intimate Nature: The Bond Between Women and Animals ()
  • There is a place where the human enters dream and myth, and becomes a part of it, or maybe it is the other way around when the story grows from the body and spirit of humankind. In any case, we are a story, each of us, a bundle of stories, some as false as phantom islands but believed in nevertheless. Some might be true.

  • Poetry has its own laws speaking for the life of the planet. It is a language that wants to bring back together what the other words have torn apart.

    • Linda Hogan
  • Daughters, the women are speaking / They arrive / over the wise distances / on perfect feet. / Daughters, I love you.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • "The Women Speaking," in Rayna Green, ed., That's What She Said: Contemporary Poetry and Fiction by Native American Women ()
  • The moon grows layer on layer / across iced black water.

    • Linda Hogan,
    • "Red Clay," Dark. Sweet.: New & Selected Poems ()

Linda Hogan, Chickasaw-U.S. poet, writer, playwright, environmentalist


Full name: Linda K. Hogan