Rita Bouvier
Rita Bouvier
Biography
Rita is a Metis writer from Saskatchewan. Her third book of poetry, nakamowin’sa for the seasons (Thistledown Press, 2015) was the 2016 Sask Book Awards winner of the Rasmussen, Rasmussen & Charowsky Aboriginal Peoples’ Writing Award. Rita’s poetry has appeared in literary anthologies, journals – print and online, musicals, and television productions, and has been translated into Spanish, German and Cree-Michif of her home community of sakitawak - Île-à-la-Crosse situated on the historic trading and meeting grounds of Cree and Dene people.
Rita is a retired educator who served in various leadership capacities locally, nationally and internationally. She was awarded an Eagle Feather from her Awasis peers, in 2006, the Saskatchewan Teachers’ Federation Arbos Award for her contribution to the teaching profession in 2007, and the national Indspire Award for Education in 2014. Rita has contributed as researcher, editor and author to essays, reports and books on education, highlighting the experiences of Indigenous people.
Poetics Statement
““poetry is the fate/ of a silver fox/ now stretched inside-out/ conforming to the shape/ of its wooden frame/ the insider layer of skin/ exposed transparent/ traces of wounds/ tissue hardened/ a healing of some sort/ a lifeline rich/ yet ordinary.”
I was born “into the world” speaking the Cree-Michif of my home community of Île-à-la-Crosse. I heard sounds and mimicking them I learned words had power to connect me with a world outside of myself, human and otherwise. Connecting thoughts to words, and words to thoughts and harnessing my imagination, I learned words had power to create and/or transport me to unfamiliar worlds, thereby gaining a sense consciousness of life around me. I learned words could be strung together to create a story with either a positive or negative consequence. I learned words had power to make sense with others and to make things happen. In all these ways, I learned words were powerful.
My poetic practise—content, form and the stylistic devices I employ—is an expression of my own humanity. “I am a Metis woman/ a modern woman/ in the process of …” becoming human. As a creative act, my writing is a response to “this one life.” It is also a means of transcending the material and imaginative failures of my time. Employing two languages and worldviews, I write to tell a larger story, one that is filled with love for family, community, and this place I know. I do so by remembering knowledge passed down to me, by dreaming, by gathering strength and reconciling what has happened and is happening in our communities and to the natural environment, and by rejoicing in the life around me. I often find myself returning to place and to the sounding—the music of our mother’s movement and voice. All I can be is in awe of her power. Humbled. ”
Sample of Poet's Work
when time and space collapse
I think words
are extensions of ourselves
not inherently moral.
deed a language
of the body
that tells the truth.
as light shifts
I am saved by the darkness.
I think only of
what is possible
and not what is
an abyss of hatred.
tonight, I stand
in the shadows
dark alleys of time
where I can see clearly
the lies.
tonight, I am tired
Rosa Parks tired
of giving in
to polite conversation.
tonight, I reach
beyond the stars
of the great beyond.
tonight, I am
part of the great mystery.
Blueberry Clouds. Saskatoon, SK: Thistledown Press, 1999.
November sky
(upon reading Louis Riel & Gabriel Dumont by Joseph Boyden)
driving home at dusk, billowing white clouds
are painting themselves against a grey sky.
I never pass this way without checking in
on the frozen rider on the riverbank
of the south Saskatchewan—flowing swiftly by.
on most days he rides motionless;
perhaps, it’s just a state of mind.
tonight, he is draped in a flag of blue white infinity,
a Metis sash gracing his waist, flapping in the wind.
oh, how my heart quickens now to see
his horse galloping long and graceful strides
in time with the billows of a living sky;
the rider in rhythmic stride with his horse.
tonight, even the flag and the sash adorning him
cannot be contained in this November sky.
outnumbered he rides relentlessly
never afraid of a fight he prays to the Virgin Mary
his friend Louis will be saved from the gallows.
nakamowin’sa for the seasons. Saskatoon, SK: Thistledown Press, 2015.
Ernestine remembers
when the battle was over
we remained in hiding
along the river valley
the river, our life blood.
unsure,
what would become of us.
unsure,
what was in store,
now and in the future?
les Canadiens military force under General Middleton
had destroyed
what little we owned,
stolen precious items
from our humble homes
never to be returned.
some may say that
all is fair in war
then, perhaps it’s true.
we knew Gabriel and Riel
if they were alive
would be taken as prisoners.
there would be
no one to speak for us
against a power
that seemed relentless.
â nikiskisin, nîsta but I remember, too
on that first night
after the battle of Batoche
no sooner had we
made a bed of straw
to settle for the long night
the younger ones
crying from hunger
when Dumont appeared
out of nowhere
as he had done
throughout the battle.
he held out for all to see
little moccasins
which he had sewn.
his hands raised
over his head
as if it were an offering
to kisî-man’tô the kind, loving Creator
he claimed, thus, making it so
that while the Canadians
were taking practice shots
cîpayak î nimihitotwâw the ghosts dancing
“I sewed these little moccasins
for the children
to keep them warm tonight
to keep them warm tonight.”
papîyâhtak. Saskatoon, SK: Thistledown Press, 2004.