Wanting to Say Things: The Power of Stories
AN ANTHOLOGY OF NATIVE AMERICAN LITERATURE
"I Give You Back" by Joy Harjo
I release you, my beautiful and terrible
fear. I release you. You were my beloved
and hated twin, but now, I don’t know you
as myself. I release you with all the
pain I would know at the death of
my children.
You are not my blood anymore.
I give you back to the soldiers
who burned down my house, beheaded my children,
raped and sodomized my brothers and sisters.
I give you back to those who stole the
food from our plates when we were starving.
I release you, fear, because you hold
these scenes in front of me and I was born
with eyes that can never close.
I release you
I release you
I release you
I release you
I am not afraid to be angry.
I am not afraid to rejoice.
I am not afraid to be black.
I am not afraid to be white.
I am not afraid to be hungry.
I am not afraid to be full.
I am not afraid to be hated.
I am not afraid to be loved.
to be loved, to be loved, fear.
Oh, you have choked me, but I gave you the leash.
You have gutted me but I gave you the knife.
You have devoured me, but I laid myself across the fire.
I take myself back, fear.
You are not my shadow any longer.
I won’t hold you in my hands.
You can’t live in my eyes, my ears, my voice
my belly, or in my heart my heart
my heart my heart
But come here, fear
I am alive and you are so afraid
of dying.
Editor's Commentary
This poem is a story of deconstruction and reconstruction. The
speaker dissects fear into something she can understand, personifying it as her “beloved / and hated twin.” In doing so, she transforms a force that once “choked her” into something she can control. She realizes she has held the power the whole time when she says, “You have gutted me but I gave you the knife. / You have devoured me, but I laid myself across the fire.” Fear is not a part of her, but a separate entity that she can “release.” She reconstructs herself as she says, “I take myself back, fear.” She rebuilds her life without fear occupying herself without her consent. In the last stanza, she says, “But come here, fear / I am alive and you are so afraid / of dying.” She does not kill fear, but embraces that the existence of fear is natural and does not have to control her.
In addition to personification, Harjo uses the poetic device of anaphora, which is the repetition of the first part of a line. For example, she repeats, “I release you,” and, “I am not afraid.” This repetition reflects oral tradition and gives the poem a chant-like tone. It also gives the sense that one cannot entirely get rid of fear right away, but requires persistence and constant attempts.