Born
in Chicago to a tight knit Assyrian-American family Tricia Alexander
has made a name for herself as singer, song
writer, poet, teacher, social service artist, and healer/Riki master. She
toured nationally and internationally performing her acclaimed original music
before settling in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin and opening a studio in Woodstock. She still appears
in the region and has performed at Tree
of Life Unitarian Universalist Congregation in McHenry as a musician, guest worship leader, and at Poets in Resistance. In 2013, she received the Woodstock Folk Festival’s Lifetime
Achievement Award.
Alexander
has released several CDs most
recently We Are the People in 2014.
Her most recent poetry collection, Hymns to Her came out in 2018, Information on these, other releases, and her
workshops can be found on her website.
Tricia
shared this yesterday on Facebook. She wrote “I wrote this poem over 20 years
ago & I share it today in honor of Biden’s declaration” finally recognizing
the Assyrian and Armenian genocides
of the early 20th Century.
The Assyrian Genocide occurred during
the First World War. Sometimes referred
to as the Seyfo, or Sword,
between 1914-1920 the Muslim Ottoman
Army, along with allied Muslim civilians,
mercenaries, and soldiers, attacked civilians attempting to flee
the conflict. By the end of 1915, more than 100,000 Assyrians
were murdered. Before the Great War World War I, there were up to 1 million
Assyrians living in the Ottoman Empire. By the end of 1920, as many as 40% of
the population was dead and many of the survivors forced into exile in Persia and elsewhere. Some found their
way to America and a community of Assyrians established
themselves on Chicago’s North Side.
Assyrian I:
My Great Grandmother
my Great
Grandmother sat in the window seat
dressed in
black -
and in silence
straight-backed
unmoving and
unerring
unable to reach,
to stretch, to dance
her spirit
broken long ago
under the load
she carried too
many miles
one foot-step at
a time
one foot-step
after another
one foot-step,
her foot-step weakened, weary
falling heavy on
a weeping Earth - her Earth
my Great
Grandmother sat
her dark
garments covered her
from chin to
wrist to toe-tip
she rarely spoke
english
she rarely spoke
aloud
still - the
circle of silence that surrounded her
was thunderous
and full
and it flowed
continuously out to meet me
my Grandparents
and my Father spoke to her in Assyrian
only in
Assyrian - always in Assyrian
I remember
straining to hear her when she answered them
Oh - how
I longed to hear her speak!
Her words were
the old words - the ancient words.
Words rich in
color and texture and tone - and history!
My history . . .
a history hushed
I loved the
sound of her voice when she spoke
soft, but not
gentle
jagged-edged,
but not stinging, not wounding
I remember
wondering
if it had been
partially cut out of her throat
or maybe just
stolen from her - long ago
sometimes
(especially now
that I understand more
about what her
life must have been like)
I fantasize that
she ripped it out of herself long ago
deliberately
- and then, tenderly planted it there
Earth deep, in
the country she loved so much
sometimes - I
can even see part of her still there
defiant and
growing: rooted and strong
there - with
the trees
there - in
the Earth
there - in
her old country (in my old country)
and by sharing
this with you
I - her
Great Grand Daughter
have given her
one .
last . revolutionary
. act
remembering here
and now, how they fled
the women
and the children
half a step
ahead of the massacre
shhhhh . . .
listen
can you not -
almost - hear her singing?
she’s right
there . . . singing with the trees.
—Tricia
Alexander
Chicago,
Illinois
December, 1996
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