PODCAST · arts
Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio
by Sherman Alexie
Poetry, fiction, and essays by Sherman Alexie shermanalexie.substack.com
Episodes
-
Rock Paper Scissors
I lose, I lose, I lose, I win, I tie. That's the shortest memoir I'll ever write. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit shermanalexie.substack.com/subscribe
-
Comfort Food
This poem is pre-approved by those in charge of truth. It won’t be disturbing. It won’t offend. It lives to serve you— to placate, flatter, and woo your politics. It’s an ode to your wounds, be they surface or bone-deep, ancient or recent. This poem is pre-approved by those in charge of truth and...
-
The Pancake Clan
At three in the morning, I was in the IHOP writing poems at a table sticky with generations of maple syrup when a brown guy with long black hair walked in. He looked Indian. I wondered if he was one of them wild warriors who never braids their hair. To them, a hair tie is challenging their hair’s...
-
A Cloud of Grasshoppers
In 1986, there was a spring break Invasion of grasshoppers In Billings, Montana. Some ridiculous number Of those insects— 30 or 40 per square foot. I crunched across A parking lot to buy beer At a convenience store. Later that night, terrified, Alone, drunk, lost, I ran toward An orange light—a...
-
Childhood Bullies
I was recently texting and reminiscing with my childhood reservation friend. He was the inspiration for Victor in our movie, Smoke Signals. He and I texted about joy and loss. And he reminded me of "corn-dogging,” a phenomenon that happened when we were kids on the rez. The rez bully boys would...
-
The Facebook Sonnet
Welcome to the endless high school reunion. Welcome to past friends and lovers, however kind or cruel. Let’s undervalue and unmend the present. Why can’t we pretend every stage of life is the same? Let’s exhume, resume, and extend childhood. Let’s all play the games that occupy the young. Let…
more -
Bring Us to the River
Fifty years old, I look at my sixth grade class photo. I went to tribal school on the reservation. There were fourteen of us kids, twelve Indians and two white brothers whose parents worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs. The BIA. I study my classmate’s faces and think about their fates. Dead…
more -
Flight Envy
Breakfast Meditation Feeling contrary, I discard the orange slices and keep the rind. I ignore the clock and calendar. I sit in one place and watch my mind meander. Flight Envy Those crows know my name but I don’t know theirs. They’re geniuses with wings but gravity keeps me landed and dumb. No...
-
My Siblings and I Get Nostalgic
Bug was missing a thumb; Mouse was missing an eye. We loved those reservation Indian guys so why can’t we remember their birth names? They drank themselves to death and became salmon constellations in the night sky. Bug was missing a thumb; Mouse was missing an eye. How’d they lose their parts?...
-
Why Do I Pray?
* Prayer. * More prayer * Yet more prayer. * I don’t believe in God but I believe in prayer. * I know that’s a contradiction. * Question: So who’s waiting to hear my prayers? * Answer: I don’t know. * God was invented… * …by a caveman who’d been exiled by his tribe. * Wouldn’t you invent prayer…
more -
If We Speak as Men, If We Speak as Angels - Second Draft
Hello, Community, Here is the second draft of my short story in progress. My aim in this draft was to deepen the character development. I also wanted to establish that my story will jump back and forth in time. If you describe a friendship as being “lifelong” in the beginning of a story then you...
-
If We Speak as Men, If We Speak as Angels - First Draft
Hello, community, Today, I’m embarking on a new project for you. I’m writing a new short story and, over the next week or so or probably more, I’ll be posting the various drafts until I arrive at the first complete rough draft. Yup, you’re going to see me writing out loud. I hope you enjoy this!…
more -
John Deere was a Friend of Mine
In February, 1991, at halftime of a high school basketball championship game, my big brother, Arnold, rose from the audience when his name was called and hit a half-court shot to win a new John Deere riding lawnmower. The crowd was ecstatic. My brother has always been a popular figure in the...
-
Knowledge
How do you know when you need to leave a place? No, the question is larger than that. How do you know when you need to escape? And even larger is the third and most important question. Do you possess the skills that will enable you to escape? In 1979, nearly all of our teachers at the reservation...
-
Bob’s Winter Coat
In 1992, the second time I ever visited NYC, I showed up in March without a coat. I’d somehow forgotten to bring a winter coat to NYC during winter. I grew up in Eastern Washington so I’d experienced real winters. My reservation is farther north than Minneapolis, Minnesota, and Fargo, North…
more -
Thomas Builds-the-Fire’s Honor Song
Hello, everybody, my name is Thomas Builds-the-Fire. Thank you all for coming to my grandmother’s funeral. Grandma Builds-the-Fire. Her first name was Agnes. Hardly anybody knew that. Hardly any Indians knew it. Hardly any Spokane Indians knew it. She was always called by her full name—by Grandma...
-
Hunger Song
Once upon a time on our reservation, the only food in the house was a half-empty box of sugar cubes. My sisters and I rationed them for most of a day. They did nothing to quell our hunger, but we learned there’s sweetness inside every little hell. This is a public episode. If you'd like to…
more -
On the Night that David Foster Wallace Killed Himself
I was at a literary gathering in Seattle when the news hit that David Foster Wallace had killed himself. The sudden grief was palpable. Two of my friends, epic fans of Wallace, wiped away tears. They were two men mourning the death of their favorite writer—another man in such emotional and mental...
-
The Dogs of War and Peace
The dog, dying of cancer, Walked into the guest room Where I was trying to sleep. He wasn’t there because Of me. The rug on the floor Belonged to him. He fell asleep so I fell Asleep. Or maybe it was The other way around. Hours later, he woke me With his whimpers. I thought he was inside a...
-
Gods of Thunder — an introductory essay to my newsletter
Hello, readers, subscribers, and potential subscribers, Here is an essay to give you a sense of what I’m doing in the newsletter—writing fiction, non-fiction, and poetry about what it means to be a 21st Century Native, Native American, and American—and a stumbling citizen of the world If you’re…
more -
On the Day that Elvis Died
On the day that Elvis died, Our mother took To the living room couch And cocooned herself With grief. We, her children, didn’t react. We were accustomed To her displays of ostentatious Sadness. She always emerged From her days or weeks Of self-exile. She’d stand, Unfurl her wings, and fly Into a...
-
The Last Teriyaki Joint in the World
Last night, I picked up teriyaki from my favorite place and learned it was the last day for the owners—a married couple. They’d sold the business and were heading into retirement. I was surprised by the depth of my sadness. I wiped away tears. They’d been my teriyaki joint for twenty-one years. I...
-
Benjamin Lake
I almost drown there. Others did drown. But nobody swims That water anymore. Reclaimed by aquatic Plants and dragonflies, The lake is stagnant And iridescent. Or so My sisters tell me. I haven’t stood On that shoreline For decades. Sometimes, it feels Like my reservation Heart has become The...
-
Grocery List
—those instant coffee pouches made by the corporation us leftists pretend to hate —that cereal that rakes the roof of your mouth but makes you nostalgic for childhood —that can of mixed nuts that doesn’t contain peanuts because if you buy one that contains peanuts then it will contain about 70%...
-
Happy Dance
My tribe, the Spokanes, do a Happy Dance. Yes, It’s called a Happy Dance, and yes, we two-step In a circle to the powwow drum, drum, drumbeat, And then, with laughter and screams of delight, we rush Toward the center. We collapse the circle and become One mass of happy Spokanes. Then we reform…
more -
Sonnet with Bird
1. Seventeen months after I moved off the reservation, I traveled to London to promote my first internationally published book. 2. A Native American in England! I imagined the last Indian in England was Maria Tall Chief, the Osage ballerina who was once married to Balanchine. An Indian married to...
-
Do Their Ghosts Know They’re Ghosts?
Hello, my name is Sherman and I’m addicted To my ghosts though I don’t know If it’s my bipolar but somehow dependable mother Or my alcoholic But somehow gentle father That I miss the most. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus...
-
Ode to Lonely
In the United States, there are eight towns named Lone Tree. Two of them spell Lone Tree as one word— Lonetree— Which makes those small towns seem crowded And pushed together. In Fairview, California, there exists Lone Tree Cemetery, a name that makes sense at first When one considers the...
-
Tornado Comedy
Hello, everybody, I shall begin with one of my six-word stories: Tornado Comedy The atheist shelters in the church. The six-word story is a common writing exercise. It’s a lesson in being as concise as possible. There are a few best-selling anthologies of six-word stories. And there’s a website...
-
Superman & Me
I learned to read with a Superman comic book. Simple enough, I suppose. I don’t recall which particular Superman comic book I read, nor can I remember which villain he fought in that issue. I cannot remember the plot, nor the means by which I obtained the comic book. What I can remember is this…
more -
Ode to the Salad Spinner
for Diane Here is the center of the circle And here we are, traveling away From the center. If God is real Then God created this whirlpool Force. O, my love, we spin Away from each other When we leave home for work Then we spin back to our table At the end of the shift. My love, My spouse, you…
more -
The Patron Saints of Spokane, Washington
Thirty years ago, while on summer break from college, I went to a small afternoon party at a high school friend’s apartment. I’ll call him Mark. It wasn’t a wild party. We just sat around drinking beers and listening to music—mostly hair metal. A few hours into the party, a white woman stopped by...
-
Coyote Solstice
Our kind neighbor saw a coyote on our block. Yeesh, Coyote, you trickster! Revealing yourself to a white woman but hiding from our house full of Indians—jealous Indians! I want to watch Coyote stealing Christmas packages from our porch. Yeah, yeah, Coyote, all you’re gonna find in those packages…
more -
Orca Song
That mother orca still carries her dead baby Through and through the waves. Hear the rage and wail. Humans are thieves. We deserve this destruction and decay. All of us play roles in this bloody cabaret. “But no,” you say. “Not me. I’m innocent.” The earth doesn’t accept your pleas and claims.…
more -
Waiting
For the last three years, while walking to work, I've passed the downtown bus station where a disheveled elderly man mutters to himself as he paces the sidewalk. "Waiting, waiting, waiting," he chants. That’s all I’ve heard him say in three years. I don't know if he's homeless or mentally ill—I…
more -
Good Fences - First Draft
The next door neighbors, a young unmarried couple, had let their blackberry bushes overgrow their fence like lazy sentinels and drop pounds of fruit onto Jennifer’s lawn. The berries rotted and drew aggressive yellowjackets. During college, Jennifer had been wasp-stung on the lip at an English...
-
The Best Sandwich Maker in Seattle
He was a graveyard shift Deli employee Who constructed hero Sandwiches For other workers Up too early Or awake too late. He made BLTs For night watchmen And ham & cheddar For the nurses On their midnight Lunch breaks. One night, near Dawn, he made A triple-decker sub For a female cop Who wanted...
-
The Rain is Why I Live in Seattle
In every wall, I see a father-shaped absence— A Wile E. Coyote impact crater Of paternal loss. Can I really be A 55-year old son lonely For the father who died when he was Only 62? Yes, I can! And now, at my age, More and more of my father figures—all Those half-broken wise men who half- Replaced...
-
The Foot Soldiers of Capitalism
The man next door built a treehouse for his kids. More like a mansion. Three rooms, four sets of stairs. A bridge from one huge tree to the next. From the north, the structure looked like a wooden ship. From the south, it looked like a wooden dragon. From my bedroom window, it looked like Jesus…
more -
Radioactive Love Song
Seen from satellite view, the abandoned Uranium mine on our reservation Is an earth-scar that’s shaped Like a haphazard guitar. The sound hole of this instrument Is the open pit Now filled with water Made turquoise By irradiated waste. I grew up six miles From that deadly place And only a hundred...
-
Fatherhood
Hello, everybody, I posted a poem on my Instagram on Sunday about fatherhood and, as is my regular habit, I immediately started rewriting. So here is the original poem as posted and a few variations on the theme. I go into more detail on the audio version of this post but I’ll say here that it’s…
more -
Sugar Town
Sugar Town After diabetes occluded My fathers’s vision And left him unable To drive a car, he’d pilot His riding lawnmower To the reservation trading post And buy Wonder Bread And generic maple syrup So he could make his slow Suicide version of French toast. Child’s Bible Once upon a time On our...
-
Poets, Politicians, and Mushrooms
the poisonous can fool you into believing they’re luminous This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit shermanalexie.substack.com/subscribe
-
Among Strangers
I visit my father's gravesite twice a year—on his birthday and on the anniversary of his death. It’s not done out of grief or love. It’s a cold regiment. I just want to make sure the man stays dead. Maybe your relationship with your father, here or gone, is better than mine. If so then you can…
more -
Written While Sitting in My Car During a Rain Shower as I Watched Traffic on Interstate 90
Did you know that 90% of the world’s bees Are solitary? They live hive-less. I was stunned to learn this. Those hermit-monks— Winged and many-eyed—worship In solitude. What is their theology? Are they risen or fallen? I’ve decide to believe Their churches are the flora And their gods are the...
-
The Dishwasher at the End of the Universe
We called the industrial dishwasher The Pope because it often threw scalding water at us and burned our hands like we were minimum-wage heretics. I worked with Greg and Wayne, two white boys who’d grown up in trailer park poverty in Spokane. But, like me, they’d read a thousand books before they...
We're indexing this podcast's transcripts for the first time — this can take a minute or two. We'll show results as soon as they're ready.
No matches for "" in this podcast's transcripts.
No topics indexed yet for this podcast.
Loading reviews...
Loading similar podcasts...
Frequently Asked Questions
How many episodes does Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio have?
Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio currently has 46 episodes available on PodParley. New episodes are automatically indexed when they're published to the podcast feed.
What is Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio about?
Poetry, fiction, and essays by Sherman Alexie shermanalexie.substack.com
How often does Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio release new episodes?
Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio has 46 episodes. Check the episode list to see recent publication dates and frequency.
Where can I listen to Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio?
You can listen to Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio on PodParley by clicking any episode. We provide an embedded audio player for direct listening, and you can also subscribe via your preferred podcast app using the RSS feed.
Who hosts Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio?
Sherman Alexie’s Substack Audio is created and hosted by Sherman Alexie.
URL copied to clipboard!