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Linda Hogan Biography

Linda K. Hogan (born 1947) is a poet, storyteller, academic, playwright, novelist, environmentalist and writer of short stories. She is currently the Chickasaw Nation's Writer in Residence. She now lives in Tishomingo, Oklahoma.

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Linda Hogan Quotes

Mystery is part of each life, and maybe it is healthier to uphold it than to spend a lifetime in search of half-made answers.

Answers, Half, Maybe, Mystery, Part, Search

The crocodile doesn't harm the bird that cleans his teeth for him. He eats the others but not that one.

Bird, Crocodile, Eats, Harm, Teeth

Walking. I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.

Love, Nature, Spiritual, Walking, Watch, Way

There is a still place, a gap between the worlds, spoken by the tribal knowings of thousands of years. In it are silent flyings that stand aside from human struggles and the designs of our own makings. At times, when we are silent enough, still enough, we take a step into such mystery, the place of spirit, and mystery, we must remember, by its very nature does not wish to be known.

Knowing, Silent, Struggle, Thousands, Wish, Years

Some people see scars, and it is wounding they remember. To me they are proof of the fact that there is healing.

Encouraging, Fact, Inspirational, Pain, Proof, See

There is a way that nature speaks, that land speaks. Most of the time we are simply not patient enough, quiet enough, to pay attention to the story.

Garden, Nature, Patience, Simply, Story

Let's kneel down through all the worlds of the body like lovers. I know I am a tree and full of life and I know you, you are the flying one and will leave. But can't we swallow the sweetness and can't you sing in my arms and sleep in the human light of the sun and moon I have been drinking alone.

Drinking, Kneel, Life, Moon, Sleep, Swallow

A woman once described a friend of hers as being such a keen listener that even the trees leaned toward her, as if they were speaking their innermost secrets into her listening ears. Over the years I’ve envisioned that woman’s silence, a hearing full and open enough that the world told her its stories. The green leaves turned toward her, whispering tales of soft breezes and the murmurs of leaf against leaf.

Leaves, Listening Ear, Silence, Turned, Whispering, Years

We make art out of our loss.

Art, Loss, Make

tears have a purpose. they are what we carry of the ocean, and perhaps we must become the sea, give ourselves to it, if we are to be transformed.

Give, Giving, Ocean, Perhaps, Sea

A spoken story is larger than one unheard, unsaid. In nearly all creation accounts, words or songs are how the world was created, the animals sung into existence.

Animal, Existence, Larger, Song, Stories, Unheard

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.

Believed, Dream, Grows, Islands, Phantoms, Story

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.

Attachment, Larger, Past, Present, Significance, Spiritual

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.

Back, Law, Planet, Together, Torn Apart

We are full of bread and gas, getting fat on the outside while inside we grow thin

Bread, Fats, Gas, Thin

I resented my mother for guessing my innermost secrets. She was like God, everywhere at once knowing everything.

God, Knowing Everything, Mother, Resented, Secret, Secrets

Death is dancing me ragged.

Dancing, Death, Ragged

There is a language beyond human language, an elemental language, one that arises from the land itself.

Arise, Arises, Human, Land, Language

There are ways in, journeys to the center of life, through time; through air, matter, dream and thought. The ways are not always mapped or charted, but sometimes being lost, if there is such a thing, is the sweetest place to be. And always, in this search, a person might find that she is already there, at the center of the world. It may be a broken world, but it is glorious nonetheless.

Air, Center, Dream, Journey

Walking, I can almost hear the redwoods beating. And the oceans are above me here, rolling clouds, heavy and dark. It is winter and there is smoke from the fires. It is a world of elemental attention, of all things working together, listening to what speaks in the blood. Whichever road I follow, I walk in the land of many gods, and they love and eat one another. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.

Ancestors, Dark, Ocean, Smoke, Thousands, Winter

Linda Hogan Biography

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