distant water

“What a gift that Piatote has shared this old, patient, still-powerful language capable of summoning the ocean’s greatness to wash away our human griefs, to bear the burdens and errors of our human bodies and minds; language tender enough to praise the grass for bending to the wind, the meadow for holding us as we lie in rest upon it, praising even the river for lighting the fishes’ scales with water; and still, a language that opens us enough to be touched by the hand in such a loving and miraculous way that a deer bounds out from the brush. How lucky to be touched, too, by these poems, which leave me feeling like I myself have bounded from my own tangles and thorns of brush out into a still beautiful, still loving world.”

“distant water moves through meadow, river, and mountain with the clarity of a song returning home. Beth Piatote writes with the Nez Perce language, its sounds, images, and breath, to create a vivid document of reclamation and futurity. The poems also live in relation to the language of land and its beings: birds, coyotes, fish, horses, butterflies. Each speaks as the world renewing itself. On the page, white space becomes landscape, a field where language moves beyond the line. distant water shows us how to listen for what still sings.”

“In distant water, remembrance transliterated becomes a pouring out of heart. A liquid surge rivers through these exquisite poems on loss and returns to language, love, and life. Every turn toward the depth of grief surfaces in brightness so that we read renewed. I am truly grateful for Piatote’s promise of light and her sustaining voice.”

“Beth Piatote re-roots me in awe for what language can do. These poems rise and breathe. It feels like medicine: ‘You who feel small / remember this story / through strength of air / the world is remade.’ For readers returning to their ancestral tongues or learning them for the first time, keep this book close. Study Beth Piatote’s poems. distant water is elemental, committed, and full of memory.”

“This collection does not merely describe worlds. It makes and unmakes them, slipping between tongues to stitch new relational geographies. In her hands, language is alive and ancestral, sensuous and sovereign. distant water is not only a book—it is a resurgence, a remembering, a radiant act of return.”