Sounds of History Poem
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Poems from Past Cohorts
Kathryn Houg
Authored on: Jun 23, 2014 10:19 AM
Subject: Conversations Around the Table
I
I was told that 400 million years ago
a dragonfly flew over what is now Bemidji, MN
catching ancient mosquitos, Zagime.
No one saw it, but it happened—
the fossils are there.
II
3 million years ago, a string of volcanoes
rose up from under the ocean making
a bridge between North and South America
the first bridge.
Species that had never met,
that are now extinct, some of them--
they interacted for the first time. Whether they wanted to or not,
they shared land and food and water.
The first Thanksgiving.
III
1642 Columbus sailed the ocean blue
Crossing water, not fire
they used land and food and water.
The buffalo were killed.
Why? Why did they take our food and culture, nindede?
We don’t talk about it, son, not at the dinner table.
Still, tatanka bones are there
next to the roots
above the dragonfly fossil
IV
Too many children killed in schools this year
their skin color and the way they speak making them a target
where different equates to bad
where kids reject their families because if they don’t they might get shot
where dad keeps a gun in the closet, ready.
Petrified in wood and stone and reservations
are fossils. If not at the dinner table, dad, when?
There is never a good time
to talk about skeletons
don’t run away from this dying
the fossils are still there.
“Boom, boom, boom” goes the drum
“Arrrrr” screams the eagle
“Hush” says the medicine man
“Listen. . .”
“Clop, clop, clop” sounds the horses
“Bam” goes the musket
“Hello” says the funny words of the white man
“Sign here?”
“Rustle, rustle, rustle” go the papers
“Snort” goes the deer
“This land” points the white man, “Yours”
“Mine.”
“Ding, ding, ding” sounds the school bell
“Good morning” says the teacher
“Ojibwe language” she says
“Not here.”
“Choo, choo, choo” goes the train
“Vroom” goes the car
“Modernize” says the white man
“Your choice.”
“Boom, boom, boom” goes the drum
“Swish” flies the eagle
“We are still here” says the Tribal Chair
“And strong.”
WOW, again. This is so unusual and well written I acutally googled it to see if you had an assist ; /
It is beautifully articulated and rhymes without the sing song effect. Beautiful... I am adding it to the class!
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Authored by: Michel Backstrom
Authored on: Jun 25, 2013 8:20 PM
Subject: Creators
Perspective: I chose a perspective that could vary through each person and I also used more of a metaphor throughout the whole poem. It reads like it is talking about a specific subject, but you dont find out until the end who the whole poem is really talking about.
I observed your first beauty
I noticed your first dawn
And as I rested my head at night
You sang to me your song
As the stars began to appear
I saw the twinkle in your eyes
And as they began to die
I felt your pain from inside
And now I witness these new people
They come and tear apart your earth
I watch you shed your tears
As they dig into to your dirt
The destruction of your creations
The destruction of me
I decompose in the midst
Barely breathing silently
My heart pumps heavy
You are shouting at me to run
But I cannot leave you
You are my only sun
You are the first light that I knew
You are everything that I know
You are amongst me in journeys
You are the presence of my soul
And in the essence of my faith
I believe you are the epiphany of creation
You are the people of my tribe
And I can only pray for our preservatoin.
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WOW... this is really quite brilliant! I am so impressed with the creativity the class has shown...the best poems to date and I REALLY loved the multiple perspectives. You had to consider ALL points of view to complete this assignment in this way. Keep this idea in your tool box for YOUR class!!!
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Authored by: Jeremy Abbott
Authored on: Jun 22, 2013 9:53 PM
Subject: I AM
Perspective and Concept: I chose to write from multiple perspectives. Each stanza is a different voice. I specifically wrote each stanza ambiguously in order for the reader to interpret for him or herself the perspective of the character. Each stanza could be read from either side, even the last stanza which includes some foreshadowing.
I AM
I am a young, young girl,
These people are like none I have ever seen,
Strange faces, strange clothes, strange language.
Why are they here?
I am a young boy,
My life has been difficult and fun,
These people are odd, clothes so unusual,
Where are they from?
I am a young mother,
My child needs me,
Life is hard, these people are so different,
Can I trust them?
I am a young man,
Full of a dream to begin a new life,
These people could be friend or foe,
Will they be an ally or enemy?
I am an old woman,
My offspring have multiplied abundantly,
I am blessed. May they prosper with these new challenges,
What will their future be?
I am an old man,
Wisdom overflows from my soul,
These new people may destroy my world,
Who am I?
I AM
Sarah Douglas |
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Alternative Worldview Poem Concept: I have a summer lake home that is on Indian land. It was once the summer home of the Ojibwe. My family has found several “artifacts” throughout our years of land development and exploration. We have found peace pipes, arrowheads, spearheads and even human remains. I have often wondered what an elder from the tribe from 150 years ago would say to me about how I have used his land. Have I, a white woman, treated it with the respect it deserves? Perspective: This poem was written from the perspective of the spirit of one of the tribal elders speaking to me about his land and people. It could just as easily be the perspective of one the Indians present at the first Thanksgiving, speaking to me about his land.
Tread Lightly Tread lightly. Can you hear me? Tread lightly. Can you hear her? Tread lightly. Upon this scared ground. Tread lightly. Can you hear them? Tread lightly. Can you hear him? Tread lightly. Can you hear them? Tread lightly. Hear the words I say. Tread lightly. Do not fear us. Listen. Can you hear me?
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Note: This is written from the perspective of an American Indian father, fighting for his family, freedom and people. Time Stands StillBy Beth Shermoen The wind is howling but time stands still. I hear them coming, my family is in fear.The trees are rustling, Did you hear that noise?My heart is beating, I do not move.The time is coming and blood will be shed. Great Spirit protect me, The Wotowquenange have arrived.I will not surrender, this is my homeFor if I die, I will return.You will find my spirit, In the howling of the wind, In the rustling of the trees,In the heart beat of my people.The wind is howling, and time stands stillMy family is with me,On a journey to the spirit land. *Wotowquenange’s Native American meaning is cut-throats and stabbers. Claudette SchaefferI Am Thankful? I am thankful? Forced religion. Food and trees no longer. We move further into the woods will this make us stronger? I am thankful? The cannibal is needy, very needy. He cuts the trees of my land. He takes them from my own hand. I am thankful? They come to help and teach about God, give us food to eat. We do not need them, we want our drum beat. I am thankful? Taking my sons and putting them in boarding schools. My boys my boys, must run to the trees. The priest takes them away I fall to my knees. I am thankful? My family all dead from the white mans sickness. Their spirits have moved on. I wonder who will be next to be gone. I am thankful? My family, my trees, my land, and my drum all gone. I move to Park Rapids, I do lumber jack laundry to carry on
Haiku (俳句 haikai verse?) Written from the perspective of a Native Leader who attended the first "Thanksgiving". He is looking back at that event from the spirit world. By Brenden Babcock: united two met for support through dark winter one only greets spring
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Authored by: Kristin Grohs
Carrie Sikkink Authored by: Heather Johannessen Us and Them Who are they?What are they doing? Oh, I’m so confused. Why are they here? Will they stay? Oh, I’m so confused. I’m not sure about this? This doesn’t feel right? Oh, I’m so confused. What do they want? Will they harm us? Oh, I’m so confused. I can’t understand them. What are they saying? Oh, I’m so confused. This is our land? Don’t they understand. Oh, I’m so confused. GET OUT OF HERE! LEAVE US ALONE! Oh, I AM SO MAD! Don't hurt us. I don't like this. Oh, I’m so scared… |
RESEARCH!!!!!! In an attempt to find out what really happened in 1621 in Plymouth, I headed to the public library. I found exactly what I hoped I would find -- a book put out by the National Geographic Society, published in 2001 titled 1621 A New Look at Thanksgiving. The book's focus is to give a voice to the Wampanoag people. The jacket cover states "True history includes the voices of all of its participants." Through their research the food, clothing, circumstances are told in the book as to how it truly would have been then. Many photographs accompany the story as the book brings "the past to life". p.44 "In October 2000, several hundred people gathered at the modern day Plimoth Plantation museum to reenact the 1621 harvest gathering. For three days, photographers, advisors, Plimoth Plantation staff, and members of the Wampanoag Nation and other Native communities came together to depict the events of that time." p.44 I am going to purchase this book for my personal library - it is excellent! What I have discovered is "For three days in 1621 ... the people celebrated the harvest together ... but the alliance with the Plymouth colonists would last for only a single generation." So I believe that at the time in 1621, the celebration was joyous...my poem reflects this and what I learned from the boo Etheree poem (10 lines - 1st line 10 syllables, 2nd line 9 syllables,... ) Together Butcher, grind, pluck, pick, gather, roast, prepare Sing, dance, play games, entertainment, sports Three day harvest celebration Sharing a bountiful feast Two cultures as equals 1621 Wampanoag Colonists Trusting Blessed Cathy Shields
Freedom Lost By: Christopher Gross As we watch from afar. White folk take charge They bring their missionaries to our land In thoughts of giving us a hand. We do not understand their way We are just forced to not go astray With a constant eye on us We can not make a fuss. This became our life With fear of getting cut by a knife When we do not follow their way We would be hung that day. Now settled in with the white man We have to give up our Indian clan Each tribe is strong mentally But we have fallen apart physically. As life progresses We just hope for the best Hoping white man will understand Our respect, peace, and love for the land
<<< Replied to message below >>> Run through the woods The white man is here Hide the drums Show no fear
Run run further To the stream They'll take away the children They'll take away the dreams
Don't stop running The Spirits say flee The white man destroys All that we believe
Run as far and fast Past the pines, through the snow Follow the northern lights Spirits show us where to go
Our tribe is strong Our heartbeat pounding Inhale the smell Of Mother Nature's surroundings
We are in harmony with the Earth We will live and die as one We have found strength in our beliefs The best is yet to come
The Spirits take us higher Here we find reprieve To take us to the next life And live as we believe Pam Meinhardt The billows swell the willows sway distant eyes in the shadow calm of a dream wrapped sycamore sweet, sweet sassafras and linden the sparrow’s flight, follow faraway stars floating on the ripples near scent of dewy honeysuckle heavy then through the tall pines skinny a deformed strange whiteness unfamiliar bellows, bellows through the waves plow people not of the people? people not of our own? clanking axe and souls hollow mother, father, what should we allow? sickness upon our skin hatred creeps, a snake hidden why this, our deathblow? false peace I will disavow! mother, father, I do not understand mother, father, what should we allow? distant eyes in the afterglow torn from a dream ripped sycamore the billows swell the willows sway. |
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By Gregory Okvetich
One day as we sat, warm in our longhouse
A child, running, breathless burst in and said;
"There is a strange cloud floating upon the bay".
We left our warmth to check, and wonder at what it may be.
There were men canoeing ashore--ghost men,
Pale as the snow. And as we watched-hidden,
they kissed our beach unbidden.
More and more they came ashore, and then built strange
dwellings. Yet as winter waxed, the ghost men waned, Coughing, scaborous and pestilient. The Elders met them-the sorry lot, gave them food, and saved them.
Spring came and we watched them planting--foolishly
sowing grasses. The Elders said, "These people are
fools. Teach them or they'll starve, then finish us!"
Now its harvest time--the maize is picked, the ghost peoples
cheek are ripening. Yet among "the People" our skin is sallow, and the coughing unrelenting. Outside the ghost people thank their gods, but in the long house it is warm no longer.
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Cristy Rajdi
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It's Tradition
Nathalja Hendrickson
Nothing wrong with it, No harm meant, It's just tradition.
Celebrate the positive, Pay no mind to the horrendous, It's tradition.
We've been taught all is well, History books do not mention the hell, It's tradition.
Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful, Forget the ultimate sacrifices that others have been paid for years, It's tradition.
Mom, why are those Indians acting so weird, don't they understand we are thankful to them on this day?
Son, they don't see things the same way, We must ask ourselves, what is it that they might be thankful for on this day?
Would it be the sicknesses we brought, the land they lost, The death, The loss of their religion, the loss of their pride, the loss of their ways?
You see son, they are no longer able to say, It's tradition.
First line must have 5 syllables, second line 7 syllables, that I ended up writing multiple haikus.(from an |
Poems...
| A Unique Perspective Once I Stood Strong and Proud By. Jessica Patterson I lived in partnership with beings here There was respect We sustained life harmoniously Until the day when the pale men arrived They clamored off their boat eager and greedy They had no respect for the land All they saw was something they needed to transform My brothers and sisters were cut one at a time Their limbs were burnt Their roots ripped from the ground They took, and took Harmony was lost between trees and man The land was stripped Trees became lumber used to house the pale intruders What did they give back to the land? Sickness, waste, and abuse The white man claimed the land as their own They claimed possession of things that cannot be owned Trees, leaves, streams, lakes…everything Lost to the white man's greed Today the white men hang tires from my ancestor's great limbs And their children play carelessly cradled in our arms The pain of the past covered over, like a tiny acorn crushed beneath the white man's boot Thankful Tammy Banal Point of Reference: Eight year old Native American girl. I am thankful for my mother Look, there are new people here Why are there tears from my mother? So now they eat pumpkin pie Did they hear the cries of my mother? |
Christina Weigel The First Thanksgiving From the perspective of the table Light on one Dark on the other Food being shared Wary looks of one another Are they friend or are they foe Light is deceitful Dark will never know Light hands on my surface Filled with lies and greed Dark hands bowed together praying for their need I hold them up together Equal respect I owe The stories of the truth Only the table will know Joanna Rosenlund
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