| Author |
Message |
paul_hammersten
Member
Post Number: 22
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Friday, March 26, 2004 - 7:03 pm: | 
|
One of the greatest is THE OLD CANOE by George Marsh.
But before this gets posted here is one that is on my heart today.
The critic wrote, " As a grass roots poet and a part of the literary revival hailed as America's ' poetry renaissance ', Vachel Lindsay and his poems, at their best, surpassed the poems of expatriates like Pound and Eliot ".
My favorite collection of Lindsay's poem is a small volumn called GOING TO THE SUN. I like best to recite [ and they need to be spoken, sung and heard ] his poems during my regular travels to and through Glacier Park in Montana.
My copy of GOING TO THE SUN is special to me. First published in 1923 it is # D-14 Set 11 of the famous old Oriental Limited Library of The Great Northern Railway.
Who were the readers of this book who road the rails during an earlier era one can only imagine?
" I had a splendid six weeks tramping with my life time friend Stephen Graham, in the Rockies. We climbed northwest through Glacier Park, Montana, across the Canadian line into Alberta, Canada. There it is in two sentences. ' - Vachel Lindsay
Stephen's book TRAMPING WITH A POET IN THE ROCKIES { 1922 } is the companion volumn to GOING TO THE SUN.
" Going-to-the-Sun Mountain is the very jewel of the mountains of Glacier Park...Going-to-the-Sun Mountain is our American Fujiyama, as all testify who have seen it. " - VL
My favorite Vachel Lindsay poem is " The Flower Fed Buffalo " .
THE FLOWER - FED BUFFALOS
The flower-fed buffaloes of the spring
In the days of long ago,
Ranged where the locomotive sing,
And the prairie flower lie low:
The tossing,blooming,perfumed grass
Is swept away by wheat,
Wheels and wheels and wheels spin by
In the spring that still is sweet.
But the flower - fed buffalos of the spring
left us long ago,
They gore no more, they bellow no more: --
With the Blackfeet lying low,
With the Pawnee lying low.
<<<<>>>>
Wave of sorrow,
Do not drown me now. " --- Langston Hughes
The great poet Langston Hughes was discovered by ' my ' Vachel Lindsay in 1925.
There is a Joni Mitchell song that most you wouldn't know but possiblt someone from the '60's recalls...the words go something like..." it always seem to go that you don't know what youve got until its gone..."
I guess my ' new ' nickname, Turtle of the Mistissibi, won't be used again.
For canoebear seems to be history.
The old message board we enjoyed was changed. One now has no option but to give one's e-mail address in order to post.
While I understand why this has happened, and am fully behind the change!!,I am sad like one recalling the ' old days ' for I also understand why great contributors like canoebear wish to not be known.
I will post THE OLD CANOE some day unless there is someone ' closer ' to the heart of Temagami than I who wants to jump in and do so. That would be OK with me.
Best
Paul
|
canoebear
Member
Post Number: 18
Registered: 05-2004
| | Posted on Monday, May 24, 2004 - 5:45 pm: |
|
"Wind-up"
And tha Wind of tha North said,,
may ya be as storm strong as that ther oak,
yet be much flexable as that wite river birch,
may ya stand so tall as that redwood,
to live/or motion as gracefully as tha willow,
and may ya always "Bear" lots of black fruit
all yer days on 'tis here "Mother's Earth".
Weatherability, heya! |
canoebear
Member
Post Number: 145
Registered: 05-2004
| | Posted on Monday, November 15, 2004 - 7:55 pm: |
|
"Injun Summer/Hunten Season"
Tha hazy, cloudless skies of Indian summer,
leaves scurryen down portage path trail before
Novembers off lake winds.
Tha cold shiver from an Artic blast.
Indian summer.
Tha last warmth of sun.
Chilly mornens + glorios warm afternoons.
Tha Harvest Moon.
Tha "Hunters Moon".
Tha rainy season.
Dry Indian corn stalks rustlen in tha NE wind.
Tha touch of early morn frost lay on tha grass,
outside tha frost-up window cabin pane glass.
Tha smell of burnen dead leaves of falls foliage.
Tha Indian summer of tha dead summer soul.
Autumn falls/Indian summer is tha last canoe season of tha year, interupted by cold winter snows, followed immediatly by looken forward to
canoen trippen cum early spring, Heya ed!
|
paul_hammersten
Member
Post Number: 134
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, November 16, 2004 - 4:43 pm: |
|
The dead summer soul
As the old Ojibway singer sang that last day of Indian Summer so long ago, " All leaves fall to the ground ".
My ' tipi ' of five foot dead seasoned cedar poles is already one pole short.
The fire is burning bright and warm this afternoon inside The Turtles lodge.
Heya canoe bear! |
canoebear
Member
Post Number: 169
Registered: 05-2004
| | Posted on Monday, December 27, 2004 - 7:03 pm: |
|
"The Cry"
He stands alone at top of the hill
& sings His mournful cry,
His mate & cubs R missing
He had been out hunting
was gone only for a day.
& hurried back with empty jaws
so scarce now was their prey.
He wasn't gone long
eager to get home,
but den was cold & empty
& He sensed something was wrong.
The smell of man was everywhere
with footprints in the snow,
& blood shed from his family
He knew they had been hurt.
He sat & waited day by day
with hopes they would return,
there wasn't much He could do
except quietly sit & yearn.
Why would man come all this way
to hunt & shoot My family down,
to interrupt their quiet lives
when no harm had been done?
Their territory plainly marked
& not once did they stray,
for they would rather starve to death
than to get in mans damn way.
The smell of chickens, cows & sheep
were so tempting at times,
but instincts warned not to hunt them
or they would lose their lives.
& so they lived a quiet life
existing on some small game,
careful it 'twas only wildlife
& nothing man had already tamed.
So He could find no reason
for the His family blood shed on that day,
so peacefully they lived here
so far out of mans damn ways.
Maybe they'd be coming back
his cubbies & loving mate,
Wolves R mated once for life
so He would sit there & wait & wait &.
That was many moons ago
& they havn't yet come back,
but he will not stop hoping,
for the reunion of His beloved family pack.
He now knows men R murderers
but still does not know why,
& every night he climbs his hill
to sing his mournful whine out cry, Heya!
|
canoebear
Member
Post Number: 173
Registered: 05-2004
| | Posted on Friday, December 31, 2004 - 2:47 pm: |
|
"Mustangs"
The bold fight, The fight till they die,
For they'd rather be dead than alive,
A pure heart cannot survive, under such a
strain they will die, The heart needs freedom,
To soar and fly, It's like a wild mustang stallion, Whose last challenge cry was answered,
With a rope around his throat/or fenced-in,
And when his heart gave-in,
The cowboy knew his sin, He would never ride this steed, His wild spirit was broken and so he died,
From lack of will to survive,
So let the wild hearts soar free and fly
Wild Mustang Horses belong to no-1 & every-1.
Muster plan to manage Mustangs under-way.
'Tis what happens when tha modern progress world
collides with tha "Wild Spirit of tha Mustang"
Fewer cattle on federal lands & more habitat
fer tha Wild Horse Mustang wood be a
manageable fix.
To stray, to wander/or roam wild & free,
chiefly far away from groups/or a conventional site.
'Twas tha Mustangs Stallion right to use/or enjoy
Tha Great Open Plains freely.
Canoers R wild mustangs at heart,
fer they need much freedom to expore
wild native country too.
Free to move canoe, Heya!
|
canoebear
Member
Post Number: 187
Registered: 05-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, January 18, 2005 - 6:20 pm: |
|
"River of Existance"
Down tha river of canoe life we go be a moven force
In tha tippiest of canoe craft we no, & so
Knowen tha canoe take-out end will come to us all
We listen fer wild fast runnen rapids/or wher much rushen waterfalls.
May-be round tha very next river rock-up bend,
A great shore lunch/or dark miserable wind-up end.
Keep to tha right to paddlen yer own royalex wilderness trippen canoe.
Don't never/ever give-up till tha turbulent waters deliverance comes to take-out end.
Even if yer 16' double-ender Prospector wood rock/or tip abit,
Be dang relieved fer getten to make 'tis rough & rugged river trip thru magnificent mountain & wild river Indian Canoe Country.
Fer sum just be-en a way-of-life, Heya! |
kanutripper
Member
Post Number: 14
Registered: 03-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, January 18, 2005 - 7:20 pm: |
|
canoebear
A big "HEYA" for your "River of Existance" poem.
I like it very much.
|
|
Off-topic