Breakers and granite / by John Gould Fletcher [electronic text]

SONGS OF THE ARKANSAS

INVOCATION

Eastward, House where the Sun is kindled: Northward, Cave where the Wind sleeps in darkness: Southward, Swamp where the Snake-Mist rises: Westward, Plain where the Ghost-Trail goes:

Hear my prayer!

I bow myself to the quarters;I salute Sun and Earth, my parents; Let my brother and sister, Wind and Water, Carry my cry to Him-Who-Dwells-Beyond:

Many things have I to say unto you: Spirit who will not listen! Many things have I and my people on our hearts, Many great griefs.

Many chiefs! Many warriors! Many young men! Many women! Many dogs! Many weapons!

Are You but a thieving ShawneeTo take these things from our tribe?

Wherefore do You now abandon us? Came we out of the deadly land of darkness, Out of the land of cold long nights and winters, Only to die in this place?

Did the great river that Your Finger tracedThen deceive us with its current? Did the wild-goose and the heron Fly southward but to mock us?

You who baited this trap with enemies, Tell us where we may wander, We weary, we footsore, we lost, we forsaken,— Where is our changeless home?

Men with white faces and lying hearts Ha ve you now sent out amongst us: We received them—we believed it was Your will: Lo, what they have done to us!

We know You to be our Father,We know all might and craft are in You;

Save the Fire You have kindled, We have no other light!

Help the sick: comfort the aged: Give victory to our warriors: Rob not the mothers of children: Send not famine upon us!

The green-corn that waves in the sunlight Is Yours, the grey forest also; Without the sun You made for us, The trail is lost in darkness.

You breathe into our nostrils The fire then wherefore does it fail? You will not let it perish, All that You do is good.

To the East, bird's song uprising; To the North, rustling forests; To the South, wide-sweeping rivers, To the West, the sigh of grass:

Hear our prayer!

I bow myself to the quarters; I salute Sun and Earth, my parents. Once more the song has gone forth, Like smoke it has vanished in sunlight.

WOMEN'S SONG AT THE TIME OF THE GREEN-CORN DANCE

Sprout, green corn, on the bosom of earth, your mother, Thrust out your thin green spears to the warm grey rain; Grow, green corn, the deer shall not trample near you, Leap, green corn, the winter of earth is past.

Shake green corn, the deer on the trails are leaping; Blush, green corn, pink tassels amid your leaves; Ripple and rustle, start and shake and flutter, Grow, green corn, it is your grains we would eat.

Smile, green corn, gold ornaments in the sunlight,Dew-beads of silver glistening in twisted hair:Bend to the wind, draw the deer closer to you, Grow, ever grow — your sorrows will soon be great.

Wither, o corn, under the heat of the summer, Watch, o corn, the deer feeding far away,

Struggle, o corn, break your slender silken sheathing, Rejoice, o corn, for the burden of the tasseled ears!

Break your sheath, for it is the time of the harvest, The swift looted deer are stealing the ripening grain; Weep in the wind, let it tear into ribbons your beauty, The life you brought from the earth is taken again.

Creak, old corn, rustle your aching body, Crack, old corn, spill out your decaying seeds; The young deer, far away, are fighting together, The old deer, sick and feeble, drowse in your shade.

Perish, old corn, on the bosom of earth, your mother, Thrust back to her silence the thin roots of your pain; Let the heavy snow of the winter be heaped in you where you are hidden, Soon enough you will awaken to the selfsame sorrow again.

WAR-SONG

It is the seventh day of vigil; Silent, haggard, and sleepless We wait for news from our trackers To learn if the omens be good.

Wherefore has the Sun-Spirit Put trouble into our hearts? Dark clouds fly upwards bringing the thunder, War comes stalking near our home.

The burden of hunger and death Weighs on our hearts and rifles; No word from the restless heavens, No smoke from the beacon-fires:

The yellow-faces steal out silently, Broken by the ordeal; Shunned by the women They slink away to the woods.

The Chief lifts up his voice in prayer.

"Eagle, war eagle,Sailing, wheeling near us, Spirit that shrieks in air,Spirit that fights the wind, Spirit that looks at the sun,Put courage in our hearts.

"Long ago our fathers,Like eagles after the rabbit, Pursued the Chickasaw.

"That they might have chance to battle, In silence they offered their own powder With looks and gestures of scorn.

"The Chickasaw accepted, They loaded, made ready for battle.

"One flash from the muskets, One volley of red death; Then wheeling, screaming, eagles, They closed in with the hatchet.

"Eagle, war-eagle, The plumes are stained with crimson death: Spirit that dares the lightning!

Spirit that rides the cyclone! Spirit that wings a way amid the stars,Put courage in our hearts."

The trackers have returned With weary eyes.

Silently, we paint our faces, Silently sharpen the hatchets, Silently to every warrior Is given the eagle-plume.

Out of doors the women cry:

"Snake, rattlesnake, Coiling, creeping, near us, Spirit of the hidden ways of earth, Spirit holding the fluttering bird with your eyes, Spirit that strikes but once, and glides away, Give craftiness to our men!

"Forget not, how the Osages Would have slain you.

"They led you forth to the forest, And, when the night fell,

Swearing with many oaths That the enemy were near, They crept to their secret-ambush Saying you must attack when the moon began to rise.

"But a snake had whispered to your chief Many cunning thoughts.—

"With full hands he bade you pile Branches on the campfires, And withdraw into the shadows.

"A flash, a yell,Out burst the traitors:Towards the fire they leaptLike wolves, with howling laughter.

"But you awaited, You did not utter a sound. And when the astonished faces glowed clearly in the firelight, You gave them volley on volley.

"Snake, rattlesnake, Your fangs have met in quivering flesh.

Spirit that bides its moment,Spirit that knows the spot to strike, Spirit of the secret lurking-places, Give craftiness to our men."

The song is silent.Far off into the sky there lifts a long blue plume of smoke From the distant hills.

It is the great war-signal. We stagger from the council-lodge, The women fly with shrieks.

The seven-day fast is broken, Silent, haggard and sleepless, We double into the forest, Like blood-scenting wolves.

DEATH-SONG

Burn the lodge, break the weapons, Let the pure fire eat him wholly, For his Father the Sun has called him Into the West.

Nihahani! He has departed On the long, lone trail of darkness; Not a friend to guide his footsteps, Enemies on every side near him, Into the flooded plains.

Bring food to him at sunset, He is tired.

Nihahani! The woods vanish: Empty wastes all sides surround him, Buffaloes fly from his wavering shadow, Saw-grass cuts his bleeding feet.

Break jars of water on the mound, For he is thirsty and would drink.

Nihahani! he is captured: Raven-spirits drag him fainting To the hollow cave of darkness, Into the hole of torment. Leap into the fire at last, You who love him Bring him aid!

Cease, for the food is not eaten; Cease, for your offerings rot on the poles; Cease, for the grave-mound is covered with grass, And we are very few, What will become of our tribe if we sacrifice his sons, How will we ever accomplish vengeance upon our foes?

Nihahani! He sleeps with his fathers; Day by day his mother brings him Deer that his own arrows have slaughtered, Arrows sped by his son's hands. But for us, who will burn the lodges, Who will ever cover the grave-mound with rich spoil?

February, 1915.