I too have sentimental leanings,
Inchoate sensibilities,
Vague yearnings,
And feel the pull of those
Old, stupid, useful words, like
Love; dreams; desire;
From which nothing can save us
But the things themselves:
On our kitchen table lie
The blown still-moist petals
Of Friday’s flowers.
Yaitse said:
I see the footprints
Running here and there.
Give them to me,
Those two skinny boys!
White Shell Woman said:
The prints like little feet,
I make them with my fist’s edge,
Scatter them all around the place.
It’s better than living alone.
Changing Woman said:
Go back to the mountains, Yaitse,
Break your teeth on stones.
There’s nothing for you here,
Nothing you have not ruined.
Four days ago
These women dreamed in the sunlight
And now there are babies
Wriggling at their breasts.
Four days ago
These were babies crying
And now they are running everywhere
Playing huntsman.
Four days ago
These were boys playing
And now they practice shooting
And ask about their father.
Changing Woman said:
Such a dream I had.
The Sun himself took me as I slept!
I would not have thought him
Such a careful lover.
White Shell Woman said:
I slept, and as I slept
Old Sun, that sly fucker,
Came down and slipped it in me.
I woke still wet.
There they go again, stupid birds.
They’ve been flying up and down the Ridge
All fall.
As if that would bring him back.
Veery and Vole and the Vinegar Fly
Decided to go to the top of the sky.
But Vole couldn’t fly, though of course he would try;
“Do not think us unkind,” Veery said with a sigh,
“We must leave you behind!” And they bade him Good-bye.
And then Vinegar Fly – though of course he could fly –
Couldn’t fly very fast; couldn’t fly very high.
He grew weary, and cried out to Veery, “Please try
To go slower, and lower!” But Veery said, “I
Am a high-flying bird, and I cannot comply!”
And so Veery went on all alone — which is why
Veery and Vole and the Vinegar Fly
Do not get along.
And that is my song.
(a found poem, from the works of Washington Matthews)
It has lasted eight days before
the four singers,
after long and tedious instruction by the shaman,
come out
to sing this song.
Five hundred people are, perhaps, assembled
to witness the public ceremonies
of the night;
some have come
from the most distant parts
of the wide
Navajo
territory; all are preparedto hold their vigil until dawn.
A score or more of critics are in the audience
who know the song by heart and are
alert to discover errors.
It is a long song,
and consists almost exclusively of
meaningless
or archaic
vocableswhich convey no idea to
the mind of the singer. Yet not
onesyllable
may be forgotten
ormisplaced.
Ifthe slightest error is made,
it is at once proclaimed by the assembled critics,
the fruitless ceremony comes to an end, and
the five hundred disappointed spectators
disperse.
But
fortunatelythey are not as particular with all their songs
as they are
with this.
Flim was thin as a chicken wing
Flam was fat as a toad.
Flim walked east and Flam walked north
They met along the western road.
Flam had a bag of noodles;
He spilt them on the ground.
Flim just smiled and shook his hand
And gave his head a friendly pound.
And both of them were in the way
And neither stepped aside
So no one else could come along
To offer either one a ride.
Flam was bowing from the waist
Clicking his heels together
Flim was staring at the sky
Wondering about the weather.
And both of them were in the way
And both were at a loss.
And neither one would give an inch
So both of them were cross.
Flam was standing in the path
And fussing with his hat
Flim was sitting diligently
Where the ground was nice and flat.
And no one cared to solve the mess
And no one cared to stay
And what with one thing and another
That is how things are today.
Lily Lake
Loved her snake.
Leroy Lay
Stole it away.
Lucas Lops
Called the cops.
Laura Leaf
Chased the thief.
Lenny Loun
Knocked him down.
Lamia Lake
(That was the snake)
Swallowed him whole.
That’s all.
Down by the hill, or lower down,
The larks and lizards built a town.
They sang for fun and lay in the sun
And life was easy.
Seasons came, and came, and came,
And some were different, some the same;
The flowers grew, and blossomed, and blew,
And life was easy.
But a lark grows bold to stretch its wing
While a lizard sleeps and dreams of spring.
So the larks forgot – what the lizards did not –
That life is easy.
Then they went their ways, no one knew why,
Some to the desert and some to the sky,
With the turning spheres and the passing years,
Like life, so easy.
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