Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE INDIAN, by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT Poet's Biography First Line: Standing by the shore of the great bitter water Last Line: Are empty. Subject(s): Native Americans; Indians Of America; American Indians; Indians Of South America | ||||||||
Standing by the shore of the great bitter water When the Sun god rose from his rest In the dark tepees of the east, I looked out over the great lake of bitter water White with the manes of galloping stallions And farther than arrows can reach Over the bitter water Swam great white birds Arching white feathered necks Shaking their plumage, Swimming, swimming towards me. Nearer and nearer they came, And soon, Canoes were the birds, Burdened like squaws, Carrying huge blankets of white. And the wind was their friend Blowing them close to the shore, Blowing them close. Then they stopped And a great noise came over the bitter water, Louder than the noise of the thunder bird When he flaps his great black wings, Shadowing the land, And the mountains tremble And the Great Turtle moves in his sleep And the earth shakes. And fire I saw Like the lightning, And I covered my eyes Lest blindness should come As it comes from the fire and smoke in the tepee. And shouting I ran to the trees And sheltered myself Calling my brothers to come. And quickly they ran And gathered about me And we lay on our old mother earth, Trembling, looked out on the broad bitter water. Braves we saw With pale white faces, Eyes as blue as the skies When the snows are here And hair like the veins That run through the rocks On the shore of the great inland water. And they carried the thunder in their hands And silver they wore on their heads And their voices were soft, Soft were their words when they called to us. And slowly we walked to the shore Our bows in our hands, Our quivers of arrows ready for use. But soft were their words And they came bringing gifts, Trinkets and beads for our squaws And shiny things for the children, Hatchets and hoes for the boys and the braves. And our hearts were great with happiness And brothers we called them And passed the pipe of peace. The pale faces from over the bitter water Laughed at us and wondered As we sat and smoked our pipes of stone Contented and happy. Many suns they were with us And happy we were. Came the time when the pumpkins were yellow, Red corn in the clearing was tasselled And sweet. They hoisted their sails on their mighty canoes, Sailed away to the east, Vanished from sight, Were lost on the bitter water. And two of our brothers went with them And now they are gone Sad are our hearts And empty our days; And often we go to the shore But nothing we see, No sail on the water To gladden our sight, No sound of the thunder; Only the great lake of the bitter water And the white gulls wheeling And crying. And sad and bitter are our hearts As the bitter water. Will they come again, The great spirits, Bringing us gifts As they promised, Bringing our brothers With tales to tell Of the great white father Who dwells in his wigwam Beyond the bitter water? We are lonely for our brothers, We are waiting to hear The tales they'll tell us When they return With the pale faces From over the bitter water. Oh hasten, little brothers, We are waiting, We are waiting, We are lonely And our pipes Are empty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD INDIAN by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT SCHOLARLY PROCEDURE by JOSEPHINE MILES ONE LAST DRAW OF THE PIPE by PAUL MULDOON THE INDIANS ON ALCATRAZ by PAUL MULDOON PARAGRAPHS: 9 by HAYDEN CARRUTH THEY ACCUSE ME OF NOT TALKING by HAYDEN CARRUTH AMERICAN INDIAN ART: FORM AND TRADITION by DIANE DI PRIMA A GARGOYLE by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT |
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