Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO SITTING BULL, by GERTRUDE B. GUNDERSON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO SITTING BULL, by                    
First Line: There is no prophet without honor, save
Last Line: Our prairie when injustice is abroad.
Subject(s): Messiah; Native Americans; Prisons & Prisoners; Prophecy & Prophets; Indians Of America; American Indians; Indians Of South America; Convicts


"There is no prophet without honor, save
In his own country." We called you Ishmaelite,
Although you worshipped Wakantanka
The Father whom we white folks also claim
Our inspiration. As the seers of old
You often went aside and talked with Him
That you might know His message to the Sioux ...

The Great White Father claimed your hunting grounds;
But you, dissenting from his agent's rule
Protested for your people. Could not he
Perceive the longings of the Red Man's heart,
His urge for timeless solitude of soul
Among the peace-crowned peaks of Paha Sapa?
His love of freedom, native as the air,
His yearning for unbroken prairie spaces
Where rhythmic years sweep by with bated breath?

Your dreams denied—magnificent and fearless,
You fought for primal rights to this good land;
But, might was right as you soon realized,
And avarice a stronger urge than treaties.
Now, hunted, harried and in desperation,
You sent your messengers to Gros Ventres, Blackfeet,
Araphoes, Shoshones and the Oglala Sioux,
To pray to Wakantanka tirelessly,
To send you a Messiah in your need.

With stirring incantations and ghost dances
Your medicine was worked to bring Him down.
The Great White Father interfered—with guns.
Religion such as that was not allowed.
Your forces all were scattered to the winds—
Your prayers died down ... Messiah did not come.
Your prayers had struck a silent, leaden sky....

Your braves turned traitors—food is good to have,
And soldiers' uniforms were safer than the jails...
For you no prison, nor yet banishment
Was safe, for those might grant you martyrdom.
A shot by some base traitor settled that....
Immortal sleep is yours on Standing Rock reserve,
But often your unconquered spirit stalks
Our prairie when injustice is abroad.





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