Faraway But Not Forgotten
Waves lap the beach
in endless cadence
even now,
ascending the beach
falling back.
Leaving the sand glistening
under sun and star.
Cold water on your feet
its gripping froth and pulsing splash
How could the world so timeless
change so fast?
Wrenched
from your lifelong home,
on Gichi agaaming.
.
The coolness of nibi
on your ankles
in your mind,
in your heart,
just yesterday
Stiff shoes,
cut hair, silenced words,
And fear
today
faraway from home.
This is a poem about how it may have been like for any imprisoned youth from Lake Superior country suddenly swept into the boarding school system. As a non-Native, I don't presume to intimately know their pain. It is only as a human being I know the inspiration Gichi agaaming provides in such short meeting, when one is open to its earthly presence.
Your poem is creative.
ReplyDeleteWhat it talks about was uncreative destruction.
Thank you for capturing this travesty in poetic form. The language of poetry consistently does what you have done here -- through creative imagery, tell the truth in a way that no other language form can.
ReplyDeleteI would appreciate your take on "Gichigami," as I've heard it means big lake, and sometimes refers to Lake Superior. Is this a correct translation and meaning as you see it?
I took 'gichigami' from The Ojibwe People's Dictionary: https://ojibwe.lib.umn.edu/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&q=Lake+Superior&commit=Search&type=english, and entering "Lake Superior." Our son John, who teaches Ojibwemowin, the Ojibwe language, says there is more than one pronunciation of the word; there was only one in this dictionary.
DeleteMy family and I were in Bayfield for four days over the 4th, and as you intimately know, that location puts a person within short walking distance of the lake. I stood barefooted along a sandy beach, as others of the family walked the shore in anticipation of launching their paddle board and fishing kayak there.
As the waves washed in over my feet, 'things' just started to come to me so I hurriedly pulled my notepaper and pen from my pocket (No, I didn't use my cellphone) and jotted down lines to the poem describing what was happening as I stood there; the sensation of ice cold water, its pulsing action and eruption; acknowledging that it was a timeless performance and how, perhaps, it may have been one of those ingrained memories of faraway 'home' that a child held on onto, if they could.
New development: Talking to my Ojibwemowin advisor he suggested I use the Ojibwe word, "gichi agaaming" instead of 'gichigami', the former being in common usage in his experience. I've changed this in all my on-line and printed versions.
Delete