the continuum of life (i.m. Margaret Treuer)

MORNING STAR

                             i.m. Margaret Seelye Treuer

There is the fabric of the poem & there is

the continuum of life

as with Ojibwe mother & wife

& federal magistrate Margaret Treuer, otherwise

Giiwedinookwe (North Wind Woman) –

first American Indian

female judge in the country

(requiescat in pace, strong dancing one).

& I can’t always mesh the two threads

right – in poem, & with life

with my dull carving knife

rough-shaping sets of Minny-figureheads

for meanings I can’t quite project.

& in a one-room cabin she

grew up, ambitious to be

of service from the start – & heck,

she married a refugee from Nazi Germany

– Scattergood while you can

laboring man, & chairwoman

in labor.  Adamant to bring out of many

threads, & ivory husks of sister birch

one floatable resilient bark

or local replica of Ark…

wild rising, riding on waters of Ur-church

or paddling Churnagogue… to lift

the mournful tapestry

from scorn & travesty

to something like the glowing starry gift

                   *

it was meant to be, in the beginning

& she loved her Native ways

served as mentor & guide

teaching her children how to rice & sing

& hunt, tap maple, living off the land.

I was searching for a figure

like Pocahontas, Morning Star

stepping up to dance out of Gravesend

someone like starry Virgo or Corn Mother

to represent (in my rough-

sketchy way) just enough

for my own District of Columbia (another,

older coulombe, a deeper-down coo-coo). 

& as le printemps approaches

& spring tiptoes on lady’s

slippers through the forest, & you

sense the great symphony slowly expand

& breathe, toward end of May

a chord of Restoration Day

sounds in my heart & over the land –

when a glossolalia of babbling Pentecost

races glittering across

the coppery brook, & as

we rise in spirit toward that almost

ineffable perfection of the Everlasting

Thunder-life… we sing

of grace & thanks-giving;

our maypole wisdom-song we bring.

3.21.20

In a Scattergood world

PURE SOUND

                              i.m. Robert Treuer

Back East, in Rhode Island, the big snow

coming.  Thinking of William

Blackstone, hermit-pilgrim – the

one who went to live with Miantonomi

& the other red-men.  To the House

of 4 Pines – under

cartouche of Little Bear,

North Star.  Out of Nazi Austria

sped a peregrine, by grace of God

& pity of strange braves

(Scattergood saviors,

anonymous donors... meek just good).

To a tree farm he fostered (in remote

forest).  Led into circle

of silent First People,

tending ashes (sitting shiva).  Little

prow of acacia, rocking near Itasca-

Nile... your upside-down

fire-drill will drown its

candle in stony Minnehaha.

Sigh, winging out into grey sound

(b-flat at midnight).

The musicologist

from Florence mutters back to ground

just so – back to the pigeon-clay

of primordial, steadfast

Bee (until the last

dragon of Sheol fades away).

1.22.16

The Hiawatha

SMOKE-SIGNUM

I carry Sophie through the snow

to the summit of Tower Hill.

She says, It’s magical

(prodigal 2-yr-old). & so

it is.  That conical moss-green

Witch’s Hat crowns

a Yeatsian limestone

keep (prehistoric submarine

barnacled with biomorphic

hieroglyphs).  Isis

the octopus gathers

her segmented sea-worm (limbic

bronze phosphorus monarch child)

in streams of time – before

the 9th planet was born,

or knowledge-tree known (wild

afterthought of smoke-signum).

Chicago Hiawatha

arrowed here, truer

than rue – trained consummation,

like soft carnation in Quaker lapel

(hexagonamatrix).  Rule,

Scattergood Friends School –

your West Branch harbor (charitable

agape) a hostel in a hostile time.

Justice for orphan, widow,

refugee.  Praise be, grey

catenary icon (9-twined lime).

1.20.16

Tower Hill (Prospect Park, Minneapolis)