look to the language
when a nation, a people
has forgotten the dream at the root
the dream-informed song of their birth
their words are corrupt without compassion soft & rotten
their dreams are desolate
& night harbors special terrors
II.
it is spoiled
it is over-ripe, yes
ripe for eating
the coyotes are eating yr dreams
III.
now where is the hearth where is the village where is the communal well
dreaming of three ringtail cats javelina & bobcat
they are sharing the amber afternoon
with mule deer, antelope & bighorn sheep
they are dancing together
on the fire-touched mesa
dancing in the golden grass
it is time to go home, but where is the tribe where is the sacred grove where is the give-away
IIII.
where the dream is strongest
we speak a language of fire to make the day equal to the night
hands rough from working the dream stone & juniper
the tawny winter light
golden with desert dust & cattail pollen
we wake into a hungry dawn
Peter Blue Cloud (Aroniawenrate) (born 1935 – 2011) was a Mohawk poet, and folklorist. He was born on the Caughnawaga Reserve in Kahnawake, Quebec, Canada and died in Montreal on April 27, 2011.
In the late 1950′s, he traveled to California, where he was employed as an ironworker in the Bay Area. After quitting the iron, he worked as a logger with the Haida people in the Queen Charlotte Islands of British Columbia, as a ranch hand in the vicinity of Susanville, California, and doing archaeological field work with the Paiute people of Pyramid Lake, Nevada.
He lived for some time at the Maidu Bear Dance grounds near Janesville, Ca, where he absorbed the stories and teachings of Maidu elders, and where some of his first creations as a carver and sculptor emerged.
Moving back to the Bay Area, he discovered the Beat poetry and folk music scenes, and the social and political upheaval of the 60′s. There he continued to develop his talents as a poet, sculptor, carver and painter, collaborated with other Native artists and writers, and participated in art exhibitions.
While an artist in many genres, Blue Cloud is most known for his writing. He published several books of poetry and his poems appear in numerous anthologies and journals.
It was all darkness and always had been.
There was nothing there forever.
Creation was a tiny seed
awaiting a dream.
The dream came to be
because of the cry.
A howling cry which was
an echo in the emptiness of nothing.
The cry was very lonely and
caused the dream to
turn over in its sleep.
The dream did not want to awaken,
but the crying would not stop.
Well, thought the dream, opening its mind,
so now I am awake and there is something.
The dream floated above itself
and looked into its mind.
It wanted to see what the cry was.
What it saw was a dream within its own dreaming.
And that other dream was Creation.
And Creation was the cry
seeking to begin something,
but it didn’t know what,
and that is why it cried.
So the original dream lifted
the Creation dream from its mind
and set it free.
Then it went to the other end of nothing
and let itself go back
to dreamless sleep.
Creation floated all over the nothing,
dreaming of all the things it would do.
Its dreaming was interrupted
often by crying.
So, it wasn’t me crying after all,
Creation thought.
Then it thought again,
but it is me because I dreamed it.
So, I have begun Creation with a cry.
When I begin to create the universe,
I must remember to give the cry
a very special place.
Perhaps
I’ll call the cry
Coyote.
where is the give-away
