Dzit Bizhi Adini, I
[In the Navajo Language the
title is 'Mountain with no name.']
Part 1
Let us go, you and I,
To the Henry Mountains,
Way up high, tracking bison
At 10,000 feet; purebred bison,
That can hear our bare feet, and scatter.
No one to alarm us,
Since love has been breeding
Like the bison over the continent.
But I have to ask whether I love you:
If you are a calyx I do;
If you are but a shankshaft I don't know; if you are a morel who's to say.
And what if we happen to intertwine,
High on sunlit limestone porches, in those
Nameless Mountains.
Would the bison be
Aware?
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Related quotes
Money
An introductory lecture
This morning we shall spend a few minutes
Upon the study of symbolism, which is basic
To the nature of money. I show you this nickel.
Icons and cryptograms are written all over
The nickel: one side shows a hunchbacked bison
Bending his head and curling his tail to accommodate
The circular nature of money. Over him arches
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, and, squinched in
Between that and his rump, E PLURIBUS UNUM,
A Roman reminiscence that appears to mean
An indeterminately large number of things
All of which are the same. Under the bison
A straight line giving him a ground to stand on
Reads FIVE CENTS. And on the other side of our nickel
There is the profile of a man with long hair
And a couple of feathers in the hair; we know
Somehow that he is an American Indian, and
He wears the number nineteen-thirty-six.
Right in front of his eyes the word LIBERTY, bent
To conform with the curve of the rim, appears
To be falling out of the sky Y first; the Indian
Keeps his eyes downcast and does not notice this;
To notice it, indeed, would be shortsighted of him.
So much for the iconography of one of our nickels,
Which is now becoming a rarity and something of
A collectors’ item: for as a matter of fact
There is almost nothing you can buy with a nickel,
The representative American Indian was destroyed
A hundred years or so ago, and his descendants’
Relations with liberty are maintained with reservations,
Or primitive concentration camps; while the bison,
Except for a few examples kept in cages,
Is now extinct. Something like that, I think,
Is what Keats must have meant in his celebrated
Ode on a Grecian Urn.
Notice, in conclusion,
A number of circumstances sometimes overlooked
Even by experts: (a) Indian and bison,
Confined to obverse and reverse of the coin,
Can never see each other; they are looking
In opposite directions, the bison past
The Indian’s feathers, the Indian past
The bison’s tail; (c) they are upside down
To one another; (d) the bison has a human face
Somewhat resembling that of Jupiter Ammon.
I hope that our studies today will have shown you
Something of the import of symbolism
With respect to the understanding of what is symbolized.
poem by Howard Nemerov
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To use the power of the bison, I had to perform that part of my vision for the people to see.
teaching contrast
black bison looms
over the savannah
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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It's The Conquerors Who Write The History
As they chased the wild bison on horse back they whooped and cheered loud
And they were great hunters so noble and proud
But now on the prairies the bison are rare
And the people who hunted them no longer there.
Of the great Northern Land the first people till the invaders came
And their tragic dispossession is a thing of great shame
Conquered and put into reservations for to grow old and die
The rights of Indigenous people to them did not apply.
It's the conquerors who write history as we have been told
And men they have murdered for Land and for Gold
But what matters most when history we trace
That a Country's first people must take pride of place.
You great country singers with your golden guitars,
You politicians and tycoons and billionaire movie stars
There once was a people far greater than you
And to Mother Nature they were far more true.
And the workings of Nature they did understand
And they were the people who cared for the Land
And they were displaced and oppressed and down trod
By those who believed in a different God.
They once were great warriors, wise, noble and proud
And they gave us Chief Seattle and wise Chief White Cloud
And their profound words of wisdom still living today
And such things of great beauty will never decay.
The truth may seem bitter but the truth we must face
That a Country's first people should take pride of place
And around the World Indigenous people are not treated well
Though they have such marvellous stories to tell.
The conquerors write the history as conquerors do
But to the true history they never are true
And the conquered the history never will write
And we are conditioned to believe that might is always right.
The changes keep happening and nothing seem to last
And the great herds of bison a thing of the past
And those who once hunted them were locked away
And in reservations were forced for to stay.
Out on the lone prairie their ghosts still reside
At midnight the hunters their spotted horses ride
As they chase the wild bison across the great plain
The past in the moonlight comes to life again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Love Begins Today and Ends Tomorrow
Love begins today and ends tomorrow
Love starts with joy and ends in sorrow
Tell me who told you about everlasting love
As if he that did is an unerring perfect dove
Whenever you love, you should expect
A forthcoming day to look in retrospect
That you were once in love with a beauteous lass
And who was your Christ and her smile Christmas
Where are you now, now that I need you
To slide these shoes on your Cinderella feet
This marvellous foot and this glassy shoe
Why did you leave me beneath this heat
As if I were vermin and a mere curse
Had I been told you’d treat me thus
I would’ve sworn and audibly denied
And take my life to the pulpit of suicide
Nay I have learnt my own lesson
That ere an angelic calf twice a bison
Love begins today and ends tomorrow
poem by Ahmad Savage
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The Bison
The Bison is vain, and (I write it with pain)
The Door-mat you see on his head
Is not, as some learned professors maintain,
The opulent growth of a genius’ brain;
But is sewn on with needle and thread.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Like An Ocean
(per andreasson/ pernilla emme)
Producer for bonnie: jimmy smyth
Ocean...ocean...
In the darkness of nowhere
Theres nothing at all
And I feel like Ive been here too long
Shadows and teardrops fading away
And my heart is crying for love
Far from those moments
When my eyes were still closed
And my heartbeat was longing for more
Way over mountains, higher than high
I could feel the breeze from below
Like an ocean...
Like an ocean...
Now tell me your secrets
Come closer and whisper
I feel like Ive seen you before
Theres no more illusions
No more escapes
Cause Im tired of asking for more
Seems like a lifetime fading away
And Im lost in an ocean of love
Im reaching and holding onto my dreams
Cause Im not alone anymore
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Spoken:
Far from those moments
When my eyes were still closed
Way over mountains
Higher than high
I could feel the breeze from below
Its like an ocean, ocean...heeeyehhh
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Repeat & fade
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
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Inscription-For the relief by Preston Powers
The Eagle, stooping from yon snow-blown peaks,
For the wild hunter and the Bison seeks,
In the changed world below; and finds alone
Their graven semblance in the eternal stone.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The great
The lion is great,
Who has piled its muscles
With that of bison.
The banyan is giant,
Who has spread its crown
With crushes of bushes.
Men are famous,
Who have made their paths
With the debris of innocents.
21.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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more social...a part of Thoreau
The wild goose is more of a cosmopolite than we
he breaks his fast in Canada,
takes a luncheon in the Ohio,
and plumes himself for the night in a southern bayou.
Even the bison, to some extent,
keeps pace with the seasons
cropping the pastures of the Colorado only
till a greener and sweeter grass awaits him
by the Yellowstone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Artist Unknown
Much of our literature
has come from his pen-
or was He a She?
I can't say I ken.
When not writing poems
or dabbling in prose
Beautiful songs
Anon oft would compose.
Anonymous never gained
fortune or fame.
The works are immortal,
Their maker, unnamed.
Since the first of his line
painted Bison on stone,
Anonymous is
the artist unknown.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Mountains
Once upon a time in a land called fantasy
17 mountains stood so high.
The sea surrounded them and together they would be
The only thing that ever made u cry
U said the devil told u that another mountain would appear
Everytime somebody broke your heart
He said the sea would 1 day overflow with all your tears,
And love will always leave u lonely
But I say its only mountains and the sea
Love will conquer if u just believe (oh yeah)
Its only mountains and the sea
Theres nothing greater, u and me
Once upon a time in a haystack of despair,
Happiness sometimes hard 2 find. (yeah)
Africa divided, hijack in the air,
Its enough to make you want to lose your mind
But I say its only mountains and the sea
Love will conquer if u just believe (oh yeah)
Its only mountains and the sea
Theres nothing greater, u and me
Guitars and drums on the 1
(bobby on the drum - ah!)
Its only mountains (oh yeah) and the sea. (and the girls sing)
Theres nothing greater, u and me
[starvation]
Mountains
song performed by by Prince
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Desire’s deserving
Does the lion deserve the bison
That he chased and consumed?
Does the man deserve the woman
That he chased and consumed?
Are they criminals? Must they be
Punished? Desire does not care
If it deserves what it desires.
27.10.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face
In that desolate land and lone,
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone
Roar down their mountain path,
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs
Muttered their woes and griefs
And the menace of their wrath.
"Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face,
"Revenue upon all the race
Of the White Chief with yellow hair!"
And the mountains dark and high
From their crags re-echoed the cry
Of his anger and despair.
In the meadow, spreading wide
By woodland and riverside
The Indian village stood;
All was silent as a dream,
Save the rushing a of the stream
And the blue-jay in the wood.
In his war paint and his beads,
Like a bison among the reeds,
In ambush the Sitting Bull
Lay with three thousand braves
Crouched in the clefts and caves,
Savage, unmerciful!
Into the fatal snare
The White Chief with yellow hair
And his three hundred men
Dashed headlong, sword in hand;
But of that gallant band
Not one returned again.
The sudden darkness of death
Overwhelmed them like the breath
And smoke of a furnace fire:
By the river's bank, and between
The rocks of the ravine,
They lay in their bloody attire.
But the foemen fled in the night,
And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight
Uplifted high in air
As a ghastly trophy, bore
The brave heart, that beat no more,
Of the White Chief with yellow hair.
Whose was the right and the wrong?
Sing it, O funeral song,
With a voice that is full of tears,
And say that our broken faith
Wrought all this ruin and scathe,
In the Year of a Hundred Years.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Calgary of the plains
Not of the seething cities with their swarming human hives,
Their fetid airs, their reeking streets, their dwarfed and poisoned lives,
Not of the buried yesterdays, but of the days to be,
The glory and the gateway of the yellow West is she.
The Northern Lights dance down her plains with soft and silvery feet,
The sunrise gilds her prairies when the dawn and daylight meet;
Along her level lands the fitful southern breezes sweep,
And beyond her western windows the sublime old mountains sleep.
The Redman haunts her portals, and the Paleface treads her streets,
The Indian's stealthy footstep with the course of commerce meets,
And hunters whisper vaguely of the half forgotten tales
Of phantom herds of bison lurking on her midnight trails.
Not hers the lore of olden lands, their laurels and their bays;
But what are these, compared to one of all her perfect days?
For naught can buy the jewel that upon her forehead lies--
The cloudless sapphire Heaven of her territorial skies.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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I know now what this meant, that the bison were the gift of a good spirit and were our strength, but we should lose them, and from the same good spirit we must find another strength.
Have You Heard a Duck Hiccup?
Has anyone seen the elite eat beets?
Has anyone ever seen them pat their feet?
Have you ever seen them groove in seats?
Or bust a move sweating in the Summer heat?
Have you heard a duck hiccup?
Have you heard a moth cough,
Flying in a loft?
Have you seen a bison eat?
And why aren't they called Buffalo,
With hot wings?
Adam and Eve I can see in Eden.
But I can't see either one elite.
I can even see them grooving in the heat.
But I can't see them with ducks cuttin' up!
Oh. Oh.
Oh. Oooohhh-a-noooah.
Has anyone seen the elite eat beets?
Has anyone ever seen them pat their feet?
Have you heard a duck hiccup?
~Huh? ~
Oh. Oh.
Oh. Oooohhh-a-noooah.
'What? '
~Huh? ~
'What? '
~Huh? ~
Have you heard a duck hiccup?
Oh. Oh.
Oh. Oooohhh-a-noooah.
'What? '
~Huh? ~
'What? '
~Huh? ~
Have you heard a duck hiccup?
Oh. Oh.
Oh. Oooohhh-a-noooah.
'What? '
~Huh? ~
'What? '
~Huh? ~
Have you heard a duck hiccup?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Then There Are The Mountains
On a mountain's peak is there peace?
Mountains that overlook the quiet prairie.
Mountains that borders life in rural counties.
Mountains chiseled by years of wind and rain.
Mountain winds creep keeping all secrets.
Mountains a kin to the lower hills of death.
Mountains at the height of glamour baked in sunshine.
Mountains that reach for more majestic planes.
Mountains giving to the ridges, valleys and cliffs.
Mountains in spring the fulfillment of adventure and dream.
Mountains which can shelter one from storm.
Mountains an enduring symbol in poetry.
Mountains which inhabit the calls of the wild.
Mountains of spectacle, below the bending roads between.
Mountains embracing, magnifying the sounds of river.
Mountains the stellar monuments of time.
poem by William Blackman
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Mountains Of Love
Mountains of love
Someday, make your way down the coast of south africa.
There you will say
Theyre in need of a mountain of love.
Sail away, and you reach all the way down to china.
Dont look away.
Theyre in need of what weve plenty of.
Got enough to surround every living thing we see.
Theres enough to include even you and me.
So just keep on tryin,
Climbin to the top.
Check out that view from above.
At the top,
Theres mountains of love.
In the end,
Love is what Im talkin of.
round the bend,
Theres mountains of love,
Mountains of love.
I know from the glow that I see in the smallest child
That we can go higher still than we ever dreamed of.
Dont you know
There are magical places inside the heart?
Come on, lets go.
We got room on that mountain of love,
Room enough to surround every living thing we seel
Room enough to include even you and me.
So just keep on tryin,
Climbin to the top.
Check out that view from above.
At the top, theres mountains of love.
In the end,
Love always seems to shine through.
round the bend
For me and for you,
Theres mountains of
(loves all right, mountains made of love.
Loves all right, mountains of love.)
(loves all right, mountains made of love.
Loves all right, mountains of love.)
To the top,
Lets check out that view from above.
It never stops.
Theres mountains of love.
In the end, love always seems to shine through,
round the bend for me and for you.
At the top, top of those mountains of love...
At the top,
Got more than enough.
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: There’s Still Hope
Why blame thyself or else someone for things
Happ’ning in life and much beyond control?
The honeybees take nectar but well stings;
Find out if ’tis attainable our goal.
Whatever we had suffer’d till today,
Is just the iceberg’s tip of tomorrow;
Let’s do our job at hand in best yet way,
Before our hearts get filled by more sorrow.
Sorrow or joy is just a transient thing;
Never feel jealous of the next person;
Even the beggar by the road does sing;
Someday, a cow need act like a bison
Courage is drawn from oneself or others;
If determined, nothing a man for bothers
poem by John Celes
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