NPM: War God's Horse Song II

 

 (Image kidnapped from Quincy Tahoma Blog)

Hmm. Only three more days until National Poetry Month ends. Whew. It'll be nice not having to spend an hour or so a night flipping through books and transcribing stuff that other people wrote.

So why bother with all this? you ask.

Spreading the love, I suppose.

I guess one of the reasons I so enjoy reading poetry is that there are times I'll glance at the comments on a Slate or WaPo article, scroll down through Twitter, skim a magazine in the checkout line, hover around a television set, or overhear chatter between kids, businessmen, or housewives on a subway car, and I'll find myself thinking

Shut up.

Just shut up.

Shut. the fuck. up.

You can only absorb so much snark, insincerity, irony, glibness, sales talk, and stupid human static before it poisons you. People's mental physiology will vary, but I frequently find that poetry works as a powerful antidote to the psychic toxins of the modern age.

Anyway.

Here's a piece I remember first reading in a packet that was distributed during the first day of a creative writing class, and I've spent at least one evening going through all my collected papers and notebooks trying to track down. Managing to track it down on Google Books a few months ago was a great joy and relief.

I'll spare you the uninformed analysis or hastily-Googled autobiographical details. It will be enough to mention how much I enjoy the hypnotic effect of the refrain, and how unusual it is (at least from the perspective of one accustomed to reading American and British poetry) to see it used to such an extreme.


War God's Horse Song II
(by Frank Mitchell; translated from the Navajo by David P. McAllester)

With their voices they are calling me,
With their voices they are calling me!

I am the child of White Shell Woman,
     With their voices they are calling me,
I am the son of the Sun,
     With their voices they are calling me,
I am Turquoise Boy,
     With their voices they are calling me!

From the arching rainbow, turquoise on its outer edge,
  from this side of where it touches the earth,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Now the horses of the Sun-descended-boy,
     With their voices they are calling me!

The turquoise horses are my horses,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Dark stone water jars their hooves,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Arrowheads the frogs of their hooves,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Mirage-stone their striped hooves,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Dark wind their legs,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Cloud shadow their tails,
     With their voices they are calling me,
All precious fabrics their bodies,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Dark cloud their skins,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Scattered rainbow their hair,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Now the Sun rises before them to shine on them,
     With their voices they are calling me!

New moons their cantles,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Sunrays their backstraps,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Rainbows their girths,
     With their voices they are calling me,
They are standing, waiting, on rainbows,
     With their voices they are calling me,
The dark-rain-four-footed-ones, their neck hair falling in a wave,
     With their voices they are calling me!

Sprouting plants their ears,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Great dark stars their eyes,
     With their voices they are calling me,
All kinds of spring waters their faces,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Great shell their lips,
     With their voices they are calling me,
White shell their teeth,
     With their voices they are calling me,
There is flash-lightning in their mouths,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Dark-music sounds from their mouths,
     With their voices they are calling me,
They call out into dawn,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Their voices reach all the way out to me,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Dawn-pollen is in their mouths,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Flowers and plant-dew are in their mouths,
     With their voices they are calling me!

Sunray their bridles,
     With their voices they are calling me,
To my right arm, beautifully to my hand they come,
     With their voices they are calling me,
This day they become my own horses,
     With their voices they are calling me,
Ever increasing, never diminishing,
     With their voices they are calling me,
My horses of long life and happiness,
     With their voices they are calling me,
I, myself, am the boy of long life and happiness,
     With their voices they are calling me!

With their voices they are calling me,
With their voices they are calling me!