Poetry, Got something? ...Shtick it here..
Feb 12 2007, 12:32 PM
Group: Valued Member
Joined: 3-February 07
Member No.: 551
Hope you enjoy this...
Und nun, liebe kinder, gebt fein acht:
Die wahrheit wird zu sand gemacht!
...Den streut man jenen in die Augen
die niemals fragen- alles glauben...
Die volle wahrheit zu ertragen
steht jenen an die Fragen fragen-
Nur dem der sie zu stellen wagt:
Und Gott hilf dem der Fragen fragt!
(My children- come and see this land
were truth has long since turned to sand
which wind will blow into the eyes
of those who never question lies...
The truth to bear is for those men
who dare to question- and who then
make asking their most pressing task:
And God help those who dare to ask...)
All material marked "W. J. B" is my own; anyone wanting to make use of this- feel free to do so (except commercial use, that is); just don't remove the "W.J.B", please. -Devilsadvocate-
This post has been edited by Devilsadvocate: Oct 6 2007, 11:36 AM
Sep 18 2007, 02:54 PM
Group: Valued Member
Joined: 3-February 07
Member No.: 551
I have added this story in order to provide the means to step back, and look at the dark side of "the American Dream" for a moment.
The idea for posting this came from this thread:
We all must learn to love ourselves- as individuals and as nations.
Otherwise we will never be able to love anyone outside ourselves-
and the ultimate consequence of that could be dire.
"Loving ourselves" is not the same as "Being in love with ourselves"-
a subtle distinction, but we all fall for that on occasion:
That reflection in the mirror is there so that we can check ourselves-
not so we can think "...rrr- Handsome devil..."
It's a question of stepping back and accepting who we are- lumps and bumps and all. Forget plastic surgery- you can deal with the lumps and bumps on your skin, but all that means is that they are still there- on the inside...
And nations tend to amass a fair amount of lumps and bumps, just like any individual. They get born, they grow up, they grow old- they even die.
America has been an victim of precosity...
From versions of this story told by Dick Fool Bull at Rosebud Indian reservation, South Dakota, 1967 and 1968:
The Ghost-Dance at Wounded Knee
"This is a true story. I wish it weren't.
When it happened I was a small boy, only about six or seven. To tell the truth, I'm not sure how old I am...I was born before the census takes came in, so there's no record.
When i was a young boy, I liked to stick around my old uncle, because he always had stories to tell.
Once he said "There's something new coming, travelling on the wind...
A new dance. A new prayer..."
He was talking about Wanagi-Wachipi, the ghost-dance.
"Short Bull and Kicking Bear travelled far," my uncle told me. "They went to see a holy man from another tribe far in the south, the Piute-tribe. They had heard that this holy man could bring dead people back to life again, and that he could bring the buffalo back."
My uncle said it was very important, and that I must listen closely.
Old Unc said:
This holy man let Short Bull and Kicking Bear look into his hat. There they saw their dead relatives walking about. The holy man told them, I'll give you something to eat that will kill you, but don't be afraid. I'll bring you back to life again."
They believed him. They ate something and died, then found themselves walking in a new, beautiful land. They spoke with their parents and grandparents, and with friends that the white soldiers had killed.
Their friends were well, and this new world was like the old one, the one the white man had destroyed. It was full of game, full of antelope and buffalo. The grass was green and high, and though long dead people from other tribes also lived in this new land, there was peace. All the Indian nations formed one tribe and could understand each other.
Kicking Bear and Short Bull walked around and saw everything, and they were happy.
Then the holy man from the Piutes brought them back to life again.
"You have seen it", he told them, "the new Land I'm bringing. The earth will roll up like a blanket with all that bad white man's stuff, the fences and railroads and mines and telegraphpoles; and underneath will be our old-young Indian earth with all our relatives come to life again."
Then the holy man taught them a new dance, a new song, a new prayer.
He gave them sacred red paint. He evn made the sun die: It was all covered with black and dissappeared. Then he brought the sun back to life again.
Short Bull and Kicking Bear came back bringing us the good news. Now everywhere we are dancing this new dance to roll up the earth, to bring back the dead. A new world is coming...
This Old Unc told me.
Then I saw it myself: the dancing. People were holding each other by the hand, singing, whirling around, looking at the sun. They had a little spruce-tree in the middle of the dance circle. They wore special shirts painted with the sun, the moon, the stars and magpies. They whirled around; they didn't stop dancing.
Some of the dancers fell down in a swoon, as if they were dead. The medicine men fanned sweet-smelling cedar smoke and they came back to life again.
They told the people, "We were dead. We went to the moon and the morning star. We found our dead fathers and mothers there, and talked to them."
When they woke up, these people held in their hands star rocks, moon rocks, different kinds of rocks from those we have here on earth. They clutched strange meats from star and moon animals.
The dance leader told them not to be afraid of the white men who forbade them to dance the Wanagi-Wachipi. They told them that the ghost-shirts they wore would not let any white man's bullets through.
So they danced; I saw it.
The earth never rolled up. The buffalo never came back, and the dead relatives never came to life again.
It was the soldiers who came; why- nobody knew.
The dance was a peaceful one, harming nobody, but I guess the white people thought it was a war-dance.
Many people were afraid of what the soldiers would do. We had no guns anymore, and hardly any horses left. We depended on the white man for everything, yet the whites were afraid of us, just as we were afraid of them.
Then the news spread that Tatanka Iyotake (Sitting Bull) had been killed at Standing Rock for being with the ghost-dancers, and the people were really scared.
Some of the old people said: "Let's go to Pine Ridge and give ourselves up, because the soldiers won't shoot us if we do. Old Red Cloud will protect us. Also, they're handing out rations up there."
So my father and mother and Old Unc got the buggy and their old horse and drove with us children toward Pine Ridge. It was cold and snowing. It wasn't a happy ride; all the grown-ups were worried. Then the soldiers stopped us. They had big fur coats on, bear coats. They were warm and we were freezing, and I remember wishing I had such a coat.
They told us to go no further, to stop and make a camp right there. They told the same to everybody who came, by foot, or horse, or buggy.
So there was a camp, but little to eat and little firewood, and the soldiers made a ring around us and let nobody leave.
Then suddenly there was a strange noise, maybe four, five miles away, like the tearing of a blanket- the biggest blanket in the world.
As soon as he heard it, Old Unc burst out in tears. My old Ma started to keen as for the dead, and people were running around, weeping and acting crazy.
I asked Old Unc: "Why is everyone crying?"
He said, "They are killing them- they are killing our people over there!"
My father said, "That noise- that's not the ordinary soldier-guns. These are the big wagon-guns which tear people to bits- into little pieces!"
I could not understand it, but everybody was weeping, and I wept too.
Then a day later- or was it two...?
No, I think it was the next day, we passed there.
Old Unc said: "You children might as well see it; look and remember..."
There were dead people all over, mostly women and children, in a ravine near a stream called Chankpe-opi Wakpala, 'Wounded Knee Creek'.
The people were frozen, lying there in all sorts of postures their motion frozen too.
The soldiers, who were stacking up bodies like firewood, did not like us passing by.
They told us to leave there, double-quick or else...
Old Unc said: "We'd better do what they say right now, or we'll lie here too."
So we went on toward Pine Ridge; but I had seen...
I had seen a dead mother with her dead baby sucking at her breast.
The little baby had on a tiny beaded cap with the design of the American flag.
This post has been edited by Devilsadvocate: Sep 18 2007, 03:36 PM
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