Native American Culture

My great-grandmother was at least half Cherokee but she was an orphan so I have been unable to find out much about her. I have read about Native American culture and visited museums and "culture centers" but definitely am not an expert on the subject. I welcome suggestions of things to add to this page. I know it is politically incorrect to refer to Native Americans as "Indians". However, in quotes or poems from the past I leave them as is.

There is a Native American ABC List at scrapbooking.com.
There is a very informative page at Native Americans From A – Z
On the same site is the interesting story of Chief Standing Bear

There are two wonderful writers of Native American poetry that I hope to post poems by after I check copyright issues. In the meantime search for the names "Wendy Rose" and "Louise Erdrich".
There is a site called "Night Owls" that has Native American quotes and info about the Cherokees.

All things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man, the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. (Chief Seattle)
Before you walk a mile in someone's moccasins take off your own first.
A cold wind blew on the prairie on the day the last buffalo fell. A death wind for my people. (Sitting Bull)
Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear. (Ambrose Redmoon)
Don't let yesterday use up too much of today. (Cherokee Proverb)
I don't feel we did wrong in taking this great country away from the Indians. There were great numbers of people who needed new land and the Indians were selfishly trying to keep it for themselves. (John Wayne) (talk about selfish!)
Illegal aliens have always been a problem in the United States. Ask any Indian. (Robert Orben)
A Native American elder once described his own inner struggles in this manner: Inside of me there are two dogs. One of the dogs is mean and evil. The other dog is good. The mean dog fights the good dog all the time. When asked which dog wins, he reflected for a moment and replied, The one I feed the most.
Only when the last tree has died and the last river been poisoned and the last fish been caught will we realize we cannot eat money. (Cree Proverb)
Take only memories. Leave nothing but footprints. (Chief Seattle)
Tell me and I'll forget. Show me, and I may not remember. Involve me, and I'll understand. (Native American Proverb)
To say nothing is out here is incorrect; to say the desert is stingy with everything except space and light, stone and earth is closer to the truth. (William Least Heat Moon)
When a white army battles Indians and wins, it is called a great victory, but if they lose it is called a massacre. (Chiksika, Shawnee)
When it comes time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home. (Mohican Chief Aupumut, 1725)
When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light, for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food, and the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies with yourself. (Tecumseh, Shawnee Chief)

Two Wolves

An old Cherokee told his grandson that a battle that goes on inside each us.
The battle is between two 'wolves'.
One 'wolf' is Evil. It has anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other 'wolf' is Good. It has joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf wins?"

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

What is Life?

(Last words of Crowfoot - Blackfoot warrior and orator, 1890)

It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath if a buffalo in the wintertime.
It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

Trail of Tears

(Rea Williams)

Oh great Spirit, stay our fears
As we trod this trail of tears -
Fears that're born of lands unknown
As like the tumbleweed we're blown
Across the prairies by evil winds,
Tell us, Great Spirit, where it ends.

When food is taken from our mouth
And we're driven from the south -
It is because of our past deeds
Or only the white man's lust and greed?

The wily white man who call us brothers
Then doth rape and defile our mothers,
Who drives us from our ancestral home
To wander endlessly and forever roam
Through this sere and barren land
Always waiting for that next command,
"Move on Red Dog! You can't stay here!"
So we trod again that trail of tears.

(Rea had an ancestor on the Trail of Tears)

Still With Us

(Makah Poem)

Do not stand by my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am a diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star shine at night.
Do not stand by my grave and cry.
I am not there...I DID NOT DIE.

Battle Won is Lost

The said, "You are no longer a lad."
I nodded.
They said, "Enter the council lodge."
I sat.
They said, "Our lands are at stake."
I scowled.
They said, "We are at war."
I hated.
They said, "Prepare red war symbols."
I painted.
They said, "Count coups."
I scalped.
They said, "You'll see friends die."
I cringed.
They said, "Desperate warriors fight best."
I charged.
They said, "Some will be wounded."
I bled.
They said, "To die is glorious."
They lied.

The Flower-Fed Buffaloes

(Vachel Lindsay)

The flower-fed buffaloes of the spring
In the days of long ago,
Ranged where the locomotives sing
And the prairie flowers lie low:
The tossing, blooming, perfumed grass
Is swept away by wheat,
Wheels and wheels and wheels spin by
In the spring that still is sweet.
But the flower-fed buffaloes of the spring
Left us long ago,
They gore no more, they bellow no more: -
With the Blackfeet lying low,
With the Pawnee lying low.

A Song of Greatness

(Chippewa song translated by Mary Austin)

When I hear the old men
Telling of heroes,
Telling of great deeds
Of ancient days,
When I hear them telling,
Then I think within me
I too am one of these.

When I hear the people
Praising great ones,
Then I know that I too
Shall be esteemed,
I too when my time comes
Shall do mightily.

Apache Wedding Prayer

Now you will feel no rain, for each
of you will be shelter to the other.

Now you will feel no cold, for each
of you will be warmth to the other.

Now there is no more loneliness, for each
of you will be companion to the other.

Now you are two persons,
But there is only one life before you.

Go now to your dwelling place
To enter into the days of your togetherness

And may your days be good
and long upon the earth.

Farewell

(Crowfoot, Blackfoot Chief)

A little while and
I will be gone from among you,
from nowhere we come;
into nowhere we go.

What is life?
It is a flash of a firefly
in the night.
It is a breadth of a buffalo
in the winter time.
It is the little shadow
that runs across the grass
and loses itself in the sunset.

They Speak to Me

(Chief Dan George)

The beauty of the trees,
the softness of the air,
the fragrance of the grass,
speaks to me.
The summit of the mountain,
the thunder of the sky,
speaks to me.
The faintness of the stars,
the trail of the sun,
the strength of fire,
and the life that never goes away,
they speak to me.
And my heart soars.

Indian Names

(Lydia Huntley Sigourney)

"How can the red men be forgotten,
while so many of our states and territories,
bays, lakes, and rivers,
are indelibly stamped by names of their giving?"

Ye say they all have passed away,
That noble race and brave,
That their light canoes have vanished
From off the crested wave;
That 'mid the forests where they roamed
There rings no hunter's shout,
But their name is on your waters,
Ye may not wash it out.

'Tis where Ontario's billow
Like Ocean's surge is curled,
Where strong Niagara's thunders wake
The echo of the world.
Where red Missouri bringeth
Rich tribute from the west,
And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.

Ye say their cone-like cabins,
That clustered o'er the vale,
Have fled away like withered leaves,
Before the autumn gale,
But their memory liveth on your hills,
Their baptism on your shore,
Your everlasting rivers speak
Their dialect of yore.

Old Massachusetts wears it,
Within her lordly crown,
And broad Ohio bears it,
Amid his young renown;
Connecticut hath wreathed it
Where her quiet foliage waves,
And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarse
Through all her ancient caves.

Wachuset hides its lingering voice
Within his rocky heart,
And Allegheny graves its tone
Throughout his lofty chart;
Monadnock on his forehead hoar
Doth seal the sacred trust,
Your mountains build their monument
Though ye destroy their dust.

Ye call these red-browed brethren
The insects of an hour,
Crushed like the noteless worm amid
The regions of their power;
Ye drive them from their fathers' lands,
Ye break of faith the seal,
But can ye from the court of Heaven
Exclude their last appeal?

Ye see their unresisting tribes,
With toilsome step and slow,
On through the trackless desert pass,
A caravan of woe;
Think ye the Eternal's ear is deaf?
His sleepless vision dim?
Think ye the soul's blood may not cry
From that far land to him?

The Cherokee Mother

(Lydia Huntley Sigourney)

Ye bid us hence. these vales are dear,
To infant hope, to patriot pride,
These streamlets tuneful to our ear,
Where our light shallops peaceful glide.

Beneath yon consecrated mounds
Our fathers' treasur'd ashes rest,
Our hands have till'd these corn-clad ground,
Our children's birth these home have blest,

Here, on our soil a Saviour's love
First beam'd with renovating ray,
Why should we from these haunts remove?
But still you warn us hence away.

Child, ask not where! I cannot tell,
Save where wide wastes uncultur'd spread,
Where unknown waters fiercely roll,
And savage monsters howling tread;

Where no blest Church with hallow'd train,
Nor hymns of praise, nor voice of prayer,
Like angels soothe the wanderer's pain;
Ask me no more. I know not where.

Go seek thy Sire. The anguish charm
That shades his brow like frowning wrath,
Divide the burden from his arm,
And gird him for his pilgrim-path.

Come, moaning babe! Thy mothers arms
Shall bear thee on our weary course,
Shall be thy shield from midnight harms,
And baleful dews, and tempests hoarse.

Little Papoose

(Hilda Conkling - written when she was around 8 years old)

Little papoose
Swung high in the branches
Hears a song of birds, stars, clouds,
Small nests of birds,
Small buds of flowers.
But he is thinking of his mother with dark hair
Like her horse's mane.

Fair clouds nod to him
Where he swings in the tree,
But he is thinking of his father
Dark and glistening and wonderful,
Of his father with a voice like ice and velvet,
And tones of falling water,
Of his father who shouts
Like a storm.

I will fight no more...forever.

(Chief Joseph)
(note - this was the surrender speech given by Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce Indians in 1877. There is a great book about this - I Will Fight No More Forever written by Merrill D. Beal. The book was made into a TV movie of the same name in 1975.)

I am tired of fighting.
Our chiefs are killed.
Looking Glass is dead.
Toohulhulsote is dead.
The old men are all dead.
It is the young men who say no and yes.
He who led the young men is dead.

It is cold and we have no blankets.
The little children are freezing to death.
My people, some of them,
Have run away to the hills
And have no blankets, no food.
No one knows where they are -
Perhaps they are freezing to death.
I want to have time to look for my children
And see how many of them I can find.
Maybe I shall find them among the dead.

Hear me, my chiefs, I am tired
My heart is sad and sick.
From where the sun now stands

I will fight no more...forever.

An Indian and three cowboys had been in the saddle since early morning. Toward sundown, the cowboys' conversation turned to the big dinner they'd eat when they got to town. Asked if he was hungry, however, the Indian replied simply, "No."
Finally reaching town, each rider ordered steak with all the trimmings. As the Indian wolfed down everything in sight, one of his cowboy friends remarked that only an hour ago he'd said he wasn't hungry.
The brave looked up from his plate. "No use to be hungry back there," he answered disdainfully. "No food."