Indian Reservation: Caughnawaga by A.M.Klein poem text
Where are the braves, the face like autumn fruit, Who started at the child from the coloured frontispiece? And monosyllabic chief who spoke with his throat? Where are the tribes, the feathered bestiaries?- Rank Aesop's animals erect and red, with fur on their names to make all live things kin- Chief Running Deer, Black Bear, Old Buffalo Head? Childhood, that wished me Indian, hoped that once after school I'd leave the classroom chalk, the varnish smell, the watered dust of the street, to join the clean outdoors and the Iroquois track. Childhood; but always, - as on a calendar,- There stood that chief, with arms akimbo, waiting the runway mascot paddling to his shore. With what strange moccasin stealth that scene is changed! With French names, without paint, in overalls, their bronze, like their nobility expunged,- the men. Beneath their alimentary shawls sit like black tenets their squaws; while for the tourist's brown pennies scattered at the old church door, the ragged pa...