Cultural Exchange
4/26-4/27/07
Sun of dawn
slowly rising
muted red hanging low
Gray sky now above me
misty haze
the distant city
Leaving the city
closed in sky
turn around again
Turn around
leaving
turn around
Sunrise and I’m not sleeping
eyes half closed
silent ringing
The houses thin
Graced by the empty sky
stopped dead and rocking
but a rider-less horse on the horizon
won’t fade away
Big sky but grayed and storming
call the rain down
stuck by slowly turning
we lost our way
Sagebrush blue
spreading out on each side
of the road
Indian land beside the road
Billboards can’t advertise death
as effectively
as the high
the quiet desperation, though dignity
The white cross
tilts and turns
face toward the sky
blind and empty
The fence breaks
we back up apprehensive
watch the line
distant haze
The dirty water cloud break
clouds weaving
white on blue
black on red
The milkshake cold inside me
evoke geysers
Thermopolis
cheap cars
I hold my hand
in the shadowy reflection of a hand
as the bus turns
through the fence-line horizon
Wyoming’s muted colors
yet it’s spring
distant mountains crowned in white
crowned in clouds
I know the name
nameless river
The fence is charred
burned and black
field empty
crossed with flame
The tortured turret rock falls
nameless
A river has a neck
serpentine it curves
the hay bale retreat just before the storm
the line is drawn
I know the name
nameless
Of the horses
ride at dawn
sown to the water
spotted flanks
The rain comes in patterned prints
nameless
I know the name
nameless
1492
first contact
abolish discoveries
the survivors
huddles in starving comfort
He closed his eyes
squinting
sleepless
reading the tattered pages
of blue-jean history
Take off the red mask
and we’re just like you
1864
it’s just the same
I’ve walked a thousand miles
to leave my footprints in your heart
Wet feet on the concrete
the blue-green steam
on the window
writes a name
The buffalo behind me
stomped , sweated as he breathed
the dust must of life
his face a mask of mud, dried leaves
So, so long
I’ve dreamt of stars
ago
the time does slip unending
the translucent green stream of earth melting
My father’s name was Eagle
I tore my heart
my grandmother’s had soft and brittle
Chico
But I could ride
along vast steps
of dung and learn
the merit of unnamed time
I’m used to rising with the sun
though I opened my eyes to darkness
though I felt with my hand darkness
boundless sleep
So, so long ago
the buffalo seethed
his muddy hide steamed
the green weight
And I shot him, I caught him
right below the beating neck
stone doesn’t dull
the weightless stone falls
Redman speaks to God
the playing evening
Redman speaks to the herd
gathering wheel
The hair on my neck stood up behind me
they huddled in
horns black as night
I’ve held the night
Breath steaming
eyes streaming and cold
I thought they would press in
catch my fleshy skin
The buffalo behind me
is plastic
the skull is on display
my voice just fades
The static disembodied voice
speaking forgotten words
in a language
known by few
The old woman’s tongue
tore a picture from the scaly
shields painted brightly
black and white and red
Two flags beat back the breeze
I’ve read the scrolling letters
electric marquee
Welcome anyway
An empty cradleboard
foreign pattern ladybird
lying idly on the pot-marked wooden
table
Vacant spaces in the fabric
sown
unfeminine arms
cannot close
It’s all too photographed anyway
ignore the wide and open arms
the fry bread dipped in chokecherries not too sweat
the plaque is on display
Reinforced windows kept too clean
this wide and open boundary
horses left to graze
he rose and grasped the reins
Excited by the strange white faces
dreaming of paved-over places
she danced across the walls
singing like rain
The steady familiar beat
beating lyric poetry
their voices blend, raw to me
the steps too simply thin
The wolf-dog bounds
undulating though the fence
the sage, the crowd
Barbed-wire an inconvenience
a boundary to play
the red house on the hill at a distance
riding bare-back though the sky
The wolf-dog is silent
though he smiles wild calm
though he must be traveling
She wears her long black hair
done up and jeweled
with the dew
princess façade
She turns the baby over
voice is calm, hold the rope
leading on and on, the fence fades away
The table set with delicate care
I thought we’d set the terms
Giving pouches, busts like dead man’s urns
Catching dreams just for you
The wolf-dog howls only when he’s on you
sitting by the barred barricade
the square-eyed goats bleating, the sun
Passes through the screen
sharpening
horns grown too dull
in waiting
The wolf-dog sits, tail waving
by the Mary, mother shrine
blowers folded on the white marble polished bright
He has no use for the other dog, anyway
he’s just a passer-by
he watches me when I eat
without a name
He watches the strangers smile
pack and leaving
waving tails and teeth and paws
Cross over the river
the bridge of oak and steel
cross over the threshold
the house of photographs and rusted guns
We passed through St. Stephens
a fragrant breeze
the trophy halls
the lacquered window sills
and into the afternoon
This delicate April
this leafless spring
the weary steaming road
and on
sleep deprived and dehydrated
Home is swaying blossoms
lilac and the early waking trees
enough of Wyoming
its earthy hillsides
distant snow
I’m worn out
eye heavyred-eyed
though stretching between the seats
sleeping in idleness
They told us not to flaunt luxury
riding in a chartered bus
though I find more luxury
in the meadowlark bare-branched trees
the unfenced skyline
He said it was an adventure
warrior bust cradled in his arms
we crossed into Colorado
his voice magnified
distorted electronically
I gazed at the window
seeking the fallen council tree
in the manicured green
and found instead the merging of two rivers
water with water, sun with sun
his voice sounded like mud and rain
Sun of dawn
slowly rising
muted red hanging low
Gray sky now above me
misty haze
the distant city
Leaving the city
closed in sky
turn around again
Turn around
leaving
turn around
Sunrise and I’m not sleeping
eyes half closed
silent ringing
The houses thin
Graced by the empty sky
stopped dead and rocking
but a rider-less horse on the horizon
won’t fade away
Big sky but grayed and storming
call the rain down
stuck by slowly turning
we lost our way
Sagebrush blue
spreading out on each side
of the road
Indian land beside the road
Billboards can’t advertise death
as effectively
as the high
the quiet desperation, though dignity
The white cross
tilts and turns
face toward the sky
blind and empty
The fence breaks
we back up apprehensive
watch the line
distant haze
The dirty water cloud break
clouds weaving
white on blue
black on red
The milkshake cold inside me
evoke geysers
Thermopolis
cheap cars
I hold my hand
in the shadowy reflection of a hand
as the bus turns
through the fence-line horizon
Wyoming’s muted colors
yet it’s spring
distant mountains crowned in white
crowned in clouds
I know the name
nameless river
The fence is charred
burned and black
field empty
crossed with flame
The tortured turret rock falls
nameless
A river has a neck
serpentine it curves
the hay bale retreat just before the storm
the line is drawn
I know the name
nameless
Of the horses
ride at dawn
sown to the water
spotted flanks
The rain comes in patterned prints
nameless
I know the name
nameless
1492
first contact
abolish discoveries
the survivors
huddles in starving comfort
He closed his eyes
squinting
sleepless
reading the tattered pages
of blue-jean history
Take off the red mask
and we’re just like you
1864
it’s just the same
I’ve walked a thousand miles
to leave my footprints in your heart
Wet feet on the concrete
the blue-green steam
on the window
writes a name
The buffalo behind me
stomped , sweated as he breathed
the dust must of life
his face a mask of mud, dried leaves
So, so long
I’ve dreamt of stars
ago
the time does slip unending
the translucent green stream of earth melting
My father’s name was Eagle
I tore my heart
my grandmother’s had soft and brittle
Chico
But I could ride
along vast steps
of dung and learn
the merit of unnamed time
I’m used to rising with the sun
though I opened my eyes to darkness
though I felt with my hand darkness
boundless sleep
So, so long ago
the buffalo seethed
his muddy hide steamed
the green weight
And I shot him, I caught him
right below the beating neck
stone doesn’t dull
the weightless stone falls
Redman speaks to God
the playing evening
Redman speaks to the herd
gathering wheel
The hair on my neck stood up behind me
they huddled in
horns black as night
I’ve held the night
Breath steaming
eyes streaming and cold
I thought they would press in
catch my fleshy skin
The buffalo behind me
is plastic
the skull is on display
my voice just fades
The static disembodied voice
speaking forgotten words
in a language
known by few
The old woman’s tongue
tore a picture from the scaly
shields painted brightly
black and white and red
Two flags beat back the breeze
I’ve read the scrolling letters
electric marquee
Welcome anyway
An empty cradleboard
foreign pattern ladybird
lying idly on the pot-marked wooden
table
Vacant spaces in the fabric
sown
unfeminine arms
cannot close
It’s all too photographed anyway
ignore the wide and open arms
the fry bread dipped in chokecherries not too sweat
the plaque is on display
Reinforced windows kept too clean
this wide and open boundary
horses left to graze
he rose and grasped the reins
Excited by the strange white faces
dreaming of paved-over places
she danced across the walls
singing like rain
The steady familiar beat
beating lyric poetry
their voices blend, raw to me
the steps too simply thin
The wolf-dog bounds
undulating though the fence
the sage, the crowd
Barbed-wire an inconvenience
a boundary to play
the red house on the hill at a distance
riding bare-back though the sky
The wolf-dog is silent
though he smiles wild calm
though he must be traveling
She wears her long black hair
done up and jeweled
with the dew
princess façade
She turns the baby over
voice is calm, hold the rope
leading on and on, the fence fades away
The table set with delicate care
I thought we’d set the terms
Giving pouches, busts like dead man’s urns
Catching dreams just for you
The wolf-dog howls only when he’s on you
sitting by the barred barricade
the square-eyed goats bleating, the sun
Passes through the screen
sharpening
horns grown too dull
in waiting
The wolf-dog sits, tail waving
by the Mary, mother shrine
blowers folded on the white marble polished bright
He has no use for the other dog, anyway
he’s just a passer-by
he watches me when I eat
without a name
He watches the strangers smile
pack and leaving
waving tails and teeth and paws
Cross over the river
the bridge of oak and steel
cross over the threshold
the house of photographs and rusted guns
We passed through St. Stephens
a fragrant breeze
the trophy halls
the lacquered window sills
and into the afternoon
This delicate April
this leafless spring
the weary steaming road
and on
sleep deprived and dehydrated
Home is swaying blossoms
lilac and the early waking trees
enough of Wyoming
its earthy hillsides
distant snow
I’m worn out
eye heavyred-eyed
though stretching between the seats
sleeping in idleness
They told us not to flaunt luxury
riding in a chartered bus
though I find more luxury
in the meadowlark bare-branched trees
the unfenced skyline
He said it was an adventure
warrior bust cradled in his arms
we crossed into Colorado
his voice magnified
distorted electronically
I gazed at the window
seeking the fallen council tree
in the manicured green
and found instead the merging of two rivers
water with water, sun with sun
his voice sounded like mud and rain
posted by read | 1:44 PM
2 Comments:
Wow, this has got real emotional authenticity to it. Some of my favorite lines include: "and learn the merit of unnamed time" and "the lacquered windowsills" and "the rain comes in patterned prints/nameless." But the heart of the poem, for me, is with the epiphany, "...though I find more luxury in the meadowlark bare-branched trees/the unfenced skyline."
You really capture the essence of moving between the two cultures without any romantic misgivings. There's a sense of appreciating that which is not only different but somehow lost to the speaker because of the speaker's culture. But in writing of it, the speaker appropriates it into his life.
Wow!
Thanks Mr. Kleeman. I'd say you nailed the essence of why I wrote this poem/poems while I was on the trip. You had sort of assigned us to make a journal and I'm not much of a journal writer, so I decided to express how I was feeling by writing this poem. Most of this is from the bus, but I wrote some of it at home.
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