Multiconstruct

I like to write poetry about historical occurrences that are not widely known but probably should be. Pontiac is one. Most of the forgotten stories of the indian wars are the earlier ones. I like these because the fights were more fair. The wars out west no way was they going to win, but in the midwest for a season or two, sometimes the indians got to win.  He was really the first native american to do cross tribal organizing, outside of an organized confederation, to oppose the expansions of the whites into their territory. When I read an account of Pontiac’s War  I found him really hard to relate to but wanted to tell his story. He wasn’t very sympathetic coming off as kind of a bully, very concerned about his own ego, and a cannibal to boot. But when the siege of Detroit was finally broken I really felt for him. This poem rolled out easily then.

My name is Pontiac

I am a chief like my father before me

Of the Ottawa who won’t bend their knee

At the foot of the whiteman

The French came to our land to trade

And we liked the things they made

Liked the guns and rum

We bartered furs to get us some

Now we’ll use our sharp knives and our guns

Now that the english they have come

They say they beat the french in a war

And we don’t own our land anymore

But we’ve never been conquered

So I’ve gone from tribe to tribe

I try to explain I try to describe

The future that’s coming

Some say the english they are few

In a few forts what can they do?

But the settlers are coming

With their saw and plough and fence

And its only common sense

Their won’t be room for the red man

So we put Detroit under siege

We took twelve more forts like a breeze

And the settlements they are burning

But winter it has finally come

And my warriors they’re fighting is done

They have to hunt to feed their famies

And the war is over

We had our dreams we had our plans

But now its over

The french cannon they never came

The promised troops were just the same

When the white man speaks He speaks in lies

The indians pay The indians die

The english have come

And they’re here to stay

We might fight another day

But for now its over

Tecumseh is one of my biggest heroes and i believe the brightest spiritual force to walk on north america (unless the mormons  are right). He was a shawnee warrior and prophet. He spoke perfect english, was made a full warrior at 13 and killed 5 kentuckians on his first raid on the white invaders of the ohio country. He captured a 6th and when his companions tortured him to death he made an impassioned speech against torture which virtually ended torture by the shawenee. His war club was a bull’s penis with a fist size stone shrunk into one end, he shot one and clubbed 4, again he was 13 years old. He had been ordained the leader of the shawnee at birth by his father a prophet in his own right who prophesied the time of his death, as did tecumseh himself and his brother chikseeka. tecumseh would dress in whiteman clothes and infiltrate forts and armed camps. He would identify people in camp who would die and they died. he led troops in among other engagements the battle of the river raisen (the massacre occurred after he left). He attempted to organize all the tribes of the midwest and south to attack all the whites simultaneously, 15,ooo indians at the same time. He said there would be a meteor and 30 days later an earthquake as the sign of attack. His brother tensakawa foolishly led a small group of shawnee against william henry harrison, the territorial governor of indiana, and was wiped out when his promise of making the indians bullet proof didn’t work out. this ended the rebellion even though the promised meteor and earthquake came as promised. He ended up throwing away his life in the war of 1812 somewhere up in canada. some day i want to finish a rock opera about tecumseh. here is my finished piece:

Tecumseh #1

Pucksinwah was a war chief of the mighty Shawnee

Kept vigil under the stars at the birth of his baby

The mighty meteor left people at a loss

He knew it as the sign of the birth of his son

Panther-Moves-Across

Tecumseh my son I won’t live to see you grown

But you’ll be the greatest warrior the Shawnee have ever known

Could have been a teacher or a prophet but a warrior we demand

When the Whites of the Thirteen Fires come to take our land

And Pucksinwah was a prophet so surely he had known

The fruit he would reap from the seeds that he had sown

As he lay dying struck down by a white man’s gun

He called to Chiksika come here my eldest son

The whites are like an avalanche and never will they cease

So take up now my hatchet and never do make peace

And raise up Tecumseh for he can defend our lands

He’s touched by the Great Spirit, his life is in Her hands

Tecumseh my son I won’t live to see you grown

But you’ll be the greatest warrior the Shawnee have ever known

Could have been a teacher or a prophet but a warrior we demand

For the Whites of the Thirteen Fires have come to take our land