For the Dakota and Lakota, the river that begins at Three Forks and eventually marries the Mississippi is known as Mni Sose. "Mini Sose translates to mean turbid water," says Mountain Journal's poet in residence Lois Red Elk who this week is freshly back from delivering readings at the High Plains Book Festival in Billings.
For others, who have paddled the Missouri River through the national monument section known as the White Cliffs (given the name by Lewis & Clark) and who enjoy exploring stretches further downstream in the Missouri Breaks and the badlands heading toward Fort Peck where Red Elk resides and is a teacher, the Mighty Mo is also known as the Big Muddy.
Think of it: the catchment area of the Missouri River—the full extent of the basin's water drainage—covers one-sixth of the land mass of the U.S.
In this time of seasonal change occurring in the weather and on the land, Red Elk offers two poems for reflection. The first is a work titled "Fish Butte" from her collection Dragonfly Weather published by Lost Horse Press in 2013. The second is "Camp of Prophecy" based upon the actual prophecy pertaining to the Missouri that flows through the Standing Rock Reservation. Only a year ago, amid the tense presidential election season, Standing Rock became a cultural flashpoint for reflecting on American values, racism, the legal standing of treaties and the eternal wisdom of caring for nature as an essential part of spiritual reverence, humility and survival.
Standing Rock and the battle over the pipeline was not, is not, a spectator event for the Dakota/Lakota. Nor is it just about moving oil through a tube. For those from afar or even in Minot who would argue it is an issue about not-in-my-backyard, the question is would they want it passing through theirs? And how would they make sense of 150 years of broken promises, verbal and legal that have been made?
As always, Lois Red Elk, a magical realist, speaks insight in her narrative poetry, with words and symbols that, like the Missouri itself, transcends culture.
Enjoy. —TW
Fish Butte by Lois Red Elk
It
happens every time I look deep into the dark
turbid
water of Mni Sose. View is the sure
control
and determined flow of life with one
direction. There is no pity or pause for those
who
disrespect or foolishly slip into its pathway.
The
enormous energy forced by age-old memory,
pulled
by gravity and call of mother’s ancient
ocean
songs is the urgent motion of its life to
churn
with sand and cleanse earth. The power
brings
forth female legends of foreboding and
promise
to remind and solve. I listen and learn,
then
recall and recite the rewards of lessons hard
learned. A message was carried to us from those
ancestors
who met the giant sturgeon in the time
before
they knew legs, when we swam with the
salamanders
and lizards. I give my water spirit
to
the river and learn the language of water.
Easier
now
to translate fear into the kindness of swimming.
Easier
now to change words into the power of gills.
Easier
now to disassemble wanton thoughts for the
ancient
spirit within. It was how the two-legged
treated
the poor and the different, that began the
cleansing
cycle. Those who were slow, lame or
old,
those who could not help themselves were
ousted
and left to fend, to scratch the earth, and
suffer
freezing snow, baking sun, and harsh winds.
Tears
from all ages flowed from the mistreatment
of
these pitiful. Tears so fluid, so sad
they entered
the
river and created eddies of despair amidst the
listening
flow of water apparitions. A young man
visiting
his brother by the river cried at the condition
of
his village when suddenly the river begin to rise
and
shudder. It threw waves as high as the nests
in
cottonwood. The men were frightened and prayed.
The
giant water monster, who was listening to their
sad
story, asked the men to be calm and listen to his
message. I know your sad heart and I have a plan.
When
all the people are asleep, tell all your friends,
the
week, old and poor, to gather at one end of the
village
then come to the river edge and call for me.
During
the night one of the old ones heard strange
sounds
and became alarmed and wanted to run away.
This
alerted all the people that the river spirits had
awakened
the giant sturgeon. Everyone started to
holler
and scatter. Still hoping that the plan
could
work
the young man ran to the river edge and called
for
help. Suddenly the water began to churn
and
splash. Waves grew higher and higher. A great roar
was
heard as the giant flew up on the bank. Astonished
at
the size, the young men were thrown back.
They
watched
as the fish waddled back and forth across
the
land raising dust and creating a deep furrow across
the
land. Finally it reached the village and
laid down
in
a half circle like a quarter moon then rolled and
rolled
till all the mean and greedy people were killed.
Just
as his tail and head were about to meet the young
man
led all the poor people out of the circle to escape.
All
the belongings and storage bins of food were saved
and
given to the needy. All night the giant
fish crawled
across
the prairie. In the morning the people
followed
the
trail and found the fish had dried up into the shape
of
a butte. This butte still stands on the
prairie as a
