Dawnland Voices: An Anthology of Indigenous Writing from New England

Sylvia Gabriel

173 these Songs are sung in winter, when the Indians wants to kill the time in Long winter Evenings they gathered together in the wigwams, and each wigwam has a Clown called molmeehegan they carry Lots of Different articles to Susap? and Each Clown Recommending the article of its use in his Songs, this is very important. thirds Salutation Songs, is used when Different tribes visit the others, and always were Recited and Saluted first in Songs and then . . . Wiqu cofaltin[?] or Public Supper or Dinner, they sung these songs before Eating. fourth Lonely or Lonsome Songs all these with words, the Price you offered me for Songs one Dollar for Every 600 Six Hundred words I also charge you the same for wampum writting, and of course Sopiel Selma wants something besides my Price for his trouble to telling me the words it takes him as long as the writting Lewy Mitchell Sylvia Gabriel (1929–2003) Sylvia Gabriel’s baskets are in museums all over the country. She belonged to the renowned Gabriel family of master Passamaquoddy basketmakers, documented in the film Gabriel Women: Passamaquoddy Basketmakers. She was a founding member of the Maine Indian Basketmakers Alliance and a devoted teacher of the art. As the selections below show, she was also a talented poet; she circulated some of her verse in the tribal newsletters of the 1980s, but these are being publicly published here for the first time. Wounded Be How deep would you want the wound to be and yet not really show? 174 passamaquoddy We still carry the scars of old and will ’til we die, you know— they were handed down to us but not on a silver platter; by people who suffered needlessly and didn’t know what was the matter. To live in the past is difficult when the present seems the same— and it looks like the future holds in store, nothing but more blame. Where are we all going and what do we expect to gain by rekindling old emotions that only bring us pain? Our efforts to get ahead and find ourselves today, are quietly shelved and abandoned for the winds to blow away. We’ll pick ourselves up like a phoenix and staunchly guard each day— Then perhaps we will call on the Great Spirit to come and show us the way. From Dusk to Dawn The golden sun is sinking down behind the hill; not a rustle, not a murmur; everything is still. Dusk approaches silently and steals across the land, to spread a blanket of darkness with a swift but unseen hand. The moon comes out to shine on objects down below and makes the shadows move about 175 like dancers to and fro. Timid deer and frisky friends all come out to play and revel in the privacy they rarely get at day. All too soon the pinkish dawn arrives in her sleepy way to yawn and stretch and take a breath before opening a new day. With golden hair and sky-blue eyes and gown of rainbow splendor, lights the earth so we can see nature and all its wonder. Peter Mitchell (1929–1978) Another fascinating writer who submitted work to the Passamaquoddy tribal newsletters was Peter Mitchell, a World War II veteran from Perry, Maine. Mitchell was murdered, a case that—like several other homicides of Maine Native people during the 1960s and 1970s—remains unsolved. He wrote the following letter in 1966 and published it in one of the small, ephemeral tribal newsletters. Open Letter to Americans Look back into the story of our American nation, and see how much of our heritage has its roots in Indian culture. Look, and understand our pride in being Indian. Study the ways of our tribe and try to understand why it is not always easy for some of us to fit our ways to yours. We want to be friends with you, to be at home in your world. Many of us want to make our contribution to your industry, to your church and ...