Momaday's Poetry
Momaday's Poetry
N. Scott Momaday's poetry opened many doors as he began his writing career. Like much of his other writing, Momaday's poetry draws heavily on his personal experiences and his connection to his Kiowa heritage. His "The Delight Song of Tsoai-talee" and "The Great Fillmore Street Buffalo Drive" perfectly encapsulate Momaday's pride and respect for his Kiowa identity and culture.
"The Delight Song of Tsoai-talee"
I am a feather on the bright sky
I am the blue horse that runs in the plain
I am the fish that rolls, shining, in the water
I am the shadow that follows a child
I am the evening light, the lustre of meadows
I am an eagle playing with the wind
I am a cluster of bright beads
I am the farthest star
I am the cold of dawn
I am the roaring of the rain
I am the glitter on the crust of the snow
I am the long track of the moon in a lake
I am a flame of four colors
I am a deer standing away in the dusk
I am a field of sumac and the pomme blanche
I am an angle of geese in the winter sky
I am the hunger of a young wolf
I am the whole dream of these things
You see, I am alive, I am alive
I stand in good relation to the earth
I stand in good relation to the gods
I stand in good relation to all that is beautiful
I stand in good relation to the daughter of Tsen-tainte
You see, I am alive, I am alive
"The Great Fillmore Street Buffalo Drive"
Insinuate the sun through fog
upon Pacific Heights, upon the man on horseback,
upon the herd ascending. There is color and clamor.
And there he waves them down,
those great humpbacked animals,
until their wild grace gone
they lumber and lunge
and blood blisters at their teeth
and their hooves score the street—
and among boulders they settle on the sea.
He looks after them, twisted round upon his sorrow,
the drape of his flag now full and formal,
ceremonial.
One bull, animal representation of the sun,
he dreams back from the brink
to the green refuge of his hunter's heart.
It grazes near a canyon wall,
along a ribbon of light, among redbud trees,
eventually into shadow.
Then the hold of his eyes is broken;
on the farther rim of grasses flicker and blur,
a hawk brushes rain across the dusk,
meadows recede into mountains, and here and there
are moons like salmonberries
upon the glacial face of the sky.
