Portrait in Linen

I did exactly as I said I would,
Purchased the book Evangeline
From the local B&N
With an educator’s discount card.

Surprise! I did not recognize
That the title I had bought
Was not what I’d initially thought,
But a Longfellow anthology!

Not only will I now enjoy
The ode to Evangeline and Gabriel,
But also thirty-six additional poems and tales,
All for five dollars and fourteen cents!

Though I’m thrilled with my new find
And the many literary perks
That come in reading Longfellow’s selected works,
There is a downside I can’t help.

Like that derned cell phone ringtone,
Or that infernal chipmunk song,
I’m sentenced for an undetermined time
To think and speak in meter and rhyme.

And this is why I generally
Make it my strict policy
To stay away from formal verse,
Lest I fall victim to “The Dr. Seuss Curse.”

—

Interestingly, a reader directed me to the “UL library special collections.” I was told to dig up “Joel Lafayette Fletcher’s speech written in late in 1940’s, The Acadians in Louisiana Today,” if–says the reader–I want some inspiration on Evangeline and the Acadian people.

Now how cool is that? Almost like a treasure hunt, with obstacles and risks and all the like…. I’m not, after all, a student of UL, so there’s the possibility I may meet some resistance when trying to gain admission to the college library special collections.

Then, I may have to seek special permission, or–even more exciting–I may have to contact my anonymous reader and request his personal aid in accessing the facility. Maybe with a skeleton key left in an envelope in the bottom of a potted plant, or a forged document stuck between the pages of a certain obscure book shelved in the wrong section…. Maybe I’ll have to hide in the library bathroom until the doors are locked, then climb through the ventilation system, drop down into the special collections room, tethered to the end of a black nylon rope….

Then again, it may just be a matter of asking.

Reality is at times so much less enthralling.

—

On Longfellow’s Burial of the Minnisink

(Read full text of poem at hwlongfellow.org.)

First of all, I had to ask myself…What is a Minnisink?

The best answer I could find in reference is, the Minnisink (also “Minisink” according to other resources) are(were?) a Native American tribe who occupied areas in the North American northeast (New Jersey? New York?).

Longfellow’s poem, Burial of the Minnisink, describes the laying to rest of one Minnisink warrior chief.

The poem begins with an image…

On sunny slope and beechen swell,
The shadowed light of evening fell;
And, where the maple’s leaf was brown,
With soft and silent lapse came down,
The glory, that the wood receives,
At sunset, in its golden leaves.

…which I thought was so precise and illuminated. At this point, I still didn’t know what a “Minnisink” was, so I just enjoyed the images of the coast and the forest.

Later, Longfellow introduces the human characters, and then, I understood a “Minnisink” is a who. And how noble a who he is.

An image of the silver lakes,
By which the Indian’s soul awakes.

But soon a funeral hymn was heard
Where the soft breath of evening stirred
The tall, gray forest; and a band
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand,
Came winding down beside the wave,
To lay the red chief in his grave.

The remainder of the poem describes the brief life of the chief and his untimely passing; funerary details, including the putting away of personal items and the procession; and lastly, the leading in of the riderless horse.

Not one to spoil a good story for anyone else, I’ll withhold the climax of the tale. But I must comment: The ending lines brought genuine tears to my eyes. It was entirely unexpected. Maybe such things are common knowledge to most other people, but it wasn’t to me. I was actually grateful for my ignorance; I felt I was able to experience the full impact of the poem, both the language and the story.

—

The Riderless Horse

I remembered a recent CNN headline, “Riderless horse adds poignancy to military burials.” In reading Longfellow’s Burial of the Minnisink, I began to wonder where the riderless horse custom began.

Reads the CNN article: “The tradition dates ‘to Roman times, or Genghis Khan,’ Nielsen said, ‘as a high honor bestowed on high-ranking fallen warriors.’”

It seems the custom predates Native American practice.

The article also mentions the riderless horse (also “comparisoned horse,” or “cap horse”) in the funerary procession of JFK in 1963, how the image is iconic for the millions of Americans who recall the day.

I’ve been told a visit to Arlington National Cemetery is a profoundly humbling experience one will never forget. Burial of the Minnisink raises my anticipation of our visit in September. I’m quite mindful of the marked contrast between the earthy intimacy of the Native American burial and the white-gloved formality of a military memorial service. At the same time, however, I immediately recognize the honor, the grief, the love and devotion to the fallen is the same.