David Prashker's Private Collection: The Stars

From the
Songs of the
Passamaquoddy Indians

For we are the stars. For we sing.
For we sing with our light.
For we are birds made of fire.
For we spread our wings over the sky.
Our light is a voice.
We cut a road for the soul
for its journey through death.
For three of our number are hunters.
For these three hunt a bear.
For there never yet was a time
when these three did not hunt.
For we face the hills with disdain.
This is a song of the stars.

I do not know why I like this poem.

I do not know what to say

about this poem.

Is it conceivable that, had it been written by Davie,

or Macniece,

by Patten,

or Ginsburg

by a minor modern, that is –

rather than by an anonymous ancient
of the Passamaquoddy Indians of Canada,

that then I would have passed it over
for inclusion in this blog?

                                    Then are aesthetics, too,
                                                  subject to snobberies,
                                                                 even to inverted snobberies?

You can find David Prashker at:

http://theargamanpress.com/

http://davidprashker.com/

http://davidprashker.net/

https://www.facebook.com/TheArgamanPress

http://davidprashkersprivatecollection.blogspot.com

http://davidprashkerssongsandpoems.blogspot.com

http://davidprashkersartgallery.blogspot.com

http://davidprashkersworldhourglass.blogspot.co.uk/

http://davidprashkersbookofdays.blogspot.co.uk/

http://thebiblenet.blogspot.co.uk/

The Argaman Press