Poetry, Mountains, and Wilderness

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oldmanforest
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Re: Poetry, Mountains, and Wilderness

Post by oldmanforest »

"The Explorer" by Rudyard Kipling.


"There's no sense in going further - it's the edge of cultivation,"
So they said, and I believed it - broke my land and sowed my crop-
Built my barns and strung my fences in the little border station
Tucked away below the foot hills where the trails run out and stop.

Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes
On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated -- so:
"Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges --
"Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!"

So I went, worn out of patience; never told my nearest neighbours --
Stole away with pack and ponies -- left'em drinking in the town;
And the faith that moveth mountains didn't seem to help my labours
As I faced the sheer main-ranges, whipping up and leading down.

March by march I puzzled through'em, turning flanks and dodging shoulders,
Hurried on in hope of water, headed back for lack of grass;
Till I camped above the tree-line -- drifted snow and naked boulders --
Felt free air astir to windward -- knew I'd stumbled on the Pass.
'Thought to name it for the finder: but that night the Norther found me --
Froze and killed the plains-bred ponies; so I called the camp Despair
(It's the Railway Camp to-day, though). Then my Whisper waked to hound me: --
"Something lost behind the Ranges. Over yonder! Go you there!"

Then I knew, the while I doubted -- knew His Hand was certain o'er me.
Still -- it might be self-delusion -- scores of better men had died --
I could reach the townsip living, but... He knows what terrors tore me.
But I didn't... but I didn't. I went down the other side.

Till the snow ran out in flowers, and the flowers turned to aloes,
And the aloes sprung to thickets and a brimming stream ran by;
But the thickets dwined to thorn-scrub, and the water drained to shallows,
And I dropped again on desert -- blasted earth, and blasting sky....

I remember lighting fires; I remember sitting by them;
I remember seeing faces, hearing voices through the smoke;
I remember they were fancy -- for I threw a stone to try 'em.
"Something lost behind the Ranges" was the only word they spoke.

I remember going crazy. I remember that I knew it
When I heard myself hallooing to the funny folk I saw.
Very full of dreams that desert: but my two legs took me through it...
And I used to watch'em moving with the toes all black and raw.

But at last the country altered -- White Man's country past disputing --
Rolling grass and open timber, with a hint of hills behind --
There I found me food and water, and I lay a week recruiting,
Got my strength and lost my nightmares. Then I entered on my find.

Thence I ran my first rough survey -- chose my trees and blazed and ringed'em --
Week by week I pried and sampled -- week by week my findings grew.
Saul he went to look for donkeys, and by God he found a kingdom!
But by God, who sent His Whisper, I had struck the worth of two!

Up along the hostile mountains, where the hair-poised snowslide shivers --
Down and through the big fat marshes that the virgin ore-bed stains,
Till I heard the mile-wide mutterings of unimagined rivers,
And beyond the nameless timber saw illimitable plains!

Plotted sites of future cities, traced the easy grades between'em;
Watched unharnessed rapids wasting fifty thousand head an hour;
Counted leagues of water-frontage through the axe-ripe woods that screen 'em --
Saw the plant to feed a people -- up and waiting for the power!

Well I know who'll take the credit - all the clever chaps that followed --
Came, a dozen men together -- never knew my desert fears;
Tracked me by the camps I'd quitted, used the water-holes I'd hollowed.
They'll go back and do the talking. They'll be called the Pioneers!

They will find my sites of townships -- not the cities that I set there.
They will rediscover rivers -- not my rivers heard at night.
By my own old marks and bearings they will show me how to get there,
By the lonely cairns I builded they will guide my feet aright.
Have I named one single river? Have I claimed one single acre?
Have I kept one single nugget -- (barring samples)? No, not I!
Because my price was paid me ten times over by my Maker.
But you wouldn't understand it. You go up and occupy.

Ores you'll find there; wood and cattle; water-transit sure and steady
(That should keep the railway rates down), coal and iron at your doors.
God took care to hide the country till He judged His people ready,
Then He chose me for His Whisper, and I've found it, and it's yours!

Yes, your "Never-never country" -- yes, your edge of cultivation"
And "no sense in going further" -- till I crossed the range to see.
God forgive me! No, I didn't. It's God's present to our nation.
Anybody might have found it but -- His Whisper came to me!
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MtnHub
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Re: Poetry, Mountains, and Wilderness

Post by MtnHub »

Look It Over
by Wendell Berry

I leave behind even
my walking stick. My knife
is in my pocket, but that
I have forgot. I bring
no car, no cell phone,
no computer, no camera,
no CD player, no fax, no
TV, not even a book. I go
into the woods. I sit on
a log provided at no cost.
It is the earth I've come to,
the earth itself, sadly
abused by the stupidity
only humans are capable of
but, as ever, itself. Free.
A bargain! Get it while it lasts.


“Look It Over” by Wendell Berry from New Collected Poems. Counterpoint Press © 2012.
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2giqs
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Re: Poetry, Mountains, and Wilderness

Post by 2giqs »

We’re here, he said. I congratulate you.

Indeed, we were on top,—fourteen thousand, seven hundred and eighty feet, with all of Switzerland stretched out before us. In the cloudless air we could see nearly every mountain in the Alps. Mount Blanc loomed large and white to the west, and the Jungfrau, perpetually snow-blanketed, could be seen to the north. Italy with her lakes and haze faded into the south, and the Monte Rosa group, rising even above our soaring ridge, dominated the east. Crouching on the supreme ledge of snow we ate our breakfast, with the wind trying to tear us to pieces for presuming to enter her private domain. Savage as they were, we forgot the aroused elements in our exultation over the humiliation of the Matterhorn. In that fierce moment of intense living we felt our blood surge within us. The terrors and struggles of the climb were forgotten. The abyss beneath us, the bewildering panorama about us, cast a spell that awed me to silence. I began to believe it awed Irvine too, for I saw him clasp his hands and look out over the six thousand foot chasm with an expression that assured me he was in tune with the Infinite.

Oh, Dick, he whispered in such unusually solemn tones that I awaited some great inspired utterance about the sublimity of nature and the glory of God.

Breathlessly, tremblingly, I listened.

"At last, he continued in a far-away voice, "after talking about it and dreaming about it all these years, at last, I can actually SPIT A MILE!"

--Richard Halliburton, The Royal Road to Romance
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MtnHub
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Re: Poetry, Mountains, and Wilderness

Post by MtnHub »

Like some ancient lithic library
a magnificent metamorphic archive
storing the collected wisdom
of sixty million years,
the Mountain’s eloquent narrative
is housed in volumes
bound in stone
and written by the hand of time.


from Joe Hutto's The Light in High Places
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MtnHub
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Re: Poetry, Mountains, and Wilderness

Post by MtnHub »

We don't subscribe to cable or Netflix or anything, but we are currently viewing and enjoying the TV drama series, Yellowstone, from our public library.

My wife just came across this poem/prayer and I found it interesting in how appropriate it is watching this series:

The Great Spirit Prayer

O Great Spirit,
Whose voice I hear in the winds
and whose breath gives life to all the world.
Hear me! I need your strength and wisdom.
Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes
ever hold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made
and my ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand
the things you have taught my people.
Let me learn the lessons you have hidden
in every leaf and rock.
Help me remain calm and strong in the
face of all that comes towards me.
Help me find compassion without
empathy overwhelming me.
I seek strength, not to be greater than my brother,
but to fight my greatest enemy: myself.
Make me always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes.
So when life fades, as the fading sunset,
my spirit may come to you without shame.



Translated by Lakota Sioux Chief Yellow Lark in 1887

background:

Land Acknowledgement
Roots Covenant Church acknowledges the Dakota peoples on whose land we meet. We thank them and their relatives for their care of the land, and we recognize their continuing connection to land, waters and community. We pay our respects to them and their cultures; and to elders both past and present.
We also want to acknowledge and lament the many legacies of violence, displacement, migration, and settlement that bring us together here today. The legacy of the Doctrine of Discovery and the horrors of Colonialism have caused untold destruction. We mourn the great loss that such evil has wrought on the Indigenous peoples of this land and we commit to seeking restoration and reparation.
To honor the Native American heritage that has so enriched our world, please read this prayer translated by Lakota Sioux Chief Yellow Lark in 1887 called The Great Spirit Prayer.

Source: https://rootscov.org/native-american-heritage-month/
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Eli Watson
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Re: Poetry, Mountains, and Wilderness

Post by Eli Watson »

Colorful Colorado, A Year
Eli Watson

The year young and old
With night's long chill,
Shrouded in snow,
Awaiting more still.

Light it falls
Upon the hills,
As idle traffic stalls,
Biding powdered thrills.

The sun climbs,
And snow falls heavy.
Skiers watch and wonder,
"Is it ready?"

Sharpen the crampons,
The snowpack swells deep.
Steel the nerves
To challenge the steep!

Rivers rush
From melt of snow,
Trickles the Divide
Between hills below.

Canyons fill,
Their whitewaters crash.
The Solstice shines bright,
Can you feel it pass?

Summer!
Columbines and sunshine,
Move swift and light
Across granite ridgeline.

Thunder and lightning,
The skies turn dark.
Green hills drink free,
Careful of a spark.

The hills come alive
Crowned in gold,
Preciously coveted
Neither bought nor sold.

Stadiums roar,
Arrows sing,
Muzzles boom,
First traces of snow glean.

How the winds howl
Over valleys brown.
Retreat to dens,
Time to hunker down.

Cold of Winter
Returns to the fore.
Time to reflect,
And prepare for more.
People who are hardcore don't think they're hardcore. Marshall Ulrich, Fastest Known Podcast #85
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MtnHub
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Re: Poetry, Mountains, and Wilderness

Post by MtnHub »

The title drew me into reading this poem that I came across recently, as I've be up Mt Washington several times.
But its lovely, flowing language could be describing any peak I, or anyone, has ascended.

By Sunrise from Mount Washington
Rufus Dawes (1803–1859)


THE LAUGHING hours have chased away the night,
Plucking the stars out from her diadem;
And now the blue-eyed morn with modest grace,
Looks through her half-drawn curtains in the East
Blushing in smiles—and glad as infancy.

And see! the foolish Moon, but now so vain
Of borrow’d beauty, how she yields her charms,
And, pale with envy, steals herself away!
The clouds have put their gorgeous livery on,
Attendant on the day. The mountain tops
Have lit their beacons,—and the vales below
Send up a welcoming. No song of birds,
Warbling to charm the air with melody,
Floats on the frosty breeze; yet Nature hath
The very soul of music in her looks,—
The sunshine and the shade of poetry!

I stand upon thy loftiest pinnacle,
Temple of Nature! and look down with awe
On the wide world beneath me, dimly seen.

Around me crowd the giant sons of earth,
Fix’d on their old foundations, unsubdued,—
Firm as when first rebellion bade them rise,
Unrifted to the Thunderer;—now they seem
A family of mountains, clustering round
Their hoary patriarch,—emulously watching
To meet the partial glances of the day.

Far in the glowing East, the flecking light,
Mellow’d by distance,—with the blue sky blending,—
Questions the eye with ever-varying forms.
The sun is up;—away the shadows fling
From the broad hills, and hurrying to the west,
Sport in the sunshine, till they die away.

The many beauteous mountain-streams leap down,
Out-welling from the clouds,—and sparkling light
Dances along with their perennial flow.
And there is beauty in yon river’s path—
The glad Connecticut. I know her well
By the white veil she mantles o’er her charms.
At times, she loiters by a ridge of hills,
Sportfully hiding; then again with glee
Out-rushes from her wild-wood lurking-place.

Far as the eye can bound, the ocean-waves
And lakes and rivers, mountains, vales and woods,
And all that holds the faculty entranced,
Bathed in a flood of glory, float in air,
And sleep in the deep quietude of joy!
There is a fearful stillness in this place—
A presence that forbids to break the spell,
Till the heart pours its agony in tears.

But I must drink the vision while it lasts
For even now the curling vapors rise,
Wreathing their cloudy coronals to grace
These towering summits—bidding me away.
But often shall my heart turn back again,
Thou glorious eminence!—and when oppress’d
And aching with the coldness of the world,
Find a sweet resting-place and home with thee.
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