Читать книгу Indigenous Toronto - Группа авторов - Страница 23
ОглавлениеDON SONG
(2002)
REBEKA TABOBONDUNG
TEACHING #1: URBAN LANDSCAPE
I found a song along the Don River
just before you run into the tents and shacks
where the brown water picks up
you can easily climb down to the muddy shore
hardly anyone goes down that far
on the Discovery Trail
except for the fast bikers
and the people who live there
I’m told at one time
the River’s mass used to glide across the entire valley
It has always been a highway
before cars were thought of
or White people
birch bark used to cut the water
passing songs along the shores
Did you know, for fifteen dollars you can buy a ticket to go on the Great Indian Bus Tour of Toronto? Your urban Indian guide will tell you that the waters of Lake Ontario once reached as far as Casa Loma. That whole damn City should be underwater!
They had been on her tongue her whole life
but after all the years of swallowing the numbing burn
It appeared too late
the ancient story had rolled off
to dry into the dampness of the dirt
Eventually turning hot and wet again
(The burn always stayed)
from the Island to the new city
a quick thinning of the blood
won’t soften the concrete in either place
the biker didn’t even notice
the song still muddy down there
waiting for a heavy dream
Off to the side of the spot where the Castle sits, a regularly frequented campsite was used by traders and travellers from different First Nations.
URBAN LANDSCAPE: TEACHING #2
The song floated shallow along the muddy water
underneath rainbows
It gelled with slick persistence
something crept from under it
suspended from the pillow
attached to the belly
and the stench
It appeared wasted and distilled by cables
always pumping
stealing the bright nothing
until even its shades and shadows had faded
so the vibrations would be gone
and the story forgotten
of the misty sun about to burst
letting go the Idea
blackness so bright Creation had slipped out
Your guide will share some stories too, like the one about Grand Chief Wabakine of the Mississaugas. He tried to stop Toronto’s first murder from happening. Some Dominion soldiers were raping his sister. When he intervened they clubbed him over the head with a rock, then killed his entire family. The soldiers didn’t receive so much as a slap on the wrist because the courts only understood English. That was in the late 1790s. The murder took place at what is now St. Lawrence Market.
She bled with moon and fell
hard against the dirty brick
steady with the rain
the cloud closed across her breasts
his hands too
gliding his mouth along soft edges of skin
(On The Great Indian Bus Tour of Toronto you won’t find out how many of us women have been raped.)
The brush moved through her
collecting small tales
she spit out
at certain moments
apple and strawberry
watched the tiny buds about to burst
those nights when the moon held her
and laughed
deep over the city
across the sidewalks, drunks and patios
caught her in its pale surface
suspended in firs
elusive to the climb and the reach
and gone again
taking rhythmic direction
into the expanse of bats and stars
the firs still trembling
for her small fingers
fumbling for the deliverance of the moon
On The Great Indian Bus Tour of Toronto, your guide will tell you that contrary to popular perception, Spadina Avenue is not derived from a European language but from Ishpaadinna, the Anishinaabe word describing the area meaning ‘going up the hill.’
The moon had called again
through meshed blood
It hung across the landscape
teasing her onto the Island
away from artificial light
She told her cousin to park the van further down the street
so she could watch the red
dance beyond the concrete
letting its scars mark her skin
and go further
motioning at the dirty city
and its endless bodies of water
the main street and surf
the sterility found only in makers’ hands
She only wanted living things
pressed her body into their beauty
and the endless sadness
attached to it
she felt confused and betrayed when the sadness stayed past mornings
Now buried under the concrete and buildings there used to run a creek. A rich salmon spawning ground fished by the Mississauga Nation. Today it’s a path known as Philosopher’s Walk located just behind the Royal Ontario Museum. Sometimes I use that path as a shortcut to get to class.
My father and brother
the stark emptiness of their absence
of unravelling, of soul transport
of ancient stone and youthful steps
My desperation for stone was beaten
by disfigured lips and sank
with secrets and mistakes
of a beautiful woman
offering her body to alcohol
holding her till morning
the vision has come in drunk and sober nights
she lied to both and still wanted the water stories
they couldn’t give her
the dreams abstracted daylight
carried shadows of cedar
and suspended her into a film reel
black and white and subtitled
In Toronto there’s a sweatlodge right in the downtown eastside. A guy named Tom runs them. Tom encourages any Nishnab to join him. If it gets too hot in there all you need to say is ‘All My Relations’ and you can get out. You don’t have to be sober for four days before getting in. But he’s sure to remind you how much you stink up the lodge.
URBAN ESCAPE: TEACHING #3
She wanted to know how high the water reached
in a daylight and through brick
she heard the Jingle dress
ice shattering
500 years of wailing, screaming
Their faces fanned with eagle feathers masked by their clan names
Mukwa, Ahmik, Maaiingan
come into them
Their bodies were momentarily suspended by the animal spirits
TEACHING #4
Her ancient leathery skin is still ALIVE under the sidewalk!
I don’t expect you to understand this white man/Zhaagnaash
It penetrates your metres
I don’t expect you to understand …
… from the bedroom window
the shock of electricity compounded
hit the air and willow with a slap
Bouncing hard on hearts
she walked again to the shore
tobacco offering
asked for medicine
she made a drum
A sharp light flashed along his temple
she guessed it had always been there
as the song slipped from his tongue
and fell into her
It blew softly on her chest
And slid back into the brown water
