| |
A Chippewa Medicine Dance
HI'! Hi! Hi'! Hi! | To be read with a vigorous lilt emphasizing the drum-beats | |
| Hi'! Hi! Hi'! Hi! | |
| Hee'-ya! Hói-ya! | |
| Hee'-ya! Hói-ya! | |
| Keetch'-ie, Má-ni-dó, Má-ni-dó, | | 5 |
| The hunter-moon is chipping at his flints, | |
| At his dripping bloody flints; | |
| He is rising for the hunt, | |
| And his face is red with blood | |
| From the spears of many spruces, | | 10 |
| And his blood is on the leaves that flutter down. | |
| The Winter-maker, Beé-bo-an', | |
| Is walking in the sky, | |
| And his windy blanket rustles in the trees. | |
| He is blazing out the trail | | 15 |
| Through the fields of nodding rice | |
| For the swift and whistling wings | |
| Of his She-shé-be, | |
| For the worn and weary wings | |
| Of many duck— | | 20 |
| Ho! plenty duck! plenty duck! | |
| Ho! plenty, plenty duck! | |
| |
| Hi'! Hi! | More slowly and quietly, verging on a chant | |
| Hi'! Hi! | |
| Hoy-eeeeé! Ya! | 25 |
| Hoy-eeeeé! Ya! | |
| Keetch'-ie, Má-ni-dó, Má-ni-dó, | |
| The seasons have been barren. | |
| In the moon of flowers and grass, | |
| From the blighted berry patches | | 30 |
| And the maple-sugar bush, | |
| The hands of all my children | |
| Came home empty, came home clean. | |
| And the big rain of Nee-bín, the summer-maker, | |
| Washed away the many little pa’tridge. | | 35 |
| And even Ad-ik-kum'-aig, sweetest white-fish, | |
| Went sulking all the summer moon, | |
| Hiding in the deepest waters, | |
| Silver belly in the mud; | |
| And he would not walk into my nets. Ugh! | | 40 |
| Thus the skin-sacks and the mo'-kuks | |
| Hang within my teepee empty. | |
| Soon the winter moon will come, | Slower—chant rising to a wail | |
| Slipping through the silent timber, | |
| Walking on the silent snow, | 45 |
| Stalking on the frozen lake. | |
| Lean-bellied, | |
| Squatting with his rump upon the ice, | |
| The phantom wolf will fling his waitings to the stars. | |
| Then Wéen-di-go, the Devil-spirit, | | 50 |
| Whining through the lodge-poles, | |
| Will clutch and shake my teepee, | |
| Calling, | Melancholy wailing from this point on—higher and higher in pitch | |
| Calling, | |
| Calling as he sifts into my lodge; | 55 |
| And ghostly little shadow-arms | |
| Will float out through the smoke-hole, in the night— | |
| Leaping, tossing shadow-arms, | |
| Little arms of little children, | |
| Hungry hands of shadow-arms, | | 60 |
| Clutching, | |
| Clutching, | |
| Clutching at the breast that is not there … | |
| Shadow-arms and shadow-breasts, | |
| Twisting, | | 65 |
| Twisting, | |
| Twisting in and twisting out, | |
| On the ghastly clouds of smoke … | |
| Riding on the whistling wind … | |
| Riding on the whistling wind … | | 70 |
| Riding on the whistling wind … | |
| Starward. | |
| Blow, blow, blow, Kee-wáy-din, North-wind, | |
| Warm and gentle on my children, | |
| Cold and swift upon the wild She-shé-be! | | 75 |
| Ha-a-ah-eeeee-ooooooooo … Plenty duck … | |
| Ha-a-a-ah-eeeeeee-ooooooooooo … Plenty duck … | |
| |
| Hi'! Hi! Hi'! Hi! | Faster, with a lilt. Dancing rhythm | |
| Hi'! Hi! Hi'! Hi! | |
| Keetch'-ie, Má-ni-dó, Má-ni-dó, | 80 |
| Blow on Ah-bi-tee'-bi many wings: | |
| Wings of teal and wings of mallard, | |
| Wings of green and blue. | |
| My little lake lies waiting, | |
| Singing for her blust’ry lover; | | 85 |
| Dancing on the golden stranded shore | |
| With many little moccasins, | |
| Pretty little moccasins, | |
| Beaded with her silver sands, | |
| And with her golden pebbles. | | 90 |
| And upon her gentle bosom | |
| Lies Mah-no'-min, sweetest wild-rice, | |
| Green and yellow, | |
| Rustling blade and rippling blossom. | |
| Hi-yee! Hi-yee! Blow on Ah-bi-tee'-bi plenty duck! | | 95 |
| Ho! Plenty duck! Ho! Plenty duck! | |
| |
| Hi'! Hi! Hi'! Hi! Hi'! Hi! Hi'! Hi! | |
| Hee'-ya! Hoi'-ya! Hee'-ya! Hoi'-ya! | Faster and louder—with abandon | |
| Keetch'-ie, Má-ni-dó, Má-ni-dó, | |
| I place this pretty duck upon your hand; | 100 |
| Upon its sunny palm and in its windy fingers. | |
| Hi-yee! Blue and beautiful is he, beautifully blue; | |
| Carved from sleeping cedar | |
| When the stars like silver fishes | |
| Were a-quiver in the rivers of the sky; | | 105 |
| Carved from dripping cedar | |
| When the Koo'-koo-koo' dashed hooting | |
| At the furtive feet that rustled in the leaves, | |
| And seasoned many moons, many moons!— | |
| Ho! seasoned many, many, many sleeps! | | 110 |
| Hi-yee! Blue and beautiful is he, beautifully blue. | |
| Though his throat is choked with timber, | |
| And he honks not on his pole, | |
| And his wings are weak with hunger, | |
| Yet his heart is plenty good! | | 115 |
| Hi-yee! Hi-yee! His heart is plenty good, plenty good! | |
| Hi-yee! Hi-yee! Hi-yee! His heart is good! | |
| |
| My heart like his is good! | |
| |
| Ugh! My tongue is straight! | |
| |
| Ho! | | 120 |
| |
| Ho! | |
| |
