LEGENDS OF GLACIER
©2002 Jack W. Gladstone
This was written to accent the point that the land we call Glacier National Park has a story to tell. In learning stories from our indigenous peoples, we may discover a relationship whose roots extend back many thousands of years.
Grandmother’s stories ignited the spark
Now warming the heart of a man
Fantastic odysseys, requested dreams,
We’re part of our first human clans
Elders have summoned the auras of old
Remembered and treasured through time
Don’t be surprised. This land comes alive
And Legends of Glacier survive.
Gray Wolf and Beaver Chief caretake the land
The heart is the Sun’s beating drum.
Owl eyes and eagle wings perfect the view
Where spirit and matter are one.
Permit your wings to transcend the things
Consuming and cluttering life
You’re one on one with Creator Sun
And Legends of Glacier survive.
Ahh – Listen deep to the voice
That calls from our home long ago
We’re on the knife edge of time
We feel, but never quite know.
(Musical Interlude)
The youngest of all of her children are us.
The ones still learning respect
The soul awakens, the heart is revived
And Legends of Glacier Survive.
Keep Legends of Glacier alive.
Legends...
Legends of Glacier
LETTER TO THE WORLD
©2002 Jack W. Gladstone and Kendall S. Flint
In the days following September 11, 2001, I wrote the chorus of this song as I struggled to transcend both anger and fear. On Saturday, September 15, John Potter, Billings Gazette columnist and Anishinabe Indian, reminded his readers that the emotions now held by post 9/11 Americans are identical to those of 19th Century American Indians whose villages were viciously attacked by the U.S. under the rationale of Manifest Destiny. Downstream of today’s Glacier National Park, on the banks of the Marias River, 173 men, women and children with the Heavy Runner band of Pikuni Blackfeet were indiscriminately slaughtered by the U.S. Army. This action was ordered by U.S. Gen. Phillip Sheridan. The date was January 23, 1870. American history refers to this event as the Baker Massacre. In the words of John Potter, “Terrorism is not new to American soil nor is our government a stranger to it.”
This song is a prayer that the world’s people recognize that before race, economics, politics and/or religion, we are brothers and sisters. We are children of God.
John Potter’s complete editorial can be accessed in the archives at billingsgazette.com (9/15/01).
The sun came plummeting down on that fateful morn
The sky’s surreal peace burst into storm
People’s lives, in a flash, were no more.
The hearts of friends and relatives were broken by the score.
In the aftermath of attack smoldered a U.S. flag
It was given and held in peace by the Chief of the camp
Our elders, our women, our children’s lives were taken so senselessly
This was General Sheridan’s strategy in 1870.
Before there were Christians, before there was Islam,
Before there was Judaism, before there was Buddha.
Remind our people so our mothers can applaud.
Before the –isms and –anities, we were children of God.
We’re passing through an age of miracles and seething rage.
How should our freedom be construed?
We are a firefly’s flash, the breath of a buffalo,
A shadow losing self in the Sun
Shadows lose themselves in the Sun.
A dark day comes to an end as a new one begins.
The key to our healing includes selflessness within.
A loving mother and children can awaken our daily lives
If tomorrow hope does emerge, it is we who decide.
Before there were Christians, before there was Islam,
Before there was Judaism, before there was Buddha.
Remind our people so our mothers can applaud.
Beyond the –isms and the –anities, we are children of God.
Abandon this insanity
For the children...
SOMETIMES EAGLES
©2002 Jack W. Gladstone
In the major conflicts of the 20th Century, American Indians claimed the highest volunteerism rate of any ethnic group in the U.S. Two young Blackfeet men, Ernest DuBray and my father, were among those listed who enlisted in 1942. My father served in the Navy in the Pacific and Ernest was in the Army Air Force as a radioman and tail-gunner aboard a B-17 Flying Fortress over Europe. In the skies of Nazi Germany, the 8th Air Force suffered 58% casualties, but amazingly, Sgt. Ernest DuBray flew 52 missions (30 were required). He was shot down twice, escaped from behind enemy lines once and was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and a 3 Oak Leaf Clusters. Ernest finished the war as one of the most highly decorated servicemen from Montana.
Like Ira Hayes, the Pima Indian flag raiser of Iwo Jima, Ernest suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after the war. Like Ira Hayes, Ernest’s life unraveled into alcoholic despair and spiraled downward. He died June 12, 1963. This song is dedicated to our country’s warriors who have, since Viet Nam, discovered the “talking circle” (support group therapy) to aid the process of healing.
We became men in the skies above the Reich
Bombing daily, the British bombed by night
We were young then, with dreams to go back home
Some were broken, their shadows left to roam.
Through the green grass of 1942,
We enlisted, sacrificing school.
Only God knew when, or if, we would return.
Our duty was freedom to be earned.
Fortresses suspended in the atmosphere,
The earth lay like a dream miles below.
German fighter aces cut our crews in half.
We fell into eternity in droves.
From the sky.
Ha hey Haw-naw hey-naw
Ha ley-ya hay naw, ha hey-la-hey
Missions became memories by the fall of ’45.
Peace tasted sweet for those who survived.
Casualties of war were over, but for some,
Streams of nightmares had really just begun.
If we had the chance to live our lives again
We’d find another way to ease the pain.
Sober circles work to keep our demons down.
Our lives could be close to whole again.
Sometimes Eagles have trouble on the ground.
Ha hey haw-naw Hey-naw
Ha ley-ya hey naw, ha hey-la-hey
Sergeant Ernest C. DuBray and this world parted ways
In the water below St. Mary’s Lake.
As a warrior ascended, a Native Son went down.
Sometimes Eagles have trouble on the ground.
Let’s remember our heroes whose stars have fallen down
Sometimes Eagles have trouble on the ground
We became men in the skies above the Reich...
SPEAK TO ME GRANDMA
©1992 Jack W. Gladstone
This song was written at the Babb, Montana schoolhouse on the morning of my Indian grandmother’s funeral. It was really an amazing gift that went smoothly from spirit to pen in only 14 minutes. It is dedicated to the awakening within us of the sanctity of oral tradition within the family.
Speak to me Grandma I’m alone in my thoughts
Speak to me Grandma You’re at home with the thought...
There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
Through the valley of our old St. Mary
You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.
Speak to me Grandma, stories blossom in you
Speak to me Grandma legend blended with truth.
And your words brushed a portrait for us
In the Valley of our old St. Mary
Your eyes were the light for us
When our bodies couldn’t carry us beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.
You felt the buffalo go
You heard the stagecoach roll
You saw booming Altyn rise and fall
You rode your pony upon
Moccasin Flat at century’s dawn
The trails became roads
and the roads became old...
We listened to the stories that you told.
You wed a man from the north
Then ten fine children came forth
Alex still is your groom.
You were the center of us.
Still in our valley we trust
The vision of St. Mary
appeared upon the lake
And leaves me in this fast-closing wake.
Speak to me Grandma I’m alone in my thoughts
Speak to me Grandma You’re at home with the thought...
There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
Through the valley of our old St. Mary
You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.
There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
Through the valley of our old St. Mary
You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.
No I really can’t believe
It’s so hard to imagine.
I really don’t believe that you’re gone.
TAPPIN’ THE EARTH’S BACKBONE
©2002 Jack W. Gladstone and Rob Quist
The Rocky Mountains are known as “the Backbone of the Earth” to the Blackfeet. Tribal groups worldwide have long recognized mountains as sacred and have reflected this in music, poetry and dance. This is my entry into this tradition. This song was begun in the winter of ’02 with Rob Quist during a blizzard in the Dakotas and finished on I-5 while driving with my family to Disneyland. Easter Sunday gridlock on an L.A. freeway inspired the chorus.
The heart is the start of every odyssey
Mother, father ‘n cryin’ baby
Uh-oh, the heart is the start of
Tappin’ the Earth’s backbone
Cold flows, snow blows up the Andes,
Alps, Ayers Rock, Himalayas and Rockies.
Uh-oh, Kilimanjaro is
Tappin’ the Earth’s Backbone.
Well, you can spend your time in an uphill climb
Paying interest on the loans you find.
You can simplify and re-humanify
Celebrate relation with creation.
Hay-la Hay-na, dancing softly
As raindrops falling ‘tween the evergreens
Uh-oh, dancing’s the start of
Tappin’ the Earth’s Backbone.
Pulse beats deep under land,
Keeping time for the collective band.
Well, you can spend your time in an uphill climb
Paying interest on the loans you find or
You can simplify and re-humanify
Celebrate relation with creation
Heart is the start of our Legacy
As blood begins its journey to the sea.
Uh-oh, on the mountains start
Tappin’ the Earth’s Backbone.
Uh-oh, the heart is the start of
Tappin’ the Earth’s Back
Tappin’ the Earth back
Tappin’ the Earth’s Backbone.
THE BEAR WHO STOLE THE CHINOOK
©1992 Jack W. Gladstone
Among indigenous peoples of the northern hemisphere, the bear, in his winter slumber, is the symbolic holder of the warmth and light of the world. The mythic imagination has recognized this in various artistic forms. This song blends this symbolic link with the classic mythic form of a hero’s adventure.
The snow came early and lay on deep
The cold blown bitter made the women weep
Our men tracked hard but could find no game
In our children’s bellies were cryin’ pains
Our elders gathered in the eve and dawn
They prayed and waited and looked
But, little did they know that way up high
The Bear Had Stole the Chinook.
A ragged orphan boy living alone
Called to the animals in his home
Owl and Magpie flew on in
With Coyote and Weasel, there were four of them
As their council met, the Magpie “cawed”
As our heroes shivered and shook
He said, “my relatives told me so”,
He said, “The Bear Has Stole the Chinook.”
Our heroes’ journey to release the wind
Turned west to the mountain bear’s den
Four days they teamed and traveled along
Together they did ascend…
Up to the den that held the Chinook.
The Grizzly snored and snarled in his sleep
Owl crept close, into his lodge peeped
Bear punched Owl’s eyes with a stick
So they sent in a brother who was lightning quick.
The weasel slithered easy through the hole,
And found the elk skin bag of the crook
The bear, enraged roared, “Go Away!” (and said)
“I’m the Bear Who Stole the Chinook!”
Then our friends made medicine smoke appear
And blew it in the Grizzly Bear’s den
The big ol’ Griz fell fast asleep
As Coyote crept on in.
He found the bag where the wind was kept
And pulled it to the light of day
There a Prairie Chicken picked the stitches out
Then the Chinook blew on its way
The Chinook blew on its way.
The Bear burst suddenly from his sleep Grrrrr!
Our friends all fled, their job complete
The Bear, in vain, pursued the wind
But, the warm wind never was again his friend.
Now Bear sleeps underground the winter long
In his lodge he grumbles and looks
Back to the days of the winter warmth
To the Bear Who Stole the Chinook
To the Bear Who Stole the Chinook
I’m the Bear Who Stole the Chinook!
I’m the Bear Who Stole the Chinook!
Grrrrr! Grrrrr!
THE BUILDER
©2004 Jack W. Gladstone
Dedicated to the visionary souls who nurture ideas, hope and love for future generations.
On the journey that we climb
To the summit of the mountain we do find
There are heroes, there are fools
There are builders ever reaching for their tools
With their tools, they build the walls
That stand solid, fresh and tall
You know, building is a risky thing to do
When the work you perform outlasts you
Through the romance, through the dance
Over rolling plains of troubled circumstance
Into the journey, we are born
Always keep your dreams alive over the storm
And may your dreams form a love that survives you
We remember your warm grin
And the trickster that would make us smile again
You built bridges, you built walls
But now, we find you’ve built your spirit in us all
Through the joy and through the pain
Through the loving, through the rain
Sometimes rainbow colors aren’t easy to see
How you forgive and how you love is the key
Through the romance, through the dance
Over rolling seas that challenge circumstance
Into the journey, we are born
Always keep your dreams alive over the storm
And may your dreams form a love that survives you
Through the romance, through the dance
Over rolling plains of troubled circumstance
Through the journey, we are born
Always keep your dreams alive over the storm
And may your dreams form a love that survives you.
Children carry the love...
That survives you.
THUNDERMAN
©2002 Jack W. Gladstone
The Thunder Chief is a personification of the ultimate power. An ancient Blackfeet story speaks of his marriage to an earth woman and their subsequent separation, reconciliation, and final separation. (No kids were involved…) The Thunder Medicine Pipe came to our people at this time. If Thunderman gets his own TV series, the theme song is ready.
Who is the greatest skyland Chief?
Who travels far and wide?
Who wears a silver headdress wreath?
Now you can decide.
Who has the biggest drum to strike?
Causing clouds to weep.
Who is the warrior of the storm,
Intruding on your sleep?
Intruding on your sleep.
He’ll blow down your lodge,
This moody uncaused cause.
The arrows that he throws, be sure to dodge
He’s over there and here
He cycles gray and clear
He’s Thunderman of every hemisphere.
If you don’t think he’s real
How would lightning feel?
His voice alone’s enough to make you squeal
He’s over there and here
He cycles gray and clear
He’s Thunderman of every hemisphere
He blows down your lodge,
This moody uncaused cause.
The arrows that he throws, be sure to dodge
He’s over there and here
He cycles gray and clear
He’s Thunderman of every hemisphere.
He’s Thunder.
It’s a wonder man,
He’s Thunderman of our atmosphere.
WHEN NAPI ROASTED GOPHERS
©2002 Jack W. Gladstone
Napi is the Blackfeet inflection of the trickster archetype. Extremely human, Napi stories unfold as morality plays on greed, lust, envy, deceit, gluttony and so on. The song revisits one of my Grandma’s stories about Napi and his reckoning with the timeless notion of karma.
Just below the big rock that today we call Flat Top
Napi spied on gophers covering each other up
With ash and hot coal from the fire
They’d trade places two by two.
What a goofy, goober, gopher thing to do.
Napi strolled on over asking, “Can I play?”
Gophers rolled on over saying, “Yes, you may!”
Napi chose to be the first to shovel on the coal
No more need to be said. Supper was his goal.
Except for one expecting mother, Napi tricked the gophers
Into being the entrée at his wilderness café.
As he placed those crispy critters on a rack to cool,
Bobcat made a plan to hold school.
Bobcat pleaded, “Oh, oh, my leg is buggered up.
I cannot run, I cannot hunt. This cat’s out of luck.”
Would you be so kind as to share a meal?
Old Man spouted, “I’ll sing before I deal.
I cherish what I’ve got. It’s fair that I got a lot.
Trust far as the eye can see, those you do not know.
Treat a mother with respect and a future is what you’ll get.
Take a lesson from me. I’m a gopher roaster.”
Napi said, “We’ll run a race to see who eats my food.
First to finish, wins the lot. That's my only rule!”
Bobcat said, “Old Man, I can hardly walk.”
Then, confidently, Napi sprinted off.
Napi, in a heartless beat, ran out of sight.
Bobcat limped four steps then said, “Here’s the finish line.”
When Old Man finally made it back to claim his prize,
Bobcat’s carnivore singers sang this song to his surprise.
“We cherish what we’ve got. We share if we’ve got a lot.
Trust far as the eye can see, those you do not know.
Treat a brother with respect and a future is what you’ll get.”
Take a lesson from long ago, when Napi Roasted Gophers.
Learn to cherish what you’ve got and share if you’ve got a lot.
Trust far as the eye can see (and feet can reach), those you do not know.
Treat a mother with respect and a future is what you’ll get.
Take a lesson from long ago, when Napi Roasted Gophers…
And whatever you do, DON'T EAT
Napi’s Roasted Gophers!!
