Quinnipiack
Mark Lamoureux
I wrote “Quinnipiack” from research materials concerning the history of the Quinnipiack tribe in New Haven, CT where I now reside. The poem contains sections from Some helps for the Indians, shewing them how to improve their natural reason, to know the true God, and the true Christian religion by Abraham Pierson (1658), which contains some of the only extant examples of the now-extinct Quinnipiack language, and The Quinnipiack Indians and Their Reservation, Charles Hervey Townshend (1900). Needless to say, it is impossible to copyedit or read the sections in Quinnipiack, though the English translations of the Quinnipiack passages also figure in the poem.
Quinnipiack
War shirt of John Davenport’s
putrid bones, a flophouse
on the slave estate. Bloody
bricks, seeing ghosts
all the time, vitreous floaters,
shadow people.
& upon extraordinary accidents, as Thunder, Earthquakes,
sights in the Aire, blasing Starrs &c.
Quah skeje εheεhége mónεharawanúnguotush ahárrêmuks’,
arra Páddaquåhhum Quequansh,
māzzenúnguottush késesuk terre, squárrug arráksak &c
which shewes that they know there is a power above the
creatures, though they see him not.
Widow’s walks regard the landfill,
poxy proxy of death-painted loam, toilets
in the public square. Buses rumble
for the dispossessed. Polis is this. Kill the river
Who will punish sinn & can do it when he will.
mukko matta naûwah, ouwun bitεh arroutaûtak matεherêwunk, quah om uttrên hantŭkkeque roytaks.
with a lancet, those elms that still rise
through the red disease, those
uncursed coursing through xylem,
the white blood,
milk of hospitals:
we see trees in winter loose thir beauty & in the spring live again.
nâumenan p’tuks pabŏuks antâumous werregowunk quah se quoks kejámous rambe.
John Davenport will fashion you
a golem
in the shape of yourself
for warfare—
do battle
brick bone ghost boon
groans with the sea
at night the ghost boat of
merchants under the waves
swollen with loot & ocean
worms, Solomon born on
Moon’s day
sanctified for work
Mattamoy & naught
Hom énsketâmbough missinnawanan Jehōvah wuskwheâk matta youhbitch mammoânhokkréztawâuwunk quah pânassoùngansh wutche Sachemānauk, quah motántámmewunk Eansketambough?
If Indians receive Gods Word will it not take away the honour & Riches of the Sachems, & Liberty of the Indians?
Tīw’s day
xened
xtian
X
his mark
& the English planters before mentioned
accepting & graunting according to ye tenor of the prmises,
doe further of their owne accord, by way of free & thankefull retribution,
give unto ye sachem, counsel & company
of ye Quinopiocke Indians,
twelve hatchets,
twelve hoes,
two dozen of knives,
twelve porengers
& fourse cases of French knives & sizers; All which being thankfully accepted by ye aforesd & ye agreements in all points perfected; for rettification & full conformation of the same, the Sachem his counsel & sister, to these prsents have sett their hands or markes ye day & year above written.
Woden’s day
wed to
a cross of ash
& spit
He about four years since
came into Mr. Craynes
House when they were blessing God in the name of Jesus Christ,
& that he then did blashpheamously
say that Jesus Christ was
‘Mattamoy & naught’ & his bones rotten
& spake of an Indian in Mantoises plantation ascending into Heaven wch was witnessed by Mr. Crayne & others.
Fat cops regard,
night a pistolwhipped begonia
in the dust
must be what could come in Black Mary
square, just dust dyed
young in the pink muscle
By the natural motions & expectations that Indians have of living in another country to the southward after they have lived in this:
Spe rambâuwe róytammenûngansh quak askwhóntámmewúngansh, yow Eánsketmboûgh uttâhhénau wutεhe pómpamantàmmewunk perôukon saûanaíôuk pokkaεhe pómantammowûshànnak yowh terre:
Thor’s day
thunder & lightning
sick in the bones
of water
in the river
running backward
into the mouth
of a highway, smeared with rust & dirty diapers, slicked with gasoline, ghast
of John Davenport
scrabbling at the defunct
pay-phone’s ripped
throat dangling—a choked
dead cormorant
black with petroleum
& whale blood.
The Quinnipiacks, at the date of the Eaton treaty,
had been reduced to forty-six fighting men,
& including squaws & papooses
numbering in the neighborhood
of about one hundred & fifty persons
youh kåkkoodumεhàmo neh nejek wauhtânnau mouεhe milkissoowunk ausin keizbittushànnuk, mukko matta naûwah, ouwun bitεh arroutaûtak matεherêwunk, quah om uttrên hantŭkkeque roytaks.
In the bare cinema
rah rah
Fred Astaire in spats
a boss plane
coughing fire
go go go
in the nave
a naval battle.
Freyja’s day
worsening
unlucky fuck
castrated by Davenport’s
brass tack
knuckle ball
cardiac kneesocks
choking those chopsticks
of varicose spaghetti
The centence of the Court was that he should be severely whipped for thus scorning at or worshipping God & blaspheme the name of Jesus Christ & he was informed if he should do so hereafter it would hazard his life.
The book locks,
wrought iron teeth
of the cathedral library
festooned with closed circuit
television orifices
indiscriminate
discriminating
crime scene logistics
in the quad
the first class
shot up the townies
with their pistols
marigold line
on Temple Street
skulls & bones
mace & chain
let them eat
each other
Saturn’s day
ejaculating
greasy electrum,
the death of you,
Solomon
Mattamoy
& naught
satyr’s day
out among the
pulchritude, loose lips
sink yachts, tight
in the pub, buries
an IED
Quinnipiack
DIE
DEI
DEUS
DAY
Sun’s day
& for the damage by means of the gate he had left open to pay Tho. Knowles five shillings.
in the park
forties
like the teats of mammon
leaking
Buried under strata
of arrowheads & peeled
scalps tongues shrieking
this is your fault, under the trees
wide as six humans, weeping
sores, penumbra of humus hiding
cursed eyes, Davenport shackles
oxidized to shivs to pierce the soft skin
of the bare foot, pull on your boots
militiamen, the bitter dirt whelms &
the rats are here & this is the end of
the city of elms
Mark Lamoureux lives in New Haven, CT. He is the author of thee full-length collections of poetry: Spectre (Black Radish Books ,2010), Astrometry Orgonon (BlazeVOX Books, 2008), and 29 Cheeseburgers / 39 Years (Pressed Wafer, 2013). His work has been published in print and online in Cannibal, Denver Quarterly, Jacket, Fourteen Hills and many others. In 2014 he received the 2nd annual Ping Pong Poetry award, selected by David Shapiro, for his poem “Summerhenge/Winterhenge.”
