Another River Song
Oh those rides along the river
where the shallow stream runs wide
and the sea buckthorn and linden
gird the banks on either side
come with me to my old river
see the place we rest our heads
where the fountain cave once spoke its hymns
of living and of dead
near here Ohéyewahé tops one green gold bluff
and one might smell the river
the sweetgrass
or other stuff
I do not know when I’ll return
to my home so dear
for seas and banks and men with guns
bar me far and near
I dream I may return one day
whatever fate may do
I pray I may return dear kin
at last at last to you
Quince and Memory
or
On arriving to Berlin
I arrived through a tunnel of loving stone
three young children called to me
“Entschuldigung” and asked
would I buy a slice of cake
Their banana bread, I think it was
had chocolate within
then I came upon a circle
a circle by the river
as Ricardo Prophesied
Here these people are seeking
kinship in the plants and in each other
we planted two trees together
an apple and a plum
dirt grit upon my hands
a red child’s shovel was my friend and companion
I bit the bright tart yellow orb
the sea buckthorn;
much kinder than the buckthorn back home
I spoke to the quince
“are you a crabapple or a pear,” I asked
and it responded with only
the sweet scent of an autumn orchard
its pitted surface, so like an apple
from Nicole and Tyler’s yard
The river here is so different from the beloved river of my home
No bluffs adorn its banks
I do not see cottonwoods, black elm, or the hated
ever-present buckthorn
Dinner was fine and bright, full of autumn’s bounty
I met an Englishwoman who spoke to me of walls and kindergarten
of childrearing and of politics;
She asked me of November
I told her of skepticism and relief
desperation and gratitude
here is a place of many narrows
yet it feels expansive with hope
Minnesota is a place of open skies and open fields
open water above and below
but it is narrow with desperation
Minnesota’s people, my kin
and my neighbors
have been dispossessed
and we feel the walls closing in
here the one wall stands large in memory
and the principles of socialism exist only in authoritarian shadow
my faculty with English is a fine thing,
but I long to participate in the German discussions,
lessons, casual camaraderie
the sun’s rays do not slant down through the trees
or sparkle on the river
the tourboats tool through a gray river
under a gray lightbox sky
the trees are green here; not the vibrant colors of Autumn at home
Perhaps they yet will turn. Array the city in their glory and splendor
Out of the corner of my eye, red, white, and yellow trains cross from Ostbahnhof to the southwest
Trains are everywhere. Magnificent machines.
And capable of such evil uses, like so many of humankind’s creations.
Farewell to Lochaber rings in my heart and ears
though I was not called away to war
instead, my kin are dying at home,
though it is a time of peace (they say)
dying because of the walls we were not taught to fear
Berlin by contrast is a place of safety and abundance
at least, by comparison
at home, I war with society
for the dignity and life of my neighbors,
my kin, my land
here, I may rest
and study
for the next campaign
Reference item:
“A Circle by the River” – Ricardo Levins Morales – 100% Campaign
Written at the workshop „WaldGarten – Erntedank“ on 6 October, 2024.
David Ackos (they/them) is a storyteller, writer, housing justice activist and tenant organizer from St. Paul, Minnesota, USA. They are currently a student at Technische Universität Berlin in the international Urban Management Masters Program.
All photos by David Ackos.