Back in the early 1980’s we lived on a cattle ranch in Northeastern Oklahoma for a few years. That was near Tahlequah, Oklahoma, the capital of the Cherokee Nation. In a remote location on the ranch there was a tall pole sticking out of the ground. When I asked about it, I learned that it was a stomp pole where Cherokees used to come and have traditional dances there at night. When I asked around, a few older people told me that they remembered coming to stomp dances there with their parents when they were young. At one point we noticed that the old pole had fallen over and I asked the guys on the ranch to put it back up, which they did. Some years later I returned to visit the ranch and when I was out on a walk I came upon the old stomp pole. It had fallen over again and become overgrown by brush and green briars. For some reason that made me very sad, like something culturally important had been lost. I’m not Cherokee, nor had I ever seen a stomp dance. Yet, the moment was strangely emotional for me. I sat down on the forgotten pole and wrote the following poem.
It's a reminder that culture, even someone else’s culture, has value and connects us with shared heritage. If you’ve ever been to a stomp dance I’d love to hear from you. Either way, I offer the following as my personal take on the loss of a small cultural icon that likely meant something to people at one time. Maybe we should all be on the lookout for the things that connect us to the past, and to the pasts of others. But for now … the stomp pole is down, and the voices are gone.
The Stomp Pole
How long has it been since my people and I
Came to this place when the moon was high
Came to this place to dance and sing
Our children, our songs and our hearts we'd
bring
How long has it been since those nights of old
When the tribal legends and stories were told
When the forest would ring with our ancient
tongue
When our hearts and minds were heavenward flung
Around the stomp pole, we were a tribe
And the spirits of old were still alive
And as long as the pole was standing still
So would our heritage and our will
I'd wander back every now and again
On a moonlit night to that quiet glen
To dance by myself beneath the trees
And hear voices of old singing on the breeze
Now it's been years since I passed this way
And I came to stomp pole again today
But the wind and rain and the demons of time
Had toppled the pole and been unkind
Green briars held it fast to the ground
And cattle had trampled the spirits down
Long I listened for voices upon the wind
But the voices had fled and would not begin
The ageless thickets of cedar and oak
Did not remember the fire's smoke
The stones were cold, the stars were dim
The forest was silent, the moon was thin
I sat there alone on the long-fallen pole
No dance or song could be found in my soul
The still earth accepted my sorrowful tears
As they rolled off the stomp pole and over the
years
Watering memories that in my heart would live
on
But the stomp pole is down and the voices are
gone
By Frank Carpenter ©
