A year and a half ago, my world turned upside down. After living in my beloved Minnesota for 42 years, I suddenly became a resident of South Dakota (we did it for the grandkid). My reaction was swift and painful: fear, grief, alienation. I had left my city, my friends, indeed, the life that I knew and loved, behind.
In the midst all this angst, I came upon a poem, written by South Dakota’s poet laureate, Bruce Roseland. It is called “A Prairie Prayer”. In the poem, Roseland uses the voice of a pioneer settler, trying to survive the harshness of South Dakota’s unforgiving prairie. The poem resonated immediately with me. I felt the same way as this pioneer, although the harshness of my new life had nothing to do with the rough climate – it had to do with losing so many things I held dear. The settler asks, “Do I have what it takes to survive, or will I shatter and break?”, and I knew just how he felt.
It turns out the person in the poem decides to stick it out, saying, “I want to touch a little further beyond my reach, for the something that I seek.” I was inspired. If he could do it, I could do it. A poem did that for me.
Say what you will about South Dakota, good or bad, they love their poetry. I see poetry in the back of South Dakota magazine. I hear poets on South Dakota Public Radio being interviewed and reading their poetry. I read stories about Badger Clark, who became South Dakota’s first poet laureate in 1937.
A few weeks ago, I saw an event posted online. It was called “Poetry on the Road”, put on by the South Dakota State Poetry Society. This group sponsors open mic events in towns across South Dakota, followed by a poetry reading by Bruce Roseland.
So, last week I walked into the funky used bookstore/bar/coffee shop/performance venue downtown where the event was held. Who knew? Who knew that so much stuff could be packed into one small place? And who knew that such a hip place would be located smack-dab in the middle of strait-laced South Dakota? I was nervous about attending the event alone, but I needn’t have been. Turns out poets are kind of a solitary bunch – seemed like everyone was on their own. I grabbed my wobbly stool with the cracked vinyl seat, ready to listen. One by one, poets came up and read their poems (two was the limit). Some of the poems were quite good, at least it seemed to me that they were quite good. Some of the poems went on for far too long (where’s an editor when you need one?). A few young college-age women took to the mic. Another woman went up to the mic for her first time as a birthday present to herself. Of course, there had to be a few oddballs. One young man donned a paper moustache and beard and an odd-looking hat, and recited his poem, which to me didn’t seem like a poem but instead a very long narrative which made little sense, all in a British accent. But mostly, it was a ragtag group of gray-haired men and women sharing their heartfelt sentiments on a little stage.
So, this week’s JOY: poetry. The kind that is for everyone. Gray-haired ladies like me. Young people. Even oddballs wearing a paper moustache. And the power of a single poem to remind me that I have what it takes to survive.
I give you Bruce Roseland’s poem. I do not have permission to reprint it, but I hope he understands.
A Prairie Prayer By Bruce Roseland
Here, on this arc
of grass, sun and sky,
I will stay and see if I thrive.
Others leave. They say it’s too hard.
I say hammer my spirit thin,
spread it horizon to horizon,
see if I break.
Let the blizzards hit my face;
let my skin feel the winter’s freeze;
let the heat of summer’s extreme
try to sear the flesh from my bones.
Do I have what it takes to survive,
or will I shatter and break?
Hammer me thin,
stretch me from horizon to horizon.
I need to know the character
that lies within.
I want to touch a little further
beyond my reach,
for something that I seek.
Only then will my spirit be released.
From South Dakota in Poems, 2020