The Barren Lands
© James Gordon 2004
from The Song the River Sings on Pipe Street Records
In August when the mosses have turned a brilliant red,
The sedges mauve, the willows yellow, the blue sky overhead,
Paddling past the flowered hills it's hard to understand
How Hearne could have named this place the Barren Lands.
But as the river freezes up I know we'll find out soon enough
The trappers tell us tales of those who found this life too tough.
But our spruce log cabin's warm, it's chinked with caribou hair and moss,
I'm a thousand miles from nowhere, but back at home I felt more lost.
I claimed I came here looking for that copper-bearing rock,
I have followed the path of Franklin to this place that time forgot
But now I see that it was really something else.
I realize I'm on the coppermine to try to find myself.
Roast ptarmigan and bannock, a little chocolate with our tea.
We'd talk of following that river to the Arctic Sea.
Each of us would speculate about the strange allure
Of a place so desolate and yet so beautiful and pure.
From the Dismal Lakes to Bloody Falls and back to Camp Despair, in
Places that the white man named in hatred of the Barrens,
As I search the cliffs for signs of copper, cobalt, gold, and coal,
On this river of lost dreams it seems instead I've found my soul.
I claimed I came here looking for that copper-bearing rock,
I have followed the path of Franklin to this place that time forgot
But now I see that it was really something else.
I realize I'm on the coppermine to try to find myself.
In August when the mosses have turned a brilliant red,
The sedges mauve, the willows yellow, the blue sky overhead,
Paddling past the flowered hills it's hard to understand
How Hearne could have named this place the Barren Lands.
|
|
|
