Flint and Feather

by E. Pauline Johnson

This is a pre-1923 historical reproduction that was curated for quality. Quality assurance was conducted on each of these books in an attempt to remove books with imperfections introduced by the digitization process. Though we have made best efforts - the books may have occasional errors that do not impede the reading experience. We believe this work is culturally important and have elected to bring the book back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide.

Genres: Poetry, Canada, Classics, Indigenous

144 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1912

About the author

Emily Pauline Johnson (also known in Mohawk as Tekahionwake), commonly known as E. Pauline Johnson or just Pauline Johnson, was a Canadian writer and performer popular in the late 19th century. Johnson was notable for her poems and performances that celebrated her First Nations heritage; her father was a Mohawk chief of mixed ancestry, and her mother an English immigrant. One such poem is the frequently anthologized "The Song My Paddle Sings". Her poetry was published in Canada, the United States and Great Britain. Johnson was one of a generation of widely read writers who began to define a Canadian literature. While her literary reputation declined after her death, since the later 20th century, there has been renewed interest in her life and works.

(from Wikipedia)

Reviews

[Debbie Zapata · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sep 28 640pm ~~ Review asap.

Sep 29 215pm
At some point in my wide-ranging reading, I learned about E. Pauline Johnson and decided I would like to read all of the titles written by her at Project Gutenberg. This is not as daunting a chore as you might think, there are only seven listed, and of those seven one is an audio version of a single poem and another is a second edition of another listed book. So that left me with five books to read.

The list and I didn't get together until July of this year when real life settled down a bit for me and I could return to reading books from Project Gutenberg. That was when I read The White Wampum. Flint And Feather is my second title from the list, and the last of the poetry, the others will be short stories.

At first I was surprised to see that Flint And Feather is made up of both The White Wampum and Johnson's second collection Canadian Born. I re-read my favorite pieces from TWW, then hurried on to the rest of the book. Canadian Born got its title from the poem of the same name, which is proudly patriotic, a type of flag-waving poem that does tend to set my teeth a bit on edge these days, but it certainly easy to see the pride Johnson took in her homeland. Love of your home country is a fine thing to a certain point. We all need a sense of place, a knowledge of our roots, a sense of shared history. Especially since we as a species seem to be so bad at recognizing that no matter where we live we are human beings first, and citizens of x, y, or z country second.

I'm sorry, I am ranting a bit. But those are the thoughts that this particular poem triggered. So let's get back to the actual poems, right? Right.

When I read TWW I was a little disappointed in the themes of many of the poems. I could only handle so many thoughts about paddling along a lake or river, and even fewer conversations with crows and such like. So I wondered how the poems in the Canadian Born section would compare, and I was thrilled to find them richer, deeper, more passionate, more moving, and yet still with obvious connections to both Nature and Johnson's Native heritage. I was impressed, and wished once again that I could have seen and heard Johnson give a performance reading of her work. I think such an event would have been wonderful.

Of course I am tempted to quote so many different poems, from the one about the old woman out in the cornfield to the one about the two trains crossing the prairie, one going east and the other going west. The poem about the Royal Canadian Mounted Police was pretty cool, and also The Sleeping Giant, where she thinks about the soul of Lake Superior, sleeping down in the depths with its past locked away.

There were also poems about love. Some happy, some sad. Here is one that is short enough to quote completely, and was the first to help me connect with the author as a woman who had loved deeply and was hurt in return. Most of us learn at some point in life how that feels.

The Prodigal

My heart forgot its God for love of you,
And you forgot me, other loves to learn;
Now through a wilderness of thorn and rue
Back to my God I turn.

And just because my God forgets the past,
And in forgetting does not ask to know
Why I once left His arms for yours, at last
Back to my God I go.

Johnson was quite a famous person in her day and was considered one of the founding authors of Canadian literature. Who knows how much more she could have written if she had not been struck by cancer, passing away in 1913 at age 51 after suffering for two years. I am now reading her book Legends Of Vancouver, which was originally published in 1911 and re-issued in 1913. Johnson was too sick in 1911 to see to the publication of that collection of short stories so her friends in Vancouver did it for her. I am so glad they did. How much emptier the world would be if we did not have Johnson's work to read!

I will close this long review with the following poem. It was not the final poem she wrote, but it was the final poem in the book Flint And Feather. The following statement was added after the poem: E. Pauline Johnson died March 7th, 1913. Shortly after the doctors told her that her illness would be her final one, she wrote the above poem, taking a line from Tennyson as her theme.

She wrote this poem to brace herself, but it can do the same for us so many years later as we face so many uncertainties in our own lives. Read it aloud and see if it makes you feel as brave as it makes me feel. I hope so. If enough of us feel brave, we will get safely through anything and everything that comes our way. No matter how they turn out.

"AND HE SAID, FIGHT ON" (Tennyson)

Time and its ally, Dark Disarmament,
Have compassed me about,
Have massed their armies, and on battle bent
My forces put to rout;
But though I fight alone, and fall, and die,
Talk terms of Peace? Not I.

They war upon my fortress, and their guns
Are shattering its walls;
My army plays the cowards' part, and runs,
Pierced by a thousand balls;
They call for my surrender. I reply,
"Give quarter now? Not I."

They've shot my flag to ribbons, but in rents
It floats above the height;
Their ensign shall not crown my battlements
While I can stand and fight.
I fling defiance at them as I cry,
"Capitulate? Not I."

[❀ Susan · Rating 4 out of 5]

In 2023 my goal is to read more poetry and have been starting my days with a poem. I have a leather bound copy of Flint and Feather from 1913. The leather is starting to fall apart at the edges and the pages are yellow. Instead of further damaging it, I bought a new copy and enjoyed her beautiful poems - especially the Cattle Thief, The Song My Paddle Songs and Erie Waters. Living so close to Six Nations, I am surprised that I had never enjoyed her beautiful verse before.

[Nicholas Zacharewicz · Rating 5 out of 5]

My earliest recollection concerning E. Pauline Johnson is her coming up when I was conducting research for a Canadian history paper in university. At the time I might have skimmed one or two of her poems but ultimately turned to someone else to focus on. Her significance just didn’t really sync up with my broader interests at the time. So, for that particular history paper, I either wound up writing about Charles Sangster as the earliest recognized “Canadian” poet or E.J. Pratt and his epic poem about the completion of the Canadian Pacific Railway. I don't remember which I wrote in that exact instance, but I do know that it came back with the note that it was too "literary," just like how some of my English papers came back with the complaint that they were too "historical." Sorry narrowly categorized Humanities departments, I just wrote 'em like I saw 'em!

That was also the time in my life when I was most into Peter Gabriel era Genesis musically and just couldn’t get enough of their songs about huge concepts. The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway would definitely have been my answer to anyone asking “What’s the best album ever released?” (if I’d ever had the confidence and self-knowledge to answer completely honestly and had anyone ever asked me that then). Funnily enough, I had no idea at the time that Genesis would, with Wild West-fiction-loving Phil Collins at the helm, go on to release their own epic song about the completion of the railroad in the UK: "Driving the Last Spike," from their 1991 studio album We Can’t Dance.

Luckily, like a few of the songs on that album, Johnson withstood my own personal test of time. I came across this specific collection when I was a few years older and more worldly. Though, it would be a few more years before I finally sat down and read through it.

And I’m glad that I waited.

Because on the surface some of the poems in this collection read like a confirmation of just about every stereotype native communities have been spending the past century trying to tear down. But, well aware of these devices and how to manipulate her audiences with them, Johnson would perform her “Indian” and her “English” poems in specific, pastiche costumes of each respective identity. I don’t think I had the poetry appreciation chops back in my undergrad days to imagine the curl of her lip that I now picture gracing her smile as she stages her pieces in my mind’s eye. Especially given the differences in our eras and my less nuanced grasp of what that difference meant back then. In fact, with her costuming choices in mind and how playfully malicious she is in her poems about the powerful, I’m confident that she would have been considered pretty progressive in her own day. I mean, her work and performances do reflect her part in the feminist New Woman movement after all.

Along with a joyous musicality Johnson shows a mastery of the descriptive style. Her pieces about nature and existing in the natural world (“Easter, April 1 1888” comes to mind) are evocative and breathtaking. And her poems about various towns and cities in Canada ought to be on plaques on statues of her in those towns and cities. Somehow she manages to weave from words the texture of these places’ ideal selves (or at least her images match my impressions of these places, since I’ve never been to any of them myself).

Are the poems dated, though? You might ask, knowing that they were mostly written from the late 1800s to the early 1900s.

It’s a fair question!

There’s no mistaking that not a single one of these poems was written yesterday. But the language is so mellifluous that every word slides effortlessly into meters you might not even realize you’re reading. So long as you read the poems out loud, that is.

Which leads me into a warning and a criticism. These poems are not for anyone who will be embarrassed if they’re caught mouthing the words as they puff them through appreciative lips or are overheard reading them out loud, impassioned by the notions contained within. These are poems that are actively disappointed if they are not given some sound as they’re being read.

The notions that these poems contain, like some of the words found within, are also a little dated. Though, as mentioned above, this dated quality is complicated thanks to Johnson’s often seeming to paint conservative ideas only to graffiti over top of them in her last few strokes. But I’m no scholar of Victorian Canadiana, or even Edwardian Canadiana, so maybe I’m just being misdirected. However, I sincerely believe that while some of her poems can come across as conservative or glorifying the “noble savage,” these are more in the spirit of satirizing the ideas casually held by her predominantly Euro-Canadian audiences than they are worried about confirming those ideas. Even her more progressive poems may seem wrongheaded, such as the speaker of “Your Mirror Frame”’s openly wishing to be the favourite among a man’s photographic harem, which has a certain sense of early feminism’s seeking equality by having women act like patriarchal men. Despite these blind spots, the desire for forward-moving change that these poems express is clear and cogent.

So, if you’re looking for a book of poems to satisfy a hunger for words both rhythmic and rhyming (most of the poems here follow only a couple different forms, but, like great songs, I never tired of them) and aren't afraid of dipping into the past to do so, find yourself a copy of Flint and Feather.

[Daniel Dumas · Rating 4 out of 5]

This collection of poems by Haudenosaunee author Tekahionwake (E. Pauline Johnson) sheds light on Indigenous-Non Indigenous relations at the turn of the twentieth century. Interestingly, she often shares her admiration for the British Empire while also lamenting the many hardships faced by Indigenous peoples across Canada. Her love for nature and her continuous mentions of being in a canoe on the water are particularly moving. My favourite poems were: The Camper, The Flight of the Crows, Marshlands, Re-voyage, Canadian-born, Beyond the Blue, Prairie Greyhounds, The Sleeping Giant, The Legend of Qu’Appelle Valley, The Cattle Country, and Autumn’s Orchestra.

[Shannon · Rating 2 out of 5]

Reading this poetry anthology was less interesting than reading about Pauline Johnson herself. While a few of the poems caught my attention and tugged at my heart, the bulk of the poetry was not to my taste. There are only so many ways to describe a canoe moving through the water in the summertime (or in autumn!), and the wild west tales bore me to tears. I have to assume that her appeal was in her presence and performance.

[Steven · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fascinating read. While dated of course, there is a resonance in her words and we get glimpses of her divided beliefs in Canada, the harming of indigenous peoples, her connection to nature and also her personal life through her words on love. Definitely a read for the determined, it works so well as a talented writer of a certain time.

[Laura · Rating 4 out of 5]

Although the style of the poetry is not completely to my taste - these poems were ground breaking at their time and she pushed hard against the racism of her time. I particularly liked the poems that describe the different places in the country - she had such a skill to capture the canadian landscape.

[andrea · Rating 5 out of 5]

Fabulous poems, wish I could get her biography.

[Kim · Rating 2 out of 5]

Not my favourite era for poetry in general, hence the lower rating. There are a few standouts in here though — particularly “The Cattle Thief.”

[Sherry · Rating 3 out of 5]

I learned of Pauline Johnson through my library work and browsing works by Canadian First Nations authors. Her writing has an easy flow and is nicely descriptive and you get an interesting glimpse of how the world was for her in the late 1800s.

Information about Pauline describes her as more of a performance artist than a writer, but despite that I still enjoyed her writing. At first I found it hard to believe that she could really have written a true First Nations account of the colonialization experience since she actually grew up with an educated European-type homelife, not in a wigwam out in the woods. But that said, she did experience much difficulty with racism and inequality through her life. She experienced both sides of colonialization.

The poems in this collection are mostly about nature, the inspiration that canoeing brought to her life. There are also angry and bitter poems about the white man and the destruction that that brought to her father's people. And then, out of the blue, there is a strange poem in among these nature poems and colonialism about an Egyptian life (past life?).

While there are really no cryptic messages in her poems that make you ponder their meaning, they do bring you to a time when the world we live in now was just developing and it is fascinating world to explore.

[Liv · Rating 4 out of 5]

Enjoyable, spirited poetry from a unique perspective. Some were surprisingly funny, many incredibly romantic.

[Michelle Boyer · Rating 3 out of 5]

More like 3.5 stars, but just not enough to push it over the edge to a full 4 star rating.

Let's begin with probably the biggest problem for me--the constant rhyming (at first) was not problematic. However, an entire book of what ended up at times feeling like forced rhyme started to get somewhat annoying. It just felt forced at moments where it did not need to be. Breaking the rhyme scheme here and there could have actually helped some of the hardened constructs that Johnson created.

There are a few good poems though, which were not distracting with their use of rhyme. "Good Bye" and "The Wolf" were both quite interesting. However, I think the rhyme was less distracting because they were shorter pieces to begin with.

A few of the first poems seem to be anti-captivity poems. In the first, a Native woman is kidnapped by a Native man, and she must rescue herself to get back to the love of her life. This was quite a fun poem, and something that read as unique. But, alas, a few poems do not make up for lots of the poems that get a little dull, forced, and seem drug out. The references to God were also somewhat misplaced, it seemed.

I would recommend those interested in poetry or Native poetry pick this up (it is free on Amazon as a kindle download!).

[Yves · Rating 4 out of 5]

One of the penultimate Canadian poetry books, I found this book in a book sale in good condition despite being over 75 years old.

What a treat to sit back in a chair with the rain pounding outside in the night, the mind illuminated by Pauline Johnson's rhythm of nature in Canada. When I was a child we all learned (and memorized) "The song my paddle sings" so re-reading it was a treat.

[carpe diem · Rating 1 out of 5]

Easy to read but lacking colour, personality. A bit monotonous too.

[Jeanette]

I can’t rate this one. I need to read more about Pauline’s life and context of the times.