For the giveaway.
Someone spoke his name, Mammedaty, in which
his essence, was and is.
It was a serious matter that his name
should be spoken there in the circle among the many people.
And he was thoughtful, full of wonder,
and aware of himself and of his name.
He walked slowly to the summons looking into the eyes
of the man who summoned him.
For a moment, they held each other in close regard.
And all about them, there was excitement and suspense.
Then a boy came suddenly into the circle
leading a black horse.
The boy ran and the horse after him.
He brought the horse up short in front of Mammedaty,
and the horse wheeled and threw its head
and cut its eyes in the wild way.
And it blew hard and quivered in its hide
so that light ran rippling upon its shoulders and its flanks.
Then it stood still and was calm.
Its mane and tail were fixed in braids and feathers.
The bright red chief's blanket was draped
in a roll over its withers.
The boy placed the reins in Mammedaty's hands.
And all of this was for Mammedaty, in his honor,
as even now, it is in the telling.
And will be - as long as there are
those who imagine him in his name.
So that's the poem.
If that's the word for it, it is both poetry and prose.
But that's the title piece.
The first section of the collection
is made up of poems and formula that reflect the Indian world,
and the oral tradition of the American Indian.