____

Table of Contents
–The Essay
–Footnotes
–Work Cited
–Chronology
–“THE BRIDGE: The Dance,” by Hart Crane
–Crane Poem, Dominic Explication
–J Dominic’s Explication, “The Dance ”

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In relation to a script, a performance is but one of many possibilities …

____

“The first thing I said was . . . ‘Martha, whatdya call the ballet?’
She said, ‘Appalachian Spring.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘What a nice name. Where’dya get it?’
She said, ‘It’s the title of a poem by Hart Crane.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Does the poem have anything to do with the ballet?’
She said, ‘No, I just liked the title and I took it.’
                                                                          —AARON COPLAND

“Disingenuous?”

Maybe.

 “Cagey?”

Could be.

“Inaccurate?”

Absolutely — Hart Crane never titled a poem Appalachian Spring.

And in such a manner Howard Pollack’s 1999 biography Aaron Copland: The Life and Work of an Uncommon Man both reveals, and then ignores, an essential aspect of the American composer and his most iconic music (402).

And so it goes with Annegret Fauser’s compact, yet very informative 2017 book
Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring dedicated solely to the purpose of “uncovering hidden truths and motives.” The book’s opening line alludes to the “delight” experienced when attention is given “to the man behind the curtain” and as a result, truth, rather than farce, is celebrated (1). But even in the wake of such a tantalizing Wizard of Oz allusion, and maybe because of it, the Wizard’s chicanery leads Fauser away from full disclosure. Nonetheless, her book efficiently and provocatively offers a wide perspective pertaining to the creation of Copland’s score. But, ultimately, the verbose, slick-talking, hoodwinking huckster of Fauser’s opening lines, remains wholly sanctified behind his holey, unholy, cloth.[1]

On the other hand, contrasting Pollack’s and Fauser’s suspicions is
Jacqueline Shea Murphy’s direct hit: “Graham’s script makes it clear that Crane’s poem influenced her from the start.” And yet, in light of a very thorough chapter aimed solely at explaining how Native American dance influenced Martha Graham’s choreography, Murphy’s 2007 book The People Have Never Stopped Dancing also leaves the matter of the ballet’s title unanswered (158).[2]

Mark Franko’s 2012 book, Martha Graham in Love and War: The Life in the Work also dedicates a full chapter to the genesis of the Graham/Copland ballet. Franko’s remarkable discussion of the ballet is enriched by pensive inquiry. His presentation dealing with the importance of shadows and their omnipresence is phenomenal. One of his final comments, “These shadows themselves suggest that ghosts surround each character” (65) lingers long after the chapter ends. But so too does the haunting question, how did Franko miss the source of “the shadow life of the characters” (61)? Why, within the depths of Franko’s profound dissertation, is there not a single mention of Hart Crane?[3]

Finally, in 1989, on page 53 in the second volume of his two-volume autobiography,
Aaron Copland unequivocally states, “It was Crane’s American epic The Bridge with its mixture of nationalism, pantheism, and symbolism that was the basis for the script Graham devised for the Coolidge Commission.”

Or more to the point, “It was Crane’s American epic…that was the basis for the script…”

In the wake of such clear wording, one can only believe in the adage
“When legend becomes fact, print the legend.” [4]

Since the 1944 premiere of Aaron Copland’s ballet score Appalachian Spring, the
acquisition story of the score’s name has remained uninvestigated. Differing versions of the oft-told tale suggest renowned choreographer Martha Graham was unhappy with Copland’s working title “Ballet for Martha.” So, one-month before the ballet’s initial performance, Graham read a poem, merely selected a phrase from the poem, and accordingly, renamed the ballet.

Although Fauser, Franko, and Murphy, mention the presence of hidden machinations in the ballet scripts that Martha Graham submitted to her collaborating music composer
Aaron Copland, no one has fully explored just when, where, and how Martha Graham first encountered Hart Crane’s cerebral, fifteen-part poem, The Bridge. Furthermore, although Fauser provides a clear spectrum for understanding the ballet’s origin, particularly her rich understanding of the nuanced meanings of “Appalachia,” no one has answered two obvious questions: Why did Graham focus on the poem’s subsection called “The Dance,” and more specifically, what was it about the phrase, “Appalachian Spring”
that Graham “liked”?

“Appalachian BRIDGE: A New Pathway to Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring” demonstrates why the frequently repeated “tale-of-the-ballet’s title” is, and has always been, expedient mythology.[3] Nonetheless, as Fauser’s book indicates, because of the ballet’s “complicated history,” the expedient myth does exactly what Fauser suggests the complicated history of the score should do: the myth opens an “exciting pathway to thinking about [Appalachian Spring] in new ways” (55).

As the reader will soon discover, one such new way of thinking about the ballet’s origin is by listening to the attached, unauthorized-audio-recording called Appalachian BRIDGE.
This recording merges Copland’s score to its wellspring: Crane’s poem. Or, more aptly stated, Appalachian BRIDGE merges — to quote Crane’s concluding line in stanza 26 — “The serpent with the eagle in the boughs.”

The Bennington roots

The roots of the bough from which these vines spring and which is also probably the
source of Pollack’s suspicions, Fauser’s allusions, Franko’s pensive perceptions, Murphy’s direct statement, and Copland’s outright admission, is a 1939 Bennington College theatrical production of The Bridge. And even though Graham was NOT involved with the Bennington project, the evidence suggests the related branches of the Bennington-theatre production may have been Graham’s introduction to Crane’s poem.

During the summer of 1939, independent of Graham, three of Graham’s summertime colleagues who were also Bennington teachers — Martha Hill, Ben Belitt, and
Arch Lauterer, — began informal discussions for a winter semester theatre adaptation of Crane’s mythic poem. By early autumn, this Bennington trio, plus other teachers and faculty, with a student cast & crew, fully immersed themselves in rehearsals for a December world première (Soares 121-122).

At the end of the 1939 Bennington summer program[5], Graham had, per-usual, returned to Manhattan and thoroughly devoted herself to her own groundbreaking choreographic endeavors, specifically a St. James Theater world premiere conversion of the poem   “Every Soul’s a Circus” by Vachel Lindsey also slated for December (“Every Soul”; Soares 126).

The unintended and unforeseen irony of these two December 1939 events is they
–Graham in Manhattan, as opposed to her Vermont colleagues 180 miles to the north–
were presenting separate world premieres of different poems written for the page, but choreographically and aurally adapted for the stage.

Although no specific evidence mentions the details of Graham’s first encounter with Crane’s written poem, “NEWS NOTES” in the national periodical, Poetry, Vol. 55, states Bennington’s December 1939 stage production of The Bridge conceived and directed by Arch Lautere was, “. . . a very brilliant and remarkable experiment in presenting poetry as theatre” (284).

Additional accolades came from celebrity dancer and Bennington colleague Jose Limon. He declared the imaginative “boldness” of Lauterer’s vision manifested the “capacities of the stage and its performers” in an “entirely revolutionary” manner (Soares 122).

Likewise, a commemorative issue of IMPULSE 1959, THE ANNUAL OF CONTEMPORARY DANCE, established the “revolutionary” manner of Lauterer’s stagecraft in The Bridge was also equally present in Lauterer’s other productions as well as in his daily interactions with people. One quote in particular summed up Lauterer: “he taught college students (and everyone else with whom he associated) . . . if there was an opportunity to express himself, he did . . . he was completely of a particular moment, and whoever was with him was also of that moment” (Seymour 31-32).

Considering, Martha Graham was one of the people who “was with him” many particular moments and considering her New York Times claim “I’ve always loved to talk,” it is reasonable to believe that between 1940-1943, Graham and Lauterer, while collaborating on three different productions, would have discussed, at least minimally, Lauterer’s staging of The Bridge. (“Martha Graham Reflects”).

Lauterer’s Bennington College production of The Bridge integrated the very things Graham and Lauterer loved: dance, music, and poetry. Both Graham and Lauterer were strong proponents of poetry and several of Graham’s dance productions either were or would be, inspired by the classic poetry of Emily Dickinson and the contemporary poems of
Ben Belitt, William Carlos Williams, Dylan Thomas and as already mentioned,
Vachel Lindsay. Furthermore, as mentioned by Belitt in the IMPULSE commemoration magazine, Lauterer was heartily fond of Crane’s poem (11). And although it is entirely possible that Graham first encountered The Bridge independent of Lauterer, it is also equally possible that Graham’s introduction to Crane’s poem was by way of either Lauterer’s Bennington production or aspects related to it. The latter is most likely,
primarily because there is no mention of Martha Graham’s presence at the Bennington performances — this silence speaks volumes — and because her own Manhattan,
world premiere commitments at the St James Theatre were paramount (Graham 165).

Certainly, both Lauterer’s staging of The Bridge and the prominent critical acclaim it then received would have permeated Graham’s inner circle and most likely increased Graham’s established appreciation for Lauterer. Despite Lauterer’s vision of Graham as “the dervish from Santa Barbara,” with “wayward vagrancy” he professed “awe” for her “inventiveness” and declared her to be “the miracle of an era.” And to the credit of both Graham and Lauterer, they made their differences work as evidenced by their successful, repeated collaborations on Bennington, Manhattan, and Chicago stages (DeMille 444-47).

Therefore, it is hardly surprising that in the spring of 1943 Lauterer was Graham’s first choice as production designer for her Copland ballet (Fauser 43). However, given the nuances of their creative tendencies, plus the logistical fact that by 1943 Lauterer had moved from Bennington to teach at Colorado College (Belitt 12; Soares 148), it is less surprising that Lauterer declined Graham’s 1943 springtime invitation.

In a letter responding to Lauterer, Graham confided that his rejection had hurt her
“beastly pride.” Yet, Graham recovered and during that limited Bennington summer program of 1943, after Lauterer had backed away from Graham’s offer but still participated in the Bennington summer program, Graham led “a discussion group” while Lauterer — combining poetry “dance and music,” — staged “the one full production of the summer.” He also “gave a special seminar.” Lauterer’s prowess for stagecraft and lighting designs that elevated scripted dialogue captivated the attention of many. Ben Belitt, faculty member and the speech coach of Lauterer’s The Bridge said “Arch Lauterer was a master” of contemporary-stage rhythms, particularly in both poetic drama and dance (Soares 148, 149; Belitt 11).

Quite clearly, the preceding Bennington summer venues had proven Belitt correct. From 1937-1942, Bennington’s July and August dance festivals highlighted “The Big Four”:
Doris Humphrey, Charles Weidman, Hanya Holt, and Martha Graham. These dynamic individuals pioneered modern-American dance and their Lauterer-enhanced
Bennington scene was the place to be! Eventually, the program transformed
collegiate dance curriculum and artistic entertainment across the country
(Soares 48-49, 74-75, 116).

Throughout the nine summers of 1934-1942 — and the two summers of 1943 and 1944
in which, due to the War effort, Bennington sponsored scaled-down summer programs — leading to the start of Graham and Copland’s 1943-1944 collaborative music venture, Graham, Lauterer, and the others in the elite Bennington “clique” not only taught, created, and performed; but they, most likely, also used their valuable time for letter writing, discussion, retrospection, and attribution. This probability is reinforced by a nine-page document that was then honed to a “carefully penned statement” for the 1934-1935 Bennington College catalog in which the Bennington summer “Forum on the Modern Dance” — Graham and Lauterer on a nine-member panel — declares modern dance a “communal art” that ironically both nurtures and respects individuality (Soares 76).

Clearly, Bennington’s summer program was a vibrant collective alive with the challenges
of fostering separate artistic temperaments and solo passions. The leaders were individualistic esprit de corps visionaries and professional (Soares 64, 170; DeMille 233).

Considering all this, a compelling case can be made that on some occasions between 1940-1943, Arch Lauterer and Martha Graham shared retrospections regarding Lauterer’s 1939 stage production of Hart Crane’s The Bridge. But, in the face of that doubt,
the fact stands: Crane’s poem — as the reader will soon discover — unquestionably influenced two of the four scripts Graham sent to Copland between July 7, 1942 through September 5, 1943[6].

Four scripts

Copland was quick to dismiss SCRIPT 1: DAUGHTER OF COLCHIS. But, despite Graham being filled with “fear and trembling,” aspects of SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF VICTORY sparked Copland’s interest which, as Fauser states, set off Copland “to work immediately” (40).

One of the fascinating aspects of Graham’s COVER LETTER 2: May 16,1943 that accompanied SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF VICTORY is Graham’s expressed appreciation for Copland’s only score incorporating spoken narrative: Lincoln Portrait. She calls it,
“Utterly beautiful,” and adds, “That slow center part takes my heart.” One can only wonder if Graham also imagined Crane’s poem embellished in the same narrative manner. Afterall, SCRIPT 3: NAME? and SCRIPT 4: NAME.? include Crane references and also incorporate a primary Crane protagonist. Yet, Copland’s resulting ballet score has never been viewed through “a Crane prism.” This exclusion is puzzling because, as Fauser suggests, “Appalachian Spring within the context of its creation . . . provides a productive prism for understanding its many layers of meaning” (7).

Certainly, one of Appalachian Spring’s several meaningful layers is the integration of Crane’s characterization of Pocahontas as a pagan goddess in a trinitarian godhead.
This glow from a “productive” Crane “prism” illuminates much when one understands
the beginning and the ending of Copland’s score. As Fauser indicates, the notes are an        “A-major triad,” followed by “superimposed chords in flute, violin, and viola . . .” (62).

At this point, it is essential to consider the nuanced meanings of “trinity,” “triad,” and “trio.” The central denotation of these words pertains to a group or grouping of three individual things. But the mystical connotations of these words imply three individual things
co-existing as a collective sum. Or three singularities co-existing as multiplicities: perplexing indeed.[7] And yet this is the very motif that Copland uses to begin and to end his score (Cambridge).

Fauser also mentions another perplexing aspect, “Copland’s music mixes light and shade (62). . . . dominant triads presented simultaneously . . . and successively” (65). Here, Fauser’s diction: “Light — Shade — Simultaneously and successively” offers
contra-dictions, and these contradictions create oppositional balance. Aaron Copland’s well-balanced musical trope is also the essence of Hart Crane’s poetic trope. Or even more to the point: Such contradictions — and both Murphy and Franko recognize them too — are the bridge to The Bridge in this work by Copland.

To summarize: “At a particular time — 1938-1943? — six or seven years BEFORE the creation of Appalachian Spring; somewhere, — more than likely Bennington College? —; someone, — Arch Lauterer? — stimulates Graham with Crane’s poetry. Between July 10, 1943 with SCRIPT 3: NAME? and September 5, 1943 with SCRIPT 4: NAME.? Graham presents Crane’s character Pocahontas and Graham also encourages Copland to use Crane’s thematic ideas.[8] Graham’s COVER LETTER 3: July 10, 1943 states that she had thought of a new character, Pocahontas, and ‘the use that Hart Crane made of her.’
And then, with a second direct statement, not merely in the cover letter, but on the
“Action.” page of SCRIPT 3: NAME? Graham reinforces her intentions: “Certain poets have used her [Pocahontas] as a figure of the land, for instance, Hart Crane in ‘The Bridge.’”
With this second mention of Hart Crane and his poem, plus the developed presence of INDIAN GIRL in the script, Graham promotes Crane’s themes while hoping those themes will eventually be present in Copland’s music.

But, preceding the direct Crane references, Graham’s May 16, 1943 SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF
VICTORY, states: “Some things happen to us, some things happen to our mothers, but it all happens to us.” Here Graham’s reasoning is simple algebra: A=B; B=C; therefore, A=C.
In other words, when one applies Graham’s logic, the conclusion is clear: Crane’s poetry influences Graham’s script; Graham’s script influences Copland’s score; Therefore, Crane’s poetry influences Copland’s score.

Six weeks later, in COVER LETTER 3: July 10, 1943 accompanying SCRIPT 3: NAME?, Graham extends her algebraic logic to Copland; she writes, “It has to do with the roots in so far as people can express them.” Bear in mind, because Graham actually titles this third script to Copland NAME? she is overtly signaling to him her intentions to rename his score. Also, because she presents ‘Pocahontas’ and ‘the use that Hart Crane made of her,’ Graham unabashedly places Crane’s thematic character squarely in Copland’s view.
At this point in the collaboration process, SCRIPT 3’s title NAME? is Graham’s conscious allusion to Crane. Clearly, the antecedent for ‘It’ is Crane’s characterization of Pocahontas and the antecedents of ‘them’ are Crane/Pocahontas roots or Crane/Pocahontas figurative bones.

Although Copland went on to accept many of Graham’s proposed ideas, he tactfully made suggestions for modifications, and Graham paid heed. However, Graham’s heeding was covert. This covertness is why, in their individual retrospections of Appalachian Spring, author Fauser speaks of “hidden truths” “filtered through the prism” (1, 109); author Murphy references a “haunting specter — a kind of ghostly being” “present absent” (157, 168), and author Franko uses such terms as “character compression” “encrypted” and “erased characters” (57- 59).

On the figurative stage, the ethereal flesh of Pocahontas disappeared from Graham’s production, but Graham’s impulses added more skeletal “bones” to Crane’s trinitarian goddess. Eventually, during choreographic rehearsals apart from Copland, Graham transformed pre-scripted characters and/or created:

• the “Husbandman” who is a subliminal version of Crane’s trinitarian                    serpent/earth/Maquokeeta

• the “Bride,” a subliminal version of Crane’s trinitarian eagle/air/Pocahontas

• six other characters: “The Mother” who becomes “The Pioneer Woman;”
“The Preacher; and his four followers,” the subliminal version of Crane’s trinitarian narrative voice/vines/branches/bough[9]

And at this point, it is essential to review the essence of the mind-boggling trinitarian concept: three separate entities simultaneously acting as a single entity; or a single entity simultaneously acting as three entities[6] (Cambridge). With the inspiration of Graham’s commentaries, Copland incorporated some of The Bridge’s mystifying symbolism into his score.

Shortly after receiving Graham’s SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF VICTORY, Copland began composing “Ballet for Martha” (Fauser 5). But he really got productive after receiving Graham’s SCRIPT 3: NAME? (Franko 50; Fauser 6).

However, for the most part, he was unaware of Graham’s above-mentioned changes. Those changes were evolving during Graham’s rehearsals. Meanwhile, Copland, who was physically distanced from Graham’s rehearsals, continued to be guided by
SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF VICTORY, SCRIPT 3: NAME?, and SCRIPT 4: NAME.? (Fauser 6).
In other words, although Graham was making many “new” choreographic changes, Copland’s Crane-infused-guides continued to be the “old” scripts sent to him by Graham.

On October 22, 1943, Aaron Copland, finally in Martha Graham’s presence, played[10] his incomplete score, and Graham loved it (Fauser 41), but — as already established by her overt Crane allusions in SCRIPT 3: NAME? and SCRIPT 4: NAME.? — for the title, she wanted something other than “Ballet for Martha” (Letter August 5, 1944).[11] In many interviews, Copland claimed he thought his title was most appropriate because
Graham’s energies evoked the music. However, Copland was open to Graham providing
a new title, and one month before its Library of Congress auditorium première, the
library’s music curator was informed, for purposes of a press release, the two words
from one of The Bridge’s subsections, “The Dance,” verse nine, would be the score’s
new title (Fauser 3).

“Appalachian Spring: ‘Ballet for Martha’ ” is now the official title of the Pulitzer Prize-winning orchestral suite. And although Arch Lauterer’s production The Bridge encompassed most of Crane’s poem (“News Notes” 284; Tucker 18)[12], aside from the obvious, why did choreographer Graham focus on the subsection known as “The Dance”?

Why “The Dance”?

The most likely answer is Graham was a renowned choreographer and a poem titled
“The Dance” carries logical appeal. But the reasons may be deeper. Although Graham was raised in her mother’s Presbyterian faith, both her father and the family’s loyal nanny were Roman Catholics. In Agnes DeMille’s biography of Graham, DeMille states, “The mystique of the Catholic church became an integral part of Martha’s life, . . . a pervading influence
. . . there is ample proof . . . the mythology . . . the power of the faith . . . showed in her work” (17). Most importantly however is the fact: a Trinitarian God is central to both Catholicism and Presbyterianism.

Although in her autobiography Blood Memory, Graham admits to veering away from formal religion, she confesses to loving “the glamour, the glory and the pageantry” of Catholicism (Graham 35-38).[13] Such a sensibility makes it easy to understand why a poem about a trinitarian god appealed to her. Throughout her life, Graham professed a belief in the subconscious presence of her past. As her scripts to Copland indicate, if it happened to our parents, “it all happens to us” (House, May 16, 1943).[14]

A related consideration is Graham has always affirmed the word “spring,” within the
context of her ballet, denotes both a season and a water source. This also parallels the presence of “spring” in Crane’s poem. In the poem, “spring” is used for the same reasons. In the first stanza, “She ran the neighing canyons all the spring; / she spouted arms; she rose with maize — to die.” The word “spring” as a season, establishes both the setting
and the theme of life-death regeneration.[15] And then in the interjecting ninth stanza,
“O Appalachian Spring! I gained the ledge!”, the word “Spring”  references not only a water source but it reinforces the opening theme, and serves as a climatic (orgasmic?), harmonious exaltation (Murphy 158).

Yet, when one considers the vast array of imagery in The Bridge’s subsection poem
“The Dance,” why did Graham “like” the ninth-stanza phrase “O Appalachian Spring!”?
First, throughout the span of her artistic vocation, Graham’s choreography garnered a reputation for being very sexual and she unapologetically took pride in being a vocal proponent of sex (DeMille 237; Graham 211).

Second, the most relevant answer has always been in plain sight: Martha Graham was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, a frontier community incorporated into the city of Pittsburg which, of course, is in the midst of the expansive Appalachian mountain range (Graham 18).

Indeed, Martha Graham did “spring” from Appalachia. Furthermore, not only did
Martha Graham “spring” from Appalachia but Eric Hawkins – one of her troupe’s principal dancers and her eventual husband – did “spring” from Trinidad, Colorado (Soares 110); and, in English, the Spanish word “Trinidad” means “Trinity.”

And finally, Crane’s The Bridge “The Dance” celebrates a triad of ideas:

1.) Appalachia/virgin potential

2.) the manifestation of three essential entities: earth, air, consciousness/poetry

3.) the co-existence of these three separate entities unified as a single god

When one reflects on Crane’s two words, “Appalachian” and “Spring,” it is easy to see,
and eventually hear, that probably all twenty-six subsection verses of “The Dance,” not only resonated on multiple levels within Graham’s subconscious but, regarding Graham’s instructions to Copland, Crane’s words resonated in ways neither Graham nor Copland imagined.

Nonetheless, it is difficult to imagine Copland’s scoring of Simple Gifts as mere coincidence. After all, the essence of the Shaker hymn is the theme: God’s grace inspires one to “turn,” or as Crane’s poem so eloquently portrays, divine power is the bridge to life’s dance.

Finally, with all due consideration, the oration of Hart Crane’s The Bridge’s subsection
“The Dance” solidifies a narrative rendition of the score. Or, more specifically, when Graham’s subconsciously scripted “serpent,” merges with Crane’s literary “eagle,” the poetic images rightfully reside within Copland’s musical “boughs.”

Dr. Fauser’s evocative book asks, “. . . what are we talking about when we speak of Appalachian Spring?” And a most vivid answer can be heard when the music is unified
with its source as demonstrated by the recording: Appalachian BRIDGE.

                                    To hear Appalachian BRIDGE, click the link:
LISTEN TO THE MERGED POEM & MUSIC

____

Footnotes:

[1] The “Wizard” certainly deceives, and Mark Twain aptly reveals why people choose
“to live the lie” in Chapter 23: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

[2] It’s worth noting, subtle ambiguity is a primary factor in “mythologizing” the origin of the title for Copland’s score. In the oft-repeated story from Howard Pollack’s biography of Copland, Copland presents Graham as erroneously claiming ‘Appalachian Spring’ is the title of a poem by Hart Crane. Of course, the two words ‘Appalachian Spring,’ hail from the first line of the ninth stanza of Crane’s poem “The Dance” which is but a subsection of the larger poem The Bridge.

“The first thing I said to her when I came down to the rehearsal here in Washington was, ‘Martha, whatdya call the ballet?’ She said, ‘Appalachian Spring.’ ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘What a nice name. Where’dya get it?’ She said, ‘It’s the title of a poem by Hart Crane.’ ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Does the poem have anything to do with the ballet?’ She said,
‘No, I just liked the title and I took it.’ And over and over again, nowadays people come up to me after seeing the ballet on stage and say, ‘Mr. Copland, when I see that ballet and when I hear your music I can just see the Appalachians and just feel spring.’ I’ve begun to see the Appalachians myself a little bit.” (Pollack 402)

Here is another version of the same encounter that offers similar confusion: In the last line in the above version Martha first says, “I just liked the title and I took it.” In the account below she says, “I just liked the title and used it.” In either version does she actually mean,
I JUST LIKED THE PHRASE AND I WANTED TO USE THE PHRASE AS THE BALLET’S TITLE?

Copland, knowing little of the details of the finished ballet, liked to tell the story of returning from Mexico for the final rehearsal: The first thing I said to Martha when I saw her in Washington was “What have you called the ballet?” She replied, “Appalachian Spring.” “What a pretty title. Where did you get it?” I asked, and Martha said, “Well, actually it’s from a line in a poem by Hart Crane.” I asked, “Does the poem itself have anything to do with your ballet? “No, said Martha, “I just liked the title and used it.” (35)

[3] Franko’s focus on “Character Compression” (50, 56-62) may have led him to state Graham sent to Copland “two scenarios from which to compose.” The Library of Congress has preserved four separate scripts along with four accompanying cover letters.

[4] From the John Ford movie, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Screenplay by
James Warner-Bellah, Willis Goldbeck. Based on a story by Dorothy M. Johnson

[5] Bennington’s 1939 summer program was held on the campus of Mills College in California.

[6] In this paper, Graham’s scripts are referenced in the following manner:

–SCRIPT 1: DAUGHTER OF COLCHIS
–SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF VICTORY
–SCRIPT 3: NAME?
–SCRIPT 4: NAME.?

SCRIPT 1: DAUGHTER OF COLCHIS; written before July 1942, but sent to Copland on
July 7, 1942

SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF VICTORY; written early May 1943; sent to Copland on May 16, 1943

SCRIPT 3: NAME?; written before July 10, 1943

The Library of Congress designates Script 3; NAME? with “Between May 29,1943 July 10, 1943” This designation clearly suggests the probable time frame in which Graham wrote Script 3: NAME?.

SCRIPT 4: NAME.? written before September 5, 1943

However, the Library of Congress designates Script 4: NAME.? as “Between 10 July 1943” This designation seems to be an incomplete time frame. Since Graham sent
Script 4: NAME.? to Copland on Sep. 5, 1943, it is reasonable to conclude a more accurate time frame for Script 4: NAME.? should be stated as “Between July 11, 1943 and September 5, 1943″

After listing Script 4: NAME.? as Final Script Name? and then adding “Before September 5, 1943, the companion website to Fauser’s book global.oup.com/us/companion.websites/9780190646875/mgs/ states,

“Graham sent another scenario to Copland in September 1943 where, as she wrote                 in her accompanying letter, she ‘added a little something to the end’.”

The wording “another scenario” lends itself to confusion. Is the website suggesting a Script 5? I believe “another scenario” per se does not exist; there is no Script 5, and this statement is referencing Script 4: NAME.? Considering the website’s format, a more accurate statement would be:

“Graham sent this FOURTH and FINAL SCRIPT to Copland in September 1943.
In the accompanying letter, she wrote, “added a little something to the end.”

Graham also sent a cover letter with each script. In this paper, Graham’s cover letters are referenced in the following manner:

–COVER LETTER 1: July 7, 1942
–COVER LETTER 2: May 16, 1943
–COVER LETTER 3: July 10, 1943
–COVER LETTER 4: Sep. 5, 1943

[7] An explanation for that which cannot be explained: Three unrelated items a golf ball,
a nail, and a stone, grouped together would be a trio. Three related items: a pine twig,
a pinecone, and a pine needle would be a triad. Three related items in a triad that are simultaneously independent, yet also always also completely and totally dependent
–a part of the unit, yet never apart from the unit: would be a trinity. Apart from mythology and religion, such a thing exists only as a metaphor.

OR three friends, a trio; three siblings, a triad; three siblings individually apart from the collective entity, yet also eternally, simultaneous united as a part of the collective entity, a trinity.

[8] Graham sent SCRIPT 1: DAUGHTER OF COLCHIS to Copland in August 1942;
SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF VICTORY May 16, 1943; and finally, SCRIPT 3: NAME? on July 10, 1943; and SCRIPT 4: NAME.? September 5, 1943

[9] Copland not only accepted these spontaneous departures from the scripts as part and parcel for collaborating with Graham but note Copland’s snide dismissal of Graham’s contextual sentiments: “My work is written to a libretto she gave me–some Americana. Doesn’t matter much what the subject is–she always turns it into Grahamiana” (Fauser 6). Copland’s derisive disregard for Graham’s vision as —“some Americana” suggests not only condescension, but Copland’s creation and use of the term “Grahamiana” also suggests ridicule.

[10] It is uncertain as to whether Copland actually played the score on a piano or whether he “played” records, i.e., phonograph recordings. Copland mentions such recordings in a July 8, 1944 letter to Harold Spivacke (Crist 159).

[11] Graham’s first mention of a name-change appears at the bottom of
COVER LETTER 2: May 16, 1943 for SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF VICTORY. The following comment is hand scrawled: “This is only a working title. It is a quotation from a poem. I think we could find a similar one.”

[12] “News Notes” states Lauterer omitted the sections “Indiana” and “Cape Hatteras.”
And according to Impulse, Bennington faculty member and The Bridge’s music director
Gregory Tucker, Lauterer’s omissions were “of certain repetitions which in view of the variety and powers used became unnecessary”

[13] In 1984, Graham had a personal audience with Pope John Paul II at his summer home.

[14] Heed the subtle variations:

HOUSE OF VICTORY, May 16, 1943: the quote is “Some things happen to us, some                 things happen to our mothers, but it all happens to us. “

  NAME?, July 10, 1943: the quote is “Some things happen to us and some things                      happen to our Mothers but they all happen to us.”

[15] Crane’s poem references three seasons: spring, autumn and winter; summer is absent.

____

Works Cited

Belitt, Ben. “Poet in the Theater.” Impulse: The Annual of Contemporary Dance, Impulse Publications, 1959, pp.10-13. Temple Digital Collections,digital.library.temple.edu/ digital/collection/p15037coll4/id/1874

Copland, Aaron, and Vivian Perlis. Copland: Since 1943. St. Martin’s Press, 1989.

Crist, Elizabeth B., and Wayne Shirley. The Selected Correspondence of Aaron Copland. Yale University Press, 2006.

DeMille, Agnes. Martha. The Life and Work of Martha Graham. Random House, 1956.

Fauser, Annegret. Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring. Oxford University Press, 2017.

Franko, Mark, Martha Graham in Love and War. The Life in the Work. (Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press, 2012.

Graham, Martha. Blood Memory. Doubleday, 1991.

—. “Martha Graham Reflects on Her Art and a Life in Dance.” New York Times Archives, New York Times, 31 Mar. 1985.archive.nytimes.com/www.nytimes

—. House of Victory script for Appalachian Spring, 16 May 1943. Manuscript/Mixed Material. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, www.loc.gov/itemihas.200154130.

—. Letter from Martha Graham to Aaron Copland, 10 July 1943. Manuscript/Mixed Material. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, www.loc.gov/itemihas.200154112.

—. Letter from Martha Graham to Aaron Copland, 5 Aug. 1944. Manuscript/Mixed Material. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, www.loc.gov/itemihas.200154118.

—. Script of Appalachian Spring, between 10 July 1943. Manuscript/Mixed Material. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, www.loc.gov/itemihas.200154133.

Murphy, Jacqueline Shea. The People Have Never Stopped Dancing Native American Modern Dance Histories. University of Minnesota Press, 2007.

“News Notes.” Poetry, vol. 55, no. 5, 1940, pp.28486.JSTOR,www.jstr.org/stable/20582044

Pollack, Howard. Aaron Copland: The Life and Work of an Uncommon Man. Henry Holt and Company, 1999.

Seymour, Henry. “Salutes.” Impulse: The Annual of Contemporary Dance, Impulse Publications, 1959, p.31. Temple Digital Collections, digital.library.temple.edu/digital/collection/ p15037coll4/id/1874

Soares, Janet Mansfield. Martha Hill and the Making of American Dance. Wesleyan University Press, 2009.

Tucker, Gregory. “The Bridge: Notes on the Production.” Impulse: The Annual of Contemporary Dance, Impulse Publications, 1959, p. 18. Temple Digital Collections,digital.library. temple.edu/digital/collection/p15037coll4/id/1874

∗∗∗

CHRONOLOGY

1921, Hart Crane begins writing the mythic poem The Bridge.

1929, December 26: Hart Crane finishes writing The Bridge.

1930, June: Black Swan Press publishes The Bridge.

1932, April 27: Hart Crane, age 32, commits suicide.

1934, June: Graham begins teaching in Bennington School of the Dance (six week summer session) at Bennington College in Vermont. “She was influenced by Bennington Faculty members Ben Belitt* and William Carlos Williams, among others…”

1935, April 28: Frontier: “This piece foreshadows the Pennsylvanian pioneers of Appalachian Spring.”

1935, August 14: Panorama, 1st Lauterer collaboration*

1936, July 30-31: The Bennington School of the Dance presents Martha Graham’s “Immediate Tragedy,” “Lamentation,” and “Frontier.”

1937, February 26: Martha Graham is invited by Eleanor Roosevelt to perform in the
White House. Graham is the first dancer to perform there.

1937, July 30: 2nd and 3rd Lauterer collaboration* he creates the lighting design for Graham’s “Opening Dance Solo” and “Immediate Tragedy” Bennington, Vermont.

1938, August 6: 4th Lauterer collaboration* “one of her major works debuted . . . and was based on William’s poetry.” “American Document” dance incorporated both music & the spoken word; text written by Graham.

1939, June: Mills College in Oakland, California hosts Bennington’s dance school. The Bennington summer faculty treks cross-country to participate in the program.
GRAHAM, BELITT, and LAUTERER all PRESENT.

1939, September: Martha Graham returns to New York. At Bennington, theatrical production begins for Lauterer’s The Bridge; Martha Graham is in New York and
NOT involved in the Bennington production. Martha begins rehearsals in New York
for a December (Christmas Week) St. James Theatre production in New York.

1939, December 13, 14, 15: Bennington Theatre Dept presents elaborate theatrical production: The Bridge. Martha Graham NOT involved.

1939, December 26-31: St. James Theatre, New York, Graham premiers
Every Soul is a Circus based on a Vachel Lindsey poem. Also included are
Primitive Mysteries, American Provincials, American Document, Lamentation, Frontier, Sarabande and Deep Song.

1940, August 11: Martha debuts Letter to the World based on the love life of
Emily Dickenson. Also performed is El Penitente 5th Lauterer collaboration*

1941, August 10: 6th Lauterer collaboration* Punch and Judy

1942, March 14: 7th Lauterer collaboration* Chicago Civic Opera House, Chicago Illinois.

1942, May: Erick Hawkins writes to Mrs. Coolidge asking that she commission works by Aaron Copland and others to be eventually performed by Graham.

1942, June 16: Mrs. Coolidge embraces Hawkin’s suggestion.

1942, July 23: Mrs. Coolidge offers a commission of $500 to Copland.

1942, July 31: Aaron Copland accepts the Coolidge commission.

1942, August 7: Harold Spivacke writes to Aaron Copland, officially offering him the Coolidge commission to write a work for Martha Graham.

1942, August: Graham submits SCRIPT 1: DAUGHTER OF COLCHIS to Copland. He found it “unappealing” and rejects it (Fauser 5, 26).

1942, Autumn: “the collaboration between Graham and Copland . . . began in earnest (Fauser 25),”

1943, May: Martha who is in Vermont sends to Copland who is in California
SCRIPT 2: HOUSE OF VICTORY.

1943, July 10: From Bennington College Martha sends a SCRIPT 3: NAME?.
In COVER LETTER 3: July 10, 1943 Graham tells Copland: “You may object to some of the things, such as the use of the Indian Girl. But please read it through and tell me of you think we can do it or if it defeats the end. I have thought of the use that Hart Crane made of her and also the “American Grain” of William Carlos Williams.”

She continues in the same letter saying “I have used the word poem several times in this. I hope you will understand that I do not mean tone poem but that I mean something nostalgic in the lyrical way and yet completely unsentimental and strong about our way. It has to do with the roots in so far as people can express them, without telling an actual story.”

1943, July: Copland (in California) begins composing his score. He titles it,
“Ballet for Martha.”

1943, September 5: Graham sends SCRIPT 4: NAME.? to Copland. In COVER LETTER 4: Sep. 5, 1943 Graham claims, “I have added a little something to the end.”

1943, October 22: Copland — in New York— plays his incomplete score for Graham and she loves it.

1943, December 26: “Salem Shore” Solo. 8th Lauterer collaboration*
“Death and Entrances” 9th Lauterer collaboration* 46th Street Theater, New York.

1944, June: Copland completes the initial 13 instrument “Ballet for Martha” score and sends a piano version of it to Martha.

1944, August 5: Graham writes to Copland, “Aaron, I do not have any idea as to name yet so we must get together on that.”

1944, October 3: Eric Hawkins reports to Harold Spvacke (Music Chief, Library of Congress) that“Ballet for Martha” is now “Appalachian Spring.”

1944, October 30: “Appalachian Spring: Ballet for Martha” premiers at the Library of Congress.

1945, May 7: Aaron Copland is awarded the Pulitzer Prize for his suite
“Appalachian Spring: Ballet for Martha.”

1945, June: Graham’s final successive summer at Bennington

∗∗∗

The Dance
By HART CRANE

1) The swift red flesh, a winter king—
Who squired the glacier woman down the sky?
She ran the neighing canyons all the spring;
She spouted arms; she rose with maize—to die.

2) And in the autumn drouth, whose burnished hands
With mineral wariness found out the stone
Where prayers, forgotten, streamed the mesa sands?
He holds the twilight’s dim, perpetual throne,

3) Mythical brows we saw retiring—loth,
Disturbed and destined, into denser green.
Greeting they sped us, on the arrow’s oath:
Now lie incorrigibly what years between . . .

4) There was a bed of leaves, and broken play
There was a veil upon you, Pocahontas, bride—
O Princess whose brown lap was virgin May;
And bridal flanks and eyes hid tawny pride.

5) I left the village for dogwood. By the canoe
Tugging below the mill-race, I could see
Your hair’s keen crescent running, and the blue
First moth of evening take wing stealthily.

6) What laughing chains the water wove and threw.
I learned to catch the trout’s moon whisper; I
Drifted how many hours I never knew,
But, watching, saw that fleet young crescent die,

7) And one star, swinging, take its place, alone,
Cupped in the larches of the mountain pass—
Until, immortally, it bled into the dawn.
I left my sleek boat nibbling margin grass . . .

8) I took the portage climb, then chose
A further valley-shed; I could not stop.
Feet nozzled wat’ry webs of upper flows;
One white veil gusted from the very top.

9) O Appalachian Spring! I gained the ledge;
Steep, inaccessible smile that eastward bends
And northward reaches in that violet wedge
Of Adirondacks!—wisped of azure wands

10) Over how many bluffs, tarns, streams I sped!
—And knew myself within some boding shade:—
Grey tepees-tufting the blue knolls ahead,
Smoke swirling through the yellow chestnut glade . . .

11) A distant cloud, a thunder-bud—it grew,
That blanket of the skies: the padded foot
Within,—I heard it; ’til its rhythm drew,
—Siphoned the black pool from the heart’s hot root!

12) A cyclone threshes in the turbine crest,
Swooping in eagle feathers down your back;
Know, Maquokeeta, greeting; know death’s best;
—Fall, Sachem, strictly as the tamarack!

13) A birch kneels. All her whistling fingers fly.
The oak grove circles in a crash of leaves;
The long moan of a dance is in the sky.
Dance, Maquokeeta: Pocahontas grieves . . .

14) And every tendon scurries toward the twangs
Of lightning deltaed down your saber hair.
Now snaps the flint in every tooth; red fangs
And splay tongues thinly busy the blue air . . .

15) Dance, Maquokeeta! snake that lives before,
That casts his pelt, and lives beyond! Sprout, horn!
Spark, tooth! Medicine-man, relent, restore—
Lie to us,—dance us back the tribal morn!

16) Spears and assemblies: black drums thrusting on—
O yelling battlements,—I, too, was liege
To rainbows currying each pulsant bone:
Surpassed the circumstance, danced out the siege!

17) And buzzard-circleted, screamed from the stake;
I could not pick the arrows from my side.
Wrapped in that fire, I saw more escorts wake—
Flickering, sprint up the hill groins like a tide.

18) I heard the hush of lava wrestling your arms,
And stag teeth foam about the raven throat;
Flame cataracts of heaven in seething swarms
Fed down your anklets to the sunset’s moat.

19) 0, like the lizard in the furious noon,
That drops his legs and colors in the sun,
—And laughs, pure serpent, Time itself, and moon
Of his own fate, I saw thy change begun!

20) And saw thee dive to kiss that destiny
Like one white meteor, sacrosanct and blent
At last with all that’s consummate and free
There, where the first and last gods keep thy tent.

21) Thewed of the levin, thunder-shod and lean,
Lo, through what infinite seasons dost thou gaze—
Across what bivouacs of thine angered slain,
And see’st thy bride immortal in the maize!

22) Totem and fire-gall, slumbering pyramid—
Though other calendars now stack the sky,
Thy freedom is her largesse, Prince, and hid
On paths thou knewest best to claim her by.

23) High unto Labrador the sun strikes free
Her speechless dream of snow, and stirred again,
She is the torrent and the singing tree;
And she is virgin to the last of men . . .

24) West, west and south! winds over Cumberland
And winds across the liana grass resume
Her hair’s warm sibilance. Her breasts are fanned
O stream by slope and vineyard—into bloom!

25) And when the caribou slant down for salt
Do arrows thirst and leap? Do antlers shine
Alert, star-triggered in the listening vault
Of dusk?—And are her perfect brows to thine?

26) We danced, 0 Brave, we danced beyond their farms.
In cobalt desert closures made our vows . . .
Now is the strong prayer folded in thine arms,
The serpent with the eagle in the boughs.

Crane Poem
Dominic Explication

The Dance (An Immolative Copulation)

1) The swift red flesh, a winter king —
Who squired the glacier woman down the sky?
She ran the neighing canyons all the spring;
She spouted arms; she rose with maize — to die.
1) It is the end of winter, the cusp of springtime, and I — a poet — see a fast red lizard,
a big one as it catches the attention of a swooping-golden-eagle flying through the canyon
With extended wings, the golden eagle swoops as low as sprouting corn (verses 1 & 21).

The golden eagle then grabs the lizard, and the golden eagle disappears back into the sky.

2) And in the autumn drouth, whose burnished hands
With mineral wariness found out the stone
Where prayers, forgotten, streamed the mesa sands?
He holds the twilight’s dim, perpetual throne,
2) And in the dry autumn weather
I — a poet — ponder: Are my poet hands
tough enough to fully investigate
the surrounding, arid landscape which is also the red lizard’s “throne,”
the place of his dominion. HE IS MAQUOKETTA

3) Mythical brows we saw retiring — loth,
Disturbed and destined, into denser green.
Greeting they sped us, on the arrow’s oath:
Now lie incorrigibly what years between . . .
3) Ah, the lizard and the raptor, eyebrow to eyebrow,
If only the red-fleshed lizard — while viewing the surrounding ‘brows’: his landscaped           kingdom — had been like a king steadfastly clinging to his throne.
That fast-red lizard, and golden-eagle bird, and I — a poet — are so similar.
As a unified trio, a triad, we will journey to greener places.
Stay on a true path, and not be discouraged
regardless of what we encounter.

4) There was a bed of leaves, and broken play
There was a veil upon you, Pocahontas, bride —
O Princess whose brown lap was virgin May;
And bridal flanks and eyes hid tawny pride.
4) I — a poet — remember, once upon a time, seeing a bed of leaves,
ground cover really, as evidence of something gone wrong,
ah, the golden eagle, Pocahontas, a virgin princess with brown feathers
and eyes filled with equally golden self-assurance.

5) I left the village for dogwood. By the canoe
Tugging below the mill-race, I could see
Your hair’s keen crescent running, and the blue
First moth of evening take wing stealthily.
5) Back in those past days,
I — a poet — left my home, my camp, and headed for greener pastures.
I — a poet — traveled by canoe in swift currents.
I — a poet — re-imagined Pocahontas-golden eagle,
as the distinctive landscape all around me.
In the evening, as I — a poet — endlessly floated on the river,
I — a poet — heard blue moths quietly flitting

6) What laughing chains the water wove and threw.
I learned to catch the trout’s moon whisper; I
Drifted how many hours I never knew,
But, watching, saw that fleet young crescent die,
6.) Above the occasionally gurgling water,
I — a poet — learned to recognize the sound of trout rising, and then quietly leaping.
I — a poet — drifting endlessly in my canoe, also saw the fading crescent moon,

7) And one star, swinging, take its place, alone,
Cupped in the larches of the mountain pass—
Until, immortally, it bled into the dawn.
I left my sleek boat nibbling margin grass . . .
7) and one twinkling star,
behind swaying-larch-tree branches,
That star was shining brightly in the middle of a gap in the surrounding mountains; eventually the night sky became red dawn.
I — a poet — then did some exploring and left my thin canoe on the riverbank grass…

8) I took the portage climb, then chose
A further valley-shed; I could not stop.
Feet nozzled wat’ry webs of upper flows;
One white veil gusted from the very top.
8) Next, I — a poet — carried my canoe to an upper portion of the river,
did some more paddling, then more river-edge bog hiking,
my destination was a white cascade of water
gushing from the ridge top.. . . one white veil . . .

9) O Appalachian Spring! I gained the ledge;
Steep, inaccessible smile that eastward bends
And northward reaches in that violet wedge
Of Adirondacks! — wisped of azure wands
9) YES! A glorious Appalachian Spring!
There it was, when I — a poet — finally cleared the ledge.
And that steep ridge top was like a smile on the landscape.
That smiling ridge stretched east,
then turned north, in a wedge of violet sky —
The Adirondack range! Rising between slender stretches of azure-blue sky !
. . .I gained the upper ledge . . .

10) Over how many bluffs, tarns, streams I sped!
— And knew myself within some boding shade: —
Grey tepees-tufting the blue knolls ahead,
Smoke swirling through the yellow chestnut glade . . .
10) In a serpent-raptor-rapture,
I — a poet — sped over streams, hilltops, and small mountain lakes
then I — a poet — rested in some mysterious shade, and gazed at the vista below.
The distant peaks reminded me of gray Indian tepees,
and the clouds wisped like smoke swirling through the wide, tan, open-spaced-groves between chestnut trees.

11) A distant cloud, a thunder-bud — it grew,
That blanket of the skies: the padded foot
Within,— I heard it; ’til its rhythm drew,
—Siphoned the black pool from the heart’s hot root!
11) There was a cloud in the distance, I THE POET UNDERSTAND
MAQUOKEETA IS APPROACHING and GREETING in the form of
a spreading thunderhead.
It covered the entire sky
Inside the cloud there is rumbling
I heard it; until—from its very depth—the rumbling
— was diverted

12) A cyclone threshes in the turbine crest,
Swooping in eagle feathers down your back;
Know, Maquokeeta, greeting; know death’s best;
— Fall, Sachem, strictly as the tamarack!
12) By a twisting, arching tornado that—similar to Pocahontas—
forced its ‘eaglefeathers’ down your Maquokeeta-serepent back. I the poet INTRODUCE Maquokeeta to the audience by saying (THIS IS-BEHOLD) “KNOW Maquokeeta greeting the earth. I also encourage him, me to ravage-unify Pocahontas, him-me-us. Acknowledge Maquokeeta-serepent — Pocahontas eagle is greeting you! Acknowledge conquered-Maquokeeta-serepent — this death, inflicted by Pocahontas-eagle greeting you, this manner of death is the best way to die, it’s just like the death of sturdy, falling timbers.
Know Maquokeeta greeting, know death’s best

13) A birch kneels. All her whistling fingers fly.
The oak grove circles in a crash of leaves;
The long moan of a dance is in the sky.
Dance, Maquokeeta: Pocahontas grieves . . .
13) Observe: In the midst of this tornado fury,
A birch tree bends All her branches thrash
A cluster of sturdy oak trees spin into a collapsing pile of leaves
the moaning, whirling tornado rises from the ground and returns to the sky
Dance Maquokeeta-serepent-Pocahontas-eagle-tornado is sad to depart…

14) And every tendon scurries toward the twangs
Of lightning deltaed down your saber hair.
Now snaps the flint in every tooth; red fangs
And splay tongues thinly busy the blue air . . .
14) And every part of your Maquokeeta-serepent body reaches out for the lightning in Pocahontas-eagle-tornado, the lightning that split your sword-like hair. Now that Pocahontas-eagle-tornado lightning snaps like sparking teeth.
Those Pocahontas-eagle-tornado-lightning teeth are blood-red fangs and
both of your split tongues gnash the-high-altitude-thin-blue-air.

15) Dance, Maquokeeta! snake that lives before,
That casts his pelt, and lives beyond! Sprout, horn!
Spark, tooth! Medicine-man, relent, restore —
Lie to us,— dance us back the tribal morn!
15) Suffer with dignity, Maquokeeta-serepent who lived a full glorious life,
give up your total self, and after you experience death, know eternal life!
Maquokeeta-serepent Grow horns!
Pocahontas-eagle-Spit fire from your teeth!
As a Trinitarian Medicine-man (i.e., the unified Pocahontas-eagle,
Marquokeeta,-serpent, and I the poet) we will make this harsh behavior cease!
As a Trinitarian Medicine-man; we will restore serenity on the land; we will create a myth! And take everyone back to a time before traumatic grief!

16) Spears and assemblies: black drums thrusting on —
O yelling battlements, — I, too, was liege
To rainbows currying each pulsant bone:
Surpassed the circumstance, danced out the siege!
16) Sharp weapons and armies, continual aggressive charges,
Frenzied, hysterical thirst for conquest — I — a poet — was once a servant to these
colorful deceptions that invigorate the pulsating lust in my bones!
But eventually I confronted this base impulse and conquered the hold it had on me
(I became master of my domain!).

17) And buzzard-circleted, screamed from the stake;
I could not pick the arrows from my side.
Wrapped in that fire, I saw more escorts wake —
Flickering, sprint up the hill groins like a tide.
17) Yet during that struggle, I — a poet — clearly remember it was as if — over my poet head — buzzards flew in circles, and I — a poet — was tied to a stake, screaming in anguish, unable to pull out the arrows that had been shot into my side. In the midst of that imaginary, passionate torture, (with flames) I — a poet — weakly envisioned security;
and there was a surging — yet fading — reoccurring, quivering in my groin muscles. . .
I could not pick the arrows from my side . . .

18) I heard the hush of lava wrestling your arms,
And stag teeth foam about the raven throat;
Flame cataracts of heaven in seething swarms
Fed down your anklets to the sunset’s moat.
18) As I — a poet — remember it, in your grip, I — a poet — became diminished flesh.
I — a poet—could hear my own gasps, or were those gasps coming from you?
— that ivory-tooth frenzied sound, was it coming from
your sharply-feathered-Pocahontas-eagle-tornado-lightning-bird throat?
In the furious post-tornado, sunset-rain & lightning storm,
my imaginary blood — flowed like in a moat — around our quivering ankles.

19) 0, like the lizard in the furious noon,
That drops his legs and colors in the sun,
— And laughs, pure serpent, Time itself, and moon
Of his own fate, I saw thy change begun!
19) O, like the fast red lizard at the beginning of this poem
that completely sacrifices himself in the noon-heat-of-the-moment
— and laughs, as a pure spirit, choosing his own transformational immortality,
I — a poet—then, and now, bear witness to the beginning of your transformation, Pocahontas-eagle from virgin land to a maiden continent!

20) And saw thee dive to kiss that destiny
Like one white meteor, sacrosanct and blent
At last with all that’s consummate and free
There, where the first and last gods keep thy tent.
20) Remember, I — a poet — saw you dive like a sacred white meteor
and in the momentary destined, resulting entanglement,
as you carried Maquakeeta-serepent into the sky,
the two of you, blended together as one, unified, enthroned god!

21) Thewed of the levin, thunder-shod and lean,
Lo, through what infinite seasons dost thou gaze —
Across what bivouacs of thine angered slain,
And see’st thy bride immortal in the maize!
21) Aptly trained with lightning reflexes and thunderclap muscles
What else do you — I—a poet — ? — see in the depths of infinity?
— Across what other momentary, impulsive conquests
Do you — I — a poet— ? — view fertile immortality!

22) Totem and fire-gall, slumbering pyramid —
Though other calendars now stack the sky,
Thy freedom is her largesse, Prince, and hid
On paths thou knewest best to claim her by.
22) Totem pole images & sacred burial tombs under bold sun
regardless of time immemorial grant you unified, deified eagle and lizard eternal,
regal freedom, you lizard, by your self-sacrifice, knew the best way to claim your
goddess-virgin eagle.

23) High unto Labrador the sun strikes free
Her speechless dream of snow, and stirred again,
She is the torrent and the singing tree;
And she is virgin to the last of men . . .
23) Ah, Pocahontas-goddess-virgin-eagle-Maquokeeta-swift-red-flesh-WinterKing serpent
Your duality soars into the Labrador north stricken by the sun, but articulated and stirred by snow— you; I, a poet; I-we-the-trinity — travel as musical wind that shakes the trees—you; I, a poet; I-we-the-trinity — are the final-virgin continent about to be conquered by humanity…

24) West, west and south! winds over Cumberland
And winds across the liana grass resume
Her hair’s warm sibilance. Her breasts are fanned
O stream by slope and vineyard—into bloom!
24) You; — I, a poet; I-we-the-trinity — blow west, west and south
— you; I, a poet; I-we-the-trinity — we are the winds blowing westward through
the eastern Cumberland gap.
— you; I, a poet; I-we-the-trinity — we are the winds blowing over the fertile grassland of North and South America
— you; I, a poet; I-we-the-trinity — we are the hissing sound of grasses;
the nurturing of all rivers & blossoming lands.

25) And when the caribou slant down for salt
Do arrows thirst and leap? Do antlers shine
Alert, star-triggered in the listening vault
Of dusk? — And are her perfect brows to thine?
25) And when the caribou descend and seek salt, do hunters kill?
Are the caribou alert, and listening when the dusk stars begin to shine?
And are Pocahontas-goddess-virgin-eagle’s and Maquokeeta-swift-red-flesh-WinterKing serpent, perfectly aligned, united as one?

26) We danced, 0 Brave, we danced beyond their farms.
In cobalt desert closures made our vows . . .
Now is the strong prayer folded in thine arms,
The serpent with the eagle in the boughs.
26) We, a trinity,
Pocahontas-goddess-virgin-eagle-Maquokeeta-swift-red-flesh-WinterKing serpent,
and I a poet; celebrated — danced — equilibrium, oppositional balance,
we danced beyond cultivation.
In earth’s poetic chemistry, we united
Now — that unified pledge — is an eternal, poetic-bough-bonding of the land serpent with the air eagle in this entwined bough-eagle-serpent poem.

∗∗∗

J Dominic’s Explications of Hart Crane’s “The Dance”

At the end of winter, on cusp of springtime while both canoeing and then hiking to an upper, cascading spring, and observing the details of an incoming storm upon the land, a poet imagines the struggle of life & death as an eternal consummation dance.

More specifically:

While both canoeing and then hiking to an upper, cascading spring, a poet sees a tawny, reddish-brown lizard scurry and he imagines the lizard to be the fertility spirit of the continental fauna. Within seconds of seeing the lizard, the poet also sees an eagle dive at the lizard and then the poet observes the eagle as it perches with the captured lizard on a distant pinnacle. A while later, after ascending to the upper reaches of an Appalachian spring, the poet also observes a harsh storm descending from the sky as it then ravages the land. The poet sees himself and these forces (air-eagle, land-lizard, and poetry) as a unified entity and he narrates these entwined life & death events as a never ending, eternal consummation dance.
                                                                         ____

In the autumn, as a poet prepares to travel on a river by canoe, he sees a tawny, reddish-brown lizard scurry and he imagines the lizard to be the fertility spirit of the continental fauna. Within seconds of seeing the lizard, the poet also sees an eagle dive at the lizard and then the poet observes the eagle as it perches with the captured lizard on a distant pinnacle.

While journeying in his canoe, and also while portaging to an upper tributary and cascading spring, the poet imagines himself both as the female eagle, whom he names Pocahontas, and also as the male lizard, Maquokeeta. The poet then dialogues in his head, each creature’s distinctive earth & sky perspective.

While sitting in the misty forest shade of this high cascading Appalachian spring, and while a thunderstorm begins to form a funnel cloud, the poet imagines virgin-continental  America-Pocahontas sprawled before the path of the burgeoning tempest. The poet names this raging tempest Marquokeeta.

The poet again imagines both the eagle and the lizard in their distant perch also viewing the same threatening storm. He imagines these creatures as mythical gods retiring high atop a pyramid; or, as creatures on a totem pole.

The poet finally interprets the struggle of each creature as immolation, a sacrificial union, a beautifully balanced, eternal dance between the two opposing forces on the metaphorical sacrificial alter; the boughs: the tangled branches in the tree of life.

The lizard/Maquokeeta/serpent/devil/earth&sky/tempest

The eagle/Pocahontas/angel/sky&earth

The Poet/omniscient voice/traveler /entwining, unifying force/vines, limbs, boughs

____

In the early springtime, I, a wandering male poet, see a male red lizard, who I will later name Maquokeeta, squiggling on the ground. Does the regal Maquokeeta lizard catch the attention of a northbound female eagle, who I will name Pocahontas? I think yes, because as this Pocahontas eagle soars through a canyon, she spreads her wings as if she is spreading her arms, she swoops low to the ground, snags her prey and then she rises up like sprouting corn and, she disappears. The serpent of the ground/earth becomes one with the eagle of the air.

And in the dry autumn air, I ponder, whose very skilled talons, or hands, distinguish sand from stone? Is it me the poet? As I view everlasting, ever repeating sunsets and twilights, do I sense the direction I must travel? Will my true and certain course lead me from
arid ground to thick deep grasslands and forests? My ideas greet me, and once I set out to realize them, even if for many years I’m on the wrong path, I will remain true to that
initial impulse.

— There was natural organic groundcover — there were repeated failed occurrences, where virgin Pocahontas regal-eagle of the sky, attempted to proudly unite with the earth serpent.

I the poet, leave my arid, social dwelling place, and set out in a canoe on a strong current for greener pastures, for trees and timber.

As I progress downriver in my canoe, I imagine myself as captured Maquokeeta in the clutches of you, virgin, Pocahontas. I see a waning crescent moon, the flittering insects above the river being eaten by fish silently leaping in the moonlight. My journey is rapturous, so much so, before I realize it, night becomes dawn and the last evening star fades into the branches of a distinctive gap in the upper reaches of the surrounding hills.

I pull my canoe to the grassy river bank and explore. I see an upper waterway; so, I carry
my canoe to the new river and then continue further into this undiscovered valley. Next,
I leave the canoe and follow the stream to its higher mountain source. Finally, as I get to the highest ledge, a white vale of water gushes; it is an Appalachian spring that flows east, then north into the lower valleys of the jutting Adirondack Mountains.

At last, I rest in the mysterious shade and as I gaze at the valley below, I imagine the distant mountain summits are gray Indian dwellings, tepees, amidst blue hills and beautiful wide glades of chestnut trees.

Beyond the range, ominous thunderheads grow, and from the depth of the darkest clouds a twisting, rumbling funnel churns. The manner in which the funnel cloud swoops upon
the far valley, reminds me of the way in which the Pocahontas-eagle bride, in grief,
swoops down upon serpent-Maquokeeta chief, who willingly casts himself into the lightning clutches of the hair-splitting, bloody beaked ritualistic death that progresses life. But, the storm is also Maquokeeta and I the poet introduce his(my) identity to the audience. I ask them “to know Maquokeeta who is greeting us-them.”

At this point I, the poet, imagine myself as sacrificial Maquokeeta, and I think Maquokeeta is simultaneously thinking, ‘I am pierced with arrows, burned at the stake, and I have become dinner for overhead circling buzzards.’

As Pocahontas ravishes me, I become a quivering mass of lava-like-flesh, liquid fire flowing down her gullet and spilling upon her raven-like throat feathers. The surrounding bloody carnage on the ground reflects fire. This imagery makes me think ‘my blood is a moat reflecting sunset’s glow.’

But then I, the poet, recall ‘Pocahontas, your sunset dinner Maquokeeta, was captured by you at the height of noon’; and as I am conjuring this vision, I become Maquokeeta and remember, ‘it was my sacred-‘red flesh’ in the sun that destined you, Pocahontas, to dive like a ‘white meteor’ from your heavenly dwelling so that you Pocahontas and I, Maquokeeta, unite as one.’

And then I, the poet, who is thinking as if I am Maquokeeta, think: ‘Make no mistake about it, my proper upbringing, my lightning instincts bred through infinite time, allowed me
to instantly offer myself to you: my immortal, fertile, mysterious bride.

Indeed, we are timelessly worshiped as totem figures, and deities sleeping in pyramids.
It is me who, generously and freely, gives myself to you. And that self-sacrifice,
my dearest Pocahontas, ultimately allows me to claim you!’

Now as our spirits soar together, you fly in a northerly direction towards snow; you fly in a wind-stream that rustles leaves and shakes trees. And I fly with you, thinking of myself as the last man who has satisfied a virgin.

We fly long into the distant west, and then south over the Cumberland Gap and then join the warm winds that take us over the far reaches of South America. Below us, the earth’s grasses hiss and streams and blooming bountiful landscapes cool your breasts.

And in my mystical union with you I envision similar marriages: alert caribou with antlers lit by starlight descending mountain slopes questing salt while arrows copulate with them in the descending, ‘grave’ darkness.’

Fondly, nostalgically, as a poet, I ponder the balanced, oppositional alignment of Pocahontas’ and Maquokeeta’s final moments: Brow to brow, the bridge of life’s mysteries, the serpent with the eagle, dancing on the bough: the ever reaching limbs of life.”

∗∗∗

Music is the universal language
____

Special Thanks:
James M. Keller
Neil Barson
Dorothy DiOrio
Rulan Wood
Joy Erman
Richard Petrucci
Brent Gillette
David Cole
Paul De Pasquale
Theo Gund
John Martinson
Jackie Martinson

and Boise State University Writing Center

____

Appalachian BRIDGE: A New Pathway to
Aaron Copland’s
Appalachian Spring
j dominic

I took the portage climb, then chose
A further valley-shed;
I could not stop.
—Hart Crane, The Bridge

Copyright © 2021
J Dominic

March 18, 2021

All Rights Reserved