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The Book: Written Material Copyright Kim Morrissey 
Afterword These are the last poems ever written at Batoche; technically, Batoche no longer exists. In the summer of 1983, the federal government announced it was spending six million dollars to develop the Batoche museum. Then, on Remembrance Day 1983, Canada Post closed the Batoche Post Office at Chenier's Store. Permanently. There was no public protest. There were 700 people on the lists of the post office at Batoche in 1885; 700 people now almost forgotten. These poems are made up of their rumours, innuendo, gossip, news, and dreams; a sort of Spoon River Anthology with politics. The histories are deliberately incomplete. Louis Schmidt's explanation of why Batoche is called "Batoche" is a found poem. There are others: Riel's "Address to the Jury," the child's "mr dumas says riels better because," Maxime Lepine's account of Fish Creek "From the Ravine" and Middleton's "Summation." Other poems use the phrases and prejudices of the time and the speech rhythms of the people: not-quite-found poems. "Duck Lake Massacre" is one, "you have to be fast" is another. I like to call them "Speculative Realism.' There are some stories I didn't tell, stories that could be told better in prose. In particular, I'm thinking of dashing Jack French, who charged down the hill with the Union Jack, rattled up the stairs of Batoche's House, flung open the sash, and as he shouted "Thus to all rebels" as an encouragement to his troops, was shot dead by Donald Ross. As to Monsieur Ross's fate, Captain Peters has a photo labelled "He Shot Captain French," which shows Ross in pin-stripe trousers, the rigor mortis setting his features in a grin; not as dusty as he should be for an old man who's been shot, bayoneted, shot again, and then dragged through town with a rope tied to the tail of a horse. This collection is for the people of Batoche who had no voice, people who just put their heads down and lived on, under the benevolence of a government they could never quite trust: people like Madame Riel, who faced her husband's death, and her own with quiet dignity. She was left with a three-year-old son and a one-year-old daughter. She was expecting a third, which she miscarried because she was starving and in the last stages of tuberculosis. This collection is also for the people I have known at Batoche: for Charlie Cox and for his wife Darlene, president of the local Métis Association when I knew her, for Jimmy Fiddler and his race horses, for Clarence Grenier who told me about his great-grandmother watching Middleton's troops march through her kitchen, for Octave Fiddler, who can fix anything. This is also for Patrick Lane, Brenda Niskala, John Barton, Peter Jay and Daniel Weissbort, who have helped shape my poetic sensibilities. But mostly, it is for Roy Morrissey. Other poets who have struggled with historical reconstruction know it is not enough to know the facts, you must go away and dream. Roy allowed me eight years to dream, and work alongside him on our farm near Batoche; eight years to think and rethink the Resistance of 1885. One final footnote: when I think of the conflict, I think of "Gentleman Joe" MacKay at Duck Lake, bumping his horse into Gabriel's, hooking the bridle with his gun, shouting, "One step further and I'll kill you" and Gabriel's reply: 'You kill me. I'll slaughter you." I like that. I think Gabriel did too. Kim Morrissey March 26, 1988 Batoche Batoche poetry used in the musical drama (excerpts) Common Land in late June and September we cut our hills and the sun dries the river-flat hay the hay of Batoche swept with peavine heavy with seed rose hips, golden- rod, clover in bloom in winter, ponies brush over bruised grass nose purple-tongued vetch lower heads like old men and remember Novena, March 10-19 we sent gabriel the messenger to montana to bring david the prophet to lead we took the church from moulin the grinder and now we pray: riel gabriel two in one two in one now we wait now we pray now we pray Call it a Ferry 1874: a huddle of houses both sides of the river call it a huddle a scrum a murder of cabins two stores and a ferry three roads, open fields and xavier batoche Batoche House a beauty three stories, white trim minaret windows call it a huddle a murder a scrum a collection perhaps a school and a church after looting still keeping its dead: xavier in nineteen one dumont, nineteen six the house moved, 1913 after the priest leaves (1914) call it a village then hamlet a government ferry a bureau de poste a museum open fields and batoche Book Cover Photograph by Gary Robins ISBN Number: 0-919926-91-6 Published by: Coteau Books #401, 2206 Dewdney Avenue Regina, Saskatchewan Canada S4R 1H3 Phone: 306-777-0170 Fax: 306-522-5152 Nik L. Burton, Managing Editor E-mail: coteau@coteaubooks.com Web Site: www.coteaubooks.com www.cenlyt.com/Batoche/ |
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