PAGE 4
THE CHEMAWA AMERICAN
ALEXANDER LAWRENCE POSEY
(Continued from page 1)
cone he acted as librarian on Sundays and set type
after school on week days. In 1896 he was Superin
tendent of the Creek Orphan Asylum at Okmulgee.
The same year he was elected to the House of War
riors, the popular branch of the Creek Legislature.
He was sent to every conclave concerned in the Indian
Territory on behalf of the Indians until this Territory
became a part of the State of Oklahoma.
In 1896, Posey married Miss Minnie Harris of
Fayetteville, Arkansas. Posey’s account of their
meeting and marriage is a romance within itself, and
to her, and his two children, Wenema and Yahola,
are dedicated many of his beautiful poems.
In 1897 he resigned his position at the Orphan
Asylum and was soon after appointed Superintendent
of Public Instruction of the Creek Nation. He re
signed this position to go to his farm, which consisted
of several hundred acres. While on the farm he con
tributed to the Indian Journal, and as he had such
executive ability and was the most learned of the
Creeks, the High School at Eufala, being in need of
competent management, he very reluctantly, after
much persuasion by his people, accepted the super
intendency. He put the administration of the Eufala
High School on a satisfatory basis; he was urged to
do the same for the Wetumpka National School,
which he did. He then returned to Eufala and took
editorial charge of the Indian Journal, which he
edited a little more than two years. He then was
employed by the Muskogee Times. At this time
there was so much work to be done by the United
Indian Agency and for the good of his people and
the Five Civilized Tribes that Posey resigned his
position with the Muskogee Times. The Dawes’
Commission, (named for Senator Dawes of Massachu
setts) needed him to settle their affairs. In each
tribe were many, that refused to accept their allot
ments of land and to surrender their tribal authority.
Chief Crazy Snake was the leader of this faction in
the Creek Tribe. Posey saw the future, and that if
any Indian failed to take his allotment that he would
be the loser, as this land would go to any one who
might choose to have it allotted to himself. Many
of the Creeks were “lost Indians”—married into
other tribes, wandered away and settled elsewhere.
They were to be found and enrolled. Many babies
were born after the rolls were closed. They were to
be found. Posey was prevailed upon to do this work.
There was a great opportunity for Posey to be of
sendee to his people. Outside of the reward that
every man must feel from service to their fellowmen
Posey sacrificed much (for his compensation was
small) to do this important and necessary work.
When the work of the Dawes’ Commission was
completed Posey left Muskogee and set out for Eufala,
intending to buy the Indian Journal. “Alas! it was
a fatal journey,” for a part of the railroad had been
washed out and he and friends attempted to cross the
North Canadian River in a boat and he was drowned
May 27, 1908. His death was not only an individual
tragedy, it was a tragedy to his people, his work, his
day.
“Chinubbie Harjo,” was Posey’s pen name. It
had a peculiar significance. It was the same to the
Creeks as Hiawatha was to the Iriquois, and Mana-
bozho was to the Algonquins. It meant a man en
dowed with supernatural powers but burdened with
many of the foibles, limitations and weaknesses of
humanity.
The tenderness of Posey’s lyrical moods is exquis
itely expressed in the following poem, “Come.”
Above,
The stars are bursting into bloom,
My love;
Below, unfolds the evening gloom;
Come, let us rove the long lane thru,
My love, just as we use to do.
The birds
Of twilight twitter, sweet and low,
And fly to rest, and homeward go.
The herds,
Come, let the long lane lead us as it will,
My love, a winding thro’ the evening still.
Behold,
How now the full-blown stars are spread,
Like large white lilies overhead!
But fold
They must, and fade at gray daylight,
My love; they blossom but at night.
The moon,
My love, uncurls her silv’ry hair;
And June
Spills all her sweetness on the air.
Come, let us roam the long lane thru,
My love, just as we used to do.
William Elsey Connelly closes his “Memoirs” of
Oklahoma’s Indian poet with this fitting tribute: “He
was the apostle of nature. As long as men are moved
by the beautiful in nature they will read the words
and bless the memory of this bard of the Creeks—the
poet of America’s aboriginal people.”
In significance to the tragedy of this Indian poet,
his poem, “Fancy,” makes it a kind of epitaph, or
elegy:
Why do trees along the river
Lean so far out o’er the tide?
Very wise men tell me why, but
I am never satisfied;
And so I keep my fancy still,
That trees lean out to save
The drowning from the clutches of
The cold, remorseless wave.