The author with her Mother and Father, Imre Kalman Photo courtesy of Bobbie Kalman
My father cheated death a number of times.
People called him a hero.
In Hungary, he was my hero.
But our Revolution failed,
and our dreams were denied.
On Dad’s 35th birthday,
we fled our country
in the middle of the night.
“You’re so lucky you got out,”
those left behind cried.
But my father was never the same.
Although his body was safe,
his spirit had died.
We became immigrants in a country far away.
For my father, that was the saddest day.
Although his life was still ahead,
he fled backwards in his mind
to happier times in the place we left behind.
His life became conversations with the past.
Mythical, magical stories filled his head
Stories that took place long before we were born
Stories we learned to dread.
Being kids, we preferred the present instead.
Our new home was a shrine to what used to be,
but it was a place we never felt free.
The rest of us forged ahead with our new lives,
but we felt too guilty to look in his eyes.
Eyes that were empty—showing no spirit inside.
Dad thought he cheated death,
but he just didn’t die.
The doctors called him a “medical miracle.”
They took out organs, cut off his leg,
and started his stalled heart three or four times.
Then, one day, his heart just broke.
His body finally died.
If only he could have realized…
People die for the myths they create.
And then, suddenly, they find out—too late
that love exists only in the present.
I hope you’re in the place of your dreams, Dad.
I hope there is nothing there that
makes you feel sad.
If only you could have read my book!
I went back to the past to have a good look,
at our lives in Hungary,
where you were my hero.
A New Map for Travelers Through the United States of America, 1846, by John Calvin Smith. Image courtesy of The Library of Congress
An old grey man on a mountain lived, …He had daughters four and one,
And a tall bright lodge of the betula bark …That glittered in the sun.
He lived on the very highest top, …For he was a hunter free,
Where he could spy on the clearest day, …Gleams of the distant sea.
Come out—come out ! cried the youngest one, …Let us off to look at the sea,
And out they ran in their gayest robes, …And skipped and ran with glee.
Come Su, come Mi, come Hu, come Sa, …Cried laughing little Er,
Let us go to yonder broad blue deep, …Where the breakers foam and roar.
And on they scampered by valley and wood, …By earth and air and sky,
Till they came to a steep where the bare rocks stood, …In a precipice mountain high.
Inya ! cried Er, here’s a dreadful leap, …But we are gone so far,
That if we flinch and return in fear, …Nos , he will cry ha ! ha !
Now each was clad in a vesture light, …That floated far behind,
With sandals of frozen water drops, …And wings of painted wind.
And down they plunged with a merry skip …Like birds that skim the plain ;
And hey ! they cried, let us up and try …And down the steep again.
And up and down the daughters skipped, …Like girls on a holiday,
And laughed outright, at the sport and foam …They called Niagara.
If ye would see a sight so rare, …Where nature’s in her glee,
Go, view the spot in the wide wild west, …The land of the brave and free.
But mark—their shapes are only seen …In fancy’s deepest play,
But she plainly shews their wings and feet …In the dancing sunny spray.
Source: Henry Rowe Schoolcraft.The Indian in His Wigwam, or, Characteristics of the Red Race. Buffalo: Derby & Hewson, 1848.
Also published in his The American Indians, Their History, Condition and Prospects. Buffalo: George H. Derby & Co., 1851
Also published in his Western Scenes and Reminiscences, Auburn: Derby & Miller 1853
Also published in Rhine, Alice Hyneman. Niagara Park illustrated : original and selected, descriptions, poems and adventures. New York: Niagara Pub. Co., 1885; New York: William T. Hunter, 1888. Rhine attributes the poem to Mrs. Schoolcraft.
Horseshoe Falls from Goat Island With Man Standing on Terrapin Point Boardwalk, c.1885 Photo by George Barker. Image courtesy of The Library of Congress
Atlength with more than human strength, ‡‡‡‡The Huron’s deadly foe, Seizedonhisthroatandheldhimdown, ‡‡‡‡Tosuffocatebelow. Hardwasthestruggle, and the waves ‡‡‡‡Contending claim theirprey, Ando’erthe dyingHurondance; ‡‡‡‡Then bearhiscorpseaway.
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡XXXV.
AllhelplessfloatstheIroquois, ‡‡‡‡Andoftaroundisroll’d. Tillon a frailandbrokenwreck, ‡‡‡‡Hefaintlymakeshishold. Nopowerhadhetotemptthedeep, ‡‡‡‡Hiswontedstrengthwasgone, Andev’rypassingwavethatrose, ‡‡‡‡Frownedonhimasitsown.
YeSpiritsofthewaterycaves, ‡‡‡‡Fromheryourdangersstay, Granther the objectofherhopes, ‡‡‡‡Andsafelyspeedherway. She nearsthe dark and fainting brave, ‡‡‡‡And‘midtheWhirlpool’sroar Sheliftshiminherfragileboat, ‡‡‡‡Andturnshercoursetoshore.
Source: Cooper, James Fenimore [attributed to]. A Legend of the Whirlpool. Buffalo: Thomas & Co., 1840.
The text also contains notes that Cooper wrote about the Whirlpool before the poem; and some explanatory notes about the poem at the end. See the full text at Hathi Trust
Note on the first page: A part of this Legend was published in the United States Magazine [and Democratic Review], October 1839. It is authored by “S. de V.,” and has the epigram: “This grand and beautiful scene is three miles from the Falls of Niagara, and four miles from the Village of Lewiston.” It can be viewed at the Hathi Trust.
