An overgrown thicket
With locks flowing wild,
With steam from the mouth
Which envelops the face,
With the haste of a shot,
With the roar of a forest,
Springs into the vale from a mount,
As though to break the neck
And to sprain the feet—
Niagara, the giant.
And the winter caprice
With its icy yoke
As in chase for a beast
Niagara pursues.
Not in vain howls the wind,
Like a pack of dogs,
And with the snow shot in vain
Shoots the cloud, shoots again,
Desolated all around,
All around becomes stoned,
As though him not meant.
Never, at all, stops
Niagara’s gallop.
Source: Jehiel B. Cooperman and Sarah H. Cooperman (selectors and translators). America in Yiddish Poetry: An Anthology. New York: Exposition Press, 1967.
Dove Overlooking the American Falls Photo by Andrew Porteus
The tale of Niagara Falls
Long since has been white-bearded.
The elder would overtake you with noise—
Why be so gloomy, weary?
O eternity!
Just here my gaze is fixed
On things of every day.
Merely the tiny little day
Of a bit of joviality, of a dirge dash:
A reflective pane
Of an abandoned house
That mirrors
The sunset red
On a dove;
That hovers on wings
Of death,
And exhausts in the air
The mite of life that is destined her
On earth.
Source: Jehiel B. Cooperman and Sarah H. Cooperman (selectors and translators). America in Yiddish Poetry: An Anthology. New York: Exposition Press, 1967.
Ice Bridge at Niagara Falls, In Memory of Mr. and Mrs. Stanton and Burrell Hecock
‘Twas on a Sabbath morning,
From distant homes they strayed,
To see our old Niagara
In her mantle of white arrayed.
And with Jack Frost’s protection,
The tourists thought how grand
To be on the noted ice bridge
Anywhere to stand.
But the strength of Frost was feeble,
Compared with mighty force
Of the rushing undercurrent
Unchanging in its course.
For soon the ice was parted
And, alas! too quickly was seen
People on glassy islands
Floating down the stream.
And there was Mrs. Stanton
Just paralyzed with fear,
Saying to her husband
Let us die right here.
Poem Accompanying the Memorial Card
Near by a brave young laddie,
Who was running his life to save,
Heard the call: “Come back and help us
To escape a watery grave.”
And as he thus responded
To try and save another
He said to his companion:
“Don’t you tell my mother.”
But a message of mental telepathy
To that mother quickly flashed,
While ropes were dangling here and there
And the cruel waters splashed.
For she saw in a glass of water
Ice and people, too,
Rushing about confusedly,
Knowing not what to do.
Then she thought of the treacherous river,
That water so fierce and wild,
And exclaimed: “I have a presentiment
Something has happened to my child!”
Brave men worked hard to save
The two who still remained
On that block of ice much smaller
Than when it first was framed.
For, Oh, they were surrounded
By Niagara’s silvery crest,
Which none were allowed to step on:
Not even a noted guest.
Kneeling in prayer they were ushered,
The time was very brief,
Until the Whirlpool caught them
And gave them sweet relief.
Image and insert containing the poem by Jessie Clark courtesy of Niagara Falls Museums, accession number 2024.016.29. Many thanks to Assistant Curator Sara Byers for bringing this to my attention.
A mountain of snow and Ice almost reaching the crest of the American Falls at Niagara Falls Undated photo by Gisela Scholz. Image courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
I am shown
a generosity
so muddied
at the muddy bottom
of a question I forget to ask
until it’s fished out
but bloated but
in the manner of a net
a web of causal connections
attached to its corners
The Ice Bridge at Niagara Falls, February 5, 2007 Photo by Andrew Porteus
Fine sprays, colored rainbows,
Rushing waters, winter snows.
Majestically she roars her might,
Niagara, a truly beautiful sight!
Hark! Let us lend an ear
To rumbling sounds that are so near
Recognize her music with pride,
To Niagara! a drink we’ll imbibe!
Breathlessly we watch on a cold winter’s night
When NIagara waters are frozen tight
Ice bridges are formed on waters now ice,
Figurines are molded, does that not suffice?
The stage is set and sounds are slight,
Niagara is silenced by winter’s might.
A command performance soon we’ll see,
As Niagara prepares to break herself free!
With a mighty roar, she blasts her authority
Her fury is unleashed, she’s in her glory
Ice bridges are broken and skirting away
Niagara beautiful has had her say!
The rumbling sounds are heard once more
As Niagara boasts her strength galore!
All is beautiful-so serene
Beautiful Niagara, really supreme!
Source: Samuel R. Cristelli (Dec 5,1921 – Jul 18,1997). The date this poem was written is unknown. Cristelli, a WWII veteran, worked as an electrician and he wrote this poem for the electrical shop newsletter. When he retired he worked as a supervisor with The Regional Municipality of Niagara at the Pollution Control Plant. The poem was provided by the author’s daughter, Shelley.
