Ruth Muskrat Bronson (October 3, 1897 – June 12, 1982) was a Cherokee poet, educator and Indian rights activist. After completing her education, Bronson became the first Guidance and Placement Officer of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. She served as executive secretary for the National Congress of American Indians, which was founded in 1944, and created their legislative news service.
After a decade of work in Washington, D.C., Bronson moved to Arizona. There she served as a health education specialist for the Indian Health Service. Upon her retirement from the government, she received the Oveta Culp Hobby Service Award from the Department of Health, Education and Welfare. She continued working for Native American rights, promoting their development and leadership in the private sector until her death.
SONGS OF THE SPAVINAW
Muskrat Bronson
I am the river of Spavinaw,
I am the river of pain;
Sadness and gladness must answer my law;
Measure for measure I give, and withdraw
Back through the hills of the Spavinaw,
Hiding away from the plain.
I am the river of Spavinaw;
I sing the songs of the world;
Dashing and whirling, swishing and swirling,
Delicate, mystical, silvery spray hurling,
Sing I the songs of the world,
The passionate songs of the world.
I sing of laughter and mirth,
And I laugh in a gurgle of glee
As the myriad joys of the earth
Trip through the light with me.
Gay shallows dimple, sparkle and ripple.
Like songs that a lover would sing,
Skipping in moonlight,
Tripping in moonlight,
Whispering echoes of spring.
And again
I move with the slow sadness of pain.
In my dark blue deep, where the shadows creep,
I catch up life’s sorrows and mirror them back again.
And my song is a throbbing, pitiful sobbing,
Choked by an agonized pain.
And then
I move forth toward the beckoning north,
And I sing of the power of men.
As I dash down my falls,
As I beat at my walls
Frantically fighting, running and righting,
All through the flood, through the snarling and biting,
I sing of the power of men,
Of the hurry and power of men.
I am the river of Spavinaw,
I am the giver of pain;
Sadness and gladness must answer my law;
Measure for measure I give, and withdraw
Back through the hills of the Spavinaw,
Hiding away from the plain.