“For I look on de corner over dere,
an’ see it ma birch canoe,
I look on de wall w’ere ma rifle hang
along wit’ de good snowshoe,
An ‘ev’ ry t’ing else on de worl’ I got,
safe on dis place near me.
An’ here you are too, ma brave old dog,
wit’ your nose up agen ma knee.
An’ here we be stay t’roo de summer day,
w’en ev’ry ting’s warm an’ bright
On winter too w’en de stormy win’
blow lak she blow to-night
Let dem stay on de city, on great beeg house,
dem feller dat’s be riche man
For we’re happy an’ satisfy here, mon chien,
on our own leetle small cabane.”
William Henry Drummond was an Irish-born Canadian who developed his own, unique style of poetry. It was dubbed “habitant poetry”. A “habitant” is basically a peasant French-Canadian, most often from Québec. Drummond’s poems bring to life the accent of a French-Canadian communicating in “broken English”; the themes of his poems are representative of the “habitant” lifestyle.
His poetry, like Kriegoff‘s paintings, is often dismissed by “artistic experts”. I am not including their work here to please the so-called “artistic experts”, but to please other peasants, like me.
