Chapter VI: Aztec Gods

Tezcatlipoca 211

Xochiquetzal 217

Quetzalcoatl 218

Tonatiuh 225

Xiuhtecutli 231

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Tonatiuh _Frontispiece_

The Sun’s First Ray 7

Day and Night 13

The Sun’s Last Ray 21

Mirage 33

The Trail 41

The Bird of War 51

The Last Song 61

The Mummy (Estes Park) 71

The Priests (Estes Park) 77

Palingenesis 83

To a Child’s Moccasin 91

The Only Good Indian Is a Dead Indian 97

Earth’s Terraced Bowl--I 107

Earth’s Terraced Bowl--II 119

The Corn Maidens 131

Saint Dominic’s Day--I 143

Saint Dominic’s Day--II 151

Flower Alone 157

The Pottery Peddler 165

The Dead Pueblo--I 171

The Dead Pueblo--II 181

The Dead Pueblo--III 187

The Dead Pueblo--IV 193

The Dead Pueblo--V 199

Tezcatlipoca 209

Xochiquetzal 215

Quetzalcoatl 221

Xiuhtecutli 229

I

THE CHANTING EARTH

GOD’S DRUM

THE SUN’S FIRST RAY

This early Morning,
This earliest Dawning,
Behold the Youth,
Streaked with flaming red,
Wearing in his hair a waving feather,
Into the Sky ascending!

Upon me,
Standing alone where the World is--
Upon me comes the shining of his Ray.

I, too, shall be ruddy with new life!
I, too, shall wear in my hair the eagle’s plume!
This day shall be fulfilled with accomplishment;
Valiantly I shall ascend into the Sky!

THE WET GRASS OF MORNING

In the spring when I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning,
I see many smiles upon the meadows....

There are drops of shining dew clinging to the blue harebells,
And the little white starflowers sparkle with dew, shining....

Old Woman Spider has beaded many beautiful patterns,
Spreading them where the Sun’s ray falls....

He also is smiling as he catches the red of the blackbird’s opening
wing,
As he harkens to the mocking-bird inventing new songs....

I was an old man as I sat by the evening fire;
When I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning I am young again.

_Upon me, standing alone where the World is--
Upon me comes the shining of his Ray!_
]

BIRDS AND FROGS

The birds that sing in the morning,
Them I can understand:
They call to one another proudly;
Proudly they descant their songs;
Proudly they look about, eager for response.

But the frogs that sing when it is evening;
I cannot understand them:
They sing all at once, each one attentive to himself;
They stop all at once, none gives an answer;
The frogs have voices, they have not ears.

Some men are like the birds;
Some women are like the frogs.

THE PINES ARE THINKING

The cottonwood trees,
growing in clumps,
They are very loquacious,
conversing with one another.

But the tall pines
are like men in meditation,
They seldom have anything to say.

In winter the leaves of the cottonwoods
are fallen,
Their branches are shelterless;
But the pine-trees are always green.

_The Day is a blue Man, with a burning heart...
The Night is a Woman, with a changing heart..._
]

DAY AND NIGHT

The Day is a blue Man with a burning heart;
The bright clouds are his feather ornaments;
The dark clouds are his spacious robes;
The whole world is his rich possession,
And the shining birds are the choirs that praise him:
He is the Chieftain of all that live,
And men call him ‘Father’....

The Night is a Woman with a changing heart,
Which sometimes she reveals and sometimes she hides,
And sometimes she sends palely, palely, after the Day;
But her stars she keeps with her, always upon her bosom,
For her stars are her little children that must be carried:
Her stars are the spirits of all that die,
And men call her ‘Mother’....

WHEN WE DANCE

When we dance all together,
We men:
The drummers beat their drums,
The singers sing....
In the midst of the vast prairie
We are very small.

Feathers are waving
in the bright sunlight:
Colors are flashing
in the bright sunlight:
A thin dust is floating upward
where our feet are beating the brown earth.

We are dancing because we do not know what to do
about our lives:
All together we are dancing
because we wish to live....
In the midst of the vast prairie
We are a very small nation,
We men.

GOD’S DRUM

The circle of the Earth is the head of a great drum;
With the day, it moves upward--booming;
With the night, it moves downward--booming;
The day and the night are its song.

I am very small, as I dance upon the drum-head;
I am like a particle of dust, as I dance upon the drum-head;
Above me in the sky is the shining ball of the drum-stick.

I dance upward with the day;
I dance downward with the night;
Some day I shall dance afar into space like a particle of dust.

Who is the Drummer who beats upon the earth-drum?
Who is the Drummer who makes me to dance his song?

THE CITIES OF WHITE MEN

Those men build many houses:
They dig the earth, and they build;
They cut down the trees, and they build;
They work always--building.

From the elevation of the mountain-side
I behold the clouds:
The clouds build many beautiful houses in the sky:
They build, and they tear down;
They build, and they dissolve....

The cities of white men,
They are not beautiful, like the cloud cities;
They are not vast, like the cloud cities....

A wind-swept teepee
Is all the house I own....

_Thou dost touch the World with many reflections,
With parting injunctions many,--
Thy thought thou hast given us._
]

THE SUN’S LAST RAY

Upon the blue mountain I stood,
Upon the mountain as he sank into the Rivers of Night:
The camps of the clouds in the heavens were shining with evening
fires, many-colored,
And the pools on the plain below gleamed with many reflections:
All things were made precious with the Day’s last ray.

Farewell, my Father, the Shining One!
Farewell, whither thou goest,
Like an aged chieftain adorned with the splendors of many deeds!
Thou dost touch the world with many reflections,
With parting injunctions many----
Thy thought thou hast given us.

II

ON THE PRAIRIE

THE WINDS

The wind is coming to me,
Coming to me with coolness,
Coming to me with fullness,
Breathing upon me----
The Spirit Wind.

Fanned onward by wings cloud-feathered,
Soft with white snow, gray with misty rain,
Fragrant and freshening, come the winds----
The Spirit Winds.

They breathe upon my body,
They lave me in their coolness,
With their fullness they obliterate me....

Death, too, is a Spirit;
Death, too, is a Wind.

DUST EDDIES

Whirling dust-clouds dance on the prairies----
Whirling the dust-clouds dance!

Her loosened hair swirls like a dust-cloud!
Her lithe brown arms are tossing aloft!
I see her white teeth flash as she smiles!

Ah, ah! I am a dust-cloud whirling!
Ah, ah! I am a dancing warrior!
I dance, dance, dance, on the prairies!

I dissolve....
Into dust....

TUMBLEWEEDS

Great Heads, rolling over the lands....
Giant Heads, tumbling, leaping, pursuing!

Tangled and shaggy, gnashing their cannibal jaws,
Bellowing with the winds, they come....

The lightning reveals them, eyeless, infuriated,
Leaping over the lands--Great Heads, pursuing!

Are they the Race of the Shamefully Dead?
Forever dishonored, forever enraged?

Great Heads, tumbling, leaping, gnashing....
The place of their rest no man hath discovered.

THE THUNDER

I am the Thunder,
I am the Thunder,----
Sometimes I go
Pitying myself....
Sometimes in wonder
Grieving through the skies....

Many Thunders are gone,
Many Thunders are flown
In the old days,----
Great Birds of Night,
Rain-laden Birds
With flame-blinking eyes....

I am the Thunder,
I am the Thunder,----
Oft-times alone,
Oft-times in wonder
Pitying myself....
Oft-times in fright
Of mine own sounding words,
Grieving through the night,----
I, the winged Thunder....

_Are they men who come out of the silence to walk beside me?
Are they gods who flit with invisible wings?_
]

MIRAGE

The footfalls of many feet are on the prairies,
Treading softly, like the rustling of shaken grasses;
In the air about me is a sound scarce audible,
As of the wings of silent birds, low-flying....

What are they that move in the luminous mid-day,
Invisibly, intangibly?...

It is hot and whisperingly still;
I see only the quivering air there on the far horizon,
And beyond it a lake of cool water lifted into the sky:
Pleasant groves are growing beside it,
Very distant I see them....

Are these men come out of the silence to walk beside me?
Are these gods who flit with invisible wings?

THE BLIZZARD

Whipped onwards by the North Wind
The air is filled with the dust of driven snow:
The earth is hidden,
The sky is hidden,
All things are hidden,----
The air is filled with stinging,
Before, behind, above, below,----
Who can turn his face from it?...
All the animals drift mourning, mourning....
Only the Gray Wolf laughs.

Who are ye who wallow in the winds?
Who are ye who strike with stinging blows?...
Man-beings out of the North?
Beast-beings out of the North?
Shadow-beings with fingers of thin ice?...
I am a Daughter of the South:
My lips are soft, my breath is warm,
My heart is beating wildly,----
I cannot live in the cold....
All my animals drift mourning, mourning....
Only the gaunt Gray Wolf is laughing.

Tomorrow three suns will rise, side by side;
All the earth will be covered with dazzling snow,----
Cold, cold, and very quiet....
The animals will lie buried in snow,----
Cold, and very quiet....
But the gaunt Gray Wolf will break a new trail,
Running, with three shadows, blue upon the snow.

THE EAGLE, ALSO, DIES

With his hooked beak,
With his hooked talons,
With battle-plumes outspread,----

His beak is a driven lance-head;
His talons are scarlet arrows,
His voice is a war-cry!

When he circles the sky
The birds suddenly cease their singing,
The rabbit becomes rigid.

“The hurricane is my horse,
“The black tornado is my charger,
“Earth trembles where I strike!”

Wherefore do you fear, O Warrior?
For the strongest there is a Fate:
The Eagle, also, dies.

_Wide is the trail of many buffalo._
]

THE TRAIL

Very pleasant are the prairies, oh!
Wide is the trail of many buffalo;
Here it was our fathers wandered through the moons of long ago,
Following on the trails that lead to and fro....
Very pleasant are the grassy prairies, oh!
Following on the trail of many buffalo....
Ah, where went our elders, thither all must go.

III

SPIRIT SONGS

EACH TIME I BEHOLD HER

Each time I behold her again I am lost in wonder....
Is her beauty but for a season, like that of the rose?
Are we men but as the drunken butterflies?

A hundred comely women are in her eyes,
Where she stands in the midst of life....
She is the daughter of many tribes,
She is the mother of many tribes....

Of what use to me are eyes?
Ears only I need----
For her voice I am listening.

SUNSTRUCK

Now he wears sunflowers in his hair,
And dances all day long toward the Sun, nodding....

They say that he was a brave youth, and sensible,
Until he dreamed about the Sun.

My mind is like a fitful wind among the fallen leaves....
It gathers them ... and lets them drop....
It turns them ... and lets them drop....

_I cannot forget how it was when I died._
]

THE BIRD OF WAR

On mighty pinions flying,
The Bird of War, the Bird of War!

I shout to the skies!
In triumph I shout!...
The hollow sky answers me back....

Men live not forever,
Men battle and die....
Like eagles their souls ascend the hollow sky.

* * * * *

The warriors pass,
The young men pass....
In his place I cannot see him....

In the night I hear him crying,
In the night I hear him pleading....
The spirit stars are rising....

* * * * *

When they dug up my bones they painted them red....
Red was upon my body when I died;
I cannot forget how it was when I died.

THE PLAYTHINGS OF CHILDREN

The playthings of children....
they laugh and they pretend,
their voices are unconcerned and happy....

The fallen feathers of birds amuse them,----
even to the slightest touch
the caterpillar is very sensitive....

They amuse themselves, too,
with the round smooth object
which they roll over the ground, pretending....

There is a scar upon it,
where the knife struck
when the hair was torn away....

The playthings of children....
they talk unconcernedly,
they laugh, they pretend....

A LOCK OF HAIR

It is only crying about myself
that comes to me in song,
It is only tears....

When the young men go by, happy,
When the young girls go by, happy,
I seem to see someone with them....

How lifelike is a lock of hair
when all the body is decayed!

HER ROBE IS BROIDERED

Her robe is broidered with white daisies;
Her hair is braided with blue feathers;
On her little feet are new moccasins.

Ah, she was near to me!
Ah, she was dear to me!
On her little feet are new moccasins.

The grass is broidered with white daisies;
Bluebirds in the air are hovering low;
Between earth and sky, the burial scaffold.
On her little feet are new moccasins.

RAIN-IN-THE-FACE

Rain in the face----
Rain in the face----
The world is gray with falling waters,
The world is sad with falling tears....

Alone I walked,
questioning Father Sky,----
Alone----
seeking to divine the cause of Sorrow....

They named me
Rain-in-the-Face....