Song of Atahualpa (Inca)

#17, November 17, 2003

Traversing Clio (5)

Songs of Innocence and Experience (part one)

The origin of these poems remains a bit of a mystery to me. I wrote them while I was undertaking some fairly cursory research into the experiences of the indigenous populations of both North and South America. It was not long after coming to the United States and the feeling was still very much with me that everything I saw (particularly out west) was so recently settled on land once occupied by American Indians. The poems were also influenced by a road trip out to the Rocky Mountains during which I visited some Indian reservations. Beyond that I do not know much about them: the sources and texts that I used are no longer recorded in my notes. I am also left wondering whether there was anything more than romanticism here (though the concern for gender provides a twist in that regard), and whether more recent postcolonial influences of reading against the grain might make me write the poems differently today. The poems in part one deal mainly with the Spanish Conquest, those in part two focus on the north American colonies and the United States.

Songs of Innocence and Experience (part one)

Song of Atahualpa (Inca)

Whither now, Viracocha,

O Creator?

I am no longer the Inca.

The earth and the moon

no longer look to me

as I stand within the Gateway of the Sun;

my people

no longer look to me

as I stand within the Gateway of the Sun.

Whither now, Viracocha,

O Creator?

Give unto me your ordinance.

The sun has been challenged

by pagans from the east

and he has been found wanting;

I have been challenged

by pagans from across the sea

and I have been found wanting.

Uncreated Creator!

you have made us,

shaped us,

given us being

saying: let this be man

and let this be woman.

We, your children, have lived by your decree:

we have worshipped the morning sun;

we have listened to the life-bearing earth;

we have built temples to the Sun-god;

we have built the huaca;

we have sacrificed Virgins-of-the-Sun;

we have conserved the earth lovingly.

But now, Viracocha,

O Creator,

Whither now?

The Sun has been challenged

by pagans from the east

who care not for the virtues of the land

and who bring destruction in their wake.

Whither now, Viracocha,

O Creator?

I am no longer the Inca.

The earth and the moon

no longer look to me

as I kneel within my temple;

my people

no longer look to me

as I kneel within my temple.

The New Fire Ceremony (Aztec)

I am honored to die for the race.

I have been chosen from among my peers

to die, to die, to die for the race.

We are but briefly on earth.

We cannot chant our songs forever;

we sparkle but briefly on earth.

We are created in the House of the Lord.

We ramble among the flowers before returning

to give our strength to the House of the Lord.

I prepare to die, my heart is glad.

I don the garments of sacrifice,

and smiling with friends, my heart is glad.

I go now to the House of God.

Feel the strength of my palpitating heart

As I go to the House of God.

It is nearly fifty-two years

since the birth of this Order

and the altar has been burning

since the birth of this Order.

The fire must now be extinguished.

We must now create afresh;

the gods must provide a new birth.

Let us destroy;

let us fast;

let us pray;

let us wait for the coming new year

and for the decision of the gods.

O priests, take your offerings and climb

to the summit of the Hill of the Star.

O priests, kneel and pray for rebirth

on the summit of the Hill of the Star.

O priests, survey the sky,

watch the appointed star

cross over the zenith.

Pray that it does not perish

in the darkness of the night:

for with that star goes our destiny.

Let the sacrifices to the gods commence;

let the blood run freely within your temples;

let the itztli cut open the skin;

let the heart reveal its beauty;

let the heavens open to receive the offering

and let a new fire be ignited.

Nezahualcoytl’s Proclamation (Aztec)

City of Tenochtitlan,

have you forgotten

the injunction of Quetzalcoutl,

the Toltec King

and God of Air descended from heaven,

against the human sacrifice?

Have you forgotten

the message of Quetzalcoutl,

though it hangs on the breeze

and whispers through the trees

its heavenly truths?

O Tenocan people,

you have seen the blood

as it flows down the steps

of your temples;

it is human blood,

from the human sacrifice.

You have seen whole towns

razed to the ground,

and peoples ravaged by the wars

that provide the victims

of our human sacrifices.

City of Tenochtitlan,

remember the struggles of Quetzalcoutl

to end internal strife

and to secure our civilization

by overwhelming the divisive barbarism

fostered by our sacrificial laws.

Remember the struggles of the Toltecs

who proffered a message of peace

before being overwhelmed

by the ignorant hordes

of the Chichimec people.

O Tenocan people,

can you not hear the message

that echoes around the temples

hiding between the stones

and flitting around the altars

fearing the wrath of the priests?

Can you not hear the heart beating

of that young child

who you send to meet her death,

and whose innocence is revealed in the smile

a lover will never know?

O Tenocan people,

I, Nezahualcoytl,

King of Texcoco,

have built a temple

to the Cause of all Causes

the unknown God.

Let us turn away from civil war

and kneel together in this temple;

let us offer the gods fruits and flowers

and return our children

to the parental bosom.

Tenocan Music (Aztec)

Quetzalcoutl fled to the sea

never to return,

defeated by a greater god

his body dwells in Tlapallan.

Only Cholula knows

The spirit of his decree

And Cholula lies in ruins

Destroyed by the Chichimecs.

Now we will make our sacrifice

not least to the God of War,

praying for further victories

and the strength of the Tenocan race.

This is the Song We Sing (Aztec)

The men will work their gold

and polish their jade,

but we will work their households

from morning to night

fearing another command,

fearing their rejection,

fearing their acceptance,

placed at their mercy.

And this is the song we sing.

The Last Song from Tenochtitlan (Aztec)

During the earthquakes

and the hunger of the fifth sun

the sons of Quetzalcoutl appear on the horizon

soaring in their white-winged boats.

From the east they come

to pass judgment on us, the Tenocans.

Montezuma kneels alone by the altar

unaware that the burning faggots

are to be his funeral pyre.

He cannot defend the realm

against the God of Air

whose gusts give strength to the ash-giving fire.

And rebellious peoples,

who have suffered their children

to be sacrificed

by our victorious Tenocan armies,

now ally themselves with Quetzalcoutl’s sons

and advance upon our city.

For many years

we have been a people

trying to extinguish an internal fire

with burning torches;

deaf to the crackle of the torch,

we have been deaf to the words of our gods.

And now Quetzalcoutl’s sons arrive,

And these men are no gods.

Song of Bartolome de Las Casas for the Sparrowlike Ghost

I look at you with passion in my eyes,

for you have shown me light within despair.

In you there is wisdom and truth,

Honesty, both worthy and bold;

In me there was only a myth

Of past glories refought and retold.

Now let me strive on your strength,

Let me fight by your side in your world.

Let us live together, and at length

The story we create will unfold.