English II: American Literature

Unit 1:Native American & Early

Colonial Literature Packet

Native American Literature

Introduction to Our Second Catalog of Native American LiteratureJoseph Bruchac

Joseph Bruchac is a writer of Abenaki descent who has carved out a unique and important place in contemporary American Indian literature as a poet, storyteller and chronicler of traditional stories, novelist, and publisher. He founded the influential Greenfield Review Press, which published many writers of Native American and other ethnic descent who might not have been published otherwise, including early books by Leslie Marmon Silko, Linda Hogan, and others. Bruchac's "Dawn Land" series of historical novels is the first attempt to reconstruct, in fiction, the daily life of the indigenous tribes of America prior to the coming of the Europeans.

When people ask me what led me to become a writer and storyteller, I always tell them that it was due in large part to the influence of my maternal grandparents who raised me. And, I add, my lifelong interest in my Native American heritage stems from my dark-skinned Abenaki grandfather, Jesse Bowman. My grandmother kept our house filled with books. However, as far as I know, Grampa Jesse never read a one of them. He could barely read a newspaper. His formal schooling ended in fourth grade when he jumped out a schoolhouse window after having been called a "dirty Indian" one too many times. Yet it is his voice that I often hear when I begin to tell a story and I feel his gentle encouraging presence with me as I start to write. Time and again, I have seen my grandfather's face in the faces of Native elders who have been my teachers and I have heard echoes of his slow, storytelling cadence and gentle humor in their voices.

My grandfather never raised his hand to me or raised his voice in anger at me when I was a child. I will never forget what my grandfather told me about his own upbringing. "My father never hit me," he said, "no matter what I done. He'd just talk to me, tell me a story." Then he chuckled. "There was times I think I would of rather had him hit me. Them stories was strong."

Years later, when I was in graduate school at Syracuse University, I would drive the Harley motorcycle that was my main means of transportation out to the Onondaga Reservation -- on whose land the city of Syracuse had been built. There, as I sat in the house of my Clan Mother friend Dewasentah, I would learn that child-rearing without abuse, child-rearing through the telling of stories, had always been the norm for the Iroquois people, as well. Beating and harsh words can twist the spirit of a child. A story stays in a child's heart and helps that child grow up straight and strong. The more I traveled and listened, the clearer it became to me that throughout Native North America the rule was "Spare the rod and tell the story."

Strong stories. That is one of the things which most Native American authors of this last quarter century have in common. Whether they are poets such as Simon Ortiz and Mary TallMountain, Ray Young Bear and Joy Harjo or prose writers such as Louis Owens and Linda Hogan, N. Scott Momaday and Elizabeth Cook-Lynn, they tell strong stories. More than one Native author has told me how important it was to them to hear the stories when they were young, how those stories have remained with them. Simon Ortiz's father was well known as a storyteller at Acoma Pueblo. Simon once told me with pride how people used to refer to him as "the storyteller's son." It is no accident that an audio tape of N. Scott Momaday reading his own work was titled Storyteller or that Storyteller is the name of one of Leslie Silko's books.

As a writer who is also a professional storyteller, I have learned that the best stories -- whether they are written down or carried on our breath -- always serve at least two purposes. First, they are interesting and entertaining. That way they will be heard. Secondly, they carry teachings which are morally and practically useful. Thus they

teach lessons. No matter how well-meaning it may be, a dull story will either be ignored or forgotten. George Bernard Shaw, the British writer, learned that in his career as a playwright after discovering his earlier works, though earnest, were not being heard. The majority of Native American writers either grew up with that understanding or, like myself, rediscovered it as adults when they began to write seriously.

In the late 1800s, the American government embarked upon a campaign which was designed "to kill the Indian and save the man." Coercive assimilation was United States Indian Policy from 1887 to 1934. Native culture had to be eradicated to make the Indians properly American. Literacy was an important part of that campaign as Native children were taken from their families and sent to Indian schools. There their own clothing would be taken away and they would be put into military uniforms. Their hair would be cut short and they would be forbidden to speak Native languages. If they disobeyed they would be brutally beaten. Many of those children died of infectious diseases or committed suicide.

At Onondaga many of the children were taken to the Thomas Indian Boarding School. "It was awful," Dewasentah said to me, remembering those days when the truck would come to take the children away. "The parents had been told it was best for their children, so they would have them ready. But the children would cry and scream for their parents as they dragged them away. I can still hear them crying."

The irony of that government effort was that it developed a deep interest in books among the graduates of those schools. Some of those who came back believed what the government had taught them about their old ways being wrong. But among some the opposite was true. Many of the graduates of such Indian Schools as Carlisle in Pennsylvania became strong advocates for Native culture and Native rights. Instead of forgetting the old stories, they added in a love of written literature. I cannot tell you how often I have entered the homes of Native elders who were boarding school survivors and found the walls lined, like Dewasentah's, with books -- most of them about Indians. It was not an uncritical love of books, I might add, for those elders were usually quick to point out to me the books in their collections which (invariably written by non-Indian Indian experts) contained lies about their people.

When I went to West Africa as a volunteer teacher in the 1960s I became friends with Chinua Achebe, a well-known African novelist. Chinua told me straightforwardly that one of the major reasons he became a writer was a British novel called Mr. Johnson, which portrayed Achebe's Igbo people as ignorant, dirty and superstitious. Achebe, who had grown up in a spiritually rich storytelling tradition, wanted to tell a different story and did so in a magnificent first novel called Things Fall Apart.

That, of course, is the wonderful irony about literacy. If a supposedly superior culture forces literacy upon Native cultures, that "superior" culture then finds -- to the dismay of the missionaries -- that being able to read means being able to read not just the approved books, but also those which tell the other side of the story. Being able to write means the Natives will find ways to express the values of their original cultures in that new medium and that new language.

And so it is today. The works of the Native writers of the last three decades continue to tell those strong old stories, stories of spiritual survival, in poems and stories, in novels and essays and plays written in large part in English. The children and grandchildren of those who were taken from their homes by force and taught to have contempt for their tribal cultures today look back to the oral tradition, are inspired by it, and then continue the circle of stories, continue it through their writing.

Copyright © 1996 by Joseph Bruchac

The Sun Still Rises in the Same SkyJoseph Bruchac

Few peoples have been as appreciated and, at the same time, as misrepresented as the many different cultures today called “American Indian” or “Native American.” Images of “Indians” are central to mainstream America, from Longfellow’s misnamed epic poem The Song of Hiawatha (which actually tells the story of the Chippewa hero Manabozho, not the Iroquois Hiawatha) to the “cowboys and Indians” tradition of movies about the Old West. Yet it’s only recently that the authentic literary voices of Native Americans have received serious attention. Native American literature has been a living oral tradition, but it was never treated with the same respect as European, or Western, literature. But Western literature itself has its roots firmly planted in the oral tradition—such ancient classics as the Odyssey and Beowulf, long before they were written down, were stories kept alive by word of mouth. The vast body of American Indian oral literature, encompassing dozens of epic narratives and countless thousands of stories, poems, songs, oratory, and chants, was not even recognized by Western scholars until the late 1800s. Until then, it was assumed that Native Americans had no literature. 

Part of the problem scholars had in recognizing the rich traditions of American Indian literature was translating the texts from hundreds of different languages—a task often best done by Native Americans themselves. Over the decades, various American Indian writers—N. Scott Momaday, Louise Erdrich, Simon J. Ortiz, and Leslie Marmon Silko, among others—have revitalized Native American literature by combining their fluency in English with a deep understanding of their own languages and traditions. 

We can make some important generalizations about American Indian oral traditions. First of all, Native American cultures use stories to teach moral lessons and convey practical information about the natural world. A story from the Abenaki people of Maine, for example, tells how Gluskabe catches all of the game animals. He is then told by his grandmother to return the animals to the woods. They will die if they are kept in his bag, she tells him, and if they do die, there will be no game left for the people to come. In this one brief tale, important, life-sustaining lessons about greed, the wisdom of elders, and game management are conveyed in an entertaining and engaging way. 

American Indian literature also reflects a view of the natural world that is more inclusive than the one typically seen in Western literature. The Native American universe is not dominated by human beings. Animals and humans are often interchangeable in myths and folk tales. Origin myths may even feature animals as the instruments of creation. 

All American Indian cultures also show a keen awareness of the power of metaphor. Words are as powerful and alive as the human breath that carries them. Songs and chants can make things happen—call game animals, bring rain, cure the sick, or destroy an enemy. For Native Americans, speech, or oratory—often relying on striking similes drawn from nature—is a highly developed and respected literary form. 

Passed on from generation to generation, oral traditions preserve historical continuity. But these traditions are also, like the Native American peoples themselves, tenacious, dynamic, and responsive to change. The American Indian worldview is not that of a progressive straight line, but of an endless circle. This cyclical nature of existence is reflected both in the natural world itself, with its changing seasons and cycles of birth, death, and rebirth, and in Native American ceremonies repeated year after year. Each summer, for example, the Lakota people have their Sun Dance. In pre-Columbian times, they went to the Sun Dance on foot; after the coming of the Spanish, they rode horses to the annual event. Today, the Lakota arrive by automobile. While a European eye might see the technology of transport as the important point of this

anecdote, to a Lakota the issue of changing transportation is unimportant. It is, after all, only a different way of getting to the same place. The sun still rises in the same sky. 

Genesis from The King James Bible

Chapter 1: The Creation of Light

1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God

moved upon the face of the waters.3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.4 And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.5 And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the

first day.6 And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.7 And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters

which were above the firmament: and it was so.8 And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day.9 And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the

dryland appear: and it was so.10 And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw

that it was good.11 And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his

kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so.12 And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose

seed was in itself, after his kind: and God saw that it was good.13 And the evening and the morning were the third day.14 And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let

them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years:15 And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was so.16 And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he

made the stars also.17 And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth,18 And to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it

was good.19 And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

20 And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.

21 And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

22 And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.

23 And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.24 And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast

of the earth after his kind: and it was so.25 And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth

upon the earth after his kind: and God saw that it was good.26 And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of

the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

27 So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.28 And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue

it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.

29 And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which isthe fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.

30 And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so.

31 And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

Chapter 2: The Creation of Eve1 Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them.2 And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his

work which he had made.3 And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which

God created and made.4 These  are   the generations of the heavens and of the earth when they were created, in the day that the LORD

God made the earth and the heavens,5 And every plant of the field before it was in the earth, and every herb of the field before it grew: for the LORD

God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and  there was   not a man to till the ground.6 But there went up a mist from the earth, and watered the whole face of the ground.

7 And the LORD God formed man  of   the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.

8 And the LORD God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.9 And out of the ground made the LORD God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food;

the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.10 And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became into four heads.11 The name of the first  is   Pison: that  is   it which compasseth the whole land of Havilah, where  there is   gold;12 And the gold of that land  is   good: there  is   bdellium and the onyx stone.13 And the name of the second river  is   Gihon: the same  is   it that compasseth the whole land of Ethiopia.14 And the name of the third river  is   Hiddekel: that  is   it which goeth toward the east of Assyria. And the fourth

river  is   Euphrates.15 And the LORD God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it.16 And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat:17 But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest

thereof thou shalt surely die.18 And the LORD God said,  It is   not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.19 And out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air; and

brought  them   unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that  was   the name thereof.

20 And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the air, and to every beast of the field; but for Adam there was not found an help meet for him.

21 And the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof;

22 And the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man.23 And Adam said, This  is   now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because

she was taken out of Man.24 Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one

flesh.25 And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed.

The Sky Treeas retold by Joseph Bruchac

In the beginning, Earth was covered with water. In Sky Land, there were people living as they do now on Earth. In the middle of that land was the great Sky Tree. All of the food which the people in that Sky Land ate came from the great tree. 

The old chief of that land lived with his wife, whose name was Aataentsic, meaning “Ancient Woman,” in their long house near the great tree. It came to be that the old chief became sick, and nothing could cure him. He grew weaker and weaker until it seemed he would die. Then a dream came to him, and he called Aataentsic to him. 

“I have dreamed,” he said, “and in my dream I saw how I can be healed. I must be given the fruit which grows at the very top of Sky Tree. You must cut it down and bring that fruit to me.” 

Aataentsic took her husband’s stone ax and went to the great tree. As soon as she struck it, it split in half and toppled over. As it fell, a hole opened in Sky Land, and the tree fell through the hole. Aataentsic returned to the place where the old chief waited. 

“My husband,” she said, “when I cut the tree, it split in half and then fell through a great hole. Without the tree, there can be no life. I must follow it.” 

Then, leaving her husband, she went back to the hole in Sky Land and threw herself after the great tree. 

As Aataentsic fell, Turtle looked up and saw her. Immediately Turtle called together all the water animals and told them what she had seen. 

“What should be done?” Turtle said. Beaver answered her. “You are the one who saw this happen. Tell us what to do.” 

“All of you must dive down,” Turtle said. “Bring up soil from the bottom, and place it on my back.” 

Immediately all of the water animals began to dive down and bring up soil. Beaver, Mink, Muskrat, and Otter each brought up pawfuls of wet soil and placed the soil on Turtle’s back until they had made an island of great size. When they were through, Aataentsic settled down gently on the new Earth, and the pieces of the great tree fell beside her and took root. 

The Navajo Origin Legend

On the morning of the twelfth day the people washed themselves well. The women dried themselves with yellow cornmeal; the men with white cornmeal. Soon after the ablutions were completed they heard the distant call of the approaching gods (the four Navaho gods: White Body, Blue Body, Yellow Body, and Black Body). It was shouted, as before, four times--nearer and louder at each repetition--and, after the fourth call, the gods appeared. Blue Body and Black Body each carried a sacred buckskin. White Body carried two ears of corn, one yellow, one white, each covered at the end completely with grains.

The gods laid one buckskin on the ground with the head to the west; on this they placed the two ears of corn, with their tips to the east, and over the corn they spread the other buckskin with its head to the east; under the white ear they put the feather of a white eagle, under the yellow ear the feather of a yellow eagle.

Then they told the people to stand at a distance and allow the wind to enter. The white wind blew from the east, and the yellow wind blew from the west, between the skins. While the wind was blowing, eight of the Mirage People ( mirages personified) came and walked around the objects on the ground four times, and as they walked the eagle feathers, whose tips protruded from between the buckskins, were seen to move. When the Mirage People had finished their walk the upper buckskin was lifted; the ears of corn had disappeared, a man and a woman lay there in their stead.

The white ear of corn had been changed into a man, the yellow ear into a woman. It was the wind that gave them life. It is the wind that comes out of our mouths now that gives us life. When this ceases to blow we die. In the skin at the tips of our fingers we see the trail of the wind; it shows us where the wind blew when our ancestors were created.

The pair thus created were First Man and First Woman (Atse Hastin and Atse Estsan). The gods directed the people to build an enclosure of brushwood for the pair. When the enclosure was finished, First Man and First Woman entered it, and the gods said to them: "Live together now as husband and wife."

“Walam Olum” or “Red Record” Deleware Creation Myth

1. At first, in that place, at all times, above the earth,

1. Sayewi talli wemiguma wokgetaki,

2. On the earth, [was] an extended fog, and there the great Manito was.

2. Hackung kwelik owanaku wak yutali Kitanitowit-essop.

3. At first, forever, lost in space, everywhere, the great Manito was.

3. Sayewis hallemiwis nolemiwi elemamik Kitanitowit-essop.

4. He made the extended land and the sky.

4. Sohawalawak kwelik hakik owak [read, woak] awasagamak.

5. He made the sun, the moon, the stars.

5. Sohalawak gishuk nipahum alankwak.

6. He made them all to move evenly.

6. Wemi-sohalawak yulikyuchaan.

7. Then the wind blew violently, and it cleared, and the water flowed off far and strong.

7. Wich-owagan kshakan moshakwat kwelik kshipehelep.

8. And groups of islands grew newly, and there remained.

8. Opeleken mani-menak delsin-epit.

9. Anew spoke the great Manito, a manito to manitos,

9. Lappinup Kitanitowit manito manitoak.

10. To beings, mortals, souls and all,

10. Owiniwak angelatawiwak chichankwak wemiwak.

11. And ever after he was a manito to men, and their grandfather.

11. Wtenk manito jinwis lennowak mukom.

12. He gave the first mother, the mother of beings.

12. Milap netami gaho owini gaho.

13. He gave the fish, he gave the turtles, he gave the beasts, he gave the birds.

13. Namesik milap, tulpewik milap, awesik milap, cholensak milap.

14. But an evil Manito made evil beings only, monsters,

14. Makimani shak sohalawak makowini nakowak amangamek.

15. He made the flies, he made the gnats.

15. Sohalawak uchewak, sohalawak pungusak.

16. All beings were then friendly.

16. Nitisak wemi owini w'delisinewuap.

17. Truly the manitos were active and kindly

17. Kiwis, wunand wishimanitoak essopak.

18. To those very first men, and to those first mothers; fetched them wives,

18. Nijini netami lennowak, nigoha netami okwewi, nantine'wak.

19. And fetched them food, when first they desired it.

19. Gattamin netami mitzi nijini nantine'.

20. All had cheerful knowledge, all had leisure, all thought in gladness.

20. Wemi wingi-namenep, wemi ksinelendamep, wemi wullatemanuwi.

21. But very secretly an evil being, a mighty magician, came on earth,

21. Shukand eli-kimi mekenikink wakon powako init'ako.

22. And with him brought badness, quarreling, unhappiness,

22. Mattalogas pallalogas maktaton owagan payat-chik yutali.

23. Brought bad weather, brought sickness, brought death.

23. Maktapan payat, wihillan payat, mboagan payat.

24. All this took place of old on the earth, beyond the great tide-water, at the first.

24. Won wemi wiwunch kamik atak kitahikan netamaki epit.

The Creation of the Universe and Ife: Yoruba, Nigeria

At the beginning of time, the universe consisted only of the sky, the water, and marshland. Olorun; the most powerful and wisest of the gods, was the creator of the sun and the ruler of the sky. Olokun was the ruler of the waters and the marshes. Even though her kingdom contained no plants, animals, or human beings, Olokun was happy with it. Unfortunately, Obatala, one of Olorun’s favorites, was not pleased.

“The world would certainly be more interesting if living things inhabited it,” he said to Olorun. “What can we do so that Olokun’s kingdom can be inhabited? What she needs is mountains, forests, and fields.”

“Well,” Olorun answered, “I agree that mountains, forests, and fields would be better than water alone, but how would it be created?”

“With your permission, I will create the solid land.”

Olorun gladly gave Obatala permission to create the solid land. Obatala immediately went to see Orunmila, Olorun’s oldest son, a god with the gift of being able to forsee the future.

“Olorun has given me permission to create solid land where now only water and marshland exist,” he said to Orunmila. “Will you teach me how to do this so that I can then populate the world with living things?”

“I will be happy to, Obatala. You must first obtain a golden chain that is long enough to reach from the sky to the water. You must then take a snail’s shell, a white hen, a black cat, and a palm nut in a bag. When you have done this, you must carry them down to the marshland by way of the chain.”

Obatala immediately went to find the goldsmith. The goldsmith agreed to make such a chain, but he did not have enough gold on hand to complete the task. So, Obatala went to all of the gods and asked them for the gold that they possessed so that the chain could be made.

Because the gods agreed that Obatala’s project was a worthy one, they gave him their golden necklaces, bracelets, and rings. Still, according to the goldsmith, Obatala had not collected enough gold to make a chain of sufficient length to reach from the sky to the water. He returned to the goldsmith anyway, and he asked the smith to fashion a chain as long as possible with what gold they had and to put a hook at the end of it.

When the chain was readied, Obatala and Orunmila hooked one end of it to the edge of the sky, and Orunmila gave Obatala the sand-filled snail shell, the white hen, the black cat, and the palm nut to put into a bag, which he slung over his shoulder. Obatala then began to climb down the golden chain.

When he had climbed down about half the length of the chain, Obatala realized that he was leaving the world of light and entering the world of twilight. Still he continued to climb down. When he reached the end of the chain, he was still far above the ocean, much too high to jump safely.

As he was wondering what to do, he heard Orunmila’s voice call out from above. “Obatala,” he said, “use the sand in your snail shell.”

Obatala did as Orunmila dictated. He pulled the snail shell out of his bag and poured the sand into the water.

“Now free the white hen.”

Obatala again obeyed Orunmila’s command. The white hen fluttered down to land upon the sandy waters. She immediately began to scratch at the sand, scattering it far and wide. Wherever the grains of sand landed, dry land was created, the largest piles becoming hills.

Seeing the dry land grow high beneath him, Obatala let go of the golden chain and fell the short distance to the earth. The place where he landed he named Ife. He looked around and saw that the ground stretched as far as the horizon in every direction that he could see, but it was still barren.

Now Obatala dug a hole in the ground and buried the palm nut. He had barely shoveled the last handful of dirt over the nut when a palm tree began growing out of the buried nut. The tree quickly reached its full height and grew more palm nuts, which dropped upon the land and grew into mature trees before his eyes. Obatala took the bark from the trees and built a house. When he went inside his new house, Obatala took the black cat out of the bag, and he settled down with the cat as his companion.

After some time, Olorun wondered how Obatala was doing, so he asked one of his servants, Chameleon, to go down the golden chain to visit Obatala. When the Chameleon saw Obatala, he said, “Olorun, the ruler of the sky, has asked me to find out how you are doing.”

The Chameleon returned to Olorun and told him what Obatala had said. Olorun was so pleased with Obatala’s effort that he said, “I will create the sun.” He then did just that, and every day the sun’s light and warmth poured down upon Obatala and his creations.

A great deal more time passed, and Obatala found that he was still not satisfied. “As much as I love my black cat,” he said, “I think that I need another kind of companionship. Perhaps it will be good for me to populate this world with creatures more like myself.”

Obatala set about to accomplish this task. He began digging in the soil, and he gathered together bits and pieces of clay that stuck together. Taking this clay, Obatala created small figures shaped like himself. This endeavor proved to be very tiring, and soon Obatala decided to take the juice from the palm trees to make palm wine. As tired as he was, he drank more of the wine than he realized, and soon he was drunk.

When Obatala began making the clay figures again, the effects of the wine made him a little clumsy. As a result, the figures that he created were not as well made as those that he had fashioned earlier. Some of the new figures had arms that were too short or legs of uneven length or a curved back, although Obatala’s senses were so dulled from the drink that he did not notice that these figures were not perfect.

After he had created a large number of clay figures, Obatala called up to Olorun: “Olorun, I have created clay figures to populate my world and be companions to me, but they are devoid of life. Of all of the gods, you are the only one who can bestow life. I ask that you do this so that I may spend the rest of my life with companions who are like me.” Once more Olorun was pleased to do what Obatala asked. The sky god breathed life into the clay figures, which became living human beings.

As soon as the figures were endowed with life, they saw Obatala’s hut, and they began to build homes for themselves all around it. Thus was the first Yoruba village created. That village was called Ife, and it still exists today.

Obatala was very pleased with his work. Then, as the effects of the palm wine wore off, he saw that some of the people whom he had created were not perfect, and he promised that he would never drink palm wine again and that he would devote himself to protecting those who suffered because of his drunkenness. This is how Obatala became the protector of those who are born deformed.

The people whom Obatala had created needed food, so they began to work the earth. Since iron did not yet exist, Obatala presented his people with a copper knife and a wooden hoe, which they used to raise grain and yams. Ife slowly turned from a village into a city as the people prospered.

Seeing that his work on earth was done and having grown tired of being the ruler of Ife, Obatala climbed back up the golden chain to the sky.

From that time afterward, he spent half of his time in the sky and half of his time in Ife.

The Woman Who Fell from the Sky

A long time ago human being lived high up in what is now called heaven. They had a great and illustrious chief.

It so happened that this chief's daughter was taken very ill with a strange affliction. All the people were very anxious as to the outcome of her illness. Every known remedy was tried in an attempt to cure her, but none had any effect.

Near the lodge of this chief stood a great tree, which every year bore corn used for food. One of the friends of the chief had a dream in which he was advised to tell the chief that, in order to cure his daughter, he must lay her beside this tree, and that he must have the tree dug up. This advice was carried out to the letter. While the people were at work and the young woman lay there, a young man came along. He was very angry and said: "it is not all right to destroy this tree. Its fruit is all that we have to live on." With this remark he gave the young woman who lay there ill a shove with his foot, causing her to fall into the hole that had been dug.

Now, that hole opened into this world, which was then all water, on which floated waterfowl of many kinds. There was no land at that time. It came to pass that as these waterfowl saw this young woman falling they shouted, "Let us receive her," whereupon they, at least some of them, joined their bodies together, and the young woman fell on this platform of bodies. When these were wearied they asked, "Who will volunteer to care for this woman?" The great Turtle then took her, and when he got tired of holding her, he in turn asked who would take his place. At last the question arose as to what they should do to provide her with a permanent resting place in this world. Finally it was decided to prepare the earth, on which she would live in the future. To do this it was determined soil from the bottom of the primal sea should be brought up and placed on the broad, firm carapace of the Turtle, where it would increase in size to such an extent that it would accommodate all the creatures that should be produced thereafter. After much discussion the toad was finally persuaded to dive to the bottom of the waters in search of soil. Bravely making the attempt, he succeeded in bringing up soil from the depths of the sea. This was carefully spread over the carapace of the Turtle, and at once both began to grow in size and depth.

After the young woman recovered from the illness from which she suffered when she was cast down from the upper world, she built herself a shelter, in which she lived quite contentedly. In the course of time she brought forth a girl baby, who grew rapidly in size and intelligence.

When the daughter had grown to young womanhood, the mother and she were accustomed to go out to dig wild potatoes. Her mother had said to her that in doing this she must face the west at all times. Before long the young daughter gave signs that she was about to become a mother. Her mother reproved her, saying that she had violated the injunction not to face the east, as her condition showed that she had faced the wrong way while digging potatoes. It is said that the breath of the West Wind had entered her person, causing conception. When the days of the delivery were at hand, she overheard twins within her body in a hot debate as to which should be born first and as to the proper place of exit, once declaring that he was going to emerge through the armpit of his mother, the other saying that he would emerge the natural way. The first one born, who was of reddish color, was called Othagwenda, that is, Flint. The outer, who was light in color, was called Djuskaha, tha is, the Little Sprout.

The grandmother of the twins liked Djuskaha and hated the other, so they cast Othagwenda into a hollow

tree some distance from the lodge.

The boy who remained in the lodge grew very rapidly, and soon was able to make himself bows and arrows and to go out to hunt without his bow and arrows. At last he was asked why he had to have a new bow and arrows every morning. He replied that there was a young boy in the hollow tree in the neighborhood who used them. The grandmother inquired where the tree stood, and he told her, whereupon then they went there and brought the other boy home again.

When the boys had grown to man's estate, they decided that it was necessary for them to increase the size of their island, so they agreed to start out together, afterward separating to create forests and lakes and other things. They parted as agreed, Othagwenda going westward and Djuskaha eastward. In the course of time, on returning, they met in their shelter or lodge at night, then agreeing to go the next day to see what each had made. It was found that he had made the country all rocks and full of ledges, and also a mosquito that was very large. Djuskaha asked the mosquito to run, in order that he might see whether the insect could fight. The mosquito ran, and sticking his bill through a sapling, thereby made it fall, at which Djuskaha said, "That will not be right, for you would kill the people who are about to come," So, seizing him, he rubbed him down in his hands, causing him to become very small; then he blew on the mosquito, whereupon he flew away. He also modified some of the other animals his brother had made. After returning to their lodge, they agreed to go the next day to see what Djuskaha had fashioned. One visiting the east the next day, they found that Djuskaha had made a large number of animals which were so fat that they could hardly move, that he had made the sugar-maple trees to drop syrup; that he had made the sycamore tree to bear fine fruit; that the rivers were so formed that half of the water flowed upstream and the other half flowed downstream. Then the reddish-colored brother, Othagwenda, was greatly displeased with what his brother had made, saying that the people who were about to come would live too easily and be too happy. So he shook violently the various animals--the bears, deer and turkeys--causing them to become small at once, a characteristic that attached itself to their descendants. He also caused the sugar maple to drop sweetened water only, and the fruit of the sycamore to become small and useless; and lastly he caused the water of the rivers to flow in only one direction, because the original plan would make it too easy for the human beings who were about to come to navigate the streams.

The inspection of each other's work resulted in a deadly disagreement between the brothers, who finally came to grips and blows, and Othagwenda was killed in the fierce struggle.

Coyote Finishes His Workfrom the Nez Percé tradition, retold by Barry Lopez

From the very beginning, Coyote was traveling around all over the earth. He did many wonderful things when he went along. He killed the monsters and the evil spirits that preyed on the people. He made the Indians, and put them out in tribes all over the world because Old Man Above wanted the earth to be inhabited all over, not just in one or two places.

He gave all the people different names and taught them different languages. This is why Indians live all over the country now and speak in different ways. 

He taught the people how to eat and how to hunt the buffalo and catch eagles. He taught them what roots to eat and how to make a good lodge and what to wear. He taught them how to dance. Sometimes he made mistakes, and even though he was wise and powerful, he did many foolish things. But that was his way. 

Coyote liked to play tricks. He thought about himself all the time, and told everyone he was a great warrior, but he was not. Sometimes he would go too far with some trick and get someone killed. Other times, he would have a trick played on himself by someone else. He got killed this way so many times that Fox and the birds got tired of bringing him back to life. Another way he got in trouble was trying to do what someone else did. This is how he came to be called Imitator. 

Coyote was ugly too. The girls did not like him. But he was smart. He could change himself around and trick the women. Coyote got the girls when he wanted. 

One time, Coyote had done everything he could think of and was traveling from one place to another place, looking for other things that needed to be done. Old Man saw him going along and said to himself, “Coyote has now done almost everything he is capable of doing. His work is almost done. It is time to bring him back to the place where he started.” 

So Great Spirit came down and traveled in the shape of an old man. He met Coyote. Coyote said, “I am Coyote. Who are you?” 

Old Man said, “I am Chief of the earth. It was I who sent you to set the world right.” 

“No,” Coyote said, “you never sent me. I don’t know you. If you are the Chief, take that lake over there and move it to the side of that mountain.” 

“No. If you are Coyote, let me see you do it.” 

Coyote did it. 

“Now, move it back.” 

Coyote tried, but he could not do it. He thought this was strange. He tried again, but he could not do it. 

Chief moved the lake back. 

Coyote said, “Now I know you are the Chief.” 

Old Man said, “Your work is finished, Coyote. You have traveled far and done much good. Now you will go to where I have prepared a home for you.” 

Then Coyote disappeared. Now no one knows where he is anymore. 

Old Man got ready to leave, too. He said to the Indians, “I will send messages to the earth by the spirits of the people who reach me but whose time to die has not yet come. They will carry messages to you from time to time. When their spirits come back into their bodies, they will revive and tell you their experiences. 

“Coyote and myself, we will not be seen again until Earthwoman is very old. Then we shall return to earth, for it will require a change by that time. Coyote will come along first, and when you see him you will know I am coming. When I come along, all the spirits of the dead will be with me. There will be no more Other Side Camp. All the people will live together. Earthmother will go back to her first shape and live as a mother among her children. Then things will be made right.” 

Now they are waiting for Coyote.

from The House Made of Dawnfrom the Navajo tradition, translated by Washington Matthews

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In Tsegihi, In the house made of dawn, In the house made of evening twilight, In the house made of dark cloud, In the house made of male rain, In the house made of dark mist, In the house made of female rain, In the house made of pollen, In the house made of grasshoppers, Where the dark mist curtains the doorway, The path to which is on the rainbow, Where the zigzag lightning stands on top, Where the he-rain stands high on top, Oh, male divinity! With your moccasins of dark cloud, come to us. . . . I have made your sacrifice. I have prepared a smoke for you. My feet restore for me. My limbs restore for me. My body restore for me. My mind restore for me. My voice restore for me. . . . Happily I recover. Happily my interior grows cool. Happily my limbs regain their power. Happily my head becomes cool. Happily I hear again. Happily I walk. Impervious to pain, I walk. Feeling light within, I walk. With lively feelings, I walk. . . . 

Early Colonial Literature

Verses upon the Burning of our House, July 10th, 1666Anne Bradstreet

Here Follows Some Verses Upon the Burning of Our House, July 10th. 1666. Copied Out of a Loose Paper. In silent night when rest I took,For sorrow near I did not look,I wakened was with thund’ring noiseAnd piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,”Let no man know is my Desire.I, starting up, the light did spy,And to my God my heart did cryTo straighten me in my DistressAnd not to leave me succourless.Then, coming out, behold a spaceThe flame consume my dwelling place.And when I could no longer look,I blest His name that gave and took,That laid my goods now in the dust.Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.It was his own, it was not mine,Far be it that I should repine;He might of all justly bereftBut yet sufficient for us left.When by the ruins oft I pastMy sorrowing eyes aside did castAnd here and there the places spyWhere oft I sate and long did lie.Here stood that trunk, and there that chest,There lay that store I counted best.My pleasant things in ashes lieAnd them behold no more shall I.Under thy roof no guest shall sit,Nor at thy Table eat a bit.No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be toldNor things recounted done of old.

No Candle e'er shall shine in Thee,Nor bridegroom‘s voice e'er heard shall be.In silence ever shalt thou lie,Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,And did thy wealth on earth abide?Didst fix thy hope on mould'ring dust?The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?Raise up thy thoughts above the skyThat dunghill mists away may fly.Thou hast a house on high erectFrameed by that mighty Architect,With glory richly furnished,Stands permanent though this be fled.It‘s purchased and paid for tooBy Him who hath enough to do.A price so vast as is unknown,Yet by His gift is made thine own;There‘s wealth enough, I need no more,Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store.The world no longer let me love,My hope and treasure lies above.

To My Dear and Loving HusbandAnne Bradstreet

If ever two were one, then surely we.If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.If ever wife was happy in a man,Compare with me, ye women, if you can.I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,Or all the riches that the East doth hold.My love is such that rivers cannot quench,Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.Thy love is such I can no way repay;The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let’s so persevere,That when we live no more, we may live ever.Excerpt from “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”Sermon by Jonathan Edwards

-Their foot shall slide in due time- Deut. 32:35 So that, thus it is that natural men are held in the hand of God, over the pit of hell; they have deserved the fiery pit, and are already sentenced to it; and God is dreadfully provoked, his anger is as great towards them as to those that are actually suffering the executions of the fierceness of his wrath in hell, and they have done nothing in the least to appease or abate that anger, neither is God in the least bound by any promise to hold them up one moment; the devil is waiting for them, hell is gaping for them, the flames gather and flash about them, and would fain lay hold on them, and swallow them up; the fire pent up in their own hearts is struggling to break out: and they have no interest in any Mediator, there are no means within reach that can be any security to them. In short, they have no refuge, nothing to take hold of, all that preserves them every moment is the mere arbitrary will, and uncovenanted, unobliged forbearance of an incensed God.

The use of this awful subject may be for awakening unconverted persons in this congregation. This that you have heard is the case of every one of you that are out of Christ.-That world of misery, that lake of burning brimstone, is extended abroad under you. There is the dreadful pit of the glowing flames of the wrath of God; there is hell's wide gaping mouth open; and you have nothing to stand upon, nor any thing to take hold of, there is nothing between you and hell but the air; it is only the power and mere pleasure of God that holds you up.

You probably are not sensible of this; you find you are kept out of hell, but do not see the hand of God in it; but look at other things, as the good state of your bodily constitution, your care of your own life, and the means you use for your own preservation. But indeed these things are nothing; if God should withdraw his band, they would avail no more to keep you from falling, than the thin air to hold up a person that is suspended in it.

Your wickedness makes you as it were heavy as lead, and to tend downwards with great weight and pressure towards hell; and if God should let you go, you would immediately sink and swiftly descend and plunge into the bottomless gulf, and your healthy constitution, and your own care and prudence, and best contrivance, and all your righteousness, would have no more influence to uphold you and keep you out of hell, than a spider's web would have to stop a falling rock. . .

Half-Hanged MaryBy Margaret Atwood

("Half-hanged Mary" was Mary Webster, who was accused of witchcraft in the 1680's in a Puritan town in Massachusetts and hanged from a tree - where, according to one of the several surviving accounts, she was left all night. It is known that when she was cutdown she was still alive, since she lived for another fourteen years.)

Rumourwaslooseintheairhunting for some neck to land on.I wasmilkingthecow,the barn door open to the sunset.

I didn't feel the aimed wordhitand go in like a soft bullet.I didn't feel the smashed fleshclosing over it like waterover a thrown stone.

I was hanged for living alonefor having blue eyes and a sunburned skin,tattered skirts, few buttons,a weedy farm in my own name,and a surefire cure for warts;

Oh yes, and breasts,and a sweet pear hidden in my body.Whenever there's talk of demonsthese come in handy.

8pmThe rope was an improvisation.With time they'd have thought of axes.Up I go like a windfall in reverse,a blackened apple stuck back onto the tree.

Trussed hands, rag in my mouth,a flag raised to salute the moon,old bone-faced goddess, old original,who once took blood in return for food.

The men of the town stalk homeward,excited by their show of hate,their own evil turned inside out like a glove,and me wearing it.

9pmThe bonnets come to stare,the dark skirts also,the upturned faces in between,mouths closed so tight they're lipless.I can see down into their eyeholesand nostrils. I can see their fear.

You were my friend, you too.I cured your baby, Mrs.,and flushed yours out of you,Non-wife, to save your life.

Help me down? You don't dare.I might rub off on you,like soot or gossip. Birdsof a feather burn together,though as a rule ravens are singular.

In a gathering like this onethe safe place is the background,pretending you can't dance,the safe stance pointing a finger.

I understand. You can't spareanything, a hand, a piece of bread, a shawlagainst the cold,a good word. Lordknows there isn't muchto go around. You need it all.

10pmWell God, now that I'm up herewith maybe some time to killaway from the dailyfingerwork, legwork, workat the hen level,we can continue our quarrel,the one about free will.

Is it my choice that I'm danglinglike a turkey's wattles from thismore than indifferent tree?If Nature is Your alphabet,what letter is this rope?

Does my twisting body spell out Grace?I hurt, therefore I am.Faith, Charity, and Hopeare three dead angelsfalling like meteors orburning owls acrossthe profound blank sky of Your face.

12midnightMy throat is taut against the ropeChoking off words and air;I'm reduced to knotted muscle.Blood bulges in my skull,my clenched teeth hold it in;I bite down on despair

Death sits on my shoulder like a crowwaiting for my squeezed beetof a heart to burstso he can eat my eyes

or like a judgemuttering about sluts and punishmentand licking his lips

or like a dark angelinsidious in his glossy featherswhispering to me to be easyon myself. To breathe out finally.Trust me, he says, caressingme. Why suffer?

A temptation, to sink downInto these definitions.To become a martyr in reverse,or food, or trash.

To give up my own words for myself,my own refusals. To give up knowing.To give up pain.To let go.

2amOut of my mouth is coming, at somedistance from me, a thin gnawing soundwhich you could confuse with prayer except that

praying is not constrained.

Or is it, Lord?Maybe it's more like being strangledthan I once thought. Maybe it'sa gasp for air, prayer.Did those men at Pentecostwant flames to shoot out of their heads?Did they ask to be tossedon the ground, gabbling like holy poultry,eyeballs bulging?

As mine are, as mine are.There is onlyone prayer; it is notthe knees in the clean nightgownon the hooked rugI want this, I want that.Oh far beyond.Call it Please. Call it Mercy.Call it Not yet, not yet,as Heaven threatens to explodeinwards in fire and shredded flesh, and the angels caw.

3amWind seethes in the leaves aroundme the tree exude nightbirds night birds yell insidemy ears like stabbed hearts my heartstutters in my fluttering clothbody I dangle with strengthgoing out of me the wind seethesin my body tatteringthe words I clenchmy fists hold Notalisman or silver disc my lungsflail as if drowning I callon you as witness I didno crime I was born I have borne Ibear I will be born this isa crime I will notacknowledge leaves and windhold onto meI will not give in

6amSun comes up, huge and blaring,no longer a simile for God.

Wrong address. I've been out there.

Time is relative, let me tell youI have lived a millennium.

I would like to say my hair turned whiteovernight, but it didn't.Instead it was my heart:bleached out like meat in water.

Also, I'm about three inches taller.This is what happens when you drift in spaceListening to the gospelof the red-hot stars.Pinpoints of infinity riddle my brain,a revelation of deafness.

At the end of my ropeI testify to silence.Don't say I'm not grateful.Most will have only one death.I will have two.

8amWhen they came to harvest my corpse(open your mouth, close your eyes)cut my body from the rope,

surprise, surprise:I was still alive.

Tough luck, folks,I know the law:you can't execute me twicefor the same thing. How nice.

I fell to the clover, breathed it in,and bared my teeth at themin a filthy grin.Youcanimaginehowthatwentover.

Now I only need to lookout at them through my sky-blue eyes.They see their own ill willstaring them in the foreheadand turn tail

Before, I was not a witch.But now I am one.

Later

My body of skin waxes and wanesaround my true body,a tender nimbus.I skitter over the paths and fieldsmumbling to myself like crazy,mouth full of juicy adjectivesand purple berries.The townsfolk dive headfirst into the bushesto get out of my way.

My first death orbits my head,an ambiguous nimbus,medallion of my ordeal.No one crosses that circle.

Having been hanged for somethingI never said,I can now say anything I can say.

Holiness gleams on my dirty fingers,I eat flowers and dung,two forms of the same thing, I eat miceand give thanks, blasphemiesgleam and burst in my wakelike lovely bubbles.I speak in tongues,my audience is owls.

My audience is God,because who the hell else could understand me?Who else has been dead twice?

The words boil out of me,coil after coil of sinuous possibility.The cosmos unravels from my mouth,All fullness, all vacancy.