Posts filed under ‘.Mexico’
Aztec Poem
HUNGRY-COYOTE (NEZAHUALCOYOTL)
King of Texcoco (1403-72)
The earth shakes: the Mexica [Aztec] begins his song:
He makes the Eagles and Ocelots dance with him!
Come to see the Huexotzinca:On the dais of the Eagle he shouts out,
Loudly cries the Mexica.The battlefield is the place: where one toasts the divine liquor in war,
where are stained red the divine eagles,
where the tigers howl,
where all kinds of precious stones rain from ornaments,
where wave headdresses rich with fine plumes,
where princes are smashed to bits.There is nothing like death in war,
nothing like the flowery death
so precious to Him who gives life:
far off I see it: my heart yearns for it!And they called it Teotihulcan
because it was the place
where the lords were buried.
Thus they said:‘When we die,
truly we die not,
because we will live, we will rise,
we will continue living, we will awaken
This will make us happy.’Thus the dead one was directed,
when he died:‘Awaken, already the sky is rosy,
already dawn has come,
already sing the flame-coloured guans,
the fire-coloured swallows,
already the butterflies fly.’Thus the old ones said
that who has died has become a god,
they said: ‘He has been made a god there,
meaning ‘He has died.’Even jade is shattered,
Even gold is crushed,
Even quetzal plume are torn . . .
One does not live forever on this earth:
We endure only for an instant!Will flowers be carried to the Kingdom of Death:
Is it true that we are going, we are going?
Where are we going, ay, where are we going?
Will we be dead there or will we live yet?
Does one exist again?Perhaps we will live a second time?
Thy heart knows:
Just once do we live!.
Like a quetzal plume, a fragrant flower,
friendship sparkles:
like heron plumes, it weaves itself into finery.Our song is a bird calling out like a jingle:
how beautiful you make it sound!
Here, among flowers that enclose us,
among flowery boughs you are singing.All the earth is a grave and nothing escapes it, nothing is so perfect
that it does not descend to its tomb. Rivers, rivulets, fountains and
waters flow, but never return to their joyful beginnings; anxiously
they hasten on the vast realms of the rain god. As they widen their
banks, they also fashion the sad urn of their burial.Filled are the bowels of the earth with pestilential dust once flesh and bone,
Indigenous Peoples’ Literature
once animate bodies of man who sat upon thrones, decided cases, presided in
council, commanded armies, conquered provinces, possessed treasure, destroyed
temples, exulted in their pride, majesty, fortune, praise and power. Vanished
are these glories, just as the fearful smoke vanishes that belches forth from
the infernal fires of Popocatepetl. Nothing recalls them but the written page.
XKAN-XOC, THE FOREST BIRD
There was a time when the wrath of the Rain God was over the land. He had sent the dry wind to work his will and all the country of the Mayas lay parching and dying. The leaves of vines and shrubs and trees first twisted and contorted in their agony of thirst and then crumbled away. The black earth turned to dust, blown about by the winds, and the red earth was baked as hard as the tiles in the roadway. The old men, wise with the knowledge of years and many famines, and whose ears knew the inner meaning of small sounds which most people think insignificant, said that the deep earth cried out and groaned in its hot anguish.
The ah-kin, priest of the Rain God, who lived at the verge of the Sacred Well, told his people that the mighty God of Rain was displeased because more copal incense had not been burned at his shrine, and that he must be appeased at once or no corn, no beans, no peppers would grow in the whole land.
A new maid must be sent to him, one so beautiful that he would wish to keep her as his bride and his gratitude would be shown by gentle and frequent rains that would revive the dying maize. 164The mortal messenger must be the loveliest virgin in all the country, without a flaw, absolutely without the slightest blemish on any part of her body. Her voice must be as sweet as that of Xkoke, the wood-thrush, so that the sound of it as she spoke to the god in behalf of her people might be as music to his ears.
The great and wise men met in council,—the king, the lords, the priests, the mighty warriors,—and picked men, hundreds of them, were sent to comb the country-side and the cities and the depths of the forest to find a fitting bride for the god. There was not a maid in Yucatan or even in lands far to the south upon whose face one or another of these ambassadors would not look. And only a few maidens, those of surpassing beauty, would be sent to the sacred city for the ceremony of the choosing.
From the humble house of her father in the depths of the Tiger Forest came Xkan-xoc, carried swiftly on a flower-decked litter, borne by strong young men, the sons of nobles. Garlands of flowers and sweet-scented herbs shaded her from the heat of the sun. Her thirst was quenched with the milk of new corn and wild honey. Her food was especially prepared by the vestal virgins of the temple.
And upon the day of the choosing her pic and huipile were made of shining, soft tree-cotton, lustrous as the wings of a sea-bird, that clung to her slender gracefulness. Glinting green stones hung pendent from her ears, while about the lovely slender column of her neck were entwined many small fretted chains of gleaming sun metal. Her eyes were big and dark like those of a fawn; her voice as soft and sweet as the dawn breeze swaying the fronds of the cocoyal palm or ruffling the petals of the hibiscus flower. Tiny sandals of softest doeskin covered her feet as she was led to the temple to be prepared for the sacrifice.
The high priest donned his vestments, the lesser priests brought rich votive offerings and baskets of incense, both copal and rubber. The king and his guard of noble hul-che bearers took their stations and all the people of the city gathered at the edge of the Well.
The first dulcet tones of the sacred flute were heard from the 165temple of Kukul Can at the far end of the Sacred Way and the shrilling of the sacred whistles joined with the flutes and the reverberating boom of the tunkul, the sacred drum. A sudden silence, a strange ominous stillness—then was heard from the depths of the temple the wailing of all the white-robed virgins. And swiftly the news traveled. Xkan-xoc cannot be sent as the messenger to the Rain God, for, in preparing her for the ceremony, the vestal virgins have discovered a tiny mole or birthmark upon her breast, which had been overlooked previously.
The ceremony stopped and the people dispersed with heavy hearts, for Xkan-xoc might not be sent to the Rain God, and beside her all other beautiful maidens seemed unlovely. Another maid must be selected for the sacrifice and how might the Rain God be moved by a bride, however lovely, after seeing the divinely fair Xkan-xoc?
The City of the Sacred Well, by T. A. WILLARD
Lotería
A pastime, delightful—
Chips, cards, and a table.
The riddles insightful,
the future, unstable! What is it?
Peregrina: Love and Death in Mexico
The tragic love story of Alma Reed and Felipe Carrillo
In the Yucatan, they never forgot Alma Reed. She arrived for the first time in 1923, on assignment for the New York Times Sunday Magazine to cover an archaeological survey of Mayan ruins. It was a contemporary Maya, however, who stole her heart. Felipe Carrillo Puerto, said to be descended from Mayan kings, had recently been elected governor of the Yucatan on a platform emphasizing egalitarian reforms and indigenous rights. The entrenched aristocracy was enraged; Reed was infatuated-as was Carrillo Puerto. He and Reed were engaged within months. Yet less than a year later-only eleven days before their intended wedding-Carrillo Puerto was assassinated. He had earned his place in the history books, but Reed had won a place in the hearts of Mexicans: the bolero “La Peregrina” remains one of the Yucatan’s most famous ballads.
PEREGRINA
(Ricardo Palmerín/Luis Rosado Vega)
Peregrina de ojos claros y divinos
y mejillas encendidas de arrebol,
mujercita de los labios purpurinos
y radiante cabellera como el sol.
Peregrina que dejaste tus lugares,
los abetos y la nieve y la nieve virginal
y veniste a refugiarte en mis palmares
bajo el cielo de mi tierra, de mi tierra tropical.
Las canoras avecillas de mis prados,
por cantarte dan sus trinos si te ven
y las flores de nectarios perfumados,
te acarician en los labios, en los labios y en la sien.
Cuando dejes mis palmeras y mi tierra,
Peregrina del semblante encantador:
No te olvides, no te olvides de mi tierra,
no te olvides, no te olvides de mi amor.
Las canoras avecillas de mis prados,
por cantarte dan sus trinos si te ven
y las flores de nectarios perfumados,
te acarician en los labios, en los labios y en la sien.
Cuando dejes mis palmares y mi tierra,
Peregrina de semblante encantador:
No te olvides, no te olvides de mi tierra,
no te olvides, no te olvides de mi amor.
The Legend of the Cempasúchil Flower
The Legend of the Cempasuchil Flower
The Day of the Dead Flower
This wonderful love story began when the two young Aztecs were still little. They used to spend all their spare time playing and enjoying discovering their town together. Although Xochitl was a delicate girl, her family let her join in the adventures of her neighbor Huitzilin. With time, it was only natural that their love would flourish.
They particularly enjoyed hiking to the top of a near mountain where they would offer flowers to the Sun god Tonatiuh. The god seemed to appreciate their offering and would smile from the sky with his warm rays. On a particularly beautiful day at the top of the mountain, they swore that their love would last for ever.
When war broke out the lovers were separated as Huitzilin headed to fight and protect their homeland.
Soon the dreaded news of Huitzilin‘s death reached Xóchitl. She felt her world falling to pieces, her heart completely torn.
She decided to walk one last time to the top of the mountain and implore the sun god Tonatiuh, to somehow join her with her love Huitzilin. The sun moved by her prayers threw a ray that gently touched the young girl’s cheek. Instantly she turned into a beautiful flower of fiery colors as intense at the sun rays.
Suddenly a hummingbird lovingly touched the center of the flower with its beak.
It was Huitzilin that was reborn as a handsome hummingbird. The flower gently opened its 20 petals, filling the air with a mysterious and lovely scent.
The lovers would be always together as long as cempasuchil flowers and hummingbirds existed on earth.
This is how the cempasúchil flower came to be the Day of the Dead Flower.
Rabbit on the Moon
Long ago, the gods tried four times to get the Sun in the sky but each time the Sun disappeared. All the world was cold and in darkness. The Aztec gods came together and tried to think of a way to get the Sun to stay in the sky.
One of the gods said, “We must build a big fire and one of us must throw ourselves into the fire. Well, they all thought it was good idea — for someone else.
Finally a god named Tecuiziztecatl said, “Yo lo hare, I will do it, yo so poderoso, I am powerful.
Then Nanahautzin was chosen. He said, “Yo no soy poderosa. I am not powerful. It is true that I have been sick and my body is covered with sores but I am a good man.”
So the gods built a huge fire and danced and drummed around the fire for four days and nights. On the fourth night, all the gods arranged themselves into two lines. Tecuiziztecatl was chosen first. He ran toward the fire but when he got to it, he stopped. Then he looked around and said, “Tengo miedo. I am afraid.” This happened three more times.
Then it was Nanahuatzin’s turn. He stood at the beginning of the lines, determined. He ran down between the gods and when he got to the edge, he jumped into the fire with a shout of joy. He went into the sky and became the Sun. Tecuiziztecatl was so ashamed that he too leaped into the fire and another huge flaming Sun was in the sky.
The gods looked up and said, “Ah, this is good. Now we have two Suns.” One of the gods said, “Wait, Tecuitziztecatl has no right to shine as bright as brave Nanahautizin!”
The god picked up a round-eared rabbit and threw it at Tecuitziztecatl. It went flying, spinning across the sky and landed hard against him and knocked some of the light from him. Tecuiziztecatl became the Moon, la luna. Nanahautzin became the Sun, la sol.
When there is a full Moon, an outline of the rabbit the god threw that night can still be seen.
Monarch Butterflies
The Monarch: Saving Our Most-Loved Butterfly
Every fall, spectacular orange and black clouds of monarch butterflies fill the skies as they migrate from across North America to Central Mexico. West Coast populations make a similar though much shorter trip to coastal California. The National Wildlife Federation calls the monarch migration “one of the greatest natural phenomena in the insect world.” Not long ago, monarchs numbered in the billions, but in the last 20 years their population has dropped by 90%, due to habitat loss from pesticides, modern farming practices, urban development and other human activity. An estimated one million acres of habitat are lost each year.
But today, an army of citizen scientists, students and gardeners is engaged in restoring this beloved pollinator’s habitat – the wildflowers and milkweed and feeding corridors – so that one of nature’s most beautiful creatures will still be there for generations to come. And it starts in our own backyards.
The Monarch showcases this magnificent butterfly with eye-popping photos, fun facts about a monarch’s life cycle, and things to know about the vital role that pollinators play in our ecosystem. Monarch enthusiast and nature blogger Kylee Baumle provides “action” projects for all ages, from planting milkweed and wildflowers to making butterfly watering stations…to volunteer activism.
Teotihuacan Treasure Trove
de Young Hosts Recently Discovered Treasure Trove in ‘Teotihuacan’
Pre-Hispanic City of Teotihuacán
68voces: The Fireflies that Embellish the Trees
Matlatzinca. Las luciérnagas que embellecen los árboles from Hola Combo on Vimeo.
Mi grandfather used to tell me that, when rain season started in June, fireflies arrived with it.
They made the trees happy so people’s hearts also shined.
All of this during Saint Peter’s Day.
The chimer rang the church’s bell loudly while the fireflies, lead by torches, arrived to to the trees to make them happy with their little lights. Trees forgot about sadness and beard fruit.
The people in town kept singing until torches were extinguished or fireflies stopped shinning.
Then the night was dark but the trees were healed.
Now, the absence of the chants and ocotes has made the trees sad again, but it’s our job to light the torches again, sing to Saint Peter and make our hearts shine along the fireflies to make the trees happy again.
TheKittyCats 