Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PLUMAGE OF THE FLOWERS, by HANIEL (CLARK) LONG


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PLUMAGE OF THE FLOWERS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Tetlapan as a poet carried
Last Line: "face-down in crimson dew."
Subject(s): Mary. Mother Of Jesus; Mexico; Women In The Bible; Virgin Mary


Tetlapan as a poet carried
The lad to the gardens of the sky,
But as a warrior he taught him to praise
The flower that makes men die.

"You have taught me the harp and the battle-shield,
And my heart bleeds; Lord, is it right --
The young men yonder with xilo buds --
To lure them into the night?"

Tetlapan fitted a frontlet of feathers
And polished a song blue as turquoise:
Life was but lent us; how could he find
A way to save the boys?

To-morrow at Palpan, amid the colors,
In the light of dawn a night's march north,
The Aztec had ordered his men to bear
The flower of battle forth.

"The frontlets of feathers, the flowery shields --
Master, you know they will open in vain."
His lord reproved him: "Have I not grieved
To see the young moons wane?"

"The youths, the jewels, will be destroyed.
Master, something is breaking my heart."
His lord reproved him: "Have I desired
To rend my Self apart?"

That night the warriors stole to the north.
"Master, I hear a woman crying."
"What says the woman?" "Alas, alas,
That my flowers might cease from dying."

The night was blacker than jet of raven.
"You shiver, child; what makes you afraid?"
"This woman is weeping for Cactus-Blossom,
Is weeping for Gleam-of-Jade."

"Stop: enter the brush and call her."
The young man faded in earth and sky.
"What comes, child?" "The plumage of flowers,
The wings of a butterfly."

"Only one woman is plumage of flowers,"
Tetlapan muttered. "Naught can be mine
If the Person of Beauty is following us.
Lad, get me a sign."

The young man changed. He went farther away.
"Master, she leads me I know not where:
O master, I feel an obsidian
Butterfly in her hair."

It was Her sign. Said the startled king,
"I'll weave her a garland for her brow --"
"Nay, she says that your buds have withered,
And no one attires her now."

The lad moved farther in the dark.
But the goddess spake to them out of the deep,
And her whisper was like the smoke of petals
Which makes men fall asleep:

"Hark to a bird. It sings by a river;
Sings to me, to the Butterfly.
Make a new flute and follow the bird
And live, and do not die."

"Tell her I promise that after to-morrow
I shed no blood!" But the answer grew
As faint as breath: "She sees you at Palpan,
Face-down in crimson dew."





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