The Birth of The Rain Maiden

Last year, I taught and read through The Song of Hiawatha with my American literature class. I found Longfellow's poem to be absolutely enchanting, and it got me interested in Native American mythology. After doing some reading about the traditions of the Natives in Alaska and the Pacific Northwest, I decided to write my own, Native American inspired poem. Here is chapter 1 of "Legends of the Rain Maiden," a work which I eventually plan to have 12 chapters. The maiden's name, "Yah'tlei" means something like "gentle sky" in the Tlingit language (spoken by tribes in what is now southeastern Alaska and British Columbia).

Chapter 1: The Birth of Yah’tlei

You shall hear the tale of Yah’tlei,

Even she, the red Rain Maiden,

Who in ancient days went dancing

In the mist of distant mountains,

In the hidden hearts of rivers,

Who would swirl among the cedars

Where the rain was heard by no man.

Daughter of Khu’tan, the Thunder,

Thunderbird, Khu’tan the Lightning,

How unlike unto her father

Was my Yah’tlei, water maiden!

As the playful breeze of springtime

To the blasting storms of winter,

As the gentle raindrops falling

To the angry clouds that cast them,

So was Yah'tlei to her father.

Great Khu'tan was a whale hunter;

On the violent sea he hunted;

The leviathan his claws took,

Took away to gnashing mountains,

And the braves of old revered him.

But his daughter would have nothing

Of his storms or of his hunting;

For the healing rains of autumn

Were the heart’s delight of Yah’tlei,

When she danced among the maples

And the mushrooms of the forest,

When she danced upon the rivers,

Rivers thick with throngs of salmon;

And the women then would whisper,

“Now abroad walks the Rain Maiden.”

How then came such variation?

Princess of the falling raindrops

From the king of deadly whirlwinds?

Elder shamans, vision-keepers

Have revealed to me this secret,

Have made known to me the mystery,

And to you I thus impart it.

Great Khu'tan was a whale hunter;

On the violent sea he hunted,

Made the greatest creatures fear him;

Far and wide they fled and feared him;

But there was within the ocean

One Khu'tan could never master:

Ancient beast, the roaring sea-wolf,

Gonakadet, the black sea-wolf.

Often strove these god-like powers,

Shook the shoreline in their contests,

Made the sea slide back in terror:

Thunderbird and Gonakadet,

Great Khu'tan against the sea-wolf

In the days now far forgotten,

In the wilderness of waters,

In a universe of darkness.

In such darkness, say the sages

Came one battle ten times fiercer,

Came one struggle ten times stronger,

When Khu’tan dove, talons flashing

In the light of hectic thunders,

Gonakadet, rising answered,

Heaved his fangs high o'er the black waves,

Heaved his sides high o’er the sea foam,

In the light of burning thunders.

Wingbeats burst against ocean

Churning waves like walls of mountains,

While the roaring of the sea-wolf

Sounded like a thousand cedars

Crashing down beneath the north wind,

Sounded like a thousand pine trees

When they crack in winter's grasping.

Rows of shields had Gonakadet,

On his sides, like polished cedar;

These Khu'tan's claws could not master

Could but scratch, and never sunder.

Still Khu'tan dove down like lightning

Still he shrieked his deadly war cry,

Still his eyes, ablaze like embers

Darted fire at his rival.

Seven days the powers battled,

Battled in the churning deepness,

Lit alone by hectic thunders;

Seven days without a sunrise,

Without moon or stars to light them

Seven days of seething conflict

Lit alone by burning thunders.

Hark! They rush upon each other–

Now the talons of Khu’tan come

Clutching, clasping, gripping, grasping,

Now the teeth of Gonakadet

Rise and tear the sailing pinions-

Tear at Thunderbird’s proud pinions.

And at once, there comes from heaven

Shafts of light which pierce the stormclouds

Spears of light which strike beneath them,

As when arrows of a warrior

Strike the heart of bear or roebuck,

As when arrows strike the foeman,

And the fear of death comes swiftly.

Now behold, the conflict shatters

And the deities are parted!

As if planets had collided,

And their spheres had scattered outward,

So the deities were parted

By a sudden wind of power,

By a wind which blew them backwards,

All disordered and defeated

While the arrows of the sunlight

Pierced the clouds and made them nothing.

Seven days the gods had battled,

Battled in the churning deepness,

But eight day dawned in silence,

Dawned with neither wind nor thunder;

For Khu’tan and Gonakadet

Each departed swift and silent,

To their own domains retreated:

Tallest peaks and deepest oceans.

And for all those seven war-days

Which so tumbled earth and heaven,

Just one trace was left remaining,

Just one sign upon the sea foam;

Floating gently on the sea foam,

Underneath the blue sky, empty.

For the sign of seven war-days,

There remained upon the water,

One lost feather from Khu’tan’s wing,

Even Thunderbird’s lost pinion,

Torn by Gonakadet’s biting,

In the fury of his frenzy,

Floating gently on the sea foam,

Underneath the blue sky, empty.

And the sunlight, falling lightly,

Touched the tip of Khu’tan’s feather

As it played upon the ocean,

Lit the plume of Khu’tan’s pinion,

As it shown upon the waters,

And the feather burned like lightning,

Sent up steam like sea grass kindled,

Or a kettle hot and smoking;

And behold, in such smoke rising

Awoke Yah’tlei, the Rain Maiden,

Daughter of Khu’tan, the Thunder,

Thunderbird, Khu’tan the Lightning.

She arose in shining raiment,

Streaked with crimson, gold, and azure,

As if feathers from all songbirds

Interlaced with light to clothe her,

As if sun and water woven,

Made a coat upon her shoulders.

Up away above the sea foam

Into mist and into cloud ascending,

Ever rising, ever dancing,

Like a daytime comet rose she,

Like a brilliant bird of morning,

One whose call was sudden laughter,

One whose sighting brought good fortune.

Thus was Yah’tlei of Khu’tan born

In the ancient days unheard of,

From the feather of her father,

In the days before the first tribes

Knew of totems or of writing,

In the days of silent sunlight,

When the rain was heard by no man.

To this day, when sunlight rises

Streaking gold upon the ocean,

Men still say “Tis Khu'tan's feather

From which rose the maiden, Yah’tlei.

Tis her cradle that you see there

Floating in the endless ocean.”