In the Trail of the Wind: American Indian Poems and Ritual Orations

by John Bierhorst (Editor)

An ALA Notable Book A story—and history—reaching back thousands of years unfolds in this diverse and unusual collection of Native American poetry, which gathers dozens of works that have been translated from over forty languages. Representing all the best-known Indian peoples of North and South America, In the Trail of the Wind is a cross-cultural anthology—the first of its kind—that brings into focus the similarities between tribes as widely separated as the Sioux and the Aztec, the Cherokee and the ancient Maya. Here we find an array of omens, battle songs, orations, love lyrics, prayers, dreams, and mysteries incantations. Beginning with the origin of the earth and the emergence of humanity, the sequence of poems proceeds through that rituals of birth, love, war, and death to the foreshadowing of the Conquest, the days of despair, and, finally, the apocalyptic visions of a new life. Editor John Bierhorst also offers a detailed Introduction; a richly thorough Notes section on the translators, meanings, contexts, and specific references of these poems; and a complete Glossary of Tribes, Cultures, and Languages. In the Trail of the Wind concludes with a Suggestions for Further Reading page.

Genres: Poetry, Collections, Native American

224 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1971

About the author

John Bierhorst is the author, editor, or translator of more than thirty books on Native American lore, including Latin American Folktales, The Mythology of South America, The Mythology of North America, and The Mythology of Mexico and Central America.

Reviews

[Julie]

This is a disappointingly beautiful offering. Drawn from Indigenous peoples across the Americas, the collection contains poems, songs, prayers, chants, and ritual orations that are often haunting and memorable. Unfortunately, they're presented with so little supporting information that many feel detached from the traditions that gave them meaning. Who spoke them? Under what circumstances? What role did they play in the lives of the people who preserved them? Bierhorst never says. At most, we're given a broad cultural designation — Maya, Aztec, Navajo — and then left to fend for ourselves.

I also found myself questioning the translations. Material from dozens of languages is gathered here, yet there is little discussion of how these pieces arrived in English. Much of the language feels distinctly colonial in tone, leaving me to wonder where the original voice ends and the translator's begins. Faced with page after page of unattributed translations and little supporting information, I found it difficult to assess either their reliability or their authenticity. Rather than illuminating Indigenous traditions, the book often left me feeling I was looking at them through several layers of dirty glass. What should have been a rich exploration of those voices became, for me, a deeply unsatisfying reading experience.

Context is everything.

I found this book among my husband's shelves. He bought it in Ann Arbor in 198-, when we were still new-new-new to each other. The funny thing is that he hated poetry. Hated it. Which leaves me wondering what on earth possessed him to buy this particular book.

He was an archaeologist. He spent his life recovering stories from fragments. A potsherd, a stone tool, a scatter of bones — none of these meant much on their own. Meaning came from context. Meaning came from provenance. The object was only the beginning; the real work lay in reconstructing the story around it.

Which makes this book such a puzzle.

Not only did he dislike poetry, but this anthology is built around exactly the sort of missing provenance that would have infuriated him. Yet he bought it. More than that, he kept it. The flyleaf bears his name, the date, and the place of purchase. It wasn't a gift. It was a deliberate choice. And while a book can be bought on impulse, it isn't usually kept for forty-odd years by accident.

That is the mystery I am left with.

Somewhere in Ann Arbor in 198-, something about this book caught his attention. Maybe it was the Indigenous material. Maybe it connected to a research interest. Maybe he intended to read it and never did. Maybe he found something in it that I have entirely missed. I don't know. The voice that could have answered those questions is gone.

The irony wasn't lost on me. Throughout this anthology I found myself frustrated by the absence of background and provenance, wishing for the stories behind the words. Yet by the end, I realized I was doing exactly what my husband would have done. I was trying to reconstruct a story from the surviving evidence. A date on a flyleaf. A place. A signature. A book that seems entirely out of character. Trace by trace, clue by clue, I found myself digging.

In the end, Bierhorst's greatest failure may be that he leaves the reader with more questions than answers. The voices gathered here deserve their stories, their histories, and their provenance. Context is not merely an academic luxury; it is what transforms traces into meaning.

Perhaps that is what bothered me most. Not the poems themselves, nor even the translations, but the sense of standing before something that once possessed a fuller meaning and knowing that much of it has been lost. The people behind these voices are gone. The ceremonies, occasions, and circumstances that gave rise to many of these words are gone. What remains are only faint echoes.

And so I am left with two mysteries. One sits between the covers of this book. The other sits on its flyleaf. Both ask the same thing of me: to reconstruct a story from incomplete evidence. My husband would have understood that impulse. He built a career around it. But he also understood that some answers remain stubbornly beyond our reach.

The thoughts behind his purchase remain tantalizingly out of focus—maddening, annoying, impossible to recover with certainty. Like so much of what Bierhorst presents here, they survive only as traces. Nothing remains except a faint trail in the wind.

[R.A. · Rating 4 out of 5]

for the Read Harder task: a collection of poetry in translation on a theme other than love

[Elisabeth · Rating 3 out of 5]

Much was lost in translation, but this book gives excellent visibility to the artistry of many different people groups.

[Katherine]

"In the Trail of the Wind" is, strictly speaking, a book of poetry, with far too little supplemental information for a curious reader interested in the history and context of these songs and poems. The poems and orations are presented in English and by translation only; the original language is not included on the page. Below each poem/oration Bierhorst lists the tribe who produced each work. The introduction makes it clear that many of these poems have been translated "freely;" however, you would only know that by consulting the endnotes for each individual poem.

It's difficult to be pleased by Beirhorst's decision to place relevant and helpful information, like the names of the translators (only some are Beirhorst's translations) and the date translated/published, in the endnotes. Had he presented each poem with a paragraph description relating the salient details, when and where this poem or song was heard and written down, "In the Trail of the Wind" would be a more interesting and informative read. I hope that the translation's original publication (before being collected in Bierhost's book) gives the name of the person who sang the songs, recited the poems and repeated the prophecies. Their names should be on the page too. Personally, not even including the name of the translator on the page (or any other information) is very strange in any collection, let alone in a book consisting only of translations. All in all, the format chosen makes it a much less interesting book, poetry simply presented, but these works are historical works that should to be rooted in their respective contexts so that the reader can more fully appreciate their meaning.

For myself, I'm curious enough to check out the revised edition.