Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Simon J. Ortiz’s "Creation, According to Coyote" is a playful yet profound meditation on origin, myth, and the nature of storytelling itself. Drawing on Indigenous oral traditions, the poem presents a version of creation as told by Coyote, a figure often depicted in Native American mythology as both trickster and teacher. Ortiz captures the fluid, shifting nature of oral narratives, where truth, humor, and the sacred intertwine, and where belief is less about rigid facts and more about understanding the deeper rhythms of existence.

The poem opens with an assertion: "First of all, it's all true." This statement, both definitive and ambiguous, sets the tone for the rest of the poem. Truth in oral traditions is not necessarily about factual accuracy but about meaning, continuity, and connection to the world. By leading with this phrase, Ortiz invites the reader to suspend disbelief and enter a realm where reality is shaped by story.

Coyote’s presence is immediate: "Coyote, he says this, this way, / humble yourself, motioning and meaning what he says." The repetition of "this, this way" mimics the cadence of spoken storytelling, reinforcing the oral quality of the poem. The command to "humble yourself" suggests that creation is something to be approached with reverence, not as a mere tale but as a living truth. Coyote is not just a trickster here—he is a guide, someone who speaks with authority even as his reliability remains in question.

The creation itself unfolds in elemental terms: "You were born when you came from that body, the earth; your black head burst from granite, the ashes cooling, until it began to rain." The imagery here is deeply physical—birth is not just metaphorical but geological. Humans emerge from the earth itself, from granite and cooling ashes, reinforcing the deep connection between people and land. The transformation from fire (ashes) to water (rain) signals renewal, a cycle of destruction and rebirth.

The emergence of life continues: "It turned muddy then, / and then green and brown things came without legs. / They looked strange. / Everything was strange." The repetition of "then" mimics the pacing of traditional oral storytelling, where events unfold sequentially, each moment giving rise to the next. The phrase "everything was strange" captures the wonder of creation—the world is new, unfamiliar, full of possibilities.

Then comes the element of doubt and humor: "There was nothing to know then, until later, Coyote told me this, and he was b.s.-ing probably." This line disrupts the mythic tone with a conversational aside, introducing skepticism into the narrative. The use of "b.s.-ing" (a colloquialism for exaggerating or fabricating) acknowledges Coyote’s reputation as a trickster, making it clear that truth in storytelling is not always straightforward. Yet, even as the speaker doubts Coyote’s reliability, he continues to listen, reinforcing the idea that stories, even if exaggerated, still hold power.

The introduction of Uyuyayeh and Masaweh, the two sons, follows a classic mythological pattern—duality, creation through paired figures, a sense of unfolding destiny. The playfulness continues: "They were young then, / and then later on they were older." This deliberately obvious statement mocks the conventions of storytelling, poking fun at the need to mark time while also emphasizing the inevitability of growth and change.

The poem then shifts to curiosity about the heavens: "And then the people were wondering what was above. / They had heard rumors." The phrase "heard rumors" humorously collapses ancient mythology with contemporary speech, reinforcing the timelessness of human curiosity. The Twins, acting as leaders, decide to "lead these poor creatures and save them," introducing the idea of guidance and salvation, yet filtered through Coyote’s characteristic bravado: "But, you know, Coyote, he was mainly bragging when he said (I think), / 'My brothers, the Twins then said...'" This layering of uncertainty—Coyote claiming to quote the Twins, the speaker questioning Coyote’s reliability—creates a dynamic, shifting sense of truth. The story is not fixed but moves between voices, between what is said and what is believed.

The climactic moment arrives: "And later on, they came to light after many exciting and colorful and tragic things / of adventure;"—a deliberately vague yet evocative summary of creation myths, acknowledging their drama while refusing to pin them down. The use of "exciting and colorful and tragic things" mirrors the vastness of myth, where adventure and suffering coexist, and where details are secondary to the overall impact.

The poem closes with a return to the personal: "My uncle told me all this, that time. / Coyote told me too, but you know how he is, always talking to the gods, the mountains, the stone all around. / And you know, I believe him." The inclusion of the uncle underscores the communal nature of oral storytelling—knowledge is passed down through generations, shaped by different voices. The final assertion—"And you know, I believe him."—is powerful in its quiet certainty. Despite acknowledging Coyote’s tendency to exaggerate, despite the ambiguity in the narrative, belief persists. It is not about factual accuracy but about understanding one's place in the world, about finding meaning in the land, in the stories, in the voices that continue to speak.

Ortiz’s use of free verse, conversational asides, and repetition mimics the rhythm of oral storytelling, reinforcing the idea that this is a living narrative, meant to be spoken, remembered, and retold. The shifts between mythic grandeur and casual humor reflect the way Indigenous oral traditions weave the sacred and the everyday together, making creation something both cosmic and personal.

"Creation, According to Coyote" is ultimately a meditation on storytelling itself—on how myths shape identity, on how truth is both fluid and essential, and on how belief endures even in the face of doubt. Ortiz, through Coyote, reminds us that creation is not just an event that happened once but an ongoing story, retold and reimagined, as alive as the gods, the mountains, and the stones all around.

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