Navarre Scott Momaday
Eagle Feather Fan
The eagle is my power,
And my fan is an eagle.
It is strong and beautiful
In my hand. And it is real.
My fingers hold upon it
As if the beaded handle
Were the twist of bristlecone.
The bones of my hand are fine
And hollow; the fan bears them.
My hand veers in the thin air
Of the summits. All morning
It scuds on the cold currents;
All afternoon it circles
To the singing, to the drums.
Navarre Scott Momaday's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Eagle Feather Fan by Navarre Scott Momaday )
- Las Mariposas (the Butterflies), John F. McCullagh
- Hindsight coloured, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Practise dispassion., Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Reichsbank Gold, Paul Hartal
- Ferguson Grand Jury, Is It Poetry
- The lost bliss, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Sonnet: Christmas,2014(Advance Greetings), Dr John Celes
- Thread of Communication, Tirupathi Chandrupatla
- Harold Shipman's Crime, Jacob Mikael Matuszczak
- Thank You KP, Michael McParland
Poem of the Day
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Lament for Zenocrate, Christopher Marlowe
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)