Poemas de Amor en Quechua: akllasqa rimaykuna [ Qosqo Qhechwasimipi ]
Posted: March 31, 2015 Filed under: Poemas de Amor en Quechua: akllasqa rimaykuna [ Qosqo Qhechwasimipi ], Quechua, Spanish | Tags: Akllasqa rimaykuna, Poemas de Amor Comments Off on Poemas de Amor en Quechua: akllasqa rimaykuna [ Qosqo Qhechwasimipi ]
Ala de una mariposa “Troides Minos” en gran detalle_Derechos de autor_fotógrafo James Turner
Poemas de Amor en Quechua: akllasqa rimaykuna [ Qosqo Qhechwasimipi ]
. . .
Jorge Lira (Huñuq)
Kimsata khuyarkkani
.
Allillapakkchá kimsáta khuyarkkáni,
Allillapakkchá kimsáta khuyarkkáni,
Húhnin wañókktin, húhnin ripúkktin,
Sullk’ánwan kkhepanáypakk.
.
Wáh ripúkukk, llókklla mayúta
Ríspa hark’aykámuy;
Mituchawánpas, ch’anpachawánpas
Ríspa hark’aykámuy.
.
Wáh ripúkukk, mistisáta
Ríspa hark’aykámuy;
Sarachawánpas, mut’ichawánpas
Ríspa hark’aykámuy.
.
Mut’ichalláywan, sarachalláywan
Mána atikktínkka,
Mut’ichalláywan, akkhachalláykka
Akis atimúnkka.
. . .
Jorge Lira (Huñuq)
Canto de Amor: Tres Amantes Tengo…
.
Tres amantes tengo
Tres amores son míos
Porque si muriese uno y me deja el otro
Quedarmen pueda con el más mozo.
.
Oh, viajero, que te alejas
Ve, ataja ese río precipitado,
Anda tú, cierra su corriente
Con el barro o con el tepe.
.
Oh, tú que muy lejos te vas
Corre, ataja a esa mestiza
Yendo tú, dentenla allí
Con el maíz o con el mote.
.
Y si mi mote y mi maíz
Detenerla no pudieran
Mi chicha y mi mote verás
Como tienen un gran poder.
. . .
Sunicha chuhchachaymanta
.
Urpíchay súmakk rihch’aycha,
Sonkkóchay ch’áska ñawícha,
Sunícha chuhchachaymánta
Chakáta rurachisíani,
Sunícha chuhchachaymánta
Chakáta rurachisíani.
.
Taytáyki phiñarukúkktin,
Chaynínta apakunáypakk,
Chaynínta pussakunáypakk;
Mamáyki sintirukúkktin,
Chaynínta ripukunáypakk,
Chaynínta apakunáypakk.
.
Taytáyki phiñakusiáchun,
Mamáyki sintikusiáchun,
Chakáykka ruráskkas kásian,
Chaynínta ripukunáypakk;
Chakáykka ruráskkás kásian,
Chaynínta passakunáypakk.
. . .
De mi larga cabellera
.
Paloma mia de bello rostro
Tu de ojos de lucero, mi corazoncito
Para ti, de mi larga cabellera
Un puente mando hacer
De mis largas trenzas
Un puente estan tejiendo.
.
Por ese puente te conducire
Cuando tu padre este airado
Y por alli voy a llevarte
Cuando tu madre este resentida
Y por ese puente me marchare
Y haciendote pasar por alli partire.
.
Que importara el enojo de tu padre
Ni los sentimientos de tu madre
Pues mi puente ya queda hecho
Ese mi puente esta tendido y listo
Para alejarme, irme muy lejos
Para despedirme desde alli.
. . .
Kkóri ráphra pillpintúllay
.
Kkóri ráphra pillpintúllay,
Raphapápan killakúypi,
Tiyarínña kay muthúypi,
Takispátakk pitúllay.
.
Sinp’aykíta kacharíyña,
Kílla wách’ikk llusk’anánpakk,
Yanaykítakk tarinánpakk
Llánp’u kaynínpi kussíta.
.
Yanaykíta sillwilláyña,
Urpiykíta pupalláyña,
Munakúyta umiríspa,
Wayllukúyta umiríspa.
.
T’ánkar rúru, misk’i sónkko,
Munayllátan pukayánki,
Sonkkollaypákkñan kausánki,
Ñawiyki urmanay p’onkko.
Ala de una mariposa andina_fotógrafo Jorge Gajardo Rojas
Una Mariposa
.
Mariposa alas de oro
Tiembla a la luz de la luna
En la rama se posa
Y en mi canción es compañera.
.
Despliega tu cabellera
Y las flechas lunares se deslicen
Y en su suavidad sedeña
Feliz alegría halla tu amante.
.
Abraza y aprisiona a tu prenda
Cautívale tú
Aliméntale con tu amor
Nutriéndole con tus caricias.
.
Fruto de la zarza, de alma dulce
Te enciendes en belleza
Tu existencia será mía
Y tus ojos un lago en que me pierdo.
. . .
Gabriel y Gloria Escobar (Huñuqkuna)
Sunquyta
.
Maytan nini kay sunquyta,
“Ama munankicu” nispa;
qaparispan kuticiwan
“Manan atinicu” nispa.
.
Huh p’uncaymi llakikuna,
intuykusqan;
sapallanta sunquyta,
tapuykuni;
Imaraykun llakisqalla,
purikunki;
mana imapi kusikuyta,
tarispayki.
.
¿Manacu urqukunah,
asisqanta uyarinki?
¿T’ikakunah q’apayninta
q”awarinki?
¿Mayukunah takisqanta
callwakunah puxllasqanta?
.
Huhmanta qaparispa,
kuticiwan;
kusikuyqa manañan
ñuqapahcu;
unayñan sunquyta,
cinkacini;
wañusqatan sunquyta,
p’anpamuni.
.
Huh munayllan,
kay pacapi,
hap’iwaran;
pay raykullan,
kay allpapi,
kawsarani.
.
Cay munaymi
yanaywan cinkaripun;
cay munaymi ripukapun,
yanaypa wañusqanwanmi,
wañupun.
.
Maypiña purispapas,
kiskallatan tarimuni,
maytaña q”awaspaypas,
p”uyullan muyuriwan;
rit’ipas cullurispan,
waqayta yacaciwan;
mayupas qaparispan
waqasqayta musp”aciwan.
.
Manañan ñuqapah,
p’uncawqa kanmanñacu;
intipas k’ancaypas,
tutallan ñuqapah,
wañuymi kawsayniy.
. . .
Gabriel y Gloria Escobar (Huñuqkuna)
A Mi Corazón
.
¡Cuánto le digo a mi corazón!
“no quieras, no ames”
¡A gritos me responde,
no puedo, no puedo!
.
Un día, agobiado por las penas,
a solas pregunté a mi corazón:
¿Por qué tan triste y abatido andas,
sin encontrar en nada ninguna alegría?
.
¿No escuchas el reír de las montañas,
y sientes el perfume de las flores?
¿El cantar de los ríos,
el jugar de los peces?
.
Nuevamente a gritos me responde:
“Ya no existen alegrías para mí,
ya perdí hace tiempo el sentir,
muerto mi corazón ya se sepultó”.
.
Un amor sólo me sostuvo en esta tierra;
por ella solamente
vivía yo en este mundo,
ese amor, con mi amada lo he perdido,
ese amor se ha ido!
¡Muerta mi amada, ese amor ha muerto!
.
Donde voy, donde llego,
espinas sólo encuentro.
Donde voy, donde miro,
sólo las nubes me envuelven.
.
Los nevados al derretirse,
a llorar me enseñaron.
Los ríos con sus gritos
hacen que delire en mi llanto.
.
No creo que ya haya
día para mí,
aun la luz del sol
para mí es noche,
porque mi vida no es vida,
mi vida es muerte.
. . . . .
Yuyarillaway: Poemas de amor en quechua
Posted: March 30, 2015 Filed under: Poemas de amor en quechua: Yuyarillaway, Quechua, Spanish | Tags: Poemas quechuas Comments Off on Yuyarillaway: Poemas de amor en quechua
Recuérdame, Por Favor
(Harawi)
.
1.
Me recordarás cuando en algún lugar de la tierra
centelleante vuelva la luz del sol
haciendo huir la noche oscura.
2.
Me recordarás
cuando en alguna parte baja de la tierra
cansado y ardiendo
se oculte el sol entre las nubes.
3.
Te acordarás de mí
cuando en algún lugar de la tierra escuches
a alguien que cante
rodeado de palomas
entre los arbustos.
4.
Te recordaré
con tu rostro confundido
cuando el sol haya salido
afligido, anochecido.
. . .
[ Un único harawi, recogido en Puno. Del año 1925 – y antes. Letra de un autor anónimo. ]
. . .
Carnaval de Putina
(Carnaval)
.
1.
Como el año pasado, ahora
quizás en su pueblecito esté la gente,
quizás en su pueblicito esté la gente,
tal vez la tierra esté en su corazoncito.
2.
Elegida de mi corazón
para que te habré conocido;
padezco por miles,
¿cómo podre olvidarte?
3.
¿Para qué te habré conocido?
Convirtiendo la noche en día
solamente a ti te busco,
caminando sin rumbo.
4.
Sueño sólo contigo;
cuando me quedo dormido
mil veces te recuerdo
despierto sonámbulo.
5.
¿Qué me contaste
cundo te dije
no me vayas a olvidar?
Cogida de mis manos,
“solo con la muerte”, respondiste.
6.
¿Por qué me olvidas
sin antes haberte muerto?
Muerta si me olvidarías
y yo me quedaría aún alegre.
7.
¿Dónde te encontraré?
Penas de aquí, montañas de allá
¿Cómo podré olvidarte?
Ya mi corazón está acostumbrado a ti.
.
Fuga
.
Hermosa paloma, hermosa avecilla,
¿a dónde vas?
desapareciendo de mi vista,
saltando de mis manos,
llevándote mi corazón,
¿dónde estás?
. . .
[ Un carnaval muy antiguo, del distrito de Putina, en Lampa, Puno. Versión del compositor Zacarías Puntaca Farfán. ]
. . .
Agua de Río
(Wayno)
.
1.
¿Sueles llorar
aguita del río, ladronita de mi corazón?
¿Dónde? Palomita;
estrellita mía de ojos negros
regada con agua cristalina,
amada de mi corazón doliente.
2.
Flor que abres tus pétalos, entre espinas,
sólo la estrella del amanecer se parece a ti.
Golpeando tu puerta
voy a llamarte a media noche.
3.
Florecilla del amanecer
no vayas a abrir demasiado tus pétalos,
mi sufrimiento podría llover en la nieve blanca
cuando chorreen agua las nubes negras
inundando la tierra.
.
Fuga
.
Hay que bailar en cada fiesta,
en cadena, girando, girando
de pueblo en pueblo.
No me recuerdes todo esto después,
viéndome en otras manos.
. . .
[ Un wayno muy indígeno compuesto por Don Inocencio Mamani Mamani, distrito de Mañasu, Puno, 1925. ]
. . .
Nevado del Aussangate
(Wayno)
.
1.
Nevado del Aussangate, de Ocongate,
Montaña divina, huérfana de amores,
Sabrás ahora que amo,
que quiero a una bella Lauramarqueña.
2.
Ocongateña, hija pretenciosa del nevado,
Oh Lauramarqueña adorable,
Sabrás ahora como te amo,
Te raptaré en el corazón de la noche.
3.
Oh doncella sin amores ¡Vamos pues!
Por entre los maizales
viajemos juntos
Por las cumbres, por los nevados.
4.
Nevado grande del Aussangate
que abservas a los de arriba y a los de abajo,
he grabado en tus rocas
la ingratitud de una paloma.
. . .
[ Wayno de Lauramarka y Ocongate, provincia de Quispicanchis, Cuzco. Del libro: Canto de Amor (Padre Jorge Lira, 1959). ]
El Awsanqati (Aussangate) es uno de los dos grandes Dioses montaña del Cuzco.
Lauramarca – importante hacienda, muy cerca del nevado Awsanqati.
. . .
Nube Tranquila
.
1.
Parece que al frente, en aquiel cerro,
hay una nube sentada.
No es una nube,
aquella nube.
2.
Es la sombra
de mi amada
que simulando ser nube…
me cobija, me ampara.
. . .
[ Una canción huancavelicana, del libro Canciones del Ganado y Pastores, por Sergio Quijada Jara (Huancayo, 1957). ]
. . .
Río de Huancavelica
.
1.
Ve, corre por favor
impide que el río de Huancavelica
avance mas allá del andén de abajo.
Deténlo con piedrecitas, con bloques de hierba
y barro, para que mi amada no se vaya.
2.
Ve, corre por favor
atájalo, impide que la villenita
avance mas allá
del andén de abajo.
Atájala con tu aguardientito de caña,
con tu vinito,
que no se vaya.
3.
Anoche, en mis sueños,
me vi en otros brazos
casi me puse a llorar al despertar
preguntándome si podría ser cierto.
Sería mejor no dormir.
. . .
[ Un wayno mestizo – y antiguo – del departamento de Huancavelica. Isabel y Teresa Mesa ofrecieron los versos 1 y 2, en Huancayo (enero de 1985). Otros versos han sido compuestos – tardíamente – pero son de menos belleza; tal es el caso de la versión grabada por el Trío Amanecer (de Huancavelica). ]
. . .
¿Valdría La Pena Que La Ayude A Cruzar El Río?
(Wayno)
.
1.
Mi amada está llorando,
al frente, en la otra orilla,
sola, su propio dolor.
¿Valdría la pena que la ayude
a cruzar el río?
¿Para qué?
¿Para qué se vaya otra vez a otros brazos?
Ya no.
2.
Crié a una palomita
dándole de comer,
protegiéndola entre mis brazos;
¿Valdría la pena que siga
alimentadola?
¿Para qué?
¿Para qué se vaya, otra vez
a otros brazos?
Ya no.
. . .
[ Un wayno huancavelicano – antiguo y anónimo. Ofrecido por Samuel Gilvonio y Eddy Vargas, del Trío Los Willkas del Perú (Huancayo, 1985). ]
.
Transcripciones de: La Sangre de los Cerros (Urqukunapa Yawarnin): Antología de la poesía quechua que se canta en el Perú (Editores: Rodrigo, Edwin, y Luis Montoya: Lima, 1987).
. . .
Yuyarillaway
(Harawi)
.
1.
May pachachus llipipispa
k’anchay inti kutimunqa
k’illmi tutata ayqirichispa,
yuyarillawanki.
2.
May pachachus urayniqta
saykusqaña wasaykunqa
rawraq p’huyu chawpillampi,
yuyarillawanki.
3.
May pachachus uyarinki
urpisapa rikukuspa
sachaq chawpinpi waqachkaqta,
yuyariwanki.
4.
Nuqaqa inti p’awarimuqtin
chisiyaqtin llakikuspa
uyallaykiwan musphaspa,
yuyarillasqayki.
. . .
Putina Carnaval
(Carnaval)
.
Qayna wata kunan hina
ichari runa llaqtitanpi
ichari runaq llaqtitanpi
ichari qallpaq sunqitunpi
2.
Waranqata ñakarini
imapaqcha riqsirqayki
sunqullaypaq aqllakusqan
imaynallas qunqasqayki
3.
Tutatapis punchaychaspa
qanllataña maskasqayki
kunan hina purinaypaq
imapaqcha riqsirqayki
4.
P’uñukuspapas nuqaqa
qanllawansi musqukuni
musparispa riqcharini
waranqata yuyariyki
5.
Imataq niwarqanki
makiymanta h’apiykukuspa
qunqawankimantaq niqtiy
wañuyllawan niwarqanki
6.
Imanaqtin qunqawanki
manaraq wañukuskaspa
wañuspa qunqawankiman
kusisqara q’ipariyman
7.
Kayniq qaqa kayniq urqu
mayllapitaq tarisqayki
ñan q’anman sunquy yachasqaña
imaynalla qunqasqayki.
.
Hawachan
.
Sumaq urpi, sumaq urpi
may pin kanki, maytan rinki
ñawiymanta ch’inkarispa
makiymanta p’awarispa
sunqullayta aparikuspa.
. . .
Mayu Unu
(Waynu)
.
1.
Mayuq unitun sunquy suwita
waqaqchu kanki,
maypi urpisitu
yana ñawiyuq ch’askitallay;
ch’uya unuwan q’arpakusqay
manaq sunquywan munakusqay
2.
Chawpitutatan waqyaykusqayki
ch’aska q’uyllurpaq rikusyasqallan
punkuykita takaykamuspa;
kiskamanta phataq t’ika
3.
Waraq ritiq q’uyllur t’ikita
aman yupata p’anchirimunkichu
llakiytaqsi pararimunman;
yana phuyu thuqamuqtin
qalllpakunata qarpaspa.
.
Hawachan
.
Llaqtan llaqtanpi tusurikuspa
wifala, wifala muyu muyu
sapa fiestapi tusuna;
chaymantataq yuyariwaq
runaq makimpi rikuwaspa.
. . .
Awsanqati
(Waynu)
.
1.
Awsanqatiq, Ukhunqatiq
Mána munakuq awssanqati
Kúnan yachanki munasqayta
Lawramarkina wayllusqayta.
2.
Ukhunqatiña anchaykáchaq
Lawramarkina munaysapa
kúnan yachanki munasqayta
Tútaq sunqunpi suwarusqayki.
3.
Mána munakuq pasña ¡háku!
Sara sara chacrallanta
Qanwan kuska ripusunchis
Urquntapis qasantapis.
4.
Háwan qatiq, uran qatiq
Hatun Apu Awsanqati
Qaqaykipin siqimuni
Huk urpillay chiqniyninta.
. . .
Puyu Tiyachkan
.
1.
Chimpa urqupis
puyu tiyachkan
manas puyuchu
chayllay puyuqa.
2.
Warma yanaypa
llantuchallansi
puyu tukuspa
llantullawachkan.
. . .
Uran Pata Villamayu
.
1.
Uran pata Villamayuta
Curiya qarkaykamuy
champachawampas
rumichawampas
Curiya qarkaykamuy
amaya pasapuchunchu.
2.
Huran pata villinitata
Curiya qarkaykamuy
traguchawampas
winuchawanpas
Curiya qarkaykamuy
amaya pasakuchunchu
kuskalla tumaykusaq
amaya ripukuchunchu
3.
Chisituta suiñuchallaypi
hukpa brazumpi kachkasqani
rikcharimuspay waqarquniraq
ciertullaraqchu kanman nispa
amaya puñullasaqchu
amaya puñullasaqchu
. . .
Chimpachimuymanchuch
.
1.
Wak ladu chimpapi
yanay waqachkan
sapallampi, kikillampi
chimpachimuymanchuch
imapaq, hukpa brazullampaq
amaña.
2.
Quk urpichallatam uywakurqani
brazuy ukupi umipayaspay
umillaymanraqchuch
imapaq, kukpa brazullampaq
amaña.
. . . . .
Poemas de Amor – en el idioma quechua: amor de la tierra, y del pueblo: Urqukunapa Yawarnin
Posted: March 30, 2015 Filed under: Poemas de Amor – en el idioma quechua: Urqukunapa Yawarnin, Quechua, Spanish | Tags: Poemas quechuas Comments Off on Poemas de Amor – en el idioma quechua: amor de la tierra, y del pueblo: Urqukunapa Yawarnin
Poemas de Amor – en el idioma quechua: amor de la tierra, y del pueblo: Urqukunapa Yawarnin
. . .
Siembra de Papas
(Harawi)
.
1.
¿Estará creciendo todavía
o ya no?
¿Papita que sembre
en una tierra caliente?
¿Estará fruteando todavía
o ya no?
.
2.
Le estoy preguntando
a la papa que he sembrado,
solo por sus frutitos,
solo por sus raicitas.
3.
¿Recuerdas todavía,
o ya no,
que con las manos
y los pies
sembramos las papas?
Yo, mi niñito*,
yo si estoy recordando
que con las manos
y los pies
las sembranos.
.
4.
En las alturas de Qosñipata
están durmiendo las nubes.
Viéndolas dormir
lloro sangre,
recordando estas nubes
lloro sangre.
.
Fuga
.
¿Quién es ese que me llama
desde Qosñipata?
. . .
[ Harawi de Tocroyoq, Espinar, Cuzco. Cantado por Maximiliano Cruz Ch’uktaya, 1984. ]
*niñito (niñuchay): el hablante llama a un niño de los patrones.
. . .
Canto en la Siembra del Maíz
.
1.
Baja el agua del maíz agusanado,
baja al agua desde los arbustos,
¿será mi madre? ¿Será mi padre?
¿Será mi amada? ¿Será mi paloma?
¡Wawayay uuuyyy!
.
2.
Si fuera mi madre, si fuera mi padre,
si fuera mi amado, si fuera mi paloma,
me acompañarían a dormir por estos lugares,
me ayudarían a despertar a este, mi compadre.
¡Wawayay uuuyyy!
.
3.
¿Es tuya esta chacrita
con muros de amapolas?
¿Es tuya esta chacrita
con muros de claveles?
¡Wawayay uuuyyy! ¡Waaasuu!
.
4.
Ésta, esta es mi chacrita
Ésta, esta es mi chacrita,
su tierrita es de azúcar
su azufrecito es de chancaca.
¡Wawayay uuuyyy! ¡Waaasuu!
.
5.
Al borde de tu chacrita, hijito mío,
he plantado una flor de wampu, hijito mío,
el jovencito debiera ayudarme, hijito mío,
también su amita me olvido, hijito mío,
el joven debiera ayudar, hijito mío,
ya hasta mi compadre me ha visto, hijito mío…
¡Yuuu waaasuu!
.
6.
Ya la mariposa jaspeada,
la mariposa jaspeada,
ha dado vueltas a mi alforja.
¡Cómo se parte mi vida!
Wawayaaa waaasuuu…..
. . .
[ Apurímac – Artistas de Antabamba ]
Wanka = harawi
. . .
Aporque de la Papa
(Harawi)
.
1.
He salido a media noche;
he salido
a la hora del canto del gallo
mientras mis padres
trataban de impedir que saliera.
.
2.
Cuando aún no había llegado
al borde de la chacra
le diremos al Capitán, me dijeron,
le diremos al qollana, me contaron.
.
3.
¿Está bien ajustada tu lampa?
¿Está bien protegida tu cintura
para que le enlutes a los inútiles?
.
4.
Ahora si, mi mozo,
ahora si, mi mozo
mi cantito rodado.
.
5.
Tayankito, tayankito
tayankito cabezón
le haré llorar dijiste;
dices también que soy brujo.
Yo no te hice embrujar
fue la tierra quien te embrujó.
.
6.
Ahora sí, mi mozo,
ahora sí, mi mozo
mi cantito rodado.
. . .
[ Una canción agricola, muy antigua, de Huancabamba, Andahuaylas, Apurímac. Dos mujeres llamadas Harawiq la cantan. Del folleto de Carlos Vivanco Flores (Pueblo Chanka, obra constumbristas de Andahuaylas, 1972). ]
.
Paqchay es el primer aporque del sembrío de papas.
Qollana, jefe o caporal de un grupo de trabajadores. También es la residencia de un mandón de segundo orden en la parcialidad de abajo – urinsaya.
Alqarasu, inútil, en el quechua andahuaylino.
Alaymosca, canto rodado, piedra del río, muy resistente.
. . .
Canción del Aporque del Maíz
.
1.
Ayúdenme a aporcar mi maíz,
hermanitas vivaces y bonitas.
Ayúdenme a aporcar mi maíz,
hermanitos buen mozos.
2.
Estamos viniendo en este instante
causando miedo allachu,
bailaremos todos nuestro Punpin
al borde de nuestra chacra.
3.
Cantando y bailando
sembraremos nuestros alimentos,
cantando y bailando
aporcaremos el maíz.
4.
¡Qué hermosa produce la madre tierra
para dar de comer a sus hijos!
¡Qué hermoso es en Huancapi el punpin
nuestro canto y nuestro baile!
5.
Todas las chicas
bailaremos muy bonito con los mozos,
como los pies de la calandria de pecho amarillo.
Cantaremos todos juntas, dulcemente,
como mi canario amarillito.
Bailaremos dulcemente.
6.
Florcita amarilla del borde de la chacra
flor roja del borde de la chacra
siendo un picaflor podría sorberte
aun siendo una abejita pordría sorberte.
. . .
[ Canción del Sara Qallmay, Huancapi, Provincia de Victor Fajardo, Ayacucho. Cantado por el conjunto Waylla ichu. ]
.
Allachu, instrumento de trabajo para escarbar los tubérculos y arrancar plantas de raíces profundas.
Punpin, nombre del pukllay o carnaval en Fajardo.
. . .
Ronda, Mi Ronda
(Canción de la Cosecha)
.
Los hombres cantan:
Una cinta labrada, mi ronda ronda,
se extiende desde la torre de Huamanga,
mi ronda ronda.
Bailemos, cantemos, mi ronda ronda
en esta era tan preciosa mi ronda ronda.
.
Te dije que pises mi cebadita, mi ronda ronda
y no la pampa desnuda, mi ronda ronda.
Te dije que pises mi triguito, mi ronda ronda
y no la pampa en vano, mi ronda ronda.
.
Las mujeres cantan:
Una cinta labrada, mi ronda ronda
se extiende desde la torre de Lucanas,
mi ronda ronda.
Bailemos, cantemos, mi ronda ronda
en esta pampita tan, tan hermosa, mi ronda ronda,
en esta erita de Eqnune mi ronda ronda.
.
Te dije que pisaras mi cebadita, mi ronda ronda
y no la pampa desnuda, mi ronda ronda.
Te dije que pisaras mi triguito, mi ronda ronda
y no la pampa, en vano, mi ronda, mi ronda.
. . .
[ Qayra o danza de la cosecha de cebada y trigo en la comunidad de Eqnune, Lucanas, Ayacucho. ]
. . .
Transcripciones de: La Sangre de los Cerros (Urqukunapa Yawarnin): Antología de la poesía quechua que se canta en el Perú (Editores: Rodrigo, Luís, y Edwin Montoya, Lima, 1987).
. . .
Papa Tarpuy
(Harawi)
.
1.
Q’uñi uquchapi
papacha tarpusqay
wiñashanmanraqchu
icha manaraqchu
rurushanmanraqchu
icha manaraqchu.
2.
Papa tarpusqayta
tapurikushyani
papa tarpusqayta
tapupayashyani
ruruchanraykullas
raphichanraykullas.
3.
Yuyashankiraqchu
icha manañachu
makiway, chakiwan
tarpuyunqanchista
ñuqa niñuchay
yuyashallanimá
ñuqa niñuchay
yuyakushanimá
makiway, chakiwan
tarpuyusqanchista.
4.
Qusñipata patapiri
phuyullas puñushan
chayta qhawarispas
yawarta waqani
chayta yuyarispas
yawarta waqani.
. . .
Hawachan:
Pitaq chay, maytaq chay
q’usñipatamanta waqyamuwan.
. . .
Sara Wanka
.
1.
Utus Saramanta yaku urayamun
achas sachamantas yaku urayamun
ichari mamaychu, ichari taytaychus
ichari yanaychu, ichari urpiychus
Wawaya uuuyyy!
2.
Mamallay kaspaqa, taytallay kaspaqa
yanallay kaspaqa, urpillay kaspaqa
Kaynin kaynillayta puñuriysiwanman
kay cumpadrillayta rikchallaysiwanman
Wawayway uuuyyy!
3.
Kaychus kaychus chakrallayki
kaychus kaychus chakrachayki
clavilmanta qinchachayuq
amapula muquchayuq
Wawayay uuuyyy! Waaasuu!
4.
Kaymi kaymi chakrachayqa
kaymi kaymi chakrachayqa
azucarmanta allpachayuq
chankakamanta qullpachayuq
Wawayay uuuyyy! Waaasuu!
5.
Chakrallayki patallampi wawallay
wampu wayta plantarani wawallay
chayta warma yanapanman wawallay
amitampas qunqawanñam wawallay
chayta warma yanapanman wawallay
cumpadriypas rikuwanñam wawallay
Yuuuu waaasuu!
6.
Muru pillpichay muru pillpichay
alfurjachayman muyurirunñam.
Ima vidaymi partinakunan!
Wawayaaa waaasuu!
. . .
Papa Pakchay
(Harawi)
.
1.
Chawpitutan
lluqsimullarqani;
wallpawaqaytan
lluqsimullarqani
tayta mamallay
harkallawachkaptin.
2.
Manallaraqpas chayallaptiyqa
chakrapataman nispa willawanku;
capitanchaman nispa willawanku
qullanachaman nispa willawanku.
3.
Takllachayki allin kalsasqachu
cinturachayki allin watasqachu
alkanasulla lutuchinaykipaq.
4.
Ahora si musuy
Ahora si musuy
alaymuscachallay.
5.
Tayankuchay, tayankuchay
umasapa tayankuchay
waqachisaqmi niwasqanki;
layqan, layqan niwasqanki
mana nuqachu layqachiykiqa
allpaterram layqachisunkiqa.
6.
Ahora si musuy
ahora si musuy
alaymuscachallay.
. . .
Sara Hallmay
.
1.
Panichakuna sumaq vivachakuna
sarachallayta allmaykaysimuway
wawqichakuna, sumaq musuchakuna
sarachallayta hallmaykaysimuway.
2.
Kanachallanmi amullachkaniku
allachullayta qipirikullaspa
chakranchikpa patachallampiña
Pumpinllapi tusurikusunchik.
3.
Takiykuspa tusuykullaspanchik
kawsaychata tarpuykullasunchik
takiykuspa tusuykullasunchik
sarallata hallmaykullasunchik.
4.
Ima sumaqmi allpa pacha rurun
wawallankuna mikuykachinampaq
Punpin takiy punpin tusuyninchik
ima sumaqmi wankapi llaqtapi.
5.
Musukunawan llapa sipaskuna
sumaqchallata tusuykullasunchik
qillu qasqu tuyacha hinalla
miskichallata takiykullasunchik
qulluchallay canaro hinalla
miskichallata tusuykullasunchik.
6.
Chakra patachapi qillu chiwan
waycha
chakra patachapi pukachiwan
waycha
q’inticha kaspayqa
suqucharuykiman
tankacha kaspaypas
suqucharuykiman.
. . .
Pirwalla Pirwa
(Irapi taki)
.
Qarikuna:
Guiallallay, guiallay, guía guía guíalla guía…
Huamangallay Turrimanta pirwalla pirwa
labrada cinta chutakamun pirwalla pirwa
tusukusun, takikusun, pirwalla pirwa
cibadayta saruy niyki pirwalla pirwa
kay chika sumaq irachapi pirwalla pirwa
manay qala pampatachu pirwalla pirwa
triguchaytaman saruy niyki pirwalla pirwa
manay yanqa pampatachu pirwalla pirwa.
.
Warmikuna:
Lucanasniy turrimanta pirwalla pirwa
labrada cinta chutakamun pirwalla pirwa
tusukusun, takikusun pirwalla pirwa
kay chika sumaq pampachapi pirwalla pirwa
Iqnunillay irachapi pirwalla pirwa.
.
Cibadayta saruy niyki pirwalla pirwa
manan qala pampatachu pirwalla pirwa
triguchaytam saruy niyki pirwalla pirwa
manan yanqa pampatachu pirwalla pirwa.
. . . . .
Niyi Osundare: “Who’s Afraid of The Proverb?”
Posted: March 29, 2015 Filed under: English | Tags: African poets Comments Off on Niyi Osundare: “Who’s Afraid of The Proverb?”
Photograph from 2005 of a fragment of The Berlin Wall (1961-1989)…Osundare’s poems, Checkpoint Charlie and Berlin 1884/5, treat “The Wall” “falling” with multiple ironies regarding History…
Niyi Osundare
(born 1947, Ikere-Ekiti, Nigeria)
. . .
The Large Heart
.
When last did you say hello to a neighbour
Or share with him the early pick
From your backyard garden?
.
When last did you lower that fence
Trim those thorny hedges
And throw a handshake across their forbidding top?
.
When last did you stop in the street
To crack a joke or savour banter
And spread the healing magic of laughter?
.
When last did you say “Bless you”
To soothe a sneeze, or “Take care”
To one who has stubbed a toe?
.
When last did you offer a meal
To a hungry stranger and command
The water from your well to was his feet?
.
When last did your dough of friendship
Rise in the furnace of the sun,
Your milk of mercy in the pitcher of the moon?
.
When last did you think about your fatter calf
And the skinny swansong of the begging bowl
The sin-phony of your silk, and the scream of the national rag?
.
When last did you throw a bridge
Across the gulf and sew little stars in the darkness of forgotten skies?
.
When last did you listen to the wails of the forest
Arrest the savagery of a wanton machete
Enlist in the Salvation Army of Earth and Sky?
.
A genuine smile is longer than a mile,
A large heart is not a medical problem.
. . .
Letter from The Editor
(who once lectured a Nigerian poet of my acquaintance on the virtues of “traveling poems”)
.
Thank you for your poems
Our Editorial Board was tremendously amused –
.
– but there are too many foreign places
In your verse, too many African names
Too strange for the sophisticated glide
.
Of our English tongue.
(You see, we prefer words which pose
No threat to the dental health of our readers.)
.
Too many matters better left to politics – and politicians;
What does poetry have to do
With those who rule us – or those we rule?
.
– with the whimsical temper of stocks and shares,
The cost of a ream of paper
Or the price of bread in the marketplace…?
.
Too strong, your feelings; too sharp
The thrust of your tropes…
We are a people tuned to tamer truths.
.
So: why not bend your wit to the rule of rhyme,
The supremacy of nothingness,
The post-modernity of silence…?
.
Send us poems unclogged by human kindness…
Send us poems that travel.
. . .
Checkpoint Charlie
.
A tortured rainbow:
mosaic of broken epics
.
Quarry for museum hounds
and undertakers for private temples.
.
Here, now, in the dust and concrete splinters,
The Wall
which grew so tall, so wide,
.
It cut the sky in two:
the sun rose on one side, set in the other.
.
Market forces howled and swaggered on one side,
the whimsical Babel of stocks ‘n shares.
.
On the other, human Need wrestled with human Greed
– culture with chaos, mercy with monopoly.
.
Then, a smiling comrade dropped the egg…
and the world couldn’t gather the shattered pieces…
.
Our guide told the story from his own side,
as I took another look at the boy
who sold “The Wall” for tourist dollars.
.
“Come buy History, come buy History!”, he screamed
again, his voice vanishing into the late morning traffic.
. . .
Berlin 1884/5
“Come buy History, come buy History!”
.
I looked round for vendors of my own past,
For that Hall where, many seasons ago,
My Continent was sliced up like a juicy mango…
.
…to quell the quarrel of alien siblings.
I looked for the knife which exacted the rift
– how many kingdoms held its handle?
.
The bravado of its blade,
The wisdom of potentates who put
The map before the man,
.
The cruel arrogance of empire,
Of kings/queens who laid claim to rivers, to mountains,
To other peoples and other gods, and other histories…
.
And they who went to bed under one conqueror’s flag,
Waking up beneath the shadows of another,
Their ears twisted to the syllable of alien tongues.
.
Gunboats,
Territories of terror…
.
Oh, that map – that knife, those contending emperors,
These bleeding scars in a Continent’s soul,
Insisting on a millennium of healing.
. . .
Skinsong 3
.
And pale shadows descend
Upon our noon of bronze:
“You have no past,” they say,
“Your history is darkness
Which never knew the faintest sun.”
.
“Tell us another lie,”
Retort the griots,
About trees without roots,
Rivers without sources,
Because without whys.
Tell us
About the bridge
Which looks forward
Without a backward glance.
. . .
End of History
.
Old truths tumble down
In sunrise cities;
A hated wall dissolves
In a haze of fireworks
And gathering shadows.
.
Old truths tumble
– On the compost of newer Truths.
.
And sunset pundits swear
They have climbed the mountain,
And seen History’s grave
In the elbow of misty valleys.
.
Pundits say
The sun has suddenly stopped
Its limbless journey across the sky.
.
Today I look History
In the face,
His/Her brow a taut membrane
Of inexhaustible riddles.
.
Today I look History
In the face,
And I remember the child in the tale
Who touched the elephant’s tale,
Vowing he had seen everything
About the giant in the forest.
. . .
Testament 1
.
I hold this shred of eternity
in my hand
pulsating like a purple pledge;
falling leaves twirl in the soundless wind
the sun brightens up its corner of the day.
.
The afternoon bell has come and gone,
burying rapid moments in decibels of silence.
.
I hold this shred of eternity
in my hand.
.
I sew that thread
into the memory of the sky
where clouds are cottonballs
waiting for the lyric of the loom.
.
I am a poet:
my memory is a house
of many rooms.
. . .
Who’s Afraid of The Proverb?
(To go with the song:
Owe lesin oro
Oro lesin owe
Toro ba sonu
Owe la fi nwa *)
.
I
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb
of the eloquent kernel in the pod
of silent moons?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb
of the kola in the mouth of the mountain,
giant udder of the cow of the sky?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb
of the drum which left its echoes
in the auricles of leaping streets?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb
of the river which traverses the earth
in limbless intensity?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb
of the sonic feathers of metaphors in flight,
the lift and thrust of impossible fancies?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb
of the wind’s truthful lyre,
melodic thrum of Desire’s fingers?
,
Who’s afraid of the proverb
of the shortest distance
between many truths?
.
II
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb
who’s so fat on the Lactogen of the moment,
has lost all hint of the milk of dawn?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb
stalking minnows in brackish waters,
scared of the shoals which surprise the deep?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb,
anonymous spaces
in the abyss of the sky?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb,
first clay in the furnace
of chilling fires?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb,
silent salt in the feast
of delicious words?
.
Who’s afraid of the proverb?
Who’s afraid of
m-e-m-o-r-y?
. . .
* The proverb is the horse of the word.
The word is the horse of the proverb
When the word is lost
It is the proverb we use for finding it.
. . . . .
To read Osundare’s poem “Metamorphosis”, click on the following ZP link:
https://zocalopoets.com/2012/04/11/niyi-osundare-alupayida-metamorphosis/
Poems of Protest from Prison: Nigeria, 1995
Posted: March 24, 2015 Filed under: English | Tags: African poets, Ken Saro-Wiwa Comments Off on Poems of Protest from Prison: Nigeria, 1995
Ken Saro-Wiwa (1941-1995)
. . .
The Call
.
Hear the call of the ravaged land
The raucous cry of famished earth
The dull dirge of the poisoned air
The piteous wail of sludged streams
Hear, oh, hear!
Stunted crops fast decay
Fishes die and float away
Butterflies lose wing and fall
Nature succumbs to th’ecological war.
. . .
Keep Out Of Prison
.
“Keep out of prison,” he wrote
“Don’t get arrested anymore.”
But while the land is ravaged
And our pure air poisoned
When streams choke with pollution
Silence would be treason
Punishable by a term in prison.
. . .
Ogoni Hymn
.
Creator of Ogoni
Land of glory and wealth
Grant us thy peace and lasting love
Plant justice over the land
Give us thy wisdom and the strength
To shame our enemies.
.
Creator of Ogoni
Land of glory and wealth
Grant everlasting blessings, Lord
To people of Gokana
Khana, Eleme, Tai and Babbe
Glorious Ogoniland.
. . .
Town-Crier
.
Take these cuffs from my legs
And set me free
Pick the lies from your teeth
And let me be
Town-crier, proud gong
Calling the lame and deaf
To defend their blasted land.
. . .
Stone Deaf
.
Tired
of the questions
bored
by the din
of the lone voice
piping
to ears hearing
only
the sounds of their choice.
. . .
For Zina
.
I have raised the questions, daughter
Which you and your kids must ponder
I feel guilty I did not sooner
In my lifetime urge them stronger
And now, ere I answers provide
I may in cold blood lie buried
Have I your futures compromised?
. . .
Night Time
.
The beep of insects
The hoo-hoo of bullfrogs
And the croak of toads
Companion of a night
When nightmares burgle our sleep.
. . .
Morning Song
.
This morning is sheer poetry
as from my detention cell
my heart sings with the red
freshness of hibiscus flowers
the vivid colour of the ixoras
shooting out of the green abundance
of a heart which resists surrender
to a garden of rank weed and mush.
. . .
I Lie Alone At Night
.
I lie alone at night
And think all of one year’s gone
Since I held you in my arms
In the bed we know so well.
.
I lie alone at night
And see the callous bandits
Break into our hallowed bedroom
Cruelly knife our togetherness.
.
I lie alone at night
And think of you lying lonely
Dreaming of my return
To the home we love so well.
.
I lie alone at night
And think of the thick boots
Which stalk the halls of tyranny
And crush us underfoot.
.
I lie alone at night
And wonder why you wait
And endure the gripping pain
Which is my lot to bear.
.
I lie alone at night
And think of the stranger moon
The stars beyond my gaze
Your beauty like moons and stars.
.
I lie alone at night
And pray the day will come
To mend your broken heart
And steel my breaking soul.
.
I lie alone at night
And dream a great new dawn
Without boots and knives
Broken hearts, breaking souls
Empty dreams and lonely beds
Stranger moons and searing pain
When you and I and all of us
Can hold hands and sing our love
Into a night captured by peace.
. . .
Fire
.
There is a fire in me
Burns all night and day
Flares at injustice
Leaps at oppression
Glows warmly in beauty.
. . .
Kenule “Ken” Beeson Saro-Wiwa (1941-1995) was a Nigerian writer and environmental activist, of Ogoni ethnicity. Ogoniland, situated in the Niger Delta, was exploited for crude oil extraction from the mid-1950s onward by the Dutch giant, Shell Oil. Ogoniland suffered extreme environmental degradation – from oil spills, flares, and waste dumping. Saro-Wiwa, from 1990 to 1995, with MOSOP (Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People), led a non-violent campaign of resistance against Shell and the complicitness of Nigeria’s government, under the military dictatorship of General Sani Abacha. The writer/activist’s execution (along with eight others) provoked international outrage, resulting in Nigeria’s suspension for several years from the Commonwealth of Nations.
. . .
Nnimmo Bassey, co-ordinator of Oilwatch International and director of the Health of Mother Earth Foundation – from his introduction to The Last Writings of Ken Saro-Wiwa (published 2013):
Reading through the treasure trove of letters and poems compiled here evoked such intense memories of Ken’s resolute struggles against an oil behemoth and a deaf autocratic government. His crusade frames one of the most tumultuous periods in Nigeria’s history; his tragic story evokes anger and demands action to resolve the crises that first led the Ogoni people to demand that Shell clean up Ogoniland or clear out of the territory. It was Ken’s leadership, in great part, that forced Shell out of Ogoniland in 1993…..His pioneering work in building a virile environmental justice movement as well as that for the rights of minorities in Nigeria remains outstanding – and continues to inspire campaigners around the world.
. . . . .
“Thought Chill”: how Parliament’s proposed Bill C-51 (the Anti-Terrorism Act) un-democratizes Canada / Poems of Protest
Posted: March 24, 2015 Filed under: English | Tags: A.E. Housman, Robert Frost, Walid Khazindar Comments Off on “Thought Chill”: how Parliament’s proposed Bill C-51 (the Anti-Terrorism Act) un-democratizes Canada / Poems of Protest
Canada’s Federal Government’s proposed Bill C-51_Opening paragraphs
. . .
Elizabeth May
Why I Am Fighting Bill C-51
(originally published in Saanich News, March 20th, 2015):
.
The reaction to Bill C-51 has been widespread and the opposition is growing. While its short title is the “Anti-Terrorism Act,” it is both more and less than that.
It is less than “anti-terrorism” because it is likely to make us less safe. The act gives new powers to CSIS to act in Canada and overseas to “reduce threats,” with virtually no limits. CSIS is specifically not allowed to cause death or bodily harm or “violate the sexual integrity” of anyone. The range of potential activities — from break and enter, search and seizure, infiltration, monkey-wrenching, include powers to offer witnesses immunity from prosecution or from ever having to testify.
There is no requirement that CSIS tell the RCMP what it is up to, and it is the RCMP that has been successfully countering plots and arresting suspects. Just imagine when the RCMP finds key witnesses have a “get out of jail free” card from CSIS. That and other sections run a high degree of probability of gumming up the works. Security experts, especially those with experience in the Air India inquiry, remind us that it is critical that security agencies not develop silos. C-51 takes a system that is currently working quite well and threatens to turn it into a three ring circus, without benefit of a ring-master.
It is also less than Canadians would expect, as there is nothing in C-51 to work against radicalization. No outreach efforts, nothing for the prison system or the schools as the U.K. government established in its new law passed in December 2014.
It is more than anti-terrorism, as the range of activities covered by a new and sweeping definition of “threats to the security of Canada” in the information sharing section of the bill covers far more than terrorism. It could plausibly cover just about anything, and certainly would cover those opposing pipelines and tankers.
It is actually five bills rolled into one. Each part contains provisions I can only describe as dangerous. For example, part 5, amendments to the Immigration and Refugee Act, appear to allow the use of evidence obtained by torture. Part 3, ostensibly about getting terrorist propaganda off the Internet, uses a set of new concepts that would criminalize private conversations — and not just about terrorism. The propaganda section does not require knowing you are spreading propaganda, and “terrorist propaganda” itself has a definition so broad as to include a visual representation (a Che Guevera poster?) promoting a new concept called “terrorism in general.” Experts are now referring to this as “thought chill.”
As the first MP to oppose C-51, I now have a lot of company: four former prime ministers, six former Supreme Court justices, over 100 legal experts, Conrad Black, Rex Murphy, Tom Mulcair and the NDP, the editorial positions of the Globe and Mail, National Post and Toronto Star. The Assembly of First Nations has called for it to be withdrawn. I hope you agree as well.
. . .
The Secret Trial 5: a documentary by Amar Wala
Classic Poems of Protest…
.
A.E. Housman (1859-1936)
The Laws of God, The Laws of Man
.
The laws of God, the laws of man,
He may keep that will and can;
Not I: let God and man decree
Laws for themselves and not for me;
And if my ways are not as theirs
Let them mind their own affairs.
Their deeds I judge and much condemn,
Yet when did I make laws for them?
Please yourselves, say I, and they
Need only look the other way.
But no, they will not; they must still
Wrest their neighbour to their will,
And make me dance as they desire,
With jail and gallows and hell-fire.
And how am I to face the odds
Of man’s bedevilment and God’s?
I, a stranger and afraid,
In a world I never made.
They will be master, right or wrong;
Though both are foolish, both are strong.
And since, my soul, we cannot fly
To Saturn nor to Mercury,
Keep we must, if keep we can,
These foreign laws of God and man.
. . .
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
Directive
.
Back out of all this now too much for us,
Back in a time made simple by the loss
Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off
Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather,
There is a house that is no more a house
Upon a farm that is no more a farm
And in a town that is no more a town.
The road there, if you’ll let a guide direct you
– Who only has at heart your getting lost.
.
And if you’re lost enough to find yourself
By now, pull in your ladder road behind you
And put a sign up Closed to all but me.
.
I have kept hidden in the instep arch
Of an old cedar at the waterside
A broken drinking goblet like the Grail
Under a spell so the wrong ones can’t find it,
So can’t get saved, as Saint Mark says they mustn’t.
(I stole the goblet from the children’s playhouse.)
Here are your waters and your watering place.
Drink and be whole again beyond confusion.
. . .
Comments by poet Michael R. Burch, from The Hyper Texts:
A.E. Housman (The Laws of God, The Laws of Man) strongly protested the idea that Christians should be allowed to use the Bible to create arbitrary, unnecessary laws for nonbelievers like himself. Why should Housman have believed in the the highly dubious morality of a religion that damned him to jail and gallows and hell-fire just because he preferred men to women, sexually? This may be the first great protest poem written by a gay poet against his Christian oppressors.
.
Robert Frost (Directive) was writing about the dark load orthodox Christianity places on the slender shoulders of innocent children, when it tells them that the Bible is the infallible word of God, and that human beings live in danger of eternal torment. Frost understood all too well the emotional, psychological and spiritual damage children can suffer when they read verses in the Bible that say most human beings are “predestined” for eternal damnation before they are born, and that Jesus Christ deliberately misled most of his followers so that they could not be saved – keeping his true teachings only for his inner circle [Mark 4:10-12]. This magnificent poem is a protest against Frost’s own Christian upbringing and its “guide” who “only has at heart your getting lost”.
. . .
Walid Khazindar (born 1950)
Distant Light
.
Harsh and cold
autumn holds to it our naked trees:
If only you would free, at least, the sparrows
from the tips of your fingers
and release a smile, a small smile
from the imprisoned cry I see.
Sing! Can we sing
as if we were light, hand in hand,
sheltered in shade, under a strong sun?
Will you remain, this way
stoking the fire, more beautiful than necessary – and quiet?
Darkness intensifies,
and the distant light is our only consolation—
that one, which from the beginning
has, little by little, been flickering
and is now about to go out.
Come to me. Closer and closer.
I don’t want to know my hand from yours.
And let’s beware of sleep, lest the snow smother us.
. . .
Translation from Arabic into English: Khaled Mattawa, from the author’s collections Ghuruf Ta’isha (Dar al-Fikr, Beirut, 1992) and Satwat al-Masa (Dar Bissan, Beirut, 1996). Walid Khazindar was born in 1950 in Gaza City. Gaza City is located in the Gaza Strip, a small U.N.-sanctioned Palestinian territory surrounded by Israel.
. . . . .
Nowruz Mubarak – Happy Persian New Year! Quotations from Saadi, Barbara Sher, Ahmad Shamlu, and Article 1!
Posted: March 20, 2015 Filed under: English | Tags: First Day of Spring, Nowruz poems Comments Off on Nowruz Mubarak – Happy Persian New Year! Quotations from Saadi, Barbara Sher, Ahmad Shamlu, and Article 1!
برآمد باد صبح و بوی نوروز- به کام دوستان و بخت پیروز
مبارک بادت این سال و همه سال – همایون بادت این روز و همه روز
. . .
“You can learn new things at any time in your life if you’re willing to be a beginner. If you actually learn to like being a beginner, then the whole world opens up to you.”
Barbara Sher
. . .
Article 1, of the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights – in the Kazakhstani language:
Барлық адамдар тумысынан азат және қадір-қасиеті мен кұқықтары тең болып дүниеге келеді. Адамдарға ақыл-парасат, ар-ождан берілген, сондықтан олар бір-бірімен туыстық, бауырмалдық қарым-қатынас жасаулары тиіс.
.
Translation:
“All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood [ and sisterhood ].”
. . .
Ahmad Shamlu (1925-2000, Tehran, Iran)
“Bright Horizon”
.
Bright horizon
Some day we will find our doves
Kindness will take Beauty by the hand
.
That day – the least song will be a kiss
and every human being be brother to
every other human being
.
That day – house doors will not be shut
Locks will be but legends
And the Heart be enough for Living
.
The day – that the meaning of all speech is loving
so one won’t have to search for meaning down to the last word
The day – that the melody of every word be Life
and I won’t be suffering to find the right rhythm for every last poem
.
That day – when every lip is a song
and the least song will be a kiss
That day – when you come – when you’ll come forever –
and Kindness be equal to Beauty
.
The day – that we toss seeds to the doves…
and I await that day
even if upon that day I myself no longer be.
. . .
We are grateful to Hassan H. Faramarz for the Persian-to-English translation of “Bright Horizon”.
. . .
May your Nowruz be blessed with Hope – for resolutions, and moving on; for old patterns broken, and new directions sought; for common ground where there is strife; for being on the side of Life!
. . .
Image using Arabic text from a Saadi poem: graphic artist Reza Assar
. . . . .
First Day of Spring: Larkin, Mansfield, Ryōkan Taigu
Posted: March 20, 2015 Filed under: English Comments Off on First Day of Spring: Larkin, Mansfield, Ryōkan Taigu
Philip Larkin (1922-1985)
First Sight
.
Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.
As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth’s immeasurable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.
. . .
Katharine Mansfield (1888-1923)
Very Early Spring
.
The fields are snowbound no longer;
There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green.
The snow has been caught up into the sky–
So many white clouds–and the blue of the sky is cold.
Now the sun walks in the forest,
He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers;
They shiver, and wake from slumber.
Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls.
Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears….
A wind dances over the fields.
Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter,
Yet the little blue lakes tremble
And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.
. . .
Ryōkan Taigu (Zen Buddhist monk, Japan, 1758-1831)
First Days of Spring
.
First days of Spring…
the sky is bright blue, the sun huge and warm.
Everything’s turning green.
Carrying my monk’s bowl, I walk to the village
to beg for my daily meal.
The children spot me at the temple gate
and happily crowd around,
dragging on my arms till I stop.
I put my bowl on a white rock,
hang my bag on a branch.
First we braid grasses and play tug-of-war,
then we take turns singing and keeping a kick-ball in the air:
I kick the ball and they sing, they kick and I sing.
Time is forgotten, the hours fly.
People passing by point at me and laugh:
“Why are you acting like such a fool?”
I nod my head and don’t answer.
I could say something – but why?
Do you want to know what’s in my heart?
From the beginning of time: just this! just this!
. . . . .
“Once upon a time, there were no stories in this world…” Toronto Storytelling Festival: March 19th-29th, 2015
Posted: March 19, 2015 Filed under: English, English: Jamaican Patois | Tags: Anansi the Spider God Comments Off on “Once upon a time, there were no stories in this world…” Toronto Storytelling Festival: March 19th-29th, 2015
Anansi: the Spider God who is a storyteller, and whose name is synonymous with skill in speech.
2015 Toronto Storytelling Festival
.
Among the many events…
The Talking Stick: a special evening at 1001 Friday Nights of Storytelling, Innis College, March 20th , 8 pm.
Queers in Your Ears, at Canadian Lesbian and Gay Archives (CLGA), March 21st, 2 pm.
All Aboard! On the Katari Story Time Machine, at the Japan Foundation, Toronto, March 21st, 3 pm.
Storytelling with Elizabeth Laird and Rubena Sinha: Animal Fables and Tiger Tales, at the Aga Khan Museum, March 22nd, 2 pm to 10 pm.
A Storytelling Journey to Ethiopia, Brazil, and The Yukon, at The Ismaili Centre, Toronto, March 23rd, 7:30 pm.
D’bi Young: dubpoet, praise-singer, storyteller, at Aki Studio Theatre, Daniels Spectrum, Regent Park, Toronto, March 24th, 5 pm.
Storytalk: What comes first – the story or the world? At Paintbox Bistro, Regent Park, Toronto, March 28th, 10 am.
Storytalk: Aqausivut – Our Inuit Love Songs from mother to child, at Paintbox Bistro, March 28th, 11:15 am.
. . .
Storytellers will include: Taina Tyebjee, Leeya Solomon, Marîa del Carmen Orodoñez, Michael Parent, Mahlika Awe:ri, Djennie Laguerre, Richard Wagamese, Itah Sadu, Donald Carr, Rubena Sinha,
…and more!
http://www.torontostorytellingfestival.ca
. . .
ANANSI is a West-African god who often takes the shape of a spider. The Asante (Ashanti) people of Ghana had many Anansi tales, and these stories were in the oral tradtion; Anansi himself was always synonymous with skill + wisdom in speech.
There is one Anansi story that explains the phenomenon of how his name became attached to the whole corpus of tales:
Once upon a time there were no stories in this world; the Sky-God, Nyame, had them all.
Anansi went to Nyame and asked how much they would cost to buy.
Nyame set a high price: Anansi must bring back Onini the Python, Osebo the Leopard, and the Mboro Hornets.
And so, Anansi set about to capture these three: python, leopard, and the hornets.
First he went to where Python lived and debated out loud whether Python was really longer than the palm branch – or not as his wife Aso had said. Python overheard, and, when Anansi explained the debate, agreed to lie along the palm branch. Because he could not easily make himself completely straight, a true impression of his actual length was difficult to obtain. So Python agreed to be tied to the branch. And once he was completely tied down, Anansi took him to Nyame.
To catch the Leopard, Anansi dug a deep hole in the ground. When the leopard fell in the hole Anansi offered to help him out with his webs. Once the leopard was out of the hole he was bound in Anansi’s webs – and carried away.
To catch the hornets, Anansi filled a calabash with water and poured some over a banana leaf he held over his head and some over the nest, calling out that it was raining. He suggested the bees get into the empty calabash, and when they obliged, he quickly sealed the opening.
Anansi handed his captives over to Nyame, and Nyame rewarded him by making him the “god of all stories”.
.
“Anancy and Common Sense” (A tale told in Jamaican Patois)
.
Wance apan a time Breda Anancy mek up im mind seh im gwine callect all a de camman sense inna de wurl. Im was tinking dat he would be de smartest smaddy in de wurl ef im do dis. So Anancy traveled all ova de wurl collecting camman sense. Im go to big countries an likkle ones. Im go to primary schools and universities. Im go to govament offices and businesses. Im go people house and dem work place.
Im tek all de zillions camman sense he had collected fram around the wurl and put it a big calabash. Im tek de calabash wid im to im backyard and climbed a big gwangu tree. His plan was to store it at de tap of the tree for safety-keeping. Nobady woulda get to it but Anancy.
To mek sure it was safe Anancy tie the calabash to de front of his bady. Dis slow down im progress up de tree to a slow crawl. Im did look very clumsy a-go up de tree wid be-caw the calabash dida hamper im.
As im was slowing going up toward de top a de tree a likkle girl below called out to im. Anancy, mek you nuh tie the calabash pon you back insteada in front of yuh. It will git up de tree much fasta and ez-a.
Anancy was bex be-cah de likkle girl show im up for not thinking. She had more good sense dan him he thought. He called out to her “Mi did tink me collected all the camman sense fram all ova de wurl”
He was so angry dat im fling the calabash to the to the groung and it bust. All of the camman sense im did callect fly back to all ova de wurl.
An dat’s how you and I manage to have just a likkle common sense for we-self tideh.
“And his wild harp slung behind him”: lyric poems of Thomas Moore for St. Patrick’s Day
Posted: March 17, 2015 Filed under: English, Thomas Moore | Tags: Saint Patrick's Day Poems Comments Off on “And his wild harp slung behind him”: lyric poems of Thomas Moore for St. Patrick’s Day
Eileen Thompson the “Colleen”_Belfast, 1944
Thomas Moore (1779-1852)
The Minstrel Boy (song composed around 1800)
.
The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you’ll find him;
His father’s sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;
“Land of Song!” said the warrior bard,
“Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!”
.
The Minstrel fell! But the foeman’s chain
Could not bring his proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne’er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said “No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free
They shall never sound in slavery!”
. . .
Moore set his patriotic poem, The Minstrel Boy”, to the melody known as The Moreen, an old Irish air. It is believed that the poet composed the song in remembrance of friends he’d known while studying at Trinity College, Dublin, and who had taken part in / were killed during, the Irish Rebellion of 1798.
. . .
Thomas Moore
The Last Rose of Summer (written in 1805)
.
‘Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
.
I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter,
Thy leaves o’er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love’s shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
. . .
Moore’s poem, The Last Rose of Summer, was composed in 1805 while he was visiting Jenkinstown Park in County Kilkenny. It was later set to a traditional tune called “Aislean an Oigfear” or “The Young Man’s Dream”, which had been transcribed by Edward Bunting in 1792 based on a performance by harper Donnchadh Ó hÁmsaigh (Denis Hempson) at the Belfast Harp Festival. The poem and the tune together were published in December 1813 in volume 5 of a collection of Moore’s work called A Section of Irish Melodies.
The Brian Boru Harp_a 15th century cláirseach
Zócalo Poets 