“Yancuic Xochicuicatl”: Poemas náhuatl para celebrar el Día de la Independencia – ¡Vivan las lenguas indígenas mexicanas, hoy y siempre! / Poems to celebrate México on Independence Day – Long live Her Indigenous Languages, Today and Always!
Posted: September 15, 2012 Filed under: English, Natalio Hernández, Náhuatl, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best | Tags: Poemas para el Día de la Independencia de México Comments Off on “Yancuic Xochicuicatl”: Poemas náhuatl para celebrar el Día de la Independencia – ¡Vivan las lenguas indígenas mexicanas, hoy y siempre! / Poems to celebrate México on Independence Day – Long live Her Indigenous Languages, Today and Always!
Natalio Hernández (nace 1947, Naranjo Dulce, Veracruz)
Selecciones del poemario Semanca Huitzlin
/ Colibrí de la Harmonía
/ Hummingbird of Harmony (2005)
.
“Yancuic Xochicuicatl”
Huetzis atl
huetzis atl
tiyolpaqui
huetzis atl,
tiyolpaqui
huetzis atl.
.
Huala atl
huala atl
tepetzala
huala atl,
tepetzala
huala atl.
.
Cuali atl
cuali atl
yatihnequi
cuali atl,
yatihnequi
cuali atl
.
Xochi atl
xochi atl
huetztihuala
.
xochi atl,
huetztihuala
xochi atl.
.
Huetzis atl
huetzis atl
tiyolpaqui
huetzis atl,
tiyolpaqui
huetzis atl.
.
“Yancuic Xochicuicatl”: Traducción en inglés / translation into English: Donald Frischmann
.
“New Flowers, New Songs”
It will rain
It will rain
we are happy
it will rain
we are happy
it will rain.
.
Rain is coming
rain is coming
o’er the hills
rain is coming
o’er the hills
rain is coming.
.
Good pure water
good pure water
we now wish for
good pure water
we now wish for
good pure water.
.
Flowered water
flowered water
is now falling
flowered water
is now falling
flowered water.
.
It will rain
it will rain
we are happy
it will rain
we are happy
it will rain.
Note: the words Flower + Song together in Náhuatl mean “Poetry”.
The phrase in Náhuatl is: ” in xochitl in cuicatl “
.
“Yancuic icuic Monteso Xocoyotzin”
Ximosehui tetahtzin
ximoyolsehui
xihcahua cuesoli
amo ximotequipacho;
nican tlachixtoque:
moconehua
mopilhuan
motlacamecayo,
ipan Mexihco totlalnantzin
nican titlachixtoque.
.
Xihuicahuitl panoc
panoc xopanatl;
ehecatl quihuicac cuesoli
quisehui choquilistli
quipahti totlacayo
quitlalochti mahmahtli.
Yancuic tonati
tech tlahuiltihuala.
.
Ximosehui tetahtzin
ximoyoltlali
amo nempolihuis in altepetl
chamanis totlahtol.
Nochipa manis in ixtli,
in yolohtli
in tlacamecayotl,
in xicnelhuayotl.
“Canto Nuevo a Moctezuma Xocoyotzin”
Reposa venerable viejo
apacigua tu corazón
abandona la tristeza
ya no te aflijas;
aquí permanecemos:
tus hijos
tus príncipes
tu linaje,
en la nación mexicana
aquí permanecemos.
.
Han pasado los años
la tempestad ya pasó;
El viento recogió nuestra tristeza
secó nuestras lágrimas
restauró nuestras heridas
ahuyentó el miedo.
Un nuevo sol
ya nos alumbra.
.
Reposa venerable viejo
tranquiliza tu corazón;
permanecerá el pueblo
renacerá la palabra.
No perecerá el rostro,
el corazón,
el linaje,
la raíz antigua.
. . . . .
“El Ritmo del Tiempo”
Todo a su debido tiempo…ni antes ni después.
Al año reverdece el campo.
El sol brota en el horizonte cuando la noche recoge su manto.
El hombre madura cuando el otoño llega y los árboles pierden sus hojas…
ni antes ni después.
El colibrí / huitzilin, inverna seis meses al año
y despierta cuando llega Xopantla / la primavera.
Ocurre lo mismo con el amor: llega con el tiempo…ni antes ni después.
.
“The Rhythm of Time”
In due course everything has its time…not before, not after.
The countryside greens up during the passage of the year.
The sun sprouts from the horizon when night gathers up its cloak.
Man matures when autumn comes and the trees lose their leaves
…not any sooner than that, not any later.
Hummingbird / Huitzilin* winters away for half the year
and awakes when Xopantla** / Spring arrives.
The same occurs with Love:
It comes with time…neither too soon, nor too late.
.
*Huitzilin – Náhuatl word for hummingbird
**Xopantla – Náhuatl word for spring
.
“El Ritmo del Tiempo”: Traducción del español al inglés: Alexander Best
“The Rhythm of Time”: Translation from Spanish into English: Alexander Best
Poemas náhuatl para celebrar el Día de la Independencia mexicana: “dos flores” de Juan Hernández Ramírez
Posted: September 15, 2012 Filed under: Juan Hernández Ramírez, Náhuatl, Spanish, ZP Translator: Lidia García Garay | Tags: Poemas para el Día de la Independencia de México Comments Off on Poemas náhuatl para celebrar el Día de la Independencia mexicana: “dos flores” de Juan Hernández Ramírez
Juan Hernández Ramírez
(nace 1951, Colatlán, Veracruz)
Dos poemas del poemario Chikome xochitl / Siete-flor
“Miauaxochitl”
I
Ipan ueyatl axiuitik sintli
Makuilxochitl kipatlaua imamal.
Kueponi miauatl.
Xali xochitl tiokuitlatik.
In ajuechkali
moxochitlakentijtok.
San eltok kuikatl tlatsotsontli.
II
Tlilelemeka tonatij itsonkal
ipan sintli itlakayo.
Moxochiotlaltok Xilonen.
Pankistok siltik tlilelemektli.
Tlixochitl
toselik nakayo.
Ketsalxochimej kali.
III
Chichiltik, yayauik, chipauak, kostik
ikuetlaxo itlapoyauilis.
Tien sintli tlayoli.
Ika xochitl mokuachijchijtok Senteotl.
Kuika miauatototl.
In chalchiuitl uitsitsilij,
ika xochitl moiuintia.
IV
Kostik xochitl tlaixpaj.
Kantelaj tlauili. Kopalij ipokyo.
Tokistli tiochiualistli.
Tlali, se uinoj tlatsikuintli,
inik tlakatl seyok.
Xochimej, inik matlaeli.
Tlapojtok tlali, tlaoli kiselia.
V
Ipan youali tlakoyoyan kochki,
ajuechtli kiauitl issa.
Sintoktli.
Ipan kalejekatl yoltok.
Ipan tlauiltlalpan moskaltia,
xochiketsal ikuaxanko.
Xoxoktik xiuitl papalotl.
VI
Ketsaltototl kitlalana ipatlanil,
uiuipika sintli ixouiyo.
Ipan xoxouik xopantla tlali
tlen tlauili kuauitl moskaltia.
Kuikaya Xochitototl.
Tlapouij xiuimej
ipan yolistli.
VII
Ipan tonatij ichaj yoltok.
Tlen yolistli tiokuitlatl yoltok,
kostik sintlayoli.
Xoxoktik mestli xiuimej
itsajla tiotlatik tlauili uiuipikaj.
Tsaktok xochikoskatl.
Patlantok uitsitsilij.
“Espiga de maíz”
I
Sobre el verde mar del maíz
Su manto extiende Macuilxóchitl.
Brota la espiga.
Dorada flor de arena.
La casa del rocío
está vestida de flores.
Prevalece la música y el canto.
II
Arde la cabellera del sol
sobre el cuerpo del maíz.
Xilonen ha florecido.
La fina llama ha brotado.
Flor de fuego
nuestra tierna carne.
Casa de preciosas flores.
III
Amarillo, blanco, negro, rojo,
los matices de su piel.
El grano de maíz.
Centeotl, de flores está adornado.
Canta el pájaro espiga.
El colibrí de jade
se embriaga con las flores.
IV
Altar de flores amarillas.
Luz de velas. Humo de copal.
Rito de la siembra.
Un trago de aguardiente a la tierra,
otro para el hombre.
Para la abundancia, flores.
La tierra abierta, recibe la semilla.
V
Ha dormido en el lugar de la noche,
despierta bajo la lluvia del rocío.
La mata de maíz.
Vive en la casa de los vientos.
Crece en la tierra de luz,
regazo de Xochiquetzal.
Mariposa de hojas verdes.
VI
Alza su vuelo el quetzal,
La hoja del maíz se estremece.
En la tierra verde-primavera
Crece el árbol de la luz.
Ya canta el pájaro flor.
Las hojas se abren
A la vida.
VII
Vive en la casa del sol.
El oro vivo de la vida,
dorada semilla de maíz.
Las hojas verde-luna
tiemblan bajo la luz atardecida.
Se ha cerrado el collar de flores.
El colibrí ha volado.
. . . . .
“Sempoalxochitl”
I
Kokitl itlauil
ipan yayauik ejekatl.
In kostik xochitl.
Ipan ejekatl tiokuitlaxochipetlatl
tlen tlali iijtiko pamitl.
Tlauili iuan tsintlayouali,
Sempoalxochitl.
II
Ika kostik xochitl
kisusua kauitl Xiutekojtli.
Tlixochimej.
Sesentsitsij xochimej moilpiaj
ketsalijuitl kiijitiyouij
kalmiktlampa inik ojtli.
Xochikoskatl.
III
Ipan kostik tlailpili
Tlen ikuaixuak tlajtsoyoj,
Moketstok kauitl.
In mijkatsij xochimej,
tiopantlauili kitemouaj
ipan youalkali.
In tlanestli sitlalij, inik tonali.
IV
Tiitstokeya nikanij,
¿Kanji tonejnemil techuikas?
¿ueslis ipan tonatij iojui?
Tiitstokeya nikanij.
Kostik xochimej tijtlachiliaj
iijuiyo tonatitototl tikitaj.
¿Temiktli in yolistli?
V
Nejnemi Tlitekojtli
ika miktokej yaotlakamej
ika siuamej miktokej ipan mixiuili.
Sempoalxochitl xochimej
tlapalmej totomej,
konemej, siuamej iuan tlakamej.
Tonatij iixpaj iichaj.
VI
Ika totomej ejekatl iniuaya
kuikatl iuan ajuechtli kimoyauaj.
Atl ikechkuayo.
Ipan yeuatsinko kuikaj texiuitik totomej,
tlen youaltotomej in tiotlak.
Tlauili iuan tsintlayouali.
Mikilistli iuan yolistli.
VII
Tiitstokejya nikanij
ika chichiltik xochitl titlakajtokej
ika kostik xochitl tikisteuasej.
In xiutototl techtlauilia
tlen mitlampa ojtli.
Ipan ojtli eltlapaltipaj tiyajtiasej
ika xochimej paxalouanij.
.
“Flor de Muerto”
I
Luz de luciérnaga
en el viento negro.
La flor amarilla.
Pétalos de oro al viento
dentro del surco de la tierra.
Oscuridad y luz,
Sepoalxóchitl.
II
Con flores amarillas
Xiutecojtli engarza el tiempo.
Flores de fuego.
Una a una se anudan las flores
tejiendo el fino plumaje
para el camino a casa de la muerte.
Collar de flores.
III
En el nudo amarillo
bordado en la frente,
se ha detenido el tiempo.
Las flores de la muerte,
buscan el temple de la luz
en la casa de la noche.
Para el espíritu, la estrella del alba.
IV
Ya estamos aquí,
¿dónde nuestros pasos nos llevarán?
¿acaso por los caminos del sol?
Ya estamos aquí.
Contemplamos las flores amarillas,
miramos el plumaje del pájaro sol.
¿Es la vida sueño?
V
El Señor del fuego camina
con los guerreros muertos,
con las mujeres el el parto muertas.
Son flores de cempoalxóchitl
las aves de colores,
los niños, mujeres y hombres.
Su hogar de cara al sol.
VI
El viento aliado con los pájaros,
esparcen el canto y el rocío.
La garganta es de agua.
Cantan pájaros azules en la aurora,
la tarde es de las nocturnas aves.
Luz y oscuridad.
Muerte y vida.
VII
Ya estamos aquí
con flores rojas hemos nacido,
con flores amarillas hemos de partir.
El pájaro solar “xiutototl” nos alumbra
camino a la morada de los muertos.
Nos hemos de ir en alas por la senda,
con las viajeras flores.
. . . . .
“Chikome xochitl” / Siete-flor, alude al maíz que, junto con semillas del chile-tomate-algodón-amaranto-ajonjolí
— y de la calabaza — constituyen el símbolo náhuatl de las siete flores.
. . . . .
“Ear of Corn”
I
On the green sea of corn
Macuixóchitl extends his mantle.
The ear of corn ear comes out.
Golden flower of sand
The dew’s home
is dressed with flowers.
Music and song abound.
II
The sun’s radiance
on the corn’s body.
Xilonen has blossomed.
The fine flame has sprouted
Fire flower
our tender flesh.
House of precious flowers.
III
Yellow, white, black, red.
nuances of the skin.
The corn grains.
Centeotl, adorned with flowers.
The corn-ear bird sings.
the jade hummingbird
gets drunk with the flowers.
IV
Altar of yellow flowers.
Candlelight. Smoke of “copal”.
Sowing rites.
A drink of liquor for the land,
another one for man.
For abundance, flowers.
The open earth receives the seed.
V
It has slept in the night’s home,
wakes up under the dew’s rain
– the corn plant.
Lives in the house of winds.
Grows in the land of light,
Xochiquetzal’s lap.
Green-leafed butterfly.
VI
The “quetzal” takes flight
the maize leaf trembles.
In the land of green-spring.
The tree of light grows.
The flower-bird sings.
The leaves open up.
To Life.
VII
Lives in the house of the sun.
The living gold of life
– golden seed of corn.
With green-moon leaves
a-hiver under the evening light.
The flower necklace is closed.
The hummingbird has flown….
“The Flower of The Dead”
I
Glow-worm light
in the black wind.
Yellow flower.
Free-standing petals of gold.
Inside the ground’s furrow.
Darkness and light,
Sempoalxóchitl.
II
With yellow flowers
Xiutecojtli catches time.
Flowers of fire.
The flowers come together, one by one
knitting fine plumage
on the road to the house of death.
Flower necklace.
III
In the yellow knot
embroidered on the forehead,
time has stopped.
The flowers of death.
Seeking the temple of light
in the house of night.
For the spirit, the star of dawn.
IV
We’re here,
Where will our steps lead us?
Maybe to the paths of the sun?
We’re here.
Gazing at the yellow flowers,
Looking at the sun-bird’s plumage.
Is Life a dream?
V
The Lord of fire walks
with the dead warriors,
with the women who died in labour.
The “cempoalxóchitl” flowers
are birds in all colours.
Children, women and men.
Their home facing the sun.
VI
The wind and the birds together,
scatter song and dew.
Their throats – made of water.
The blue birds sing at daybreak,
and evening belongs to the night birds.
Light – Darkness,
Death and Life.
VII
We’re here
we were born with red flowers,
with yellow flowers we will leave.
The solar bird “xiutototl” shines on us.
On the way to the home of the dead.
And we must fly on that path
– with the travelling flowers.
.
Traducción del español al inglés / Translation from Spanish into English:
Lidia García Garay
Poemas para el Día de la Independencia: perspectivas frescas sobre Malinalli / Doña Marina / Malintzin / La Malinche – de los poetas Rosario Castellanos y Claribel Alegría
Posted: September 15, 2012 Filed under: Claribel Alegría, English, Rosario Castellanos, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best | Tags: Poemas para el Día de la Independencia de México Comments Off on Poemas para el Día de la Independencia: perspectivas frescas sobre Malinalli / Doña Marina / Malintzin / La Malinche – de los poetas Rosario Castellanos y Claribel Alegría
Rosario Castellanos (1925-1974, México)
“La Malinche”
Desde el sillón del mando mi madre dijo: “Ha muerto”.
.
Ya se dejó caer, como abatida,
en los brazos del otro, usurpador, padrastro
que la sostuvo no con el respeto
que el siervo da a la majestad de reina
sino con ese abajamiento mutuo
en que se humillan ambos, los amantes, los cómplices.
.
Desde la Plaza de los Intercambios
mi madre anunció: “Ha muerto”.
.
La balanza
se sostuvo un instante sin moverse
y el grano de cacao quedó quieto en el arca
y el sol permanecía en la mitad del cielo
como aguardando un signo
que fue, cuando partió como una flecha,
el ay agudo de las plañideras.
.
“Se deshojó la flor de muchos pétalos,
se evaporó el perfume,
se consumió la llama de la antorcha.
.
Una niña regresa, escarbando, al lugar
en el que la partera depositó su ombligo.
.
Regresa al Sitio de los que Vivieron.
.
Reconoce a su padre asesinado,
ay, ay, ay, con veneno, con puñal,
con trampa ante sus pies, con lazo de horca.
.
Se toman de la mano y caminan, caminan
perdiéndose en la niebla.”
.
Tal era el llanto y las lamentaciones
sobre algún cuerpo anónimo; un cadáver
que no era el mío porque yo, vendida
a mercaderes, iba como esclava,
como nadie, al destierro.
.
Arrojada, expulsada
del reino, del palacio y de la entraña tibia
de la que me dio a luz en tálamo legítimo
y que me aborreció porque yo era su igual
en figura y rango
y se contempló en mí y odió su imagen
y destrozó el espejo contra el suelo.
.
Yo avanzo hacia el destino entre cadenas
y dejo atrás lo que todavía escucho:
los fúnebres rumores con los que se me entierra.
.
Y la voz de mi madre con lágrimas ¡con lágrimas!
que decreta mi muerte.
. . .
El poema “La Malinche” – del poemario Poesía no eres tú (1972) – es uno de varios textos de Castellanos que revisa y reinterpreta figuras famosas femeninas.
. . .
Rosario Castellanos (1925-1974, México)
“La Malinche”
From her royal throne my mother announced: “She is dead”.
.
And then she collapsed, humbled,
in the arms of the other, the usurper, my stepfather
who sustained her not with the respect
a servant owes to the majesty of a queen
but with the mutual submissiveness
with which lovers, accomplices, abase themselves.
.
From the Plaza de los Intercambios
my mother announced: “She is dead.”
.
The scale
remained immobile for an instant
the cacao bean reposed quietly in its chest
the sun stood still in the sky’s zenith
as if awaiting a sign
which was, when it shot out like an arrow,
the penetrating cry of the mourners.
.
“The many-petaled flower has withered
the perfume has evaporated
the torch’s flame extinguished.
.
A girl returns, scratching at
the spot where the midwife left her navel.
.
She returns to the Place of Those who have Lived.
.
She beholds her father, murdered,
ay, ay, ay, with poison, with a dagger,
with a trap set before his feet, with a hangman’s noose.
.
Taken by the hand, she and they walk, they walk,
losing themselves in the fog.”
.
Such was the weeping and lamentation
over an anonymous corpse; a cadaver
that was not mine, because I, sold to
the merchants, went forth to exile like a slave,
a pariah.
.
Expelled, cast out from
the kingdom, from the palace and warmth
of her who gave honest birth to me
and who despised me because I was her equal
in figure and rank
she who saw herself in me and hated her image
and dashed the mirror to the ground.
.
I go, in chains, toward my destiny
and am followed still by the sounds
of the mournful chants with which they bury me.
.
And the voice of my mother in tears – in tears! –
that decries my death.
Translation from Spanish into English: © Julian Palley, 1988
_____
Claribel Alegría (nace 1924, Nicaragua/El Salvador)
“La Malinche”
Estoy aquí
en el banquillo de los acusados
dicen que soy traidora
¿a quién he traicionado?
era una niña aún
cuando mi padre
es decir
mi padrastro
temiendo que su hijo
no heredara las tierras
que a mí correspondían
me condujo hacia el sur
y me entregó a extraños
que no hablaban mi lengua.
Terminé de crecer en esa tribu
les servía de esclava
y llegaron los blancos
y me entregaron a los blancos.
¿Qué significa para ustedes
la palabra traición?
¿Acaso no fui yo la traicionada?
¿Quién de los míos vino a mi defensa
cuando el primer blanco me violó
cuando fui obligada
a besar su falo
de rodillas
cuando sentí mi cuerpo desgarrarse
y junto a él mi alma?
Fidelidad me exigen
ni siquiera conmigo
he podido ser fiel.
Antes de florecer
se me secó el amor
es un niño en mi vientre
que nunca vio la luz
¿Qué traicioné a mi patria?
Mi patria son los míos
y me entregaron ellos.
¿A quién rendirle cuentas?
¿A quién?
decidme
¿a quién?
.
Claribel Alegría (born 1924, Nicaragua/El Salvador)
“La Malinche”
Here I am
In “the dock”…
They say I’m a traitor,
Who have I betrayed?
I was just a little girl
When my father
(that is, my stepfather)
Fearing that his son
Would not inherit his lands
– lands to which I was entitled –
led me away to the south
And handed me over to strangers
Who didn’t speak my language.
I stopped growing in that tribe,
I served as slave.
And white people arrived
And I was handed over to them.
What does the word betrayal mean to all of you?
Wasn’t I the betrayed one?
Who of my people came to my defence
When the first white man violated me,
When I was made to kiss his phallus,
Down on my knees,
When I felt my body torn
And my soul right next to him?
Loyalty you demand of me
When I have not even been able to be true to myself.
Before blooming
I was already dessicated by Love.
There’s a child in my womb
who never saw the light.
In what way did I betray my homeland?
My country is my people
– and they abandoned me.
Who will account for that?
Who?
All of you, tell me – who?
Alegría translation from Spanish into English: Alexander Best
_____
La Malinche – born Malinalli, of Nahua parentage, in 1496 – was sold as a teenager by her mother and step-father to slave-traders – from whom she learned the Mayan language. She ended up as one of many “gifts” to recently-arrived “conquistador” Hernán Cortés, in 1519. She proved invaluable to him; her knowledge of both Náhuatl (the language of the Aztecs’ Empire) and of the neighbouring Maya meant that she could interpret for Cortés in his dealings with officials of both Peoples, thereby gaining the upper hand for Spain. Her fluency in Spanish soon followed, and in 1522, Doña Marina (her Christian baptism name, with the word “Lady” (Doña) before it) or Malintzin (as she was called respectfully by the Nahuas) bore a son by Cortés. His name was Martín, and he is said to symbolize the first true Mexican, being “mestizo” (“mixed race” of white/amerindian). Historians are in disagreement over the date of Malintzin’s death – 1529 or 1551. At any rate, Cortés was an ambitious and greedy man-in-a-hurry and he did not remain with Malintzin; yet she had been supremely useful to him – and to “el Imperio español”/The Spanish Empire, which was then in its initial surges of power.
Like The Virgin of Guadalupe La Malinche is a cultural icon in México – but unlike “Our Lady” she is also viewed negatively.
While she is seen as the “womb” of Mestizaje – the on-going union of different races and cultures – she is also, unfairly many contemporary scholars believe – a symbol of the “betrayal” of Indigenous Peoples – the Mexicas, the Tlaxcalans, the Totonacs, the Chichimecas – the lot.
The flashpoint is her multilinguality: ¡Traductora, traidora! Translator — Traitor!
This is a great deal for one woman to bear. And poets Rosario Castellanos and Claribel Alegría understand such a fact – so they have allowed Malintzin to “speak” in our era instead of only “interpreting” for others in centuries past…
Grito de Dolor, de Dignidad, de Orgullo: Cuauhtemoctzin, Anáhuac Huei Tlahtohuani: Su Último Mandato
Posted: September 15, 2012 Filed under: English, Náhuatl, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best | Tags: Poemas para el Día de la Independencia de México Comments Off on Grito de Dolor, de Dignidad, de Orgullo: Cuauhtemoctzin, Anáhuac Huei Tlahtohuani: Su Último Mandato
Cuauhtémoc (1496-1525) fue el último “tlatoani” mexica de México-Tenochtitlan.
Reinó durante la toma de Tenochtitlan por Hernán Cortés y sus soldados.
.
Tlatzacan Cuauhtemoctzintli Itenahuatil
.
Totonaltzin ye omotlatihzinoh,
totonaltzin ye omixpoliuhtzinoh,
ihuan centlayohuayan otechcahuilih.
.
Mach tictomachiliah occeppa mohualhuiliz,
ma occeppa moquizaltiz
ihuan yancuican techmotlahuililiquiuh.
.
In oquic ompa mictlanzinco momanilticaz
.
ma zan iciuhca titocentlalihtzinocan,
ma titonechicohtzinocan
ihuan toyolnepantlahtzinco ma tictotlatilican
mochi in toyollotzin quimotlazohtilia
ihuan ticmachiliah totlaqui:
topan yuhquin huei chalchihuitzintli.
.
Ma tiquinpohpolhuican in toteocalhuan,
in tocalmecahuan, in totlachcohuan,
in totelpochcalhuan, in tocuicacalhuan;
ma mocelcahuican in toohuihuan
ihuan tochantzitzinhuan ma techpielican
.
Quin ihcuac moquizaltiz in yancuic totonaltzin,
in tetahzitzintin ihuan in tenantzitzintin
ma aic xicmilcahuilican
quimilhuitizqueh in intelpochtzitzinhuan
ihuan ma quinmachtilican inpilhuantzitzinhuan
in oquic nemitizqueh,
huel quenin cualli moyetzinoticatca
quin axcan Totlazohanahuac
in campa techmocuitlahuiqueh toteotzitzinhuan,
intlanequiliz ihuan intlaelehuiliz,
ihuan zan ye no ipampa toquinmahuiliz
ihuan toquinpololiz
oquinceliliqueh in tiachcatzitzihuan,
ihuan tlen in totahtzitzihuan,
ahhuic yolecayopan,
oquinximachtiliqueh toyelizpan.
.
Axcan tehhuantzitzin tiquintotequimaquiliah
in topilhuan:
¡Macamo quicalhuilican, ma quinnonotzacan
inpilhuan huel quenin moyetzinotiyez
in imahcoquizaliz,
quenin occeppa moehualtiz in totohaltzin;
ihuan huel quenin mochicahuilihtzinoz
huel quenin moquitzontiliz hueyica
inehtotiliztzin inin
totlazohtlalnantzin Anáhuac!
” CUAUHTEMOCTZIN,
Anáhuac Huei Tlahtohuani ”
.
“El Último Mandato del Venerable Cuauhtémoc”
Nuestra sagrada energía ya tuvo a bien ocultarse,
nuestro venerable sol ya dignamente desapareció su rostro,
y en total obscuridad se dignó dejarnos.
.
Ciertamente sabemos que otra vez se dignará volver,
que otra vez tendrá a bien salir
y nuevamente vendrá dignamente a alumbrarnos.
.
En tanto que allá entre los muertos tenga a bien permanecer.
.
Muy rápido reunámonos,
congreguémonos
y en medio de nuestro corazón escondamos
todo el nuestro corazón se honra amando
y sabemos nuestra riqueza
en nosotros como gran esmeralda.
.
Hagamos desaparecer los nuestros lugares sagrados,
los nuestros Calmécac los nuestros juegos de pelota,
los nuestros Telpochcalli, las nuestras casas de canto;
que solos se queden los nuestros caminos
y nuestros hogares que nos preserven.
.
Hasta cuando se digne salir el nuevo nuestro Sol,
los venerados padres y las veneradas madres
que nunca se olviden de
decirles a los sus jóvenes
y que les enseñen a sus hijos
mientras se dignen vivir,
precisamente cuán buena ha sido
hasta ahora nuestra amada Anáhuac
donde nos cuidan nuestros venerados difuntos,
su voluntad y sus deseo,
y solo también por causa de nuestro respeto por ellos
y nuestra humildad ante ellos
que recibieron nuestros venerados antecesores
y que los nuestros venerados padres,
a un lado y otro en las venas de nuestro corazón,
los hicieron conocer en nuestro ser.
.
Ahora nosotros entregamos la tarea a
los nuestros hijos
Que no olviden, que les informen
a sus hijos intensamente como será
su elevación,
como nuevamente se levantará el nuestro venerable Sol
y precisamente como mostrará dignamente su fuerza
precisamente como tendrá a bien completar grandiosamente
su digna promesa esta
nuestra venerada y amada tierra madre Anáhuac!
.
“The Final Mandate of the most Venerable Cuauhtémoc”
Our sacred energy has already had to hide itself away,
Worthily, the face of our venerable Sun has disappeared
And in total darkness deigned to leave us.
.
Most certainly we know that once again he will condescend to return to us,
That again he will have to come out
And anew to shine worthily upon us.
.
Even while there among the dead he might well have to remain.
.
Most quickly now, let us gather,
Let us congregate
And in the middle of our heart let us hide,
All our heart is honoured in loving
And we know there are riches
Inside us like an enormous emerald.
.
Let us make our sacred places disappear,
Our Calmécac, our ball-games,
Our Telpochcalli, our song-houses;
That all that might remain be our roads
And our homes that we might preserve.
.
Until he our new Sun may deign to come out,
The venerable fathers and mothers
Who never may forget
To tell of themselves to the young
And who may teach the children
While they deign to still live,
Precisely when it has been
Up til now our belovéd Anáhuac
Where our venerated deceased ones care for us,
Their will, their desire,
And also only by reason of our respect for them
And our humbleness before them
Who received our venerable antecedents
And our venerated parents,
From one side to the other in the veins of our heart,
They made themselves known in our being.
.
Now we present to our children the task that
They not forget, that they might tell their children
Intensely as is fitting to their age and rank
As newly he will rise – our venerable Sun,
And precisely as he will show worthily his strength
He will have to truly and grandly complete
His worthy promise in
This our venerated, our belovéd, our earth-mother Anáhuac!
.
Translation from Spanish to English: Alexander Best
Poemas de América Central de las décadas de los 70 y 80, poemas para ayudarnos a recordar, poemas que nos hagan pensar… / Poems for the sake of El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua – poems to help us remember – poems to make us think…
Posted: September 15, 2012 Filed under: Daisy Zamora, English, José Luis Villatoro, Lil Milagro Ramírez, Roberto Sosa, Spanish Comments Off on Poemas de América Central de las décadas de los 70 y 80, poemas para ayudarnos a recordar, poemas que nos hagan pensar… / Poems for the sake of El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua – poems to help us remember – poems to make us think…
En este día – el 15 de septiembre…Poemas de América Central de las décadas de los 70 y 80 – tiempos de guerra civil, de lucha popular, de revolución…
Poems we post this 15th of September 2012 for the sake of Independence Days in El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua – poems from the 1970s and 1980s, decades of civil war, The People’s struggle, revolution…
.
Lil Milagro Ramírez (El Salvador)
“Despertar”
Yo era mansa y pacífica
Era una flor,
Pero la mansedumbre no es un muro
Que cubre la miseria.
Y vi las injusticias
Y ante los ojos asombrados,
Estallaron las huelgas y las rebeldías
Del hombre proletario.
.
Y en vez de absurdas lástimas,
De hipocresías compasivas,
Brotó mi indignación
Y me sentí fraternalmente unida a mis hermanos,
Y toda huelga me dolía,
Y cada grito me golpeaba
No sólo en la cabeza o los oídos
Sino en el corazón.
Cayó mi blanca mansedumbre,
Muerta a los pies del hambre,
Me desnude llorando de sus velas
Y un nuevo traje me ciñó las carnes.
Primavera de lucha son ahora mis brazos,
Mi enrojecida sangre es de protesta,
Mi cuerpo es verde olivo
Y un incendiario fuego me consume
…y sin embargo,
Sigo siendo como antes,
Amante de la paz,
Quiero luchar por ella desesperadamente,
Porque desde el principio
Yo soñé con la paz.
.
“Awakening”
I was gentle and peaceful,
A flower.
But gentleness isn’t a wall
That hides misery –
And I saw injustice,
And strikes and rebellions
By ordinary people
Exploded before my astonished eyes.
.
And instead of absurd pity
And sympathetic hypocrisy
My indignation burst forth
And I felt myself united with my sisters and brothers,
And every strike hurt me,
And every cry struck me
Not only in my head or ears
But in my heart.
My white gentleness fell,
Dead at the feet of hunger,
I undressed myself, weeping at its veils
And new clothing clung to my flesh.
My arms now in the springtime of struggle,
My red-hot blood protesting,
My body olive-green,
An incendiary passion consumes me
… and nevertheless
I keep feeling as before,
A lover of Peace,
I want to fight for it – desperately –
Because from the beginning
I have dreamt of Peace.
.
José Luis Villatoro (Guatemala)
“Elegía por el Joven Cadáver”
¿De quién es este joven
Cadáver que nos mira?
.
La calle tuvo antenas asesinas.
.
Sobre limpias baldosas
Su nombre perforaron,
Agujerearon su risa sospechosa.
.
Alguien anduvo cerca de sus labios
Y le hizo pedazos de sangre la palabra.
.
Amor, ¿como explicarte éste cadáver
Sin lastimar el fruto de tu vientre?
Será llegar sin cauce hasta el océano
Y llorar en la isla que le duele.
.
Hay un cadáver nuevo y vehemente
Con los ojos abiertos para siempre.
.
Amor, ¿como explicarte la mañana
Si apenas la tocamos con los dedos?
.
“Elegy for the Young Corpse”
Who is this young corpse
That looks at us?
.
The street had murderous antennae.
.
On clean cobblestones
They perforated his name,
They pierced his suspicious laugh.
.
Someone went near his lips
And turned his word into bloody pieces.
.
My love, how do I explain this corpse to you
Without wounding the fruit of your womb?
It will arrive at the ocean, rampant,
And weep on the island of its pain.
.
It’s a new and passionate corpse
With its eyes open forever.
.
My love, how do I explain the morning to you,
If we barely touch it with our fingers?
.
Roberto Sosa (Honduras)
“Dibujo a pulso”
A como dé lugar pudren al hombre en vida,
Le dibujan a pulso
Las amplias palideces de los asesinados
Y le encierran en el infinito.
.
Por eso
He decidido dulcemente
Mortalmente
Construir
Con todas mis canciones
Un puente interminable hacia la dignidad,
para que pasen,
Uno por uno,
Los hombres himillados de la Tierra.
.
“Freehand Sketch”
They use everything they’ve got to putrify a man alive,
Sketch in a flash
The ample pallor of the murdered
And lock him up in infinity.
.
And so,
Sweetly
Fatally
I have decided to construct
With all my songs
An endless bridge to dignity
So that,
One by one,
The humiliated of the Earth may pass.
.
Daisy Zamora (Nicaragua)
“Cuando regresemos”
Cuando regresemos a nuestra antigua tierra
Que nunca conocimos
Y platiquemos de todas esas cosas
Que nunca han sucedido
.
Caminaremos llevando de la mano niños
Que nunca han existido
.
Escucharemos sus voces y viviremos
Esa vida de la que tanto hablamos
Y nunca hemos vivido.
.
“When we return”
When we return to our ancient land
That we never knew
And we talk of all those things
That never happened
.
We will walk holding children by the hand
Who have never existed
.
We’ll listen to their voices and
Live that life we spoke of so often
And have never lived.
. . . . .
Traducciones del español al inglés / Translations from Spanish into English:
Barbara Paschke, Tony Ryan, David Volpendesta, Magaly Fernández
Five Poets from Trinidad and Tobago – with an introduction by Andre Bagoo
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, Colin Robinson, Danielle Boodoo-Fortune, English, Mervyn Taylor, Nicholas Laughlin, Vahni Capildeo | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Five Poets from Trinidad and Tobago – with an introduction by Andre Bagoo
Five poets from Trinidad and Tobago
THE WORLD meets in Trinidad and Tobago. Here is a Caribbean country open to the possibilities of permeable boundaries, enriched by cultural diversity and charged with the energy needed to drive a special art.
Today, as the former British colony marks its 50th anniversary as an independent nation, we take a look at the work of five contemporary Trinidad-born poets in a series of posts which you will see below.
Most of these poets live in Trinidad, others divide their time between Trinidad and homes in the United Kingdom or the United States. All share a remarkable vantage point; all have been influenced by a rich Caribbean literary tradition which predates independence. Here are travellers: between time, space, dimensions, selves, journeying to and from Shakespeare’s undiscovered country. They create richly-coloured gems, sparkling like the light bouncing off the floor of a cold, golden sea, and sharp as a diamond blade.
The first post features Mervyn Taylor, the Trinidad-born poet who also lives in New York. His poem ‘The Mentor’ – which features the persona of a poet “dancing his / mischievous meaning, / tieless, sparkling with / metaphor” – seeks reason but finds the crackling of bones. The poem is an audacious distillation of the challenges facing Trinidad, which may also reflect the challenges of the poet and the individual seeking freedom.
Then, as Queen Elizabeth celebrates her Jubilee year, the Oxford-based poet Vahni Capildeo takes us to London’s Hyde Park only to make us discover that we have never left the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, “Opalescent, Crystalline, Amethyst. And Dark”. By the time she is done with us we are unsure what ground we walk on and feel walking on water to be a natural state.
In another post we feature the quietly disquieting work of Danielle Boodoo-Fortune, a poet and artist who lives in Sangre Grande, a town in the north-east of Trinidad.
There are also posts by Colin Robinson, whose poetry shows us the sublime in unexpected places, and Nicholas Laughlin, the editor behind the Caribbean Review of Books, whose own work is a tour de force of mood, sound and language – dissecting ideas of alienation like an anthropologist might but with unexpected lyricism. Both are poets living in Diego Martin, the suburb nestled in the cool mountains of northwest Trinidad which was only this month ravaged by flood.
These poems are not intended as any sort of programmatic depiction of anything. They are grouped here to speak, whether in harmony or dissonance, of feelings, ideas and impressions. They are an unauthorised biography which the subject might secretly relish.
Each post is accompanied by an image from the Trinidadian graphic artist Rodell Warner (rodellwarner.com) who manages to capture a mood and tone that say things about the work, but also about Trinidad and Tobago and its vitality.
—Andre Bagoo
.
ABOUT TODAY’S GUEST EDITOR
Andre Bagoo is a poet and journalist from Trinidad. His first book of poems, Trick Vessels, was published by Shearsman Books (UK) in March 2012. His poetry has appeared in Boston Review, Caribbean Review of Books, The Caribbean Writer, tongues of the ocean and elsewhere. One of his poems, ‘Carnival Monday in Trinidad’, was featured at Zócalo Poets earlier this year. He is Zócalo Poets’ guest editor today, the 50th anniversary of Trinidad and Tobago Independence.
Mervyn Taylor: The Mentor
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, English, Mervyn Taylor | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Mervyn Taylor: The Mentor
Mervyn Taylor
The Mentor
I.
In this dream there were
cows in every field,
breaths rising to create
clouds floating above
an island so green,
it seemed made of gases.
And out of this arose the
poet, in a grey suit,
as spry as I’ve ever
seen him, dancing his
mischievous meaning,
tieless, sparkling with
metaphor, asking his trick
question- are you going
with me, are we going
to look for reasons?
In this place I answered,
no one should ever starve,
or complain about things
other than an open gate
through which a stray might
wander lost and unmarked,
ending in dispute settled now
in such devious ways.
II.
You might remember Lena.
In the dream she too
was present, wearing
a hat like a teakettle cover,
remarking those boys who
now live where she grew up,
tattoos marking their bodies,
and a young girl hosting
a perfume sale every Friday,
advertised under
a Digicel sign and one
for computer repairs.
It is rumored this is the
house a mental outpatient
was looking for, when he
smashed the gate
at a wrong address,
took a wheelbarrow handle
and beat a bedridden
90 yr. old to death, those
who harbored the fugitive
he was seeking crouching
next door, saying
not a word, their weapons
like marshmallows in their
pockets, hands over their
ears, blocking the sound of
breaking bones, and screams.
III.
Cows crop the grass,
brown and white backs
seen from above, the land
in undulating waves below.
Out of the few houses,
people in black follow
funerals, fathers refusing
to accept each other’s
apologies, watching their sons
lowered, earth tamped,
they remain, conversing
with the dead. Ah, the poet
smiles his ineffable smile,
those adverbs he warned
against, they shuffle up.
What will we do with them,
now that he is going, trailing
long verses, joining the islands
like cans behind a wedding,
bells pealing in chapels
whose stone walls he worked
hard to capture, inside the
host on Sunday morning,
blood in silver chalices,
the priest’s voice intoning
from memory- sunlight,
stained glass, sin, all in
four-by-four refrain.
IV.
This is where they’ve
chosen to reenact the story
of sacrifice, with animals,
gold and greed,
where the washing of hands
goes on every day, governors
and guards swearing
each other away, poets
in corners swearing out
long poems like warrants,
lists of charges read aloud
in a difficult language,
the one in grey asking,
are you going with me, are
we going to understand
what it is we do, and why?
. . .
ABOUT THE POET
Mervyn Taylor is a Trinidad-born poet who divides his time between Brooklyn and his native island. He has taught in the New York City public school system, at Bronx Community College and The New School, and is the author of four books of poetry, namely, An Island of His Own (1992), The Goat (1999), Gone Away (2006), and No Back Door (2010, Shearsman Books). He can be heard on an audio collection, Road Clear, accompanied by bassist David Williams.
Vahni Capildeo: Water / Ice Cream in Hyde Park with Nikki
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, English, Vahni Capildeo | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Vahni Capildeo: Water / Ice Cream in Hyde Park with Nikki
Vahni Capildeo
Water
.
I. Cold Hands
There is a moment when
the water seems as if it might be warm.
Quick
wash your face
in the illusion
.
II. The Atlantic. Like
Putting a handspan square of glass
flat on the sea, thinking I see
something. That’s the sky.
Calling the colour roaring grey
heard in December, when the tide
discourages. That’s a lie
.
III. Opalescent, Crystalline, Amethyst. And Dark
The sea is.
In my mind I never left you.
The sea
is.
Place-holder, holder of a place:
The sea
Who can hold to this? A causeway.
is.
Essential ground for memory.
Twig-runes dust the shore with bird-tracks.
And the wind
.
IV. Changes
Swans and rain and swans in rain
Swans and rain
Swans again
. . .
Ice Cream In Hyde Park With Nikki
Time flies / she’s a dancer / seagulls & eagles
we’re watching walkers’ & cyclists’ ankles
straight up & down as posts! / larks & starlings
they ain’t / that’s Time / stopping & starting
singlescoop chocolatemint slipup
delicious / xylophonic strip / perfume-smelling forearms
vintage gardenia topnote soprano orangeblossom
she swoops / she sings / Time high-steppng
to her Lambretta scooter!
New York, hold your sidewalk breath
.
[From Utter (completed 2011; revised 2012. Forthcoming.
‘Water’ is taken from ‘December’, in the 14-month ‘Winter to Winter’ calendar,
Undraining Sea (Norwich: Egg Box, 2009)]
. . .
ABOUT THE POET
Vahni Capildeo (b. Trinidad, 1973) went to the UK as a student in 1991, completing her BA (Hons) (First Class) in English Language and Literature in 1995 at Christ Church, University of Oxford. A Rhodes Scholarship (1996-99) enabled her to pursue a doctorate in Old Norse at the same institution. After a Research Fellowship at Girton College, Cambridge, Capildeo worked for the Oxford English Dictionary on Etymology and quotational research.
Capildeo’s three poetry collections are: Dark & Unaccustomed Words (2012); Undraining Sea(Egg Box, 2009); and No Traveller Returns (Salt, 2003). Her poetry and prose have been widely anthologized, most recently in The Best British Poetry 2012 (Salt, forthcoming). She has been Highly Commended for the Forward Prize (individual poem category, 2009); shortlisted for the Guyana International Prize for Literature (2011).
Colin Robinson: Indivisible
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, Colin Robinson, English | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Colin Robinson: Indivisible
Colin Robinson
Indivisible*
.
He’s very well rounded
Like his lover like(s) me
An engineer, I have to pry it out
He jokes, I’m 569 years old
Dog years, I ask, what to divide by
Google it’s a prime number
We are linked online
By another man
He too does not remember
We chat routinely about random things
BRB
I cam a quickie with a mewling chubby boy
Fantasy is cute in ways reality doesn’t match up to LOL
I type, I never had a good imagination, he IMs back
How Mills & Boons are a good lesson in writing
To make a kiss last four pages
I ask what tongue you grew up speaking
I had to allow my language to fall on all ears
Today we move to a higher order
Talk fetishes, we like the same things
But my numeracy gets the better of me once again
As I calculate the probability
That in any triangulation
Two times out of three
There will be a remainder
Either two or one.
.
*for Shadath
. . .
ABOUT THE POET
Colin Robinson is executive director of CAISO, the Coalition Advocating for the Inclusion of Sexual Orientation. His poetry has appeared in many places, including Caribbean Erotic, an anthology published by Peepal Tree Press in 2010. He moves between the West Indies and the USA. He was NY field producer for Tongues Untied, led Studio Museum in Harlem’s first three creative responses to World AIDS Day and co-edited Other Countries: Black Gay Voices and Think Again.
Danielle Boodoo-Fortune: Morning Song for a Second Son
Posted: August 31, 2012 Filed under: 7 GUEST EDITORS, Andre Bagoo, Danielle Boodoo-Fortune, English | Tags: Poets from Trinidad and Tobago Comments Off on Danielle Boodoo-Fortune: Morning Song for a Second Son
Danielle Boodoo-Fortune
Morning Song for a Second Son
.
Second son, how I fear my own singing.
Each word sounds like regret,
like the rasp of torn laughter
sputtering from the kettle
of your prodigal’s tongue.
Lord knows, I cannot bear the sound.
The house sits deep in darkness,
tarsals click against tile as
you measure the breadth
of another’s shadow.
Son, of all the things I’ve made,
you are the truest, and the one
most unknown to me.
Each tic in your jaw is an ocean
of hurt I cannot cross
How I wish I could sing for you.
. . .
ABOUT THE POET
Danielle Boodoo-Fortune is a Trinidadian poet and artist. Her work has been featured in The Caribbean Writer, Bim: Arts for the 21st Century, Tongues of the Ocean, Anthurium: A Caribbean Studies Journal, Small Axe Literary Salon, and Poui: Cave Hill Journal of Creative Writing. Her art has been featured at Trinidad’s Erotic Art Week 2011, and the WoMA (Women Make Art) exhibition, in Grenada, 2012. Her art has also been featured in St. Somewhere Journal, Firestorm Literary Journal, Splash of Red Literary Arts Magazine, and on the cover of Blackberry: A Magazine. She was awarded the Charlotte and Isidor Paiewonsky Prize for first time publication in 2009, nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2010, and shortlisted for the Small Axe Poetry Prize in 2009 and 2011.
Zócalo Poets 