Lemawün - Maribel Mora Curriao
I.
Kurü mawünmekey nga fey wall mapu kay kiñe fütra lewfületuy. Küyen ta
ellkawmekeyiñmew fey ta pu laku kuyfike züngu ta nentumekeyngün. Iñi
norume pekan epuzuamwümelay ñi pu nemül, tüfanurume femlayiñ,
ngoyünengewetulu Aguila pülom mew, alümapunefiel üyechi pülpültuwe
rüpü ta illkulen ka itro lladkülen ngülalu deyiñentu mapu mew tüyechi epu
peñiwen Ignacio engü Belarmino Chiway. Tüyechi rüpü ñangümfilu ñi pu
peñi em fey Margarita kay matumatu tranakünulu. Fachantü mawüni üyechi
antü reke, itro zumiñmaymapayiñmew taiñ pu nge.
II
Kimwelan may iñche
Pinüfpüran ayongü rüpü püle.
Wüle wüñoan
-pin-
Fey patrüüan weke ül
Wümerkünuwün konümpayafiel.
Tüyemu may antü elkünuyefi
Tichi yapüz,
Tichi pu trafwün,
Ka chi petu arelechi pu koñiye
Ta we püñeñümum,
Tichi pu llellipun entulu ta iñche
Ka eypinolu ta iñche,
Tüyüw mawüzantü mew,
Tichi kürüf engü filu
Ñi püchürume wifkeñ,
Üyechi wengan rüpü pu triran wingkul mew.
Pun may ta
Kiñe fütra kura reke feley
Kallfüli we küyen
Ñi weñangkün reke.
Huida
I.
Llovía oscuro y el mundo era un inmenso lago. La luna se ocultaba a
nuestros ojos y los abuelos hablaban de antiguos designios. Nadie dudaba
entonces de sus palabras, ni lo hacemos ahora, olvidados en el Valle del
Águila, alejados de la huella que con furia y saña abrieron en la cordillera
Ignacio y Belarmino Chiguay. La misma ruta que perdió a sus hermanos y
que Margarita abandonó con premura. Llueve hoy como entonces, oscuro
ante nuestros ojos.
II.
Ajena yo
remonté por el camino claro.
Mañana volveré
-me dije-
y sembraré nuevos cantos
Cerré los ojos para recordarlo
Allí dejaba el sol,
la nieve,
los besos,
y las placentas aún calientes
de los últimos partos,
las oraciones que dije
y las que no dije,
en la montaña,
el silbido agudo
del viento
y las culebras,
la ruta abierta en las quebradas.
La noche no es más
que una inmensa roca
azul como la melancolía
de la luna nueva.
Flight
I.
It rained darkly and the world was an immense lake. The moon hid from our
eyes and our grandparents spoke of ancient designs. No one doubted then
their words, nor do we now, forgotten here in Eagle Valley, far from the
path Ignacio and Belarmino Chiguay opened viciously and furiously in the
Andes. The same route where Margarita lost her brothers and which she
abandoned in a hurry. It rains now as it did then, dark before our eyes.
II.
Estranged
I went back up the clear trail.
Tomorrow I will return
- I told myself -
to sow new songs.
I closed my eyes to remember.
I left the sun there,
snow,
kisses
the still warm placentas
of recent births,
the prayers I said
and those I did not say,
in the mountain
the shrill whistle
of the wind
the snakes,
the open route in the ravines.
Night is nothing more
than an immense rock
blue as the melancholy
of the new moon.
Steve Brock lives in Adelaide and is both translator and poet. His first collection, the night is a dying dog, was published in 2007. Steve received a grant from Arts SA to complete his current poetry manuscript,
Double Glaze, which is forthcoming with Five Islands Press in 2013.
Juan Garrido Salgado was born in Chile and was a political prisoner under the Pinochet regime. He now lives in Adelaide. He has published three books of poetry, and his poems have been published in Chile, Colombia, Spain, El Salvador, Brazil, Europe, New Zealand and Australia. He has also translated into Spanish works from John Kinsella, Mike Ladd, Judith Beveridge, Dorothy Porter and MTC Cronin, including
Talking to Neruda’s Questions. He has translated five Aboriginal poets for
Espejo de Tierra/Earth Mirror Poetry Anthology. With Steve Brock and Sergio Holas, Garrido-Salgado also translated into English the trilingual
Mapuche Poetry Anthology, and has translated many of Lionel Fogorty’s poems into Spanish. He is currently working on the Spanish translation of a selection of Jumoke Verissimo’s poems, to be read at the Granada International Poetry Festival in Nicaragua.
