'Ancient goddess young woman come sing with me come forget what wounds us this thorn that pierces us come my sister come with me to join our voices against any who spit on our roots’
‘And one day you will know that the soul sleeps between memory’s cauldrons like a beam of light determined to burn up dawns Don’t ask don’t assert The soul has no name no connection no return’
Sánchez observes the world from a new perspective, shaped by the sounds of the Americas and condensed into a single vision. This is how the world was meant to be seen: an open field shaped by generations of processes—human, cosmic, and geologic. The observations are then translated into sounds, into syllables that particulate and constellate, experienced by readers as poems in this volume. Poetry is never supposed to be just read; it’s supposed to be experienced. A theater. A performance. Language in a dance with torque and skin, bark and scale, root and stem, bloom and tongue. Jake Skeets from the introduction
To read and think in Spanish is an amazing exercise for me, as I have lost most of my fluency over the years, and poetry is harder than prose since it often uses beautiful obscure words that I have to work harder at finding. To add another language, typing the words slowly with apologies for mistakes, and trying to understand some of the words, was a sublime exercise. Brain exercise indeed, and worth it, as the poet and her voice were powerful and evocative of the America hidden behind the juggernaut of the westernization and colonialism of the US and others. Perfect.
Tuma/UNO/ONE
Xky’a’e mij’jara’is syupana’
Niña tu padre prefirió niño
Girl your father wanted a boy
Ji’na myusi’ankäna’ jujzyi’e ore’päntam
porque no sabía que con tu canto de alondra
because he didn’t know what to do with your lark’s song
maka’na mpämipäjk’a’e ore’päntam maka’na tzapwiru’ya’e ore’yamo
renacería el poder de los ore’pät la voz antigua de las ore’yomo
the power of the ore’pät will be reborn the ancient voice of the ore’yomo
Syka’e ja’ syutyaä’pa nhkya’e jonhtzi’kojama syki’a’e tuj’sawa ‘kojama
Niña no deseada aquella que sacude el viento mientras sueña nkiae espíritu ave syka’e espíritu tormenta
Unwanted girl stirring the wind with her dreams nkiae spirit bird syka’e spirit storm
WEJPÄJ’KI’UY: TUMÄ
NOMBRAR LAS COSAS: UNO
TO NAME THINGS: ONE
Nasakopajk’ nhtyajk’ pajkapi’apäis’ äj’ nhtoya
nhtyajk’ pajkapi’apäis äj’ nhkiskuy teserike äj’ natzkuy
nhtä’ nhkomi’ naptzu’isnyi’e
tzayi’isnyi’e teserike’ pitzä’isnyi’e
mij’ me’tzapyatzi mij’ nhtzama’omoma
mij’ nhkosanhtäjk totzyi’äjkupä’
äj’ une’ijtkuy’omo
Äjtzi’
mij’ metz’patzi tumtu’mäpä tzyina’ kujyomo
jurä’ tzäyaju’ äj’ nhkasäj’ki’utyam
Äjtzi’
mij’ metzapyatzi mij’ kartenya’jäyä’oma mij’ kapulinh’oma
mij’ nhtuk’tam takyajpapä mapa’syiäpyasenh’omo
Oh Nasakopajk’ que aplacas mi amargura
que acallas mi ira y mi espanto
oh Dios de la mañana
de la tarde y de la noche
persigo tu olor a selva alta
tus pasos de bestia herida
corriendo por mi infancia
Un trozo de mí
te busca en cada árbol de naranjo
donde quedó colgada mi alegría
Un trozo de mí
evoca tu sabor a gardenia y capulin
tus senderos que se bifurcan mientras sueño
Oh Nasakopajk’ may you ease my bitterness
quiet my shock and rage
oh God of morning
of afternoon and evening
I trace your rainforest scent
a wounded animal’s footsteps
wandering through my childhood
Part of me seeks you in every orange tree
where my happiness hangs
Part of me conjures your gardenia and wild cherry flavor
your pathways diverging in my dreams
My unprofessional translation of the same poem from the Spanish:
Oh Holy One, that you could soothe my bitterness,
That you could silence my anger and fear.
Oh Holy One of the morning,
Of the afternoon, and evening,
I chase your rainforest scent,
A wounded animal’s steps
Running through my childhood.
A piece of me
Looks for you in every orange tree
Where my happiness lives.
Another piece of me
Remembers your scents of gardenia and wild cherry
Along paths that meander while I dream.
KUYAY
SIETE
SEVEN
Ijtu jyama aku’ajpak te’ Tzu’anh wäkä tä’ tzajmatyamä
Hay días en que el Tzu’anh se abre para revelarnos el origen de las cosas
Some days Tzu’anh opens up revealing to us the origin of all life
mumu ti’is yijtku’y tumä popyapä tzame tumä kene’ mapasyis’nyi’e
una línea de fuga una imagen que se nos escapa del letargo
the known world’s limits an image escaping from our dreams
…
Tese’ mumu’ ti’is ijtu’ kyomusjkuy te’ tzame ji’ nhtä nhkämetzepä ji’
Porque todo tiene su enigma su razón innecesaria su motivo sobrante
Because everything has its mystery its needless reason its special motive
wyäpä tä’ mujsä tzame mumä pänis’ mumu yomo’is wenenh’omo myetzyajpa te’ tzame ji’ kyomusyi’a’epä
Todo hombre toda mujer algún día buscan esa palabra que les falta
Every man every woman will one day seek the wisdom they need
Fascinating look at the translators’ processes: In the poem “We Are Mokayas,” the final line in the Spanish poem reads “we will give you the secret to infinite beauty,” while the Zoque reads “secret to infinite wisdom.” In English, we chose “secret to the sublime.”
There is no direct translation in Zoque for “silence” or “being silent.” To represent the concept in Zoque, Sánchez might write “extinguish one’s voice” or “absence of words.”
Sanhkä, the Zoque word that Sánchez translates as resplandor in the Spanish version of the poem, and we render in English as “radiance,” is a complex, multidimensional word. In addition to “radiance” it means “enlightened time” and also “understanding”—as distinct from knowledge. Sanhkä refers to the cycle of life and references how knowledge is assimilated into a person’s life—not the knowledge itself.