Three Poems

Mapuche poet Leonel Lienlaf.

Pewma

Trafuya pewman
ngürü wanküyawün
inche ruka
¿chumyawimi ngürü? -pifin
welu ad elulaenew
wankümu ta llumi.

¿chemew llumimi ngürü?
wirarütufin
wac wac pienew
ina lef nepen
wekun lifmekerkefuy ta wün

Alüpu
kiñe ngürü trokifiñ
ngümayawi
mawidantuple.

 

Pewma

In my dreams last night
a fox
was singing under my house
What are you doing there?
my voice asked him
he hid his face from me
behind his song.

Why are you hiding?
I shouted at him from my bed
wac wac
was his answer.

I woke up with a start
outside
the day was beginning to draw itself.

Far away I heard
what sounded like a fox
crying in the mountains.

 

Ngillañmawün

Ale pelon kontupaenew
fachi lifkelechi punmew
we nenetun ñi dungu
ñi kompayam ñi pülli

lien ka keluntukuwmu
fürenmanienew ñi ad
chumafun
kay nga nienoli küme takue
chumafun ngepe
piutufuy ñi piuke

Femechi ta witralepan
fücha pun ta ni ad lelituam
kuifike kona
chew lelituwlu
feichi ñidol nielu tachi mapu
feichimu witralepan
rangi pun may pu lonko
eimún ta wenu mapu
umgtulelu
eimün may
witranpüramayan ñi piuke
ka ñi pewma
pipingepan rel tachi pichi ko

mongen ko ta pikefuimün
mongelmuan ñi pülli
güñümreke ta lelituan
kom fachi mapu
ka dünguafin ta ngürü
kelluaenew ñi rupumew

küla piuke nga nietuan
fachi rangipunmew
pingepan nga
wenu mapu lelfün pu lonko.

 

Ngillañmawün

On this clean night,
the moon
hides her emotions
She watches me
behind the cold silver
because I just took out my word
so my spirit could come in.

Silver and colors of earth
protect my heart, my soul
is standing so
to see the face of the deep night
where the old warriors watched one another.

On this root-earth,
in this midnight
where my feet rest
great chiefs,
all of you who sleep in the land above,
lift my heart and my dreams,
because I am singing before your streams.
Streams
in which my spirit will revive
to watch how the birds
this earth
and the animals
will go down my path.

In this midnight
I will have three hearts
I say this now
great chiefs of the plains above.

 

Kürüf

Kulfenmew
wüñankün ül
nentumekey kürüf
achellpeñ ka trumag wenuntufi
cheu ñi dañemum
ñi güñüm pewma

wehcwechi kürüf
allkütunofielmu
aliewen ñi dungu.

 

Kürüf

Over the cut-down fields
in anguish
the wind turns;
over the dust and the ash
sweeping away the nests
where the birds sleep

The wind
goes crazy among the rocks
because his ears
no longer hear
the soft song of the trees.

 

Translated via the Spanish by Arthur Dixon

Languages

LALT No. 3
Number 3

The third issue of LALT features the debut of our permanent section devoted to Indigenous Literature with writing in languages from Mapudungun to Tzotzil, as well as remarkable short stories from Cristina Rivera Garza and Yoss, the rising star of Cuban science fiction.

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