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Words of Friendship

It is a tremendous honor to publish these poems by the Maya poets Humberto Ak’abal and Negma Coy, two of the participants at the V Encuentro Continental Intercultural de Literaturas Amerindias (EILA) that was held at the Pontificia Universidad Javeriana in Bogotá in April 2018. At that event I not only had the opportunity to meet authors from throughout Abya Yala, but also the privilege of proposing that we could translate some of their work for Latin American Literature Today. With these first poems from the K’iche’ Ak’abal and the Kaqchikel Coy, I give you a broad perspective on Maya language poetry in Guatemala.

Paul M. Worley
Translator and Dossier Curator

Ojer bix re ri kik’el

Man xintu’ ta ri’, ri kaxlan tzijobalil
are taq xinalaxik.

Ri nuch’abalil xalax cho k’iche’laj
xuquje jas ne’ ulew ri unaba’il,
ri kich’abalil ri wati’t numan are ri’ ri wachoch.

Are we kinch’awik para kaxlan tzij, 
xa je ta che kinkoj jun k’ak’ lawe
ri kutor jun uchi’ ja chik ri kok cho jun k’ak’ ulew
ri jawi ri tzij k’o wi chi ri kakibij
k’o wi chi ri kinaba’il che ri ulew.

Wa kaxlan tzij are una’tasibal re jun k’ex,
xuquje man kink’ix ta wib we kintrijon chupam
rumal che loq’om wa
ruk’ ri kikik’el re ri nuxe’tayil uwi’ nujolom.

Pa wa jun kak’ ch’abalil
kink’ut chawe ri ukotz’ijal re ri nubix,
ri una’bal re k’o wi chi taq bis
xuquje uwachibal re k’o wi chi taq ki’kotemal…

Wa kaxlan tzij xa jun lawe chik
che ubixoxik ri ojer bix re ri nukik’el.

The Ancient Song of My Blood

I didn’t drink Spanish 
from my mother’s breast when I came into the world.

My language was born
among the trees, and tastes like earth; 
my grandparent’s language is my home,

If I use this language that’s not mine,
I use it like a shiny key
to open doors to another world
where the words have another voice
and another way of connecting to the earth.

This language is the memory of pain
and I speak it without fear or pain
because my ancestors bought it
with their blood.

In this new language
I’ll show you my flowering song,
I’ll bring you the taste of other laments
the color of other joys….

This language is only one more key
to sing the ancient song of my blood. 

Ri ja’,  ri q’aq’

Man kasach ta pa ri nujolom
ri jun q’aq’ pa ri wabal,
kaq’aq’an ri sib pa ub’oqoch jun
xuquje k’a pa uchi’ jun.

Are k’ut cho ri xan
ri nonoch’ e q’eq’a labaj.

Ri moxirinaq q’aq’
kutijijej ri si’…

Are k’ut ri ja’ ri kapoq’owik
xa je ta jun ch’uj awaj
ri tajan karakin chupan ri t’uy.

Water and Fire

I can’t recall an image
of that bright kitchen,
smoke burning her eyes
bitter in her mouth….

The shadows along the walls
were black phantoms.

The enraged fire
devoured the firewood…

The boiling water
was a rabid animal
gnawing at the pot. 

Mayul re qajibal q’ij

Kinwaj kinoq’ik wakamik 
chuweq man in jamal ta hi ri’.

Kinwaj katinloq’aj pa wa q’ij wa’
rumal ri chuweq a’l chi ri’ ri nuk’aslemal.

Ma bij chuwe che ri achik’
k’o uk’isbal re.
Ma bij chuwe che ri eyenik kusach rib
ri xa je ta ri mayul re ri qajibal q’ij.

Man kinwaj taj kinwetamaj che kinban tzij
che wa jun k’exk’ol ri no’jimal
kuban uk’olibal cho ri nuk’ux
che xuwi wa’ ri qas usaqil tzij.

Afternoon Mist

Let my cry now,
because later I won’t have time. 

Let me love you now,
because tomorrow life will be more difficult.

Don’t tell me that every dream
has its end. 
Don’t tell me that illusions dissipate
like afternoon mist.

I don’t want to know that I lie to myself
and that the pain settling into my heart
little by little
is the only truth.

Translated by Paul M. Worley