Indigenous Literature
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Although it was only one hundred years ago, it seems to my generation like some mythical age. The Mapuche could roam freely across their territory and communicated with the elements of the mapu... -
I am a woman who is proud of my blood, my roots, of what I can create and teach to children. I think it’s important to recognize where you come from, and we should be truthful and faithful to those we... -
Her face, engraved with wrinkles, couldn’t hide the sadness that she carried in her heart, a pain so immense that with every breath she took she would have preferred to remain asleep forever and to ne... -
You sleep covered in red tulips, / your body numbed by honor. -
In 2016, the #NoDAPL movement in opposition to the Dakota Access Pipeline, spearheaded by members of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, inspired a shift in perceptions of indigenous presence in the United... -
We introduced ourselves by talking about our readings, the work of Miguel Leon-Portilla, Carlos Lenkersdorf, Alfredo López Austin, Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Carlos Montemayor, Jacques Derrida and Jean-... -
Enriqueta Lunez (1981) is a Tzotzil writer: a writer who forms part of the new generation in the intellectual field of literature in indigenous languages. This generation shares the trait of having a... -
"At night we hear songs, stories, and prophecies around the fire breathing the aroma of bread baked by my grandma, my mother or Auntie María, while my father and my grandpa Lonko (chief of the communi... -
Let us offer the word and gather a face, / let bone listen to the grey rock, / let us spread the great corn sheaf’s breath / and share a path with other flesh that speaks, / people from the next ridge... -
Between my legs I hide a droplet of night / on my cheek and shoulder they linger like fireflies, / the shades of three lovers, / I’m not sure a mark can really bring darkness / but for now my mole is... -
In my Williche grandfather’s eyes / fear set sail. / Death alone / erased that timid gleam. / But nature could never / erase from my memory / the colors of the archipelago / arrested in his face. -
Those eyes the color of color / from a gray height, watch / bellflowers, trickling water. -
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. -
I am withered grass / waving at the rain / but soon I feel the first drops / falling on the fields / Let this water soak me!
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