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Indigenous Literature

Two Poems

  • by Feliciano Sánchez Chan

Maya poet Feliciano Sánchez Chan. Photo from the author’s personal archive.

Ukp’éel wayak’ (Yaanal kíimilo’ob)

Ts’o’ok u máan p’iis in Na,
Ts’o’ok u máan p’iis.
Ch’úuyench’uuyo’ob tin k’ab,
ta’aytak u lúubsikeno’ob,
yéetel jayakbalo’ob tin wáanal
bey ba’al ku pe’ekaabe’.

Teche’ mix junten ta wa’alajten
wa le wayak’o’ob ta pak’aj
tu yóok’ol le seen cháaltuno’
bíin súutko’ob muk’yajil
tia’al ok’ol tin wóok’ol.

Teen X-ya’axche’, in Na’.
Bini’it k’abo’ob
tu pak’o’ob tin jobnel
juntúul x-áak’ab ko’olel,
juntúul x-káakbach
bisik le wíiniko’ob
ku máano’ob ich áak’abo’.

Tene’ in k’aj óol a paalal in Na’
ba’ale’le ku seen chu’uchiko’ob
u k’aab yiim
a x-ch’upul aalo’,
ma’ in kimeno’obi’,
ma’ Aj Puch’, mix Ixtab
taasik u k’ubo’obi’.
Tu xikino’obe’
k’aaynaj jump’éel kíimil
ma’in k’aj óoli’.
Ma’in kimeno’obi’, in Na’.

 

Seventh Dream (The Other Dead)

There are so many, Mother,
there are so many.
From my branches they hang
about to pull me down,
under my shadows they roll
like filth.

You never told me
that the dreams you cultivated
over so much limestone
would today be the sorrows
that cry over me.

I am the Sacred Ceiba,
Mother.
The other hands
sowed in my guts
a woman of the night,
an evil woman
who is taken to those left behind.

Even still, I know your sons
and those who nurse
on plentiful milk
from the breasts of your daughters,
they are not my dead,
they are not brought to me
by Aj Puch or Ixtab,
other dead I do not know sing in their ears,
they are not my dead, Mother.
They are not my dead.

 

Máax kun kaxtiken

Yaan k’iine’
ku k’uchul tin xikin
u yayaj juum juump’éel jub.
Yaan k’iine’
bey in wool kin wu’uyik
u yáakan baake’,
yaan k’iine’
kin wu’uyik u éets’nak’
u yusta’al ts’oon,
wa u wa’aban in láak’…
Yáax ba’ax ku máan tin tuukule’:
In Yuum,
máax wal saatal k’áaxe’.

Le ken waalak’nak
in tuukule’
kin wilikimbáa
tin chan t’uluch juunal
tu chúumuk u satunsat bejil noj kaaj.
Kin tukultike’
In Yuum,
máax wal bíin kaxtikene’.

 

Who Will Find Me?

Sometimes, the sad sound of some snail
reaches my ears
sometimes I think I hear
the groan of some antlers,
sometimes the echo of the blast
of a cannon comes to me,
or the invocation of hands of some brother.
The first thing that plows through my mind is:
My Lord,
who could be lost in the forest?

I leave the daydream
and see myself so alone
in the middle of the labyrinth
of the big city
and I wonder:
Lord,
Who will find me?

Translated by Arthur Dixon

From the verse collection Ukp’el wayak / Siete sueños [Seven dreams]

  • Feliciano Sánchez Chan

Feliciano Sánchez Chan is a poet and playwright. He collects stories related to Maya culture: tales of supernatural beings, stories of communities, creations of children; as a writer he has given us poetry, novels, and theater. He is a founding member of the National Association of Indigenous Language Writers. In 1993, he won first place in the Itzamná Prize for Maya Language Literature for his novel X-Marcela, and from 1997 to 2000 he was the coordinator of Publications and Diffusion at the House of Writers in Indigenous Languages of Mexico. He is the author of many books of prose, drama, and poetry, and he has coordinated and published his own work in anthologies of drama, short stories, and verse. His first verse collection is set in a dreamlike environment and intimately recreates the explanations provided in Maya cosmovision for the origin of man and his sacred invocations.

  • Arthur Malcolm Dixon
headshotarthurdixoncroppededited1

Photo: Sydne Gray

Arthur Malcolm Dixon is co-founder, lead translator, and Managing Editor of Latin American Literature Today. He has translated the novels Immigration: The Contest by Carlos Gámez Pérez and There Are Not So Many Stars by Isaí Moreno (Katakana Editores), as well as the verse collection Intensive Care by Arturo Gutiérrez Plaza (Alliteratïon). He also works as a community interpreter in Tulsa, Oklahoma and is a Tulsa Artist Fellow.

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