Kamik
Are jampa’xink’astraj mer
man xinriq ta wib’
xinel k’ut che nutzukuxik wib’.
Xinb’inib’ej b’e xuquje’ uq’ab’b’e
k’ate ri xinriq wib’
int’uyulik puwi’ jun tanatik re q’ux
chuxe’ taq ri sib’alajk’isis,
kintzijon ruk’ ri mayul,
kinwaj kinsach pa nujolim
ri man ka b’anta kwinik che.
Chuxe’ ri waqan,
uxaq che’, xwi uxaq che’.
Today
Today I woke up outside of me
and went out to find myself.
I travelled roads and paths
until I found me
sitting on a mossy ledge
at the foot of a cypress,
chatting with the fog
and trying to forget
what I could not.
At my feet,
leaves, nothing but leaves.
Originally published in Copper Nickel, Spring 2022, Issue 34
Q’apoj je’lalaj ulew
Are’ wa’ ri q’apoj je’lalaj ulew
ab’ix, ixim, triko, kinaq
man k’ota nijun q’ayes
ri man katijow taj.
Ri kumatz e mem.
Je’lik Ch’umil, Kowilaj Che’;
kikimatzej kib’ cho ri rex’ q’ayes
kikch’uq kib’ ruk’ ri kaj.
Xopan k’ulo jun q’ij
xe’ch’aw ri kumatz.
Man xtij ta chi ri uwach taq ri che’;
xkijach chi kixo’l
ri q’apoj je’la’laj ulew.
Paradise
Here was paradise.
Corn, grain, beans,
there was no forbidden fruit.
Snakes were mute.
Je’lik Ch’umil and Kowilaj Chee’
made love in the fields
and covered themselves with sky,
until the words
of the serpents
banned the fruits
and divvied up paradise
for themselves.
Watcher
If I could rise up
even higher
than that cypress
up on Pak’lom hill,
and see far into the distance,
then shield my gaze
to scan even farther,
maybe I could see tomorrow
behind the sunset.
My Sister
—Go and see if your sister’s coming.
I ran up the hill
and looked to the south
and looked to the north.
—No, grandmother, she’s not coming.
—It’s cold,
the smell of earth
is rising, the air is dancing;
go again
and see if your sister’s coming.
And I went back to the same hill
and sat there
waiting for a sign.
And suddenly there in the north
a little black star was visible,
and behind me
raindrops.
And she came, torrential,
with thunder and tumult.
The wind from her skirts
shook the branches of the trees.
Grandma smiled.
—Tomorrow,
we’ll plant our crops.
Corn Prayer
Standing
among the furrows,
leaning on his hoe,
head bare,
he makes his morning prayers.
Why not on his knees?
Because reverence
lives not in the body
but the soul.
The earth and I are the same.
Only hypocrites kneel
in a weak attempt
to silence
the voice of conscience.
Campesino, brother,
with what love
you soak the earth with sweat
to wrench free
its song of corn and beans…
And your wages
can barely buy them.
Translations into English by Michael Bazzett, from If Today Were Tomorrow,
the selected poems of Humberto Ak’abal, forthcoming from Milkweed Editions in 2024
Click here to preorder If Today Were Tomorrow, selected poems by Humberto Ak’abal
translated by Michael Bazzett, from Milkweed Editions.
