Editor’s Note: World Literature Today dedicated its September 2023 issue to the indigenous literatures of the Americas. We are proud to feature a few texts from that issue, in multilingual edition, in the present issue of LALT.
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¿Tii maa papa’?
Akgtum jaxanat,
xkilhpin akgapun,
skitit xla lhtukit,
xtatsan katsisni’,
skgatanat
xmakasiyan kuyu’.
Kapsnat tani nalhkawiliyaw
xkilhtsukut kilatamatkan.
Who Is Luno?
A sigh,
the sky’s lip,
masa for mixing atole,
the night’s tooth,
the armadillo’s waning claw,
a white page
for writing out the opening lines
of our history.
Kintse’ xtalapaxkin papa’
Klakgmakgalh mintapaxkit
xlakata mintalapaxkini kintse’,
makgatunu skgatana’, makgatunu katlana’,
takatsiy pi chitana kxkgapinin
chu makgsakgsaya xaxanatwa xtalhtsi’.
Cha xlimakgwa nixtsuwana’
lakgacháni kintlat
kgantati kiwi’ chu kgantati xanat
antani tlawanita aktsu mimasakg.
My Mother Is Father Moon’s Lover
I rejected your arrival
because you are my mother’s lover,
with every waxing and waning
you announce your arrival in her ravine
and seduce her seed-filled flower.
During your absences,
my father planted
four flowers and four trees
in the nest that you had created.
Nana Tsívita I
Laa kumu lakukakgó laktsu chichakg
laa nkilhwantasanikgo sin,
nanaa xla xkinkakukayan
kxaxanatwa kxstipun.
Cha laa kaakuwa
aktsu skgata’ xakwanit,
kintilimakaxapamilh
xatuwan xkulimaxanat
kgamachi xwá nkilhtukit.
Xtakgalhutawila xla laa xlakpimin chichini’,
x’an puxkgat x’akgsawat,
stikiki xta’akgsput’tawilapalanchu k’akgstin
ka tatantlilha xchuchut wa xtasiyu
slip slip xlay xatsitsokgo xlitampachi’.
Xlakgpuwankgó lakxtakninkiwa chiwix
xalakspunpulu xtantun
xtantutsukkgoy
tani xtantupankgonit,
kaa xakkgalhkgalhitawila kitinchu
xaklikgotnamputuna xlistakna Xtakgayaw
Nana Tsívita I
She lulled me to sleep
on her flowered shoulders
just like frogs carry their young
bringing May’s rains with their croaking.
When the white orchids sprouted,
she crushed moon-white leaves
on the petals of my hands
so my atole would be the sweetest.
With her three-handled jug she went
down to the river at the sun’s first glimmer,
later while climbing the mountain,
she seemed to dance with the water
to the rhythm of her red hips.
Green rocks longed to be caressed
by her bare feet,
holding kisses
in the cracks of her heels
as I waited to drink
from Xtakgayaw Mountain’s heart.
Nana Tsívita II
Xtsuku xkuliy xaxkut
la kxchakgan kinchikkan,
xtsuku nchuwani mumu,
laa xkinkamakatsiniputunan ntu nitlan.
Xwan mpi ni tlan likgamanankan chuchut,
xlakata natiyay kiakpunkan,
nakinkamakgalhkuyatlayan
chu laktsu laktsu natlaway xmasakg kintalakapastaknikan.
Kinkamasuyunin lala tasantikan papa’,
lala naktapachiyaw chamakxkulit
xalakgtsitsakga kinchixitkan.
Nana Tsívita II
When the owl behind the house
began its hooting,
trying to bring us misfortune,
she replied with tobacco between her lips.
She forbade us to play with water,
because it might possess us,
scalding us from within
and wrecking our memory’s nest.
She showed us how to flirt with Luno
and how to trap rainbows
in our cascading braids.
Nana Tsívita III
Wapi nalh katilakganakgalhi xla klhkuyat,
wapi namakgaxtakg xakgsawat
chu nakinkamakglhputiniyan,
¿Ti natlawayi xtaskujut?
¿Ti nalakgamakgakglhayi nitlan ‘un?
¿Ti namalakgawitiyi mumu
chuwa ti nakinkalixakgatliyani papa’?
¿Ti natlawani xtiji nkinkuxtakan?
¿Ti na xakgatliyi ntsakglhni’
chuwa ti nakinkalilakgmaxtuyan tokgxiwa’
la natiyayi kiakpunkan?
Wa xpalakata jkatsinima,
kmakgastakmaw akgatunu talakapastakni’,
kmakgtaya ni naakgmixiyi lhkuyat
chuwa lakxtum kmakgskgalayaw mpi nataspitkgoy kinkuxtakan.
Kakgspuntlawan xtantunin
tlakg chi pulhman natalhkatawilakgoy
chuwa nichi xapamakgolhi nitla ’un.
Nana Tsívita III
If she stops feeding the fire,
if she abandons the water jug
and leaves us with thirsty tongues,
who will do her work?
Who will scare away evil spirits?
Who will silence the owl
and tell us about the moon?
Who will make the journey to know their kuxta?
Who will speak with the raindrops
and cure us with elderberry leaves
to liberate our spirits?
This is why I learn from her,
harvest each thought with her,
help her stoke the cooking fire
and together we assure our kuxta will return.
I walk in her footsteps
to deepen her footprints
so the wind will never erase them.
Translated from Spanish and Tutunakú by Wendy Call and Whitney Devos
Originally published in World Literature Today, vol. 97, no. 5 (September 2023)
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Photo: Motohiro Sunouchi, Flickr.
Wendy Call is author of the award-winning nonfiction book No Word for Welcome, co-editor of the anthologies Telling True Stories and Best Literary Translations, and translator of three books of poetry by Indigenous Mexican women. She lives in Seattle, on Duwamish land, and in Oaxaca, Mexico, on Mixtec and Zapotec land.
