The latest in the Seedbank series, the debut in English of a groundbreaking Indigenous poet of the Americas.
In a fiercely personal yet authoritative voice, prolific contemporary poet Mikeas Sánchez explores the worldview of the Zoque people of southern Mexico. Her paced, steely lyrics fuse cosmology, lineage, feminism, and environmental activism into a singular body of work that stands for the self and the collective in the same instant. “I am woman and I celebrate every vein,” she writes, “where I guard my ancestors’ secrets / every Zoque man’s word in my mouth / every Zoque woman’s wisdom in my spit.”
How to Be a Good Savage and Other Poems examines the intersection of Zoque struggles against colonialism and empire, and those of North African immigrants and refugees. Sánchez encountered the latter in Barcelona as a revelation, “spreading their white blankets on the ground / as if they’ll soon return to sea / flying the sail of the promised land / the land that became a mirage.” Other works bring us just as close to similarly imperiled relatives, ancestors, gods, and archetypal Zoque men and women that Sánchez addresses with both deeply prophetic and childlike love.
Coming from the only woman to ever publish a book of poetry in Zoque and Spanish, this timely, powerful collection pairs the bilingual originals with an English translation for the first time. This book is for anyone interested in poetry as knowledge, proclaimed with both feet squarely set on ancient ground.
How to Be a Good Savage and Other Poems will be available in January 2024 from Milkweed Editions.
From How to Be a Good Savage and Other Poems
PÄJKINH’TZYI’OKYUY MOKAYA’YOMO’KOROYA
Mokaya sunhtäjupä yom’une,
masänh’äjkyutyi’e mij’ mpänajkuy,
Ipstäjk’kujkmäpäre ne’ tzyunh’u,
ne’ nejnayaju’ Mä’ä’pänis’tzyi’ameram
teserike Oko’sawas’ pyämi’.
Mijtene’ te’ wäpyä’kojama oyupä nyiä’ ijtyi’a’e
winarampä’ tzame’yomo’istam yäki Ajwaymä.
Wenerampä näpyajpa makanh’ tä’ yajpärame
nhtä tzap’tampapä’is ore’, jinamum ma’ tä’ kenh’tame nasakopajkäjsi.
Mijtzi’ yom’une
maka’ tyajk kopujkstame’.
Nhtä’ näpinh’tzajtyi’am masanh pijstinh’sepäre’
mapäre’ tyi’one’ makasenh’omo iri’ yä’ nasakopajk.
RECIBIMIENTO DE LA MUJER MOKAYA
Mokaya, amada niña,
honrados estamos con tu llegada,
vienes de las profundidades de Ipstäjk,
traes el saludo de Los hombres Rayo,
y la fuerza de Oko’sawa,
Eres el espíritu armónico
de las primeras abuelas de Ajway’.
Algunos dicen que ya no habrá mokayas,
que estamos condenados al exterminio.
Pero tú, mi niña,
vienes a renovarnos.
Nuestra sangre es como la sagrada ceiba
que perdurará hasta que viva la tierra.
RECEPTION FOR A MOKAYA WOMAN
Mokaya, beloved girl,
we are honored by your arrival,
you come from the inner world,
carrying the Thunderbolt Men’s greeting,
and the Wind Goddess’s powers,
You are the harmonious spirit
of Ajway’s ancestor-women.
Some say there will be no more Mokayas,
that we are condemned to extinction.
But you, my child,
come to renew us.
Our blood runs in the veins of the ceiba
that will live as long as the earth.
AJ’ JARA’IS TZI’UPÄ’
Jaräkmana’ äj’ ame’
äj’ jara’is nhwäjätzi’utzi
tumä putzyi’jonhtzyi
mojtupä’ tzapas’kenejinh
tumä’ jonhtzyi’ wat’papäna’
tome’ äj’ aknakämä
isanh’ntzipapäsna’ mumu ti’is nyiäyiram
we’, we’, we’
ore’, ore’ ore’
wik’, wik’ wik’
Jaräkmana’ äj ame’
tumä putzyi’jonhtzyi’is isanhntzi’utzi jujtzye’ wanä’ ore’omo
isanhtzi’utzi’ jujtzyi’e irä’ yä’ nasakopajkäjsi
teserike nhkomujsa tzajpijs’yore.
Uka’ sajpa mij’ nhtzame, wäpare yajk’ tukä’
Uka nhkyomej’kopya nhtzaku’tzyipa’ mij’ nhwyt.
Tekoroya tä’ näjmatyanh’täjpa Ore’pät, Ore’yomo
Nhtä’ äjtyamanhnte nhtyajk’ tzinh’tampapä’is te’ tzame.
Temä’ tza’momo yenhpa’ te’ wewe’
tumä putzyi’jäyä mojtupä’ tzapas’kene’jinh,
tumä jonhtzyi’ watpapä’
teserike tä’ isanhn’tzipapäis jujtzyi’e tä’ wanä’
we’, we’ we’
ore, ore, ore
wik, wik wik
MI PADRE ME DIO UN REGALO
Cuando niña
mi padre me trajo un regalo,
me dio un pájaro amarillo
con manchitas naranjas,
un pajarillo que cantaba
muy cerca de mi boca
y me mostraba los nombres de las cosas.
We, we, we
ore, ore, ore
wik, wik, wik.
Cuando niña,
un pájaro amarillo me enseñó a cantar en zoque,
me anticipó al mundo,
me mostró el lenguaje del universo.
Si empeñas tu palabra, debes ennoblecerla.
Si mientes, deshonras tu existencia.
Por eso nos llaman Orepät, Oreyomo.
Somos los hombres y mujeres de la palabra.
Allá en la montaña crece el wewe,
una flor amarilla con manchas naranjas,
un pájaro que canta
y enseña a los zoques a cantar
we, we, we
ore, ore, ore
wik, wik, wik.
MY FATHER GAVE ME A GIFT
When I was young
my father brought me a gift,
a yellow bird
with orange spots,
a little bird that sang
right by my mouth
and taught me the names of things.
We, we, we
ore, ore, ore
wik, wik, wik.
When I was young,
a yellow bird taught me to sing in Zoque,
opened up the world to me,
showed me universe’s language.
If you give your word, you must honor it.
If you lie, you dishonor yourself.
That is why we are called Orepät, Oreyomo.
We are men and women of our word.
There in the mountains the wewe grows,
a yellow flower with orange spots,
a bird that sings
and teaches the Zoques to sing
we, we, we
ore, ore, ore
wik, wik, wik.
TZOKO’TZYAME
Äj’ apä’is näjmayutzi:
Anhuku’is tzajkatyi’anh’täjupä ore’tzamere.
yäti ¿isaj’ yanhkasäpya te’ tzame?
Yäti sunh’nhtäjpapä unhtzame’re,
yajk’ tzajkya’ä tyiäwäsntyojsanh’tam.
Tum’jama äj’ apä’ oyu’ nämi’
ore’pänhtam wäpä’ najsomo’re tä’ ijta’upä,
jiksekanhte’ mytyi’ajupä te’ mineru’ram
sutupure nyiä’ maki’a’ä sunh’yajpapä ti’ram tzyajinh’nhtuku.
Aj apä’is tzyampapäna jinte’na sunh’yajpapä’tiram
ore’tzame’rena,
te Ore’ yajk jäyäpya’päis te’ nhkipsokyuy
teserike te’ tzokoy, te Ore’ tzinhpapä
wewe’jinh.
Te Wewe’ yajk’ popa’päis
sasatyi’ampä tzame unes’ yaknakomo’ram,
tzame jontzyi’wanejse nhtä manhpapä
nimeke yajk’ kasäjpapä’is te’ nasakopajk’.
Tekoroya jinh’ näjktyiä’tyianh’täyi nhkirawa’jinhtam
Testam nhkyps’syajpa’ nhkyopajkinh’tam
äjtam nhkyps’tampatzi äj nhtzokoy’jinhtam.
PENSAR CON EL CORAZÓN
Mi abuelo me dijo:
Los zoques somos herederos de la palabra,
pero ¿a quién le importa ahora la palabra?
La mayoría prefiere mentir,
despojar a otros de sus pequeños tesoros.
Un día mi abuelo aseguró
que en nuestras tierras abundaban riquezas,
entonces vinieron los mineros
y quisieron llevarse hasta las piedras.
Mi abuelo hablaba del tesoro
de poseer la palabra,
de hacer florecer en el pensamiento
y en el corazón, la maravillosa plantita
que se llama wewe.
El wewe que inspira a los niños
a expulsar florecitas dulces de sus bocas,
imitaciones de mirlo o de cardenal
que llenan la tierra de júbilo.
Por eso nunca podremos entendernos con los nhkirawas.
Ellos piensan con la cabeza
y nosotros pensamos con el corazón.
THINKING WITH OUR HEARTS
My grandfather told me:
We Zoques are inheritors of the word,
but who cares about words now?
Most prefer to lie,
stealing the earth’s treasures.
My grandfather said
that our lands were filled with riches,
and so the miners came
and wanted to steal every last stone.
My grandfather spoke of the treasure
of making language bloom
in our thoughts and our hearts,
of our marvelous plant called wewe.
The wewe inspires children to
spill sweet flowers from their mouths,
mimicking cardinal and blackbird
who fill our lands with joy.
This is why the Nhkirawas never understand us.
They think with their heads
and we think with our hearts.
JUJTZYI’E NHTÄ WÄPÄ TZAMAPÄNH’AJÄ
Simón, äj’ atzyipä’jara sutu’ wäpä tzamapänh’ajä,
kyomujsu kastiya’ore
teserike mumupä nhtä’ nhkomis’ nyiäyiram.
Ejtzu’ masanh’nhtäjkis wynanh’omo
teserike’ mpyäkinh’tzyoku’ sijkpa’ te’ näyä’yäki’uy.
Äj› atzyipä’jara’is nyiä’ ijtayuna’ tzapas’Mää’is pyä’mi,
Nhkyo’jama kak’tena’.
Äj atzyipä’jara ketkäkätpapä’pänhtena
te’is muspana’ tyak’ tzoka tzyi’ame’jinhtam.
Te’ sutu’ wäpä’ tzamapänh’ajä,
myuspäjku jujtzyi’e yajk’ yosa’ te’ käjtz’täjkuy’,
teserike’ nhkyenh’tuyu’ te’ nhkyrawa’is’nyi’o’a’ram.
Äj› atzyipä’jara musopyapä’ pänh’tena,
te’is muspana’ nyiä’ tzapi’a’ä pyeka’nhkomi’ram.
Äj atzyipä’jara sutu’ wäpä tzamapänh’ajä,
tese’ja’ myujsä jujtzyi’e tzyiäkä.
CÓMO SER UN BUEN SALVAJE
Mi abuelo Simón quiso ser un buen salvaje,
aprendió castilla
y el nombre de todos los santos.
Danzó frente al templo
y recibió el bautismo con una sonrisa.
Mi abuelo tenía la fuerza del Rayo Rojo
y su nahual era un tigre.
Mi abuelo era un poeta
que curaba con las palabras.
Pero él quiso ser un buen salvaje,
aprendió a usar la cuchara,
y admiró la electricidad.
Mi abuelo era un chamán poderoso
que conocía el lenguaje de los dioses.
Pero él quiso ser un buen salvaje,
aunque nunca lo consiguió.
HOW TO BE A GOOD SAVAGE
My grandfather Simón wanted to be a good savage,
he learned Spanish,
and all the saints’ names.
He danced before the altar
and was baptized with a smile.
My grandfather had the force of Red Thunder
and his nagual was a tiger.
My grandfather was a poet
who healed with words.
But he wanted to be a good savage,
learned to eat with a spoon,
and the Nhkirawa’s electric lamps impressed him.
My grandfather was a powerful shaman
who spoke the gods’ language.
He wanted to be a good savage,
but he never quite learned how.
Translated from Zoque and Spanish by Wendy Call and Shook
.
Wendy Call (she/ella) is the English-language translator of two trilingual books by Binnizá poet Irma Pineda, In the Belly of Night and Other Poems (Pluralia, 2022) and Nostalgia Doesn’t Flow Away Like Riverwater (Phoneme/Deep Vellum, 2024). She is author of the nonfiction book No Word for Welcome: The Mexican Village Faces the Global Economy (Nebraska, 2011, winner of two national prizes) and co-editor of two anthologies, Telling True Stories: A Nonfiction Writers’ Guide (Plume/Penguin, 2007) and the new annual Best Literary Translations (Deep Vellum, 2024). She has received a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts and been a Fulbright Faculty Scholar in Colombia. She lives in Seattle, Duwamish territory.
