Yana Lucila Lema: 6 poems from Tamyawan Shamukupani / Living with the rain

About the author:

Yana Lucila Lema studied Social Communication with a specialization in Television at the Central University of Ecuador. She also studied Creative Writing and received a Masters of Social Sciences with a concentration in Indigenous Issues at FLACSO. She obtained a degree in Audiovisual Journalism at the Jose Marti International Institute of Journalism in Cuba. She has collaborated with indigenous organizations such as the Confederacy of Ecuadorian Indigenous Nationalities (CONAIE), the Confederacy of Indigenous Nationalities from the Ecuadorian Amazon (CONFENIAE), and the Confederacy of Peoples of Kichwa nationality (ECUARUNARI).


In her work with CONAIE she created several videos about strengthening cultural identity among indigenous peoples. One of these videos, which focused on traditional medicine, was the winner of the First Nations of Abya Yala Film Festival. She was presenter for the Kichwa language newscast KICHWAPI for six and a half years on the national channel RTS. As a writer, she participated in the International Meeting of Indigenous Communicators and Writers in Indigenous Languages (UNAM-Mexico), the Conference of the Association for Writers in Indigenous Languages of Mexico, and the International Poetry Festivals of Medellin and Bogota (Colombia). Her poetry was included in the book Las palabras pueden: Los escritores y la infancia (UNICEF), the poetry anthology of indigenous nations of Ecuador Ñaupa pachamanta purik rimaykuna / Antiguas palabras andantes (Casa de la Ecuatoriana 2016), and in the special edition of the Diálogo Magazine “Los cinco puntos cardinales en la literatura indígena contemporánea/ The five cardinal points in contemporary indigenous literature” (DePaul University 2016). Currently, she works as a professor in the University of the Arts in Guayaquil.

Tamyawan Shamukupani is the first collection of Quichua poetry by Yana Lucy Lema. Her poetry is very intimate, sensual and connected to her Otavalo heritage and the cosmos in general. She does that with few strokes, as if she was talking to someone, usually a loved one. Hers is a new voice in Quichua poetry, going beyond the usual rhetoric. The translations were done relying primarily in the original Quichua version, and might be slightly different than the authors translation into Spanish. We have also segmented the stanzas to allow the nonlinear symbolic flow between the lines. If the translator is familiar with the native language this is the right way to approach a text, so the nuances are not lost in the intermediate language. Thanks to Robert Roth, director of And Then Magazine, for Reading and suggesting some fine tuning for this wonderful body of work.  (by Fredy A. Roncalla)

Tamyawan Shamukupani /Living with the rain

1

chay lusiru kimirimukunmi
kintikunapash ña pawanakunmi

pakchata yallik ñuka shunkupash wakakunmi

chay kanpa shimiwan allpata mutyachishami

wayrapash ñukanchikwan pukllachun sakishunlla

-ama manchaychu

nachu urkukunapash kuyarinmi

nishpami ñuka mamaka- nin

1

Morning star comes by
and the hummingbirds fly around

my heart roars louder than a waterfall

I will water the earth with your lips and mouth

It is time for the wind to play with us

do not fear:

even the mountains
love each other

my mother said

2

ñawpa mamakunapa makikunapi
katik wawakunapa makikunapi

uchilla ninakunashinami
puka mullukunapash

cuentakunapash punchalla rikurinakun

inti llukshinkakaman
inti washakunkakaman tushunka

shunku kushikuchun
kutinpash pukuchiyta ushankapak

2

At the hands of the elder women
and the young ones that follow them

shine golden mullu* shells
like small suns

the silver beads will dance
until sunrise

and sunset

bringing happiness to our hearts
so they flower again

*Mullu is the quichua mane for the spondylous shell. This shell is used in many rituals in the Andes and had an exchange value close to money in pre-Hispanic times. This shell is widely used in the manufacture of beads in the coastal region of Ecuador and Peru. This poem refers to the importance of handcrafting in quichua communities.

3

kunanka ñukawan
ñuka ñawi rikuypi tiyakuy

kanpa maki awayta rikukusha
nachu hawapachapi nina puchkakunapash watarinakun

nachu paykunallatak uchilla ninakunata
ñukanchik shunkukunatapash watachishka

3

Stay now
looking at me in the eyes

I will watch your hands
as if they were weaving threads of fire at Hawa Pacha*

those hands
perhaps the only ones tying small suns**

for our hearts contentment

*”Hawa pacha” is the celestial dimension in Quichua cosmology.
**”Tying small suns” refers to the capacity to tie a celestial body –usually with a woolen cord- to benefit the realm of this world.

4

kayna puncha
kayna chishi

kayna tuta

ñuka shuti kanpa shimipi
kanpa llakta ñuka ñawipi

ñawpa ñawpa punchakuna purishkami kashka

ñukanchik makikunapi hapirishka munay
ñukanchik llaktakunamanta makanakushpa puriwan paktay

chay puncha
chay chishi

chay tuta

kanpa shuti ñuka shimipi
ñuka llakta kanpa ñawipi

ñawpa punchakuna purishkami kashka

chiri wayra chawpipi ukllariy
aycha ukupi chay tukuy makanakuykunawan paktay

kunan puncha
kunan chishi

kunan tuta charichishkaka

ñuka llaktapi kan chulunlla
kanpa llaktapi ñuka chulunlla

kunan kunan purishkami kan

uchilla ninakunalla tutapi
shuk makanakuykunapash ñukanchikta tarimushkami

kanta ñukata ñukanchikpa chikan llaktakunapi

4

Yesterday
last evening

the night holding 

my name in your lips
and your land in my eyes

come from very old times

like a certain tenderness left in our hands
by the struggles for our people

the other day
and evening

that night holding

your name in my lips
and my land in your eyes

are a more recent story

just like a hug in the middle of the cold wind
blowing with the struggles we carry in our blood

today
this evening

and the night still holding 

your silence in my land
and your land in my silence

are even a smaller tale

like a night with small suns
guiding our future struggles

for our lands

5

kan ñuka suni akchata llampuchishkata yarinirakmi

ñuka rinripi

kanpa uchilla wankarpash wakakunrakmi


5

I have your hand going through my hair

and in my ears

the sound of your small drum

6

suni akchayuk
raymi kushma churakushka mamakulla

chishikunapi kanta shuyanchik

—ñanta mañachiychik yallipasha— nishpa purimuy
—yallipay mama yallipay— nishpa chaskishunmi

wawakunaman kushikuyta
kanpa mishki shimita apamupay

imashina sisakuna pukuchun tamyata shuyanchik

shina kantapash shuyanchikmi

shamuy sumak tullpukunayuk

kawsak rumikunayuk mamakulla

6

Venerable old lady
long haired lady

Dressed like you are going to the town celebration:

we wait for you
as the evening sets

just come and say “I am passing by your place”
we will answer “just pass, madam, just pass”

bring your sweet words and happiness
for the infants

we wait for you as the flowers long for the rain

just come, old lady

with your beautiful colors
and your stones full of memories

MORE ABOUT YANA LUCILA LEMA

About the translator:

Fredy A. Roncalla was born in Chalhuanca, Apurimac, Peru in 1953. He has studied linguistics and literature, in addition to a long journey in Andean Studies, with a special focus on aesthetic elements. He is also a handcraft artist who works with recycled materials. He has published poetry and essays in diverse online and printed publications.

He is the author of Canto de pájaro o invocación a la palabra (Buffon Press, 1984); Escritos Mitimaes: hacia una poética andina postmoderna (Barro Editorial Press, 1998); Hawansuyo Ukun words (Hawansuyo/Pakarina Ediciones, 2015); and Revelación en la senda del manzanar: Homenaje a Juan Ramírez Ruiz (Hawansuyo/ Pakarina, 2016). He is currently working on Llapan llaqtan: narrativa y poesía trilingüe/ Llapan llaqtan: trilingual poetry. His trans-Andean projects can be found in the virtual ayllu: Hawansuyo Peruvian Bookstore, Churoncalla.com, y Hawansuyo.com

Selected Poems from “We Are the Dreamers: Recent and Early Poetry” by Rita Joe

                    Rita Joe is a Mi’kmaq writer born in We’koqma’q, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, Canada, in 1932. Joe was orphaned very young and raised by various extended family members and foster families until she was taken to residential school in Shubenacadie, Nova Scotia. From there, she worked in the caring professions in Halifax and Boston. Joe married, had eight children and raised two others. She started writing poetry in the sixties and published her first book, Poems of Rita Joe, in 1978. For her later years, she lived in Eskisoqnik on Cape Breton Island, where she was an educator, songwriter, artist, poet and elder. Along with various honorary doctorates, Joe also received the Order of Canada (1989) and a National Aboriginal Achievement Award (1997). She passed away in 2007.

Joe wrote in both Mi’kmaq and English using a very simple language. Her poems are deeply personal, reflecting on her private life, Indigenous identity, Mi’kmaq beliefs, traditions, and racism in Canadian society. Four of the poems translated here are from her first book and appear in We Are the Dreamers: Recent and Early Poetry (Breton Books, 1999). All were published bilingually, except the preface. (by Sophie M. Lavoie, translator)

❁❁❁

I am the Indian
And the burden
Lies yet with me.
_______________________

The invisible line of the burden is the central idea which keeps banging against my head and cannot drop unless I am satisfied. The satisfaction does not seem to materialize with each problem I try to conquer. The minor self-war has turned into a mountain, I cannot reach the top. The top being my own satisfied conclusion.

That I think is what keeps me going, the day to day problem solving, even looking for it. Like tearing my own poetry apart, meandering into different directions, pecking there or just looking, the many trails too many to take on. But when another day comes there is that spirit rising again to take on any cause just to see if it can be slowed, dumped or won over. The tired body now broken, the spirit hanging on just so it can be pushed to the limit, if not for me but others, the endless trail into another century, then maybe, just maybe…

❁❁❁

Poem 6

Wen net ki’l?
Pipanimit nuji-kina’muet ta’n jipalk.
Netakei, aq i’-naqawey;
Koqoey?

Ktikik nuji-kina’masultite’wk kimelmultijik.
Na epas’si, taqawajitutm,
Aq elui’tmasi
Na na’kwek.

Espi-kjijiteketes,
Ma’jipajita’siw.
Espitutmikewey kina’matneweyiktuk eyk,
Aq kinua’tuates pa’ qlaiwaqnn ni’n nikmaq.

**

Who are you?
Question from a teacher feared.
Blushing, I stammered
What?

Other students tittered.
I sat down forlorn, dejected,
And made a vow
That day

To be great in all learnings,
No more uncertain.
My pride lives in my education,
And I will relate wonders to my people.

❁❁❁

Poem 10

Ai! Mu knu’kwaqnn,
Mu nuji-wi’kikaqnn,
Mu weskitaqawikasinukul kisna
mikekni-napuikasinukul
Kekinua’tuenukul wlakue’l
pa’qalaiwaqnn.

Ta’n teluji-mtua’lukwi’tij nuji-
kina’mua’tijik a.

Ke’ kwilmi’tij,
Maqamikewe’l wisunn,
Apaqte’l wisunn,
Sipu’l;
Mukk kasa’tu mikuite’tmaqnmk
Ula knu’kwaqnn.

Ki’ welaptimikl
Kmtne’l samqwann nisitk,
Kesikawitkl sipu’l.
Ula na kis-napui’kmu’kl
Mikuite’tmaqanminaq.
Nuji-kina’masultioq,
we’jitutoqsip ta’n kisite’tmekl
Wisunn aq ta’n pa’qi-klu’lk,
Tepqatmi’tij L’nu weja’tekemk
weji-nsituita’timk.

**

Aye! no monuments,
No literature,
No scrolls or canvas-drawn pictures
Relate the wonders of our yesterday.

How frustrated the searchings
of the educators.

Let them find
Land names,
Titles of seas,
Rivers;
Wipe them not from memory.
These are our monuments.

Breathtaking views-
Waterfalls on a mountain,
Fast flowing rivers.
These are our sketches
Committed to our memory.
Scholars, you will find our art
In names and scenery,
Betrothed to the Indian
since time began.

❁❁❁

Poem 14

Kiknu na ula maqmikew
Ta’n asoqmisk wju’sn kmtnji’jl
Aq wastewik maqmikew
Aq tekik wju’sn.

Kesatm na telite’tm L’nueymk,
Paqlite’tm, mu kelninukw koqoey;
Aq ankamkik kloqoej
Wejkwakitmui’tij klusuaqn.
Nemitaq ekel na tepknuset tekik wsiskw
Elapekismatl wta’piml samqwan-iktuk.

Teli-ankamkuk
Nkutey nike’ kinu tepknuset
Wej-wskwijnuulti’kw,
Pawikuti’kw,
Tujiw keska’ykw, tujiw apaji-ne’ita’ykw
Kutey nike’ mu pessipketenukek
iapjiweyey.

Mimajuaqnminu siawiaq
Mi’soqo kikisu’a’ti’kw aq nestuo’lti’kw.
Na nuku’ kaqiaq.
Mu na nuku’eimukkw,
Pasik naqtimu’k
L’nu’ qamiksuti ta’n mu nepknukw.

**

Our home is this country
Across the windswept hills
With snow on fields.
The cold air.

I like to think of our native life,
Curious, free;
And look at the stars
Sending icy messages.
My eyes see the cold face of the moon
Cast his net over the bay.

It seems
We are like the moon-
Born,
Grow slowly,
Then fade away, to reappear again
In a never-ending cycle.

Our lives go on
Until we are old and wise.
Then end.
We are no more,
Except we leave
A heritage that never dies.

❁❁❁

Poem 19

Klusuaqnn mu nuku’ nuta’nukul
Tetpaqi-nsitasin.
Mimkwatasik koqoey wettaqne’wasik
L’nueyey iktuk ta’n keska’q
Mu a’tukwaqn eytnukw klusuaqney
panaknutk pewatmikewey
Ta’n teli-kjijituekip seyeimik

Espe’k L’nu’qamiksuti,
Kelo’tmuinamitt ajipjitasuti.
Apoqnmui kwilm nsituowey
Ewikasik ntinink,
Apoqnmui kaqma’si;
Pitoqsi aq melkiknay.

Mi’kmaw na ni’n;
Mukk skmatmu piluey koqoey wja’tuin.

**

Words no long need
Clear meanings.
Hidden things proceed from a lost legacy.
No tale in words bares our desire, hunger,
The freedom we have known.

A heritage of honour
Sustains our hopes.
Help me search the meaning
Written in my life,
Help me stand again
Tall and mighty.

Mi’kmaw I am;
Expect nothing else from me.

❁❁❁

Wenmajita’si

Kiskuk eksitpu’kek alasutmay
Etawey kisi wi’kiken
Etawey kisi ankita’sin
Etawey kiijka’ mlkikno’ti
Ma’w kitu’-kinua’tekey aq kekina’muey
We’jitutoqsip mu i’muann
Ankite’imuloqop msit
Siaw-lukutikw nutqo’itioq
Kisa’tutoqsip na.

**

I am filled with grief

Today, this morning I prayed
I ask to write a little longer
I ask if I may be able to think
I ask for a small strength
I still want to show, teach.
You will find when I am gone
I thought about all of you
Continue the work, you young people
You can do it.

PDF: Rita Joe poems English/Mi’kmaq

 THE TRANSLATOR

Sophie M. Lavoie is Associate Professor and Chair of the Department of Culture and Media Studies at the University of New Brunswick in Fredericton, Canada, where she teaches language, literature, film and culture classes. She has published various academic articles in scholarly on Central-American women’s literature, among other topics, in French, English and Spanish. With Hugh Hazelton, she was cotranslator into English of The Vertical Labyrinth by Argentinean poet Nela Rio, she translated the book of poetry We Are the dreamers by Mi’kmaq poet Rita Joe into French, and she has a forthcoming translation of the autobiography of the two spirit cri and ojibwe elder, Ma-Nee Chacaby, also into French.