Guie' xhuuba'
Qui zuuti guenda xtubi naa
guielua' naca ti guie' gudxiru biulú.
Ti ladxidó' cayuuna naaze nanda laa
cadi cacaa bi,
cayaca diti xhiaa' sica ti bereleele,
dxi ribidxi gubidxa ne nisaguie.
Qui zuuti xilase naa, rabe
ti saa ribí lu bangu sti' guenda ribana' stinne'
nisadó' ró' candani lu guie ra gule'
rucaa' diidxazá ti gusiaanda' xi diidxa' ratané yuuba',
rinaba' guibá' ne xpele
gudxii naa guendanayeche' guleniá'.
Biguídi' gui'chi' naaze naa:
xiñee bidxii de'chu'
beleguí biliibine xquípilu'.
Flor que se desgrana
No moriré de ausencia
un colibrí pellizcó el ojo de mi flor.
El corazón llora su calosfrío
y no respira,
tiemblan mis alas como el alcaraván
cuando presagia al sol y a la lluvia.
No moriré de ausencia me digo
una melodía se postra sobre la silla de mi tristeza
un océano brota de la piedra de mi origen
escribo en zapoteco para ignorar la sintaxis del dolor,
le pido al cielo y a su lumbre
que me devuelvan la alegría.
Mariposa de papel que me sostiene:
por qué le diste la espalda a la estrella
que anudaba tu ombligo.
Yoo ni guniee' xcaanda'
Zenda' lade dani
nisa cayale gasi ruuya' naa,
ruyadxie' lidxi jñiá biida'
zuba galaa gui'xhi'.
Rizaya' luguia bandaga,
ti ruaa yoo ro' rixale',
rigana' cue' yoo ma biruxhi
¿xi cayuaa' xiee'?
ti gui'ri' rundaa xho' sapandú ndaani' lidxi bi.
Ruxhele' guiiru' biaani' rindaya' ndaani' gui'xhi':
ti yoo nagan'da',
riá' ndaani' guzina
ca guisu nacacá' ndaani' jñaa.
Riuuxiee' guendabidxu, nanchi,
za cadxuuni', gu'xhu' benda yaagui'.
¿Xí ná ladxidua'ya'?: nayeche' nuu.
Zenda' lade dani, neza lua':
zuba ti yoo bisi'ña' ma biaba laya
ne didilaaga luuna' doo rié ne reeda galaa guiba',
zugúa yaga ne guie', qui riaadxa' mani' ripapa'.
Rixubena'ya' ti bidxiña ne guielúme nacani ti xilase nayu'la'.
Nacua' ti lari cuadru huiini'
ne chupa bitoope caguiru xhidxe' huiine',
cadi cuxidxe', suguaa' chaahue' sica ti yaga
napa' xhono iza ne guidilade naca ti yoo redasilú laa lidxi.
La casa de mis sueños
Desciendo de la montaña
un ojo de agua me mira,
veo la casa de mi abuela
en medio de la selva.
Camino sobre el follaje
una puerta gruesa se abre,
puedo tocar las paredes descarapeladas
¿qué huele mi nariz?
el cirio desprende chintul
en el corredor del viento.
Abro la ventana, ahí está la jungla:
la casa es fresca,
voy a la cocina
las ollas son el vientre de mi madre.
Aromas de anonas, nanche maduro,
el ruido del aceite cuando se fríe, humo de pescado.
¿Qué siento?: estoy feliz.
Desciendo de la montaña, enfrente:
una casa de caliche desdentada,
camas de hilos atraviesan su cielo, en mi jardín no faltan pájaros.
Acaricio un venado y sus ojos son una tristeza ovalada.
Tengo puesto un vestido de cuadritos
y dos cangrejos pellizcan mis senos de niña,
no sonrío, estoy parada como un poste.
Tengo ocho años y mi cuerpo es una casa, que recuerda su casa.
de Guie' yaase'/Olivo negro
Natalia Toledo
The Isthmus Zapotec originals were translated into Spanish by the author, Natalia Toledo. The Spanish versions were translated into English by Clare Sullivan.
Listen to "House of My Dreams" read in the original Isthmus Zapotec by the author:
Natalia Toledo writes poetry in the Mexican indigenous language of Isthmus Zapotec. Spoken by more than 750,000 people today in Oaxaca State, this language family has been around for close to 3,000 years. Nevertheless, Toledo was the first woman to write and publish poetry in her native tongue. As such, she recounts the worldview of an indigenous people in her poems, for example by alluding to the practice of reading signs in the natural world. But given their geographical location on the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, the Zapotec have been people at a crossroads who survived through trade and commerce. Her poetry expresses how other languages and cultures have clashed with Zapotec customs to create a culture that is vibrantly present today. She succeeds through images both sharp and tender that resonate in her native tongue. Natalia translates her own poetry into Spanish. I have to listen to her original verses many times in order not to lose their music. Because my translation is based on her Spanish version, however, I must ground my work in her vivid imagery. This process has required me to visit the region, research names for local fruits and fauna, and most of all to ask Natalia many questions. The "flower that drops its petals," for instance, is a descriptive translation of a proper name in Zapotec.
Natalia Toledo (born in Juchitán, Mexico) was the first woman to write and publish in the indigenous language of Zapotec. She has published four volumes of poetry in bilingual form (Isthmus Zapotec and Spanish). Her poetry has been translated into English, French, German, Vietnamese, and Italian. In 2004 she received the Premio Nacional de Literatura Nezahualcoyotl for her book of poetry, Guie' yaase'/Olivo negro.
Clare Sullivan is a translator who teaches at the University of Louisville. Her translation of Litane by Alejandro Tarrab was published in 2017 by Cardboard House Press. Her other translations, including of indigenous Latin American poetry, have appeared in The Iowa Review, Modern Poetry in Translation, World Literature Today, and Latin American Literature Today. She received an NEA Translation Grant to translate The Black Flower and Other Zapotec Poems (Phoneme Media, 2015), which was short-listed for the Best Translated Book Award.
