To Live, To Die
We grow, like trees, inside
the footprints of our ancestors.
We live, like spiders, in the web
of the maternal corner.
We always love on the banks of thirst.
We dream there, between Kashii 1 and Ka’i2,
on the land of the spirits.
We die as if we were still alive.
Vivir-morir
Crecemos, como árboles, en el interior
de la huella de nuestros antepasados.
Vivimos, como arañas, en el tejido
del rincón materno.
Amamos siempre a orillas de la sed.
Soñamos allá, entre Kashii y Ka’i (el Luna y el Sol),
en los predios de los espíritus.
Morimos como si siguiéramos vivos.
Kataa ou-outa
Mioushii wayaa ma’akaa saain wunuu, sulu’upuna
Nouchikii na wapuulerua janakanat.
Kepiashii, wayaa ma’akaa saain aleket sakaa.
Einuushii sutuma wei.
Emejirashii wayaa sotpa wuñaasü.
Chashii wayaa a’lapuujain nakaa kashii numaa ka’i
suma’inru seyu wayuu.
Outushii wayaa ma’akaa katuule wouu.
1 The moon, a higher spiritual being of masculine gender, belonging to Wayuu mythology. Their rays originate female menstruation.
2 The sun, a higher spiritual being, belonging to Wayuu mythology.
Alijuna
The anthropologist with corn hair
has asked me to show her
a form of pülowi3.
By internal force I took her
towards the nocturnal Palaa4.
I don’t know if she understood
that pülowi was
in our hidden fear of seeing her.
Persona no wayuu
La antropóloga, de cabellos de maíz,
me ha pedido que le muestre
una forma de pülowi.
Por fuerza interna la llevé
hacia el mar (palaa)… nocturno.
No sé si comprendió
que pülowi estaba
en nuestro oculto temor de verla.
Alijuna
Tü antüropooloka, makalü ju’wala maiki,
juchuntüitpa tamüin te’iyatüin jümüin
wanee jukuwa’ipa pulowui.
Jüka tale’erujutu tatchin tamaasü
wanaa jümaa palaakaa… pi’uushe’e.
Nnojolü tatüjaain aa’u jiaawatüi jaa’u
eejetüin pulowui
jünain tü matüjaajukoo aa’u momoluin waya jeema
we’rüin.
3 An entity that represents hidden feminine power. It takes shape as a woman with great physical beauty, nocturnal habits, and devours male travelers and recluses. Pülowi sites are mysterious and forbidden places (e.g., caves, lagoons, hills, etc.).
4 The sea, Mma’s (Mother Earth) twin sister.
Old Newcomers
I
On the way to Palaausain, close to Porshiina,
the rabbits dance a secret dance,
with the Kasiiwano’u5…
and the shepherd children cup their hands
to invent whistles: ¡waawai! ¡waawai!
and the countryside is revealed in one hundred paths:
the one of the stone and the dust,
the one of the water and the shade,
the one of the dream and the laughter,
the one of the trap and the terror,
the one of the woman and the party.
II
On the way to Palaausain, close to Ouutsümana6,
the Wanülüü7 drink chicha
in the abandoned ranchos…
and the silence carries the hidden dialogue of the dead.
So we see that our ancient world
is, still, a smiling apprentice of life.
—We are like eternal newcomers—
Antiguos recién llegados
I
Por el camino a Palausain, cerca de Porshiina,
los conejos bailan una danza secreta,
con las culebras Kasiiwanou…
y los niños pastores ahuecan sus manos
para inventar los silbidos…: ¡waawai! ¡waawai!…
y el monte se descubre en cien senderos:
el de la piedra y el polvo
el del agua y la sombra,
el del sueño y la risa,
el de la trampa y el temor,
el de la mujer y la fiesta.
II
Por el camino a Palaausain, cerca de Ouutsümana,
los espantos beben chicha
en los ranchos abandonados…
y el silencio trae el diálogo oculto de los muertos.
Así vemos que nuestro antiguo mundo
es, aún, sonriente aprendiz de la vida.
—Somos como eternos recién llegados—.
Sümaiwajee. walii e’iwaa antaa
I
Süpünalüü Palaausain, sü’ütpünaa Porshiina,
ayonnajüshii atpana’irua wane yonna ejejeraushi sümaa
wui’irua Kasiiwano’u…
otta tepichi’irua arüleejülii anoute’etshi najapü süpüla
akumajaa tüü ewiijaakalü…: ¡waawai! ¡waawai!
otta unaapüikalü kojuyatuasü ojutalain süjejerüin:
ejeechiki ipakalü sümaa tüü kalirashikalu
ejeechiki wuinkalü sümaa ayoolojokalü
ejeechiki lapükalü sümaa tüü asirajaakalü
ejeechiki emeeyaakalü süma kamüsheekalü
ejeechiki jietkalü sümaa tüü mi’iraakalü.
II
Süpünalüü Palaausain, sü’ütpünaa Ouutsümana,
asaashii uujolü wanüülüi’irua eekai miichi’irua oulaushi…
otta yüütüikalü alüüjasü tüü maüjaüshikalü süyoolo
outusü.
Musüjaa werüüin sükuai’tpa wamaiwa sünain ayatüin
kulematüin ekirajai’kai katouwa’ain.
Mushiijaa wayaa maaka sain sümaiwaje’walii e’iwakalü
antaa.
5 Nonvenomous savannah snakes or hunting snakes appreciated for their cleaning skills.
6 Another toponym like Palausain and Porshiina, where a place is named after a topographical feature. Here, the prefix ouutsü refers to a healing, knowledgeable, and spiritual woman, better known as a shaman.
7 A representation of evil spirits belonging to Wayuu mythology known to carry diseases and other misfortunes.
Shepherds
We are shepherds.
We are the men who live in the world of the trails.
We, too, graze,
return to a pen… and we are suckled.
We are milk of the dream, meat of the party… blood
of the goodbye.
Here, in our environment,
life shepherds us.
Pastores
Somos pastores.
Somos los hombres que viven en el mundo de las sendas.
Nosotros, también, apacentamos,
también regresamos a un redil… y nos amamantan.
Y somos leche del sueño, carne de la fiesta… sangre
del adios.
Aquí, en nuestro entorno,
la vida nos pastorea.
Arüleejüliirua
Arüleejülii waya
Waya wayuu kepiakama wopulu’uwai.
Ekajitshii wayakanaya’asa,
ale’ejüshii waya sulu’umüin wane paüya’asa… Je
achujeennüüshii waya.
Je süchira waya tü lapükaa, süsala tü mi’irakaa… Süsha
tü apütawaakaa.
Ya’yaa wa’ato’upünaa,
sürüleejüin waya tü kataakaa o’u.
Bird-women
One afternoon, I happened to see two curlews running.
They passed swiftly by my canopy, singing:
Leu, leu leu, ma. Leu, leu leu, ma.
There was moon over the red resting of the sun…and
I saw them get lost on the road that goes to the jagüey8 of
Mariirop.
Late at night a dream occurred within me…filled with
bird-women:
I was Jierü-witush, the azulejo-woman, knitting with all
the colors of time
Jierü-wawaachi, the dove-woman, was calling her children:
“Bring life here!”
“Bring life here!”
Jierü-shotti, the owl-woman, was stalking from the fire
of her eyes the desired man
Jierü-chünü’ü, the hummingbird-woman, was restoring the flowers
of the forgotten dreams…
many birds and many women
Jierü-kaarai, the curlew-woman, over there, swollen with
omens in every beat of her heart
Jierü-wulu’ui, the turpial-woman, was sharing the cool water
of laughter
Jierü-iisho, the cardinal-woman, was bearing the environment
on her ash-red wings.
When I woke up, I told my mother about the dream…and she smiled
without looking at me:
“Ah, she is a wainpirai9!”
And since then, I have been discovering the hidden feathers
of the women who shelter us.
Mujeres-aves
En una tarde ocurrió que vi correr a dos alcaravanes.
Pasaron veloces por mi enramada, cantando:
Leu, leu leu, ma. Leu, leu leu, ma.
Había luna sobre el rojo descanso del sol… y
los vi perderse por el camino que va hacia el jagüey de
Mariirop.
Entrada la noche sucedió un sueño en mí… lleno de
mujeres-aves:
estaba Jierü-witush, la mujer-azulejo, tejiendo con todos
los colores del tiempo;
Jierü-wawaachi, la mujer-tótola, llamaba a sus hijos:
“¡Traigan la vida aquí!”
“¡Traigan la vida aquí!”
Jierü-shotii, la mujer-lechuza, acechaba desde el fuego de
sus ojos al hombre deseado;
Jierü-chünü’ü, la mujer-colibrí, renovaba las flores de los
sueños olvidados…
y muchas aves y muchas mujeres;
Jierü-kaarai, la mujer-alcaraván, allá, henchida de
presagios en cada latido de su corazón;
Jierü-wulu’ui, la mujer-turpial, repartía el agua fresca
de la risa;
Jierü-iisho, la mujer-cardenal, sostenía el etorno en sus
alas rojicenizas.
Al despertar, le conté el sueño a mi madre… y sonrió sin
mirarme:
“¡Aaa, ella es una wainpirai!… una mujer-sinsonte”.
Y a partir de entonces he venido descubriendo las plumas
ocultas de las mujeres que nos abrigan.
Jieyuu-wuchiirua
Shiasa’a so’u wanee ka’I aliikajatü te’rüin awanaajüin
piamasü kaarai.
Alanuwaasü awataashaanainrua tepialu’upünaa, majüin
shii’iran yaa:
Leu, leu leu, ma. Leu, leu leu, ma.
Ejetü kasha tü ishokoo neemeraaya ka’ikai… Je
te’rüin amoutalaainrua sulu’upünaa tü wopu
eemüinjatkaa sülaashi Mariirop.
Shiasa’a joolu’u sa’wai eesü joolu’u wanee ta’lapüin…
Jieyuule’eya-wuchiirua te’raka:
eejetü Jierü-witush, einna’alataain süka süna shipishuwa’a
tü akaliaakaa;
Jierü-wawaachi, suunekajüin na süchonyuukana:
“¡Jantira tü wakuwa’ipakaa yaamüin yaa!”
“¡Jantira tü wakuwa’ipakaa yaamüin yaa!”
Tü Jierü-monkulunseetkaa, süpüleeruwain, sütchinru’ujee
tü so’ukoluirua, chi wayuu
sü’wayuusheekai amüin;
Jierü-chünü’ü, a’wanajüin süsiirua tü lapü motokoluirua
aa’in,
je watta saalii wuchiirua o’ulakaa müsia jieyuu;
Jierü-kaarai, chayaa, mainmain kasa sütijaakaa oo’u
sülatajatüin maya’awaisüsa’a atünülaain saa’in;
Jierü-wului, eitajüin tü saamatsükaa süinya tü asiraakaa;
Jierü-iisho, ajapulu’ujakaa kasa sa’ato’upünaajatü süka tü
sütünairua ishooitajakalü je pali’itatkalüirua.
Mayaashisa’a tatijiraain taküjain tü ta’lapüinkaa sümüin
tü teikaa…
sukulemeraaka sünain nnojolüin shiirakaain tamüin:
“Aaa, shiakaa wanee wainpirai”…
sünainje’eree tia tatüjaa tama oo’ulu tü me’raajukoo
soi tü jieyuuirua kasheinkalü waya akajee.
8 Traditional water ponds/wells used to store and distribute rainwater primarily used during periods of prolonged drought.
9 Singing bird, or mockingbird, greatly admired by the Wayuu.
Peninsula
We live between scarcity and abundance,
between the disturbed dream and serene wakefulness
… we are the smiling angst that prolongs life
… we are the knotted fabric in the environment’s loom,
the complacency of being earth and breath, indivisibly.
Península
Vivimos entre lo poco y abundancia,
entre el sueño anunciador y la serena vigilia
… somos la angustia sonriente aumentadora de vida
… somos un tejido de nudos en el telar del etorno,
la complacencia de ser tierra y respiración, indivisibles.
Woumainpa’a
Kepiashi wayaa sa’aka tü paliitka sumaa tü waimakat,
sa’aka tü lapükat aapirakat tü maintakat matunkuin
… wayaakanairua muliatakana kuleemata jemioulakat
tü aa’in.
…wayakana wanee a’anuushi tü shisho’okaliüirua sau
anütpalaka waütpunaka
tü anaa aa’in sumaa main wayakana asanala wain,
makatalainka.
Translator’s Note:
The selected poems from Vito Apüshana’s Antiguos recién llegados (2019), offers a glimpse into the arid dreamscape of La Guajira, Colombia, where the Wayuu have preserved the spirit of the land and their way of life for centuries, historically resisting Spanish colonization and now fighting to endure the exploitation of their peninsula for its natural resources.
While Vito’s position as a cultural ambassador and human rights activist in the region focuses on Wayuu struggles, his poetic work primarily explores cultural practices, the natural world, and a spiritual/ancestral connection to this land. In fact, all the poems selected here refer to natural flora and fauna endemic to La Guajira, sites of spiritual significance, or cultural practices and beliefs. These references also share in the preservation of Wayuu language, which Vito actively retains even in his self-translations to Spanish.
The preservation of Wayuu in his self-translations not only signifies the resistant act of keeping indigenous languages alive, but it also becomes a metaphorical echo heard in the choral voice throughout all of Vito’s work, which hardly uses the singular I. Even in “Bird-women”, the I is enveloped in a dream cradled by the women who weave together the fabric of Wayuu life. The we repeated throughout most of these poems voices both ancestor and descendent collectively. While Vito is undoubtedly the author of this work, he’s the first to admit that these words aren’t only his own but also a blend of dreams, experiences, and stories echoed through time and space by those who guide him.
I’ve been honored to be able to continue this “echoing” through translation to a wider audience unfamiliar with his poetry and Wayuu culture. An integral part of these translations is the continued preservation of Wayuu language which is present throughout each poem and enhanced by the trilingual publication. As an American translator, I recognize the immense responsibility I carry to retain these indigenous references out of respect and admiration for the author, the Wayuu people, and the language itself. As you’ll notice, there are several footnotes attached to most of the featured poems, and I’m optimistic that they help balance the tense power dynamic between preservation and accessibility. For example, in the namesake poem “Old Newcomers” Vito explores the countryside of La Guajira through several different geographical sites, native fauna, and spiritual entities to express the longevity of the Wayuu and their inseparable connection to the land. Due to an abundance of Wayuu references in this poem, particularly of the terrain, I chose to footnote only the most integral location (Ouutsümana) because of its relationship to another Wayuu reference (Wanülüü). The prefix ouutsü refers to the presence of a female shaman, and Wanülüü is the manifestation of an ill-omened spirit known to carry disease. Although Vito preserved the former and not the latter in the Spanish, I chose to preserve both in my translation because English further erases the complexity of the relationship between each word within the poem. Considering our own relationship to the text as a predominantly English-speaking audience, I’ve also retained some of the Spanish in certain contexts as well to carry over another layer of cultural significance.
Overall, the experience of translating Vito’s work has been very enlightening. Although I’ve had access to the author throughout the process and have conducted my own research on particular Wayuu terminology, knowing that there’s an added distance between my own translation and the “original” source-text made for an interesting challenge. However, due to the multivocal nature of the work—exemplifying the disintegration of singularity—I felt welcomed to view my practice through the lens of a kaleidoscope. In other words, the act of translation becomes a means of revealing the myriad refractions of who we are in relation to each other. In my recent correspondence with Vito, he’s expressed his readiness to encounter more than his “two-skinned tongue” is surrounded by, so I hope these translations respectively welcome him and his people with warmth.
Vito Apüshana is a writer, human rights activist, and former professor at the University of La Guajira from the town of Carraipía, La Guajira, Colombia. His most recent collection of poetic work Antiguos recién llegados was published by Sílaba in 2019. His earlier works, Contrabandeo sueños con alijunas cercanos (1992), En las hondonadas maternas de la piel (2010), and others can be found online and in magazines like Número (Bogotá), Casa de las Américas (Havana), Le Poésie (Paris), Americas Quarterly (New York), and La Jornada (Mexico City).
Maurice Rodriguez is a writer and translator from Connecticut with an MA in English from the University of Connecticut, and is a prospective MFA student in Creative Writing at The New School. He also teaches writing at the University of New Haven. His most recent work can be found in HASH and Puerto del Sol. For more updates on his writing and translating, follow him on Twitter @yosoymojo
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