Shadows of the Andes; Ollantayambo; and Cesar Vallejo

1) Shadows of the Andes [or: Song to the Andes]

I shall blend-in, into the

Mountains—
Into the faintest thin

Shadows

of the mountains!
Like the moss on moistened

Stone

Like a leaf blown far from

Home…

(freshly fallen)!

I shall blend-in, clinging

To the mountains—
Into its faintest thin

Shadows

Note: when I arrived back home from Peru, my 7th trip in five years [April, 2005], I had spend about 30-days this time on the trip. I visited the Mantaro Valley, Huancayo, and drove through the Andes. Upon my arrival home, I told my wife, perhaps a week or two thereafter, “We are going to go there and live.” Thus, we sold everything, and our home in Minnesota, and purchased a condo in the Andes, and now it is all history.

Sombras de los Andes

Yo armonizaré, dentro de las
Montañas-
¡Dentro de las sombras finas
Más débiles
De las montañas!

Como el musgo de las piedras
Humedecidas

Como una hoja echada a volar
Lejos de casa

(Recién caída)

Yo armonizaré, adhiriéndome
A las montañas-
Dentro de sus sombras
Finas más débiles

2) Battle of Ollantayambo

In Ollantayambo—
Thousands of warriors crowed the terraces,
To repel Herrando Pizarro’s attack—;
Among them, Manco Inca appeared
On horseback, with a lance in his hand
Horrifying, Pizarro’s unsuccessful advance.

6/30/05 #745

In Spanish

Batalla de Ollantaytambo

En Ollantaytambo-
Miles de soldados llenaban las terrazas,
Para rechazar el ataque de Pizarro-;
Entre ellos, apareció Manco Inca
Montado en su caballo, con una lanza en su mano
Horrorizando, el fracasado avance de Pizarro.

6/30/05 #745

3) Cesar Vallejo’s:
Feasible of Black Roses

Bow down your head ol’ poet—
To face God’s grace ahead
There are no more trenches

To dig today…
In the forest of your head,

So—: Bow down, bow down,

Ol’ barbaric poet!
Death rides the horse ahead
I hear the crackling of a whip
See the crazed eyes of death.

He summons you to his den—
The devil and his wind,

So—: Bow down, bow down
Your blood stained brows
He will take you to the edge.

Closer, closer, I see you now
Eh! a moving satanic cloud—
I see a festival of black-roses,
I hear clamor in the crowd.

Bow down, bow down, Ol’ poet
…I hear your applause!

#666 [5/15/2005] In English only

Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com