domingo, 12 de agosto de 2012

"Anüanülen ta ina kütral", de Jorge Teillier. Traducción de Víctor Cifuentes





Anüanülen ta ina füchanarchi kütral püle
Leliwülneñmafin ñi ange ta chem feypiwümenon ta iñche.
Leliwülfin ti metawe chew petu mülemum ta pülku,
Leliwülfin may tayu llawfeñ em mewüfkanetew ta kewlun kütral.

Tüfachi küyen ka feyti chi küyen kamüten kiñentrür nga iñchu
            ta pezantükufilu
Itultükunefule wüme nga ñi ange ta ina kütral,
Ka tayu llawfeñ llenga mewüfkanetew ta kewlun kütral.
Pefuli chinga kiñe nemül.

Tüfachi küyen ka feyti chi küyen kamüten kiñentrür nga iñchu
            ta pezantükufilu:
Petu lüykülüykümekekay ko, aychüfi ngachi intas anümka
            we mawünlu mew.
Welu tayu llawfeñ mewüfkanetew ta kewlun kütral
Zoy alün mongey ta iñchu mew.

Femi llenga, tüfachi küyen ka feyti chi küyen kamüten kiñentrür
            nga iñchu ta pezantükufilu
–Iñche meñolkefun em nga intas mew tüfichi puke kuwü,
            tüfichi puke kuwü
Apolkefuy em pülku mew ñi karu ngati–.
Kizu ta azkintunefi füchanarchi kütral.




















viernes, 10 de agosto de 2012

"Secret Autumn", de Jorge Teillier. Traducción de Mary Crow






When the loved daily words
lose their meaning
and bread cannot be named,
or water, or window,
and all dialogue has proven false
that wasn’t with our own desolate image,
when you can still look over the tattered Pictures
in your kid brother’s book–
then it’s good to greet the cloth and the dishes arranged on the table,
good to see that the cherry liqueur grandmother made
and the apples put buy for safekeeping
converse their happiness in the old sideboard.

When the form of trees
is merely the slight memory of their form,
a lie invented
by autumn’s turbid memory,
and days have the confusion of the attic
no one climbs up to,
and the cruel whiteness of eternity
makes Light flee from itself–
then something reminds us of the truth
we love even before we know it:
branches snap lightly,
the pigeon coop is filled with fluttering,
the granary dreams again of the sun,
we Light for the party
pale candelabras in the dusty parlor,
and silence reveals to us the secret
we didn’t want to hear.









en From the Country of Nevermore, 1990