Bookshelf

Barrosa Barroca

Chaysi tiyuy Lolo Fernandez
taytayta
‘Yaw Epifanio
qello wakayta
Barrosa nisqanta
Vendiykimanchu’ nisqa

Preciomomantaña rimachkaptinkus
mamitay taytayta kamachisqa
‘chay wakaqa tulluy tulluyllaña
ama nisyutachu paganki’
nispa

Chaymanta mayqin punakupiraq
taytay qepakusqan qipataña

Wachipapiña kaptiyku

Mayqenpi machakusqanpim
Tiyuyqa mamitayta
Kamipayaq karqa:
‘millaymi kanki,
manan wakay valesqanta pagawarankichu’
nispa.

Mamitaytaq mana imatapas
kutichinchu.

Unay unaymantaraq

Manaña pani tura
awqanakunankupaq

Barrosachaqa
Waraqupi qaqaparusqa

Hinaptinmi awlitay mama Felico
Condorchallay Aymaraeswan
llapan ismukuchkaq aychata
uruchayuqtaña
apachimuwarqaku

Urunta picharispaya
charkita ruwarqaniku

Hinaspan mamitay
sara lawachata
Ollukito con charkitapas

saksanankama
obispo wiqsayoq kanankama
tiyuyta mikuchin

‘Amaña imatapas
Barrosamantaqa rimayñachu’
nintaq

Kunanñataq

Sapanka barroco poesiamanta
Rimaykuptinku

Ancha anchata puramente awir
Barrosachaymanta yuyarini

Manachiki
Kay Nuyorkunapiqa ni charkipas
Ni cochayuyupas kanchu:

La waka es poesia wakatakillata
facebukipi mayqinpi rikurini

Tiyuyqa poeta y torero karqa
Chay Barrosa wakachaytaq literata chiki1

1 Agradezco la corrección de estilo en quechua de Alejandrina Misme, Hugo Carrillo, y Hernán Hurtado.

Herder (Michiq)

You see nothing more than two-hundred animals,
identical.
Yet I can recognize each by her laughter.
And yes of course they laugh.
They intertwine their necks with the wind and they dance.

In the desolate, forbidding mountains
on the dark and silent paths
daily we walk together
sometimes they, sometimes I,
lead the march.

Like Bach’s sorrowful hymns
they dissipate…
Sometimes swiftly, sometimes placidly
until upon us, the night descends.

And when the appointed day arrives
to Mother Earth I shall express my gratitude
to my dear animal, my appreciation,
and I will slaughter her.
I won’t waste a single drop of her blood…

Only we know of this exhortation
Only we know who we are
and although we shall cry knowing all of this, so shall we rejoice.

In the silent, distant meadows,
I am a herder.

Herding Sheep is More than Chasing Stars

Our dear sheep are grains of amaranth
scattered upon your heart
stars that shine in your arms.

In the blue, fog-draped fields
near the silvery-gold lagoon
having descended from the sky,
they are grazing.

Just the mist, just the wind.
Our dreams are illusory…
To herd sheep in faraway lands
is more than chasing stars