Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Fredy Chicangana

FOOTPRINTS

We come from the water
and we arrive bathed by the sun at dawn
our Yanakuna hearts throbbed
on the rough paths of this land
into which we were cast by our enemies
this is a land for goats — doctors would say —
look at the grandfathers climbing the steep rocks
with their feet broken by time
still, nothing stopped the flow of blood
in grandfathers’ bodies
they made smiles of corn
sprout between the stones
and at night they sang and drank to
drive away the sadness of the uprooting
and the women knitted for all the paths
to go on living with the memory of the dead
in this place lined with mist
of horse tracks, of sword and rifle
in this nook that seemed the last in the universe.

HUELLAS

HUELLAS

Venimos del agua
y llegamos bañados de sol al amanecer
palpitaba nuestro corazón Yanakuna
por los caminos agrestes de esta tierra
a donde nos lanzaron nuestros enemigos
esa es tierra para chivos –dirian los doctores-
mirando a los abuelos trepar las empinadas rocas
con los pies rotos por el tiempo
aún así, nada detuvo el fluir de la sangre
en el cuerpo de los abuelos,
por entre las piedras hicieron brotar
la sonrisa del maíz
y en las noches cantaron y bebieron para
espantar la tristeza del destierro
y ellas tejieron por todos los caminos
para seguir viviendo con la memoria de los muertos
en este lugar forrado de neblina
de huellas de caballo, de espadas y fusil
en este rincón que parecía el ultimo del universo.
Close

FOOTPRINTS

We come from the water
and we arrive bathed by the sun at dawn
our Yanakuna hearts throbbed
on the rough paths of this land
into which we were cast by our enemies
this is a land for goats — doctors would say —
look at the grandfathers climbing the steep rocks
with their feet broken by time
still, nothing stopped the flow of blood
in grandfathers’ bodies
they made smiles of corn
sprout between the stones
and at night they sang and drank to
drive away the sadness of the uprooting
and the women knitted for all the paths
to go on living with the memory of the dead
in this place lined with mist
of horse tracks, of sword and rifle
in this nook that seemed the last in the universe.

FOOTPRINTS

We come from the water
and we arrive bathed by the sun at dawn
our Yanakuna hearts throbbed
on the rough paths of this land
into which we were cast by our enemies
this is a land for goats — doctors would say —
look at the grandfathers climbing the steep rocks
with their feet broken by time
still, nothing stopped the flow of blood
in grandfathers’ bodies
they made smiles of corn
sprout between the stones
and at night they sang and drank to
drive away the sadness of the uprooting
and the women knitted for all the paths
to go on living with the memory of the dead
in this place lined with mist
of horse tracks, of sword and rifle
in this nook that seemed the last in the universe.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère