IN Spanish and English

In The Blue Valley of the Sierras
(Of Peru)

(Forenoon)) An old man’s spring day))

Sounds of the San Jeronimo creek
In the Mantaro Valley of Peru
Rushing down the Mountainside—
And sorry I could not climb her,
And looking up, as far as I could
To where an old brick oven stood—,
Now abandoned,
Resting amongst the underbrush,
Then I looked to its side
Just as far, and
Surely not the better view
It was of rock and dirt,
And of need of no wear,
But for passing or climbing
They were both worn about the same.

(Here the Rio can talk to one,
If their soul is at peace.)

(Afternoon)) An old man’s Spring Day.))

And this afternoon, equally lay
In the Blue Valley
Along the Quichuay Rio
In the grass, all trodden down:
Two women washing cloths.
Oh, I kept no thinking for another day—
And said to Mini and Rosa:
“I shall be telling this story
One day with a sigh,
And others, in ages hence
That war, with all its destruction!!
Has not been heard of here,
Nor changed the face of the land.”

Perhaps it will remain that way,
It would make all the difference,
For another day.

Written in the Mantaro Valle of Peru, 8-11-06 (No: 1420)

Poetic Note: The Blue Valley, a peaceful place in the Sierras. Here I asked a young boy to wash my car, and guard it while eating trout, along the Rio, he never heard of the internet. The hogs, chickens, donkeys, dogs and a fat old pig just grazing around the restaurant, along the riverside. Here I think the only worry man has is when he will eat, sleep and make love. There are no phones, TVs, but I’m sure things will change, and perhaps that is the theme of the poem.

Spanish Versión
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza
Edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

En el Valle Azul de la Sierra
(De Perú)

(Medio día) (Un día de primavera del anciano))

Sonidos del riachuelo de San Jerónimo
En el Valle del Mantaro del Perú
Bajando de prisa la Ladera—
Y lo siento no pude treparla,
Y mirando hacia arriba, tan lejos como pude
Hacia donde un viejo horno de ladrillos estaba,
Ahora abandonado,
Descansando entre la maleza,
Entonces miré hacia su costado
Justo tan lejos, y
Seguramente no la mejor vista
Este era de roca y tierra,
Y de necesidad de no usarlo
Pero para pasarlo o treparlo
Ambos estaban gastados casi lo mismo

(Aquí el río puede hablarle a uno,
si su alma está en paz)

(En la tarde)(Un día de primavera del anciano)

Y esta tarde, igualmente yace
En el valle azul
A lo largo del río Quichuay
En el pasto, todo pisoteado
Dos mujeres lavando ropas
Oh, no guarde pensamiento para otro día—
Y dije a Mini y Rosa;
“Contaré esta historia
Un día con un suspiro,
Y otros, de aquí en años
¡¡Esa guerra, con toda su destrucción!!
No ha sido oída por aquí,
Ni cambió la faz de la tierra”.

Talvez este permanecerá de esa forma,
Esto haría toda la diferencia,
Para otro día.

Escrito en el Valle del Mantaro del Perú 11-Agosto-2006 (Nº: 1420)

Nota Poética: el Valle Azul, un lugar lleno de paz en la Sierra. Aquí, le pedí a un muchacho que lavara mi carro, y cuidarlo mientras comíamos trucha, junto al río, el jamás escuchó acerca de la Internet. Los cerdos, gallinas, burros, perros y viejos puercos gordos rasguñando alrededor del restaurante, a lo largo de la rivera del río. Aquí pienso que la única preocupación que el hombre tiene es cuando comerá, dormirá y hará el amor. No hay teléfonos, televisores, pero estoy seguro que las cosas cambiarán, y talvez ese es el tema del poema.

∞

The Mighty Sore Foot

The foot, the foot, the foot
Can be a mighty thing,

The foot, the foot, the foot
Supports everything.

But when it’s sore,
One seems helpless.

The foot, the foot, the foot:
And that’s another thing!

8-12-06, written in the Mantaro Valley, in Huancayo, Peru. •1421

Dedicated to Mary Sophie (nine-years old), for giving me a sore foot rub, and soak in the water;

Spanish Versión
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza
Edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

El Enorme Dolor de Pie

El pie, el pie, el pie
Puede ser una enorme cosa,

El pie, el pie, el pie
Soporta todo.

Pero cuando está adolorido
Uno parece impotente.

El pie, el pie, el pie.
¡Y eso es otra cosa!

12-Agosto-2006, escrito en el Valle del Mantaro, en Huancayo, Perú.

Dedicado a Maria Sofía (de nueve años de edad), por darme una frotación para mi dolor de pie, y remojarlo en agua.

The Wanka:and the Arwaturo Ruins (of Peru)

(Urpurampi & the God Huallallo Carhuancho)

Over looking Laguna Ñahuinpuquio
from the mountain-top
where resides
Las Ruins De Arwaturo,
one can visualize the Wanka…
walking, talking, ruling, and storing their grains:
cloths, corn, potatoes, olluco y masgua
(storing them in graneros, the towering ancient ruins)
alongside and within this Valley-region, of beauty—.

Here the dark-breathe, that rests
underneath the belly of the rain-clouds
are sucked to and upon the tops of the mountains,
within its gorges and crevasses,
making shadows upon its breasts.
This is the land of the Wankas.

Cultural Commentary: The Wanka culture was founded by Urpurampi, and the God was Carhuancho, in the Man- taro Valley Region. They used to sacrifice the dog, after the sacrifice of the dog, they ate him. The skull of the dog was used for a horn during time of war. The culture predates the Inca culture. The Wankas were warriors, and used lances and shields, also porras, and Hondas (like King David used); and they were rebels who sought their liberty. They took advantage of the rain, to grow the many fruits and vegetables within their valley regions. They also so had herds of llamas and alpacas: from these two animals, they made there sandals. Arwaturo, the name of the ruins, means: ´burnt bones´. The Wanka culture dates from 800 AD to 1400 AD. The Arwaturo ruins, of which I’ve climbed, are up some 11,318 feet.

Dedicated to Cesar (of TV Cable), Joseito Arrieta (of Radio Sabor Mix) and Diego Veliz (2006—Candidate for Mayor of Huancayo, Peru))(No: 1422; 8-13-2006; written after visiting the site.))