Image borrowed from Yahoo"Poetry, that frenzied old forbearance, does not
hesitate to push me toward the woods
and rivers of Tse-Dungun.”
Last night trees loved each other like Indians:
mañio and ulmo, pellin and hualle, tineo and lingue,
node to node they loved
as great lovers, peumos
bronced barks, coigües
much kissed their roots, tufts and sprouts,
until love was aroused
in birds already lulled
by feathers of their very own
twittering love.
The same way, filthy huincas
like lovers buried themselves,
and the negro waters
opened their springs to bring light,
sip by sip, alone, naming, calling out:
gentle and beautiful waters,
but oh, we were raped,
Rahue river waters,
Pillmaiquén River moaning, bloomed,
in labor and yet joyous
lady streams that cross the hills
and mountains like hares.
And doves of the same love,
soon gathered under one yoke
the green wellspring Inallao,
the wild honey Huaiquipán,
swift-eye Llanaquilef,
thrush breasts Requeleo,
the quillay Huilitraro blackbird-hair,
the young beech trees Pailamanque.
Huilliche love, last night they made love again
in a plain negro thicket under threshed
perpetually Indian skies,
like mountains they made love,
like stallion waters,
like flaming anchimallén flowers,
in a fragrant dawn they loved,
sweetening their yeast,
like overflowing vessels of muday liquor.
Jaime Huenun
Translated by Rodrigo Rojas
Posted over on Poems & Poetics
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