The blue house where I was born is situated on a hill
hualles
surrounded by a willow, chestnut
walnut aroma in winter-spring sun
with honey sweetness chilcos
ulmos-turn surrounded
hummingbird did not know if they were reality or as fleeting vision!
feel down in winter oak-ray games
In the evenings we go out, rain or sunrises, to find the sheep
(sometimes we had to mourn the death of one of them, sailing on the waters
)
At night we hear the songs, stories and riddles
beside the stove
breathing the aroma of bread baked by my grandmother, my mother
, or Aunt Mary
while my father and my grandfather
-Lonko-community
watched with attention and respect
I speak of my childhood memory
and not an idyllic society
There, I think I learned what was the greatness
poetry of everyday life, but especially
the flashing detail Fire,
eyes, hand
Sitting on the lap of my grandmother heard the first stories of trees and stones
dialogue between them,
with animals and people
Nothing, I said, there to learn to interpret their signs
and perceive the sounds that usually hide in the wind
As my mother now, she was quiet and had a patience
foolproof used to see her walking from one place to another,
spindle turning, twisting the white wool
threads in the loom of the nights were becoming
beautiful fabrics
As my brothers and sisters -
over a time-tried to learn this art, without success
But I kept in my memory the contents of the drawings
speaking of creation and resurgence of the Mapuche world
of protective forces, volcanoes, flowers and birds
with my grandfather also shared many nights in the open
Long silences, long stories
we talked about the origin of our people's
Mapuche first spirit thrown from the Blue
of souls hanging in the infinite as the stars
We taught the ways of heaven, rivers
their signals
Every spring I saw him carrying flowers in their ears and
flap its
his coat or walking barefoot on the dew of morning
also remember him riding in the rain torrential winter
between huge forests
He was thin and firm
Wandering between streams, forests and clouds I pass
Stations: Luna shoots
cold (winter), Moon
green (spring)
's Moon first fruits
(late spring and early summer)
Moon of the abundant fruit (summer) and Luna
ashen outbreaks (Fall)
I go with my mother and my father to seek remedies and mushrooms
The mint stomach, Melissa for
the matico punishment for the liver and the coral snake
injuries to the kidneys, was saying she
dance, dance, mountain remedies
"he added
doing to lift the grass between
my hands then I learn the names of flowers and plants
Insects
perform their function is nothing more in this world
The universe is a duality
good without the bad there
The Earth does not belong to the Mapuche people
means
Earth People were saying to me
In the fall the streams began to glow
The spirit of moving water on the stony bed
water emerging from the eyes of the Earth
Every year I ran up the mountain to attend the wonderful ceremony
nature
Then the winter came to purify the Earth
for the start of the new dreams and seeded
sometimes announce to
guairaos passed the illness or death suffered
I think that some of the older
loved
should move towards the shores
River of Tears
to call the ferryman of death
to go to meet the ancestors
and rejoice in the Country Blue
One morning my brother started drizzling
Carlitos was a day ashen
I went to get lost in the forests of the
imagination (I'm still on it) br> The sound of the estuaries in the fall embraces us
Today, I tell my sisters and
Rayén
America:
I think poetry is only a
breathe in peace, as we remember our
Jorge Teillier-
Ostrich Heaven while as all the land I roam
my sad thought Caui
And Gabi and Betty Malen, I'll say:
I'm in the Valle de la Luna, Italy with the poet Gabriele
Milli
Now I'm in France, with my brother
I'm
Arauco in Sweden with Johnny Cameron
and Lasse Söderberg I am now in Germany with my dear
Doris Santos Chavez and I am now in Holland, with Gonzalo Millán
Margaret and Jim, Jan and Aafke, John and Kata
rain, rain, wind yellow in Amsterdam
shine in the old channels
iron lamps and drawbridges
I see a blue tulip, a windmill whose blades
We turn and take off
wishes to fly: Come on, that nothing disturbs my dreams
tell me
And I ride the clouds to places unknown
my heart.
Elicura Chihuailaf
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