Ode to: the ice maiden of ampatos conference [now in: english and spanish] - poetry
Dedícate to Antonio Castillo. L. Of. Los Andes Universitario
The Ice Maiden Of Ampato's Summit
Part One The Climb
In the bounce of my life, in my village
By the Andes, I awoke one morning
To find I was selected for a journey
How shall I say: to the conference of Ampato!
Ampato, our sacred mountain
I climbed with our holy priests.
I found in my opinion twenty-thousand feet high;
I would be the sacrificial offering
Ordained so, by our outer space chief priest.
Once on top, death could scarcely be
Any bitter than its wild difficult winds;
And the icy cold Andean ceremony?.
And there I sat, inside the clouds, and rested
With collectibles of silver and gold,
And attractive textiles adorning me
All dressed, in fine generous funerary,
I was to be, the Inca Ice Maiden
Now ready for death and burial.
'I hoped the gods of Ampato,' so I prayed
'Are happy today'; for my body,
Will be frozen soon, anyway.
Yet, I'm so very cold, and my hands clutch,
To my dress-tightly, alongside my side;
I cannot see no matter which vividly.
Thus, the holy minute has come for me
I died with every hope that was.
(Five-hundred years ago!. . . )
Part Two Beyond Death
I felt my soul, my spirit, fall, falling
In this thick dirty air,
After a very, very long silence;
No woman, although woman I once was,
Once was, and now my blood lumped
Lumped and frozen like ice knobs.
The soul maker, from whom gave me
My first breath at birth?
He is advent now, He's nearby
As I reply, He sees my soul cry-
My tears, frozen tears?melt
I will be, resurrected (He tells me)
He rules the earth, its mountains
All its waters and skies,
His holy Inca city, must be nearby?
'Lead me,' I sigh, a lowly sigh-
'Lead me to this Holy Inca City,
And leave my cold ill body behind. '
And He smiles, as he leads me
Leads me with impervious hands,
Leads me to the Holy City!. . . #748 7/4/05
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza Edited by Rosa Peñaloza
La Doncella de Hielo De la Cumbre de Ampato
Versión en español
En la primavera de mi vida, en mi pueblo Por los Andes, desperté una mañana Para encontrar que fui escogida para un viaje.
Como voy a decir: ¡A la cumbre de Ampato! Ampato, nuestra montaña sagrada Subí con nuestros santos sacerdotes.
Me encontré a 20,000 pies de altura; Yo sería el sacrificio ofrecido Ordenado así, por nuestro extraterrestrial sacerdote principal
Una vez en la cima, la muerte apenas podría ser Nada más amarga, que sus arduos vientos salvajes; Y la ceremonia andina fría helada-.
Y allí me senté, entre las nubes, y descansé
Con las estatuillas de plata y oro,
Y el textil hermoso adornándome
Toda vestida, en el fino funerario indulgente, Yo debía ser, la Doncella Inca de Hielo
Ahora lista para la muerte y el entierro.
"Esperé que los dioses de Ampato", por eso recé "Estén contentos hoy día"; por que mi cuerpo, Será congelado pronto, de todos modos.
Todavía, tengo tanto frío, y mis manos enganchadas, A mi vestido- fuertemente, contra mi costado; No puedo ver nada vívidamente.
Así, el momento sagrado ha venido para mí Muero con cada esperanza que hubo. (¡Quinientos años atrás!. . . . )
Más Allá de la Muerte
Sentí mi alma, mi espíritu, caer, cayendo En este aire espeso decolorado, Después de un, muy largo silencio
Ninguna mujer, aunque mujer fui una vez Una vez fui, y ahora mi sangre amontonada Amontonada y congelada como copos de hielo.
El Hacedor del alma, por quien mi elementary textbook aliento Me fue dado al nacer. . . . El está viniendo ahora, El está muy cerca.
Como respondo, El ve mi alma llorar- Mis lágrimas, lágrimas heladas. . . derretirse Yo seré, resucitada (me dice El)
El gobierna la tierra, sus montañas Todas sus aguas y cielos, Sus ciudades Incas santas deben esta cerca?
"Guíame" yo suspiro, un suspiro humilde "Guíame a esta ciudad santa Inca, Y deja mi helado cuerpo enfermo atrás".
Y El sonríe, mientras me guía ¡Guiándome con sus intocables manos, Guiándome a la ciudad santa! . . . . .
#748 4 de Julio del 2005
Dennis Siluk Poet, see his new book "Spell of the Andes," at http://www. amazon. com
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My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother)
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Two Poems: San Jeronimo Brook & [in English and Spanish]
Fair Andes! Thy arms reach highOf iron-woven solid stone Thu art a condor to the skyOf glory buried in thy heartSo many paths, a maze of art?In thy old, Mantaro ValleyWhere adobes, breathe and tremble Beyond your country shadowsThere lays the prettiest of brooksIs my heart, surrounded by its stream!My image acutely carved, rippledIn its pure shallow watersWaiting, just behind you for me?As it opens up, opens up my soulMy rippled soul-searching-eyes!..
Feelings, O How Glorious!
Sometimes we feel hard-pressed, Our backs adjacent to the wall; Sometimes we feel lightheaded, As if we are going to fall.Sometimes we feel fierce anger At those who exploitation guns; Sometimes we feel ashamed Of how we treat God's diminutive ones.
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