RAY YOUNG BEAR [15.631]

RAY YOUNG BEAR

(Nacido en 1950 en Marshalltown, Iowa) es un nativo americano poeta y novelista de la tribu Meskwaki. Escribe sobre los nativos americanos contemporáneos en Inglés y en el idioma Meskwaki . El tema de sus poemas y creaciones son la búsqueda de la identidad del Indio Americano. Sus poemas cuentan la dolorosa conciencia de la pérdida de identidad.

Poesía

Grandmother (1975)

Winter of the Salamander (1980)

The Invisible Musician (1990)

The Rock Island Hiking Club (2001)

The Aura of the Blue Flower That is a Goddess (2001)

Ficción

Black Eagle Child (1992)

Remnants of the First Earth (1996)

POESÍA INDIA 

ESTADOUNIDENSE CONTEMPORÁNEA

Traducción: Márgara Averbach

ABUELA 

si viera 

su forma 

a un kilómetro 

sabría 

tan rápido 

que es ella. 

la bufanda púrpura 

y la bolsa 

de plástico para las compras. 

si sintiera 

sus manos sobre mi cabeza 

sabría que ésas 

son sus manos 

tibias y húmedas

con olor 

a raíces. 

si oyera 

una voz 

que llega 

desde una piedra 

sabría 

y sus palabras 

se deslizarían en mí 

como la luz 

de alguien 

que mueve las cenizas 

de un fuego dormido 

en la noche. 

GRANDMOTHER 

if i were to see 

her shape from a mile away 

i’d known so quickly 

that it would be her. 

the purple scarf 

and the plastic 

shopping bag. 

if i felt 

hands on my head 

i’d known that those

were her hands 

warm and damp 

with the smell 

of roots. 

if i heard 

a voice 

coming from 

a rock 

i’d know 

and her words 

would flow inside me 

like the light 

of someone 

stirring ashes 

from a sleeping fire 

at night 

The Aura of the Blue Flower That is a Goddess

 Immediately after the two brothers entered 

The Seafood Shoppe with their wide-eyed wives 

and extra-brown complexioned stepchildren, 

the shrimp scampi sauce suddenly altered 

its taste to bitter dishsoap. It took a moment 

to realize the notorious twosome were “carrying”

medicines, and that I was most likely the next 

target in the supernatural shooting gallery. 

It was yet another stab at my precious 

shadow, ne no ke we ni, the one who 

always Stands First, wildly unafraid 

but vulnerable.

This placement of time, this chance meeting 

at Long John Silver’s had already been discussed 

over the burning flower clusters, approved, 

and scheduled for a divine assassination.

What an ideal place to invisibly send forth 

a petraglyph thorn to the sensitive 

and unsuspecting instep I thought.

Out of fear I had to spit out the masticated 

crustacean into the folded Dutch bandana. 

I signalled Selene with my eyes:

something is terribly wrong here.

Even in the old stories, ke ta-a ji mo na ni, 

my grandmother recited there was always 

disagreement, jealousy, and animosity 

between supernatural deities. That 

actuality for humans, me to se na ni wa ki, 

however was everpresent. It didn’t conclude 

as an impasse that gave us the weather, 

the four seasons, the stars, sun, and moon. 

Everything that was held together.

                    Unfortunately,

there could only be one re-creation 

of earth. If it was requested in the aura 

of the blue flower that I die, 

the aura would make sure I die. . .

Later, the invisible thorn--when removed by 

resident-physicians (paying back their medical 

loans)--would transform into some unidentifiable 

protoplasm and continue to hide in the more 

sensitive, cancer-attracting parts of the fish-

eater.

In the mythical darkness that would follow 

the stories the luminescent mantle of the kerosene 

lamp would aptly remind me of stars who cooled 

down in pre-arranged peace--to quietly wait 

and glow.

From The Rock Island Hiking Club by Ray A. Young Bear, published by the University of Iowa Press.