Pueblos emplumados

Arnoldo García


Pueblos emplumados

Voy a cantar la historia
de nuestro pueblo sin tierra
Que dolor éramos indios
con toda una geografía

Nos arrebataron el suelo
nos deplazaron del cielo
para explotar a la tierra
y de privarnos de ancestros

Los indios arrodillados
los horizontes sin cantos
nos expulsan a fuerza
haciéndonos extranjeros
en nuestras tierra ancianas

En esta caminata
atravesando desiertosd
cultivando labores
no olvidamos las raíces

Somos los pueblos obreros
Desde mesoamérica
a las calles y esquinas
trabajamos contra las sombras
desprecios, maldiciones
y fregones explotadores

Para recuperar la tierra
volver a ser pueblo emplumado
Sembradores descalzos

Me gusta cantarle al viento
porque vuelan mis cantares

Mis plumas son los cantos
de mi puebli
cortando y cosiendo las heridas
del viento

*

La revolución emplumada
es la revolución humana
es volver volver volver!
a las raíces de la tierra
a las raíces del agua
a las raíces del viento
a las raíces del cielo
para volver volver volver!

Con los pies enlodados de humanidad
con los pulmones llenos de estrellas
y la sangre derramando soles.

*

Donde están los pueblos emplumados
con sus alas de polvo
y sus cantos de lluvia?

Vuelo y voces llenas de lodo
inundan mis oídos, mis sentidos, tu cuerpo

Quién dijo que el horizonte
nunca podría alcanzarse?
El horizonte es el muro
de mis sueños
La primera línea de mis milpas
donde las cárceles se desmoronan
y la esperanza nos abraza y abriga
sin temor a nada y nadie
Allí están los pueblos emplumados
juntándose uno por uno
para acabar con el desvelo de la guerra
para cuidar las semillas
para alzar el polvo con nuestras danzas

*

Neither Spanish nor English
will serve to break us out of this jail called empire
El inglés el español los tenemos
que echar de nuestra lengua
desenraizarlos deslambrarnos
uproot upend unwire unlock
In english you can love cars
and not the homeless
En español te pueden gustar
los carros y no los ancianos
How can English free us?
Como podemos liberarnos
con el español?

"Land, like language," dice Mahmoud Darwish
"is inherited."

Heredé un inglés mochado un español pocho
Una tierra cercada, envenenada, un code switching para evitar el castigo
Construí paredes que muy poso quieren cruzar
Heredé una tierra perdida,
una tierra envenenada, sorda,
casi muda,
que tatarea cantos en el viento
lee labios como zurcos
Pierde conciencia,
se desmaya
mi tierra
en mi lengua

*

Molting
feathers
painted
tongue
ready
to bury
the invaders
the occupiers
the colonial settlers
the imperial national guard
the anti-dog soldiers
the gas guzzlers
they have us
plucking chicken
speed-up's
carpel tunnel
repetitive
global assembly-line
stress
when will we bury the pestilence?

*

Ah
farmworkers
we believe
the land
is trembling with cold
so we cover her
in quilts of crops
canals to anchor her soul
at night when she dreams
and will not be thirsty
patches of green yello black
red flowers, maize, potatoes,
beans, berries, apples, squash,
pumpkin, we cover her
so she is not cold
in the winter of our trails and tribulations
ah, migrant land workers
we make the land by walking
we make the land warm with our sweat
we make the land ours
embraced by hands, seeds, roots
and walks
we make the land ours with our work.

*

Where is our land
what happened to our seeds
why does my grandfather
plow with clouds
How did we get this way
plucking chickens, dismembering cows
processing apples, laughing drunk,
stuttering as if the dust did not speak
for us
My grandfather always reminded me
that the strongest deity, the most
powerful force in the natural world
were the clouds
The clouds carried rain, sunlight and our ancestors
on their backs.
The clouds, he said,
could blind you in fog or burst
you in rain and sunlight
He especially warned us of the serpent cloud
that zig-zagged its belly on the sky
descending on rivers and lakes
to drink water, quench
its journey.
(My grandfather, of course,
came from the place of clouds,
he was a son of the cloud people.)
Now his cloud people are no match
for the mushroom cloud
The serpent cloud hides in the stratosphere
afraid to drink the water
humans have dammed and made
Jetplanes slice with their turbines
the clouds,
no respect for their pilgrimages
between suns, rains, people,
Their only sorrow is not being able to connect
us once again.
The army of clouds only weapon are raindrops,
winds, the kiss between dirt and sky called lightning,
thunder. She does bit
march her armies, they walk, glide,
dance, rest on their backs,
looking down at humans
trying to see them as clouds, funny clouds,
serpent clouds, galloping to work
on the highway commute.
The clouds are perfect guerrillas
we slash them with our jet-wings
they envelope us, overwhelm us
make our landing instruments obsolete
We can't hear their demands:
stay out of my way,
get out of my body,
stay down there,
take care of your roots,
plug the smokestacks,
stop the carbon monoxide,
plug the tailpipes,
leave the rivers alone,
tear down the damns,
smash the human borders
that imperil
all clouds,
all cloud people,
all living beings
all of us.

*

"The universe is not made up of atoms," declared Muriel Rukeseyer, "It is made of stories."

When my story ends
she ends in the big bang
the big bang pounds on the drum
of my tongue
spitting and vibrating atom-stories, atom-words, atom-exclamation points
putting together molecules
onto paper, bark, howling waves
under the moon
the comal where I toast
my bread, my maize, my stories

*

Don't be afraid
of how I pray to my gods
Don't be afraid
of my prayers
don't be afraid
of those who believe
in different ways
to yours
Don't be afraid
of the reverent
of a god
you do't recognize
Don't be afraid
of how I pray
to our gods
but be very afraid
of my gods
be very afraid.

*

I invented English
so that my family
would not be mute, not hungry
I learned English
because Spanish
was beat out
of me.
My grandfather
learned Spanish
because Purépecha
was beat out
of him
Then I forgot
English because
I was kept out
of Purépecha
The I forgot Spanish
because English
drowned me

I vist my prison languages
every day
taking them out from behind the bars
one word at a time
one syllable at a time
My tongue will be free
My English'My spanish
My Purépecha
a cosmos for my next dream
of no jails no boundaries
no one telling me
not to talk.

*

Quetzalcoátl
jumps into the iron foundry fire
to save the world, the people
from the industrial smokestack cycle
of wars
Quetzalcoátl returns
as an urban pigeon
ill, can't fly, picks through the garbage
or waits for bread crumbs
from the homeless, Quetzal-
coátl's people
pigeoncoátl, snake-rat with wings
jumps into the smog
so that we are safe, reborn

*

The wobblies

Traversing the dust of my self,
my ancestors, my future seed
I claim the earth
I claim the spin
I claim the sun
I claim infinity
not for my self
but for her self
for earth
for the wobbling
for the sun
for space
have their own self-determination
as I have mine
because I am their offspring.

*

Todo
será
emplumado
o todo
será
destrozado:
vuelo
polvo
nubes
cuerpos
lenguas
lenguajes
serpientes
pájaros
tu sexo
tu amor
unión
de
tierras y cielos
abrazos y despedidas
auroras y desvelos
palabras y lodos
mujer y hombre
jotos y jotas
transversos humanos
voladores y arrastrados
espacios infinitos
encarcelados humanos
todo será emplumado
toda será emplumada
Dos, tres seres en mí en tí