Indigenous Literature
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In 2016, the #NoDAPL movement in opposition to the Dakota Access Pipeline, spearheaded by members of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, inspired a shift in perceptions of indigenous presence in the United... -
I am withered grass / waving at the rain / but soon I feel the first drops / falling on the fields / Let this water soak me! -
In my dreams last night / a fox / was singing under my house / What are you doing there? / my voice asked him / he hid his face from me / behind his song. -
Etymologically, the word Mapuche blends the Mapuzungun word “mapu,” meaning “land,” with “che,” meaning “people.” In other words, the Mapuche self-identify as “the people of the land.” Moreover, the p... -
In my Williche grandfather’s eyes / fear set sail. / Death alone / erased that timid gleam. / But nature could never / erase from my memory / the colors of the archipelago / arrested in his face. -
Liliana Ancalao answers the telephone in Comodoro Rivadavia, a coastal city in the province of Chubut, in the Patagonian region of Argentina. For Mapuche people, the name for the region that includes... -
Although it was only one hundred years ago, it seems to my generation like some mythical age. The Mapuche could roam freely across their territory and communicated with the elements of the mapu... -
Between my legs I hide a droplet of night / on my cheek and shoulder they linger like fireflies, / the shades of three lovers, / I’m not sure a mark can really bring darkness / but for now my mole is... -
I would like to begin by stating that translating Indigenous literatures into languages like English is seldom done and even less theorized. In the case of “bilingual” Indigenous texts, for example, I... -
i learned about the cold back when i still wore a school uniform / when it was dark out / and my old man’s rambler classic wouldn’t start / we’d have to walk all the way to class / traversing time / s... -
Let us offer the word and gather a face, / let bone listen to the grey rock, / let us spread the great corn sheaf’s breath / and share a path with other flesh that speaks, / people from the next ridge... -
¿Lantla chu nakwanikgó ninínpi nelh xkataxawatkán tani aknukgó?lantla nakwanikgo ninínpi lakatunu nakaxtlawananikgokán. -
I would like to offer the reader a story of a journey, namely my own journey through the words of poet Felipe H. Lopez. I trust that the reader will understand that every path is different, even if it... -
father of the helpless / waiting for the bus / don’t let die this tiny flame / fueled by pure sun amidst frost -
"At night we hear songs, stories, and prophecies around the fire breathing the aroma of bread baked by my grandma, my mother or Auntie María, while my father and my grandpa Lonko (chief of the communi... -
X-Ajaw te yakubteson sok te st’ujbilale.Ja’ la smukbon jsit k’alal alalonto-aK’alal te jme’e yot’anax swaytesonYu’un jich ya xiwtes bael-a ta sk’ajk’al sitile. -
It seems like the heavy rain is gone, I hear a lot of water flowing in the streets outside the house. Even though the downpour has passed, it’s still drizzling, but I think I won’t get too wet if I go... -
Enriqueta Lunez (1981) is a Tzotzil writer: a writer who forms part of the new generation in the intellectual field of literature in indigenous languages. This generation shares the trait of having a... -
Those eyes the color of color / from a gray height, watch / bellflowers, trickling water. -
Ti tsebe xchi’uk sk’obsluch sloktabe sp’ijil sjol yo’nton mol me’eletikyu’un sk’u’iltas tu slumale. -
When I saw you, the Sun rose. / You illuminated my darkness. / You warmed my heart. / Even though it’s cold, I don’t feel it. / You are it. / You are me. / We are it. / We warm the earth. -
You sleep covered in red tulips, / your body numbed by honor. -
We introduced ourselves by talking about our readings, the work of Miguel Leon-Portilla, Carlos Lenkersdorf, Alfredo López Austin, Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Carlos Montemayor, Jacques Derrida and Jean-... -
I ama small, pale poem—that never said anything—and wants to erase itselfwith tears -
Her face, engraved with wrinkles, couldn’t hide the sadness that she carried in her heart, a pain so immense that with every breath she took she would have preferred to remain asleep forever and to ne...
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