Monday, August 28, 2006

Los Loros (parrots) De Los Andes

7) Los Loros (parrots)
De Los Andes

(De Perú: A Poética Fable)



During the time of harvest
Parrots (loros) of the Sierras
Search high and low for food
Like hungry children of the Devil
They fly—hundreds of them—
(Like a swarming plague, in packs)
Through mountainous passages
Into villages looking for corn,
Wheat, grains, fruits, foods—!
Always in a group, never alone,
They echo their noisy voices
Unto the high heavens,
Like a dark overlooking cloud.

Now, overlooking the farmers’ fields,
In the clap of an eye, they’ve eaten
Every trace of corn, every crumb of wheat
Every seed of grain, planted by the farmers
Leaving only tears and pain…!

And the youth of the land
(Early in the morning they wake…
And wait, anticipate,
Wishing to save the harvest)
Grab slingshot, rock and hand
Trying to kill the ascending foe
In the wheat and cornfields—.
But lo, the Loros are keen and swift,
They hide in trees and bushes,
Wait for the youth to fall to sleep:
And with wit, and yellow beaks,
Green wings and red necklaces
They eat everything…!




Note: No: 1423, 8-14-2006 (Written while in the city of Huancayo, Peru, in the Andes); in part, inspired by the works of Jose Oregon Morales.




Spanish Versión




Los Loros
De Los Andes

(De Perú: Una Fábula Poética)

¡Durante el tiempo de cosecha
Los loros de la Sierras
Buscan arriba y abajo alimentos
Como niños hambrientos del Diablo
Ellos vuelan—cientos de ellos–
(Como un enjambre de plagas, en manadas)
Por pasajes montañosos
Dentro de los pueblos buscando maíz,
Trigo, granos, frutas, comida—!
Siempre en grupos, nunca solos,
Ellos repiten sus voces ruidosas
En lo alto del cielo,
Como una nube oscura ignorada.

¡Ahora, pasando por alto los campos de los agricultores,
En un abrir y cerrar de ojos, ellos han comido
Cada rastro de grano, cada miga de trigo
Cada semilla de grano, plantado por los agricultores
Dejando solo lágrimas y dolor…!

Y los jóvenes del pueblo
(Temprano en la mañana ellos se despiertan…
Y esperan, previniendo,
Deseando salvar la cosecha)
Agarran hondas de jebe, piedra en mano
Tratando de matar al enemigo que se eleva
En los campos de trigo y maizales—.
Pero ellos, los Loros son fuertes y rápidos,
Ellos se ocultan en árboles y arbustos,
Esperan que los jóvenes se duerman:
¡Y con ingenio, y picos amarillos,
Alas Verdes y collares rojos
Ellos comen todo …!


Nota: Nro. 1423, 14-Agosto-2006 (Escrito mientras estaba en la ciudad de Huancayo, Perú, en Los Andes); en parte, inspirado por los trabajos de José Oregón Morales.

The Magic of the Avelinos (El Encanto de los Avelinos del Valle del Mantaro)

El Encanto de los Avelinos del Valle del Mantaro

The Magic of the Avelinos

(And Other Poetic Works on the
Mantaro Valley of Peru)





By Dennis L. Siluk

In Spanish and English (Español)


Poeta Laureado de San Jerónimo de Tunan, Perú




Copyright @ 2006, Dennis L. Siluk
The Magic of the Avelinos of the Mantaro Valley
(And other Poetic Works on Peru)


Illustrated by the Author







Dedicated to the
(Past and Present):

Avelinos of the Mantaro Valley and San Roque; to
Antonio Castillo of the University Los Andes; to
Joseito Arrieta of Sabor Mix Radio; and to
Jesus Vargas Parraga, mayor of San Jeronimo of Tunan.
















Elegy and Tribute


(In Remembrance of the brave reporters who were
Killed in the line of duty in Uchuraccay, Peru; 26 April, 1983)


Willy Retto, Octavio Infante, Amador García, Félix Gavilán, Jorge Sedano, Eduardo De La Pinella, Jorge Luis Mendivil, Pedro Sánchez.


Gods of the Mountains



Absurd it may be (and sad it is), the striking account of the deaths of the Journalists (all eight of them), that took place on the 26 of April, 1983 (in Uchuraccay, Ayacucho-Peru), that I remembered when brought to my attention at the University of Los Andes in Huancayo, after visiting them in August 2006, which brought grief back to my soul—again.
The jealous defenders of Uchuraccay´s customs (so it would seem), the Iquichanos (clinging to ancient beliefs), took it upon themselves to kill the journalists, a ritualistic form of murder, plus they were buried face down, indicating they were thought of as being of the devil—or perhaps doing the devil’s work. In addition, their ankles were broken so they would not be able to come back for revenge.
I conclude, the violence that took place that day surpasses our everyday life, mental understanding: it is jarring to say the least, and thus, I am proud to have written this little ´tribute, ´ for them.
















Spanish Version


Elegía y Tributo


(En Recuerdo de los reporteros valientes que fueron
Matados cumpliendo su deber en Uchuraccay, Perú; el 26 de abril de 1983)


Willy Retto, Octavio Infante, Amador García, Félix Gavilán, Jorge Sedano, Eduardo De La Pinella, Jorge Luis Mendivil, Pedro Sánchez.


Dioses de las Montañas

Absurdo puede ser (y triste lo es), la cuenta asombrosa de las muertes de los Periodistas (todos, los ocho), que ocurrió el 26 de abril de 1983 (en Uchuraccay, Ayacucho-Perú), que lo recordé cuando me lo contaron en la Universidad Los Andes de Huancayo, después de visitarlos en agosto del 2006, lo que trajo nuevamente pena a mi alma.
Los celosos defensores de las costumbres de Uchuraccay (eso es lo que parecería), los Iquichanos (adhiriéndose a creencias antiguas), tomaron la decisión ellos mismos de matar a los periodistas, una forma ritualista de asesinato, además ellos fueron enterrados boca abajo, indicando que pensaron que ellos eran seres del diablo—o talvez que realizaban el trabajo del diablo. Además, sus tobillos fueron rotos, así ellos no serían capaces de volver para vengarse.
Concluyo, la violencia que ocurrió ese día sobrepasa el entendimiento mental de nuestra vida diaria: es discorde por decir lo menos, y así, estoy orgulloso de haber escrito este pequeño “tributo”, para ellos.










Special Thanks to:
In alphabetic order



• Rocio Abarca, of Red Global Television (for publicity)
• Fernando Andrade, Mayor of Miraflores, Lima.
• Gustavo Benito, Walter Campos…, of Canal 2 (for publicity)
• Basilia Bonilla (or information concerning the Chonguinada)
• Marissa Cardenas, of Correo newspaper (for publicity)
• Luis Felio Bonilla, our guide going up the treacherous mountain, Catalina Wanka
• Keiko Fujimori (for her taking her time and listening to this new project, in Chiclayo)
• Enrique Herrera, the Wandering Quechua of the Andes (for his ongoing support)
• Daniel Herrera, for his assistance in the manuscript production.
• Ximena Herrera, for her translation of the poem “Early Breakfast in Huancayo”
• Adelmo Huamani, Director of the Journalist Federated Center (for publicity);
• Hector Mayhuire, Director of Correo Newspaper (for acknowledgement of my art work, in particular “Los Avelinos”)
• Junior Meza, of Super Latina (or publicity)
• Minerva Peñaloza, for providing some historical data.
• Maria Sofia Peñaloza, for her inspiration with the Toe Poem.
• Nancy and Rosa Peñaloza, for their translation from English into Spanish and editing.
• Marco Antonio Ponce and Marlene Priale, of Canal 15 (for publicity)
• Efraín Saavedra, General Consul of Peru in Chicago, USA (for information in the Chachapoyas culture and he was my inspiration in visiting the area)
• Jorge Valencia Peñaloza, for his support in photography.
• Mama Maria Tapia, for her inspiration in the poems of the Satipo Jungle.
• Lily Unchupaico, of Red Global Television (por publicity)
• Rodolfo Vergara, of Radio 15-50 (for publicity)
• Elizabeth Zapata, of Canal 21 (for publicity)
• Guido and Rebeca, for providing material in Nazca and Recuay art.











A



Introductory Poem



The Purple River
(Of the Mantaro Valley)) 1879-83))


The waters were too swift
To swim across—
The bridge, made of rock and stone
Hawks guarded, by day and night;
To fight these warriors,
One must have thirst and madness
(For the Chilean invaders
Of the Pacific War)
Lest the invaders destroy—
One and all—, then what?

Then came an echo from—
The Avelinos, of San Jeronimo,
“No; no foreign foe will
Ever set foot in our Mantaro Valley
Again!

(And thus, that is when
The war really began)



Written in Huancayo, Peru, 8-27-2006, in the sunny afternoon.

Note; when one is on the summit of Mount Catalina Wanka, in the heart of the Mantaro Valley, some 5000-feet looking down upon it, the river looks purple.












Spanish Version



Poema Introductorio


El Río Púrpura
(Del Valle del Mantaro)) 1879-83))

Las aguas eran muy rápidas
Para nadar a través—
El puente, hecho de roca y piedras
Halcones vigilando, de día y de noche;
Para pelear a estos guerreros,
Hay que tener sed y locura
(Para los invasores chilenos
De la Guerra del Pacífico)
No sea que los invasores destruyan—
Absolutamente a todos—, entonces ¿qué?

Entonces vino un eco de—
Los Avelinos, de San Jerónimo,
“No; ¡ningún enemigo extranjero
Alguna vez pondrá el pie en nuestro Valle del Mantaro
Otra vez!

(Y así, es cuando la guerra realmente comenzó)


Escrito en Huancayo, Perú, 27-Agosto-2006, en una tarde soleada.

Nota: Cuando uno está sobre la cumbre de la Montaña de Catalina Wanka, en el corazón del Valle del Mantaro, aproximadamente 5000 pies mirando abajo, el río parece de color púrpura.


SAN JERÓNIMO
San Jeronimo, one of four original Doctors of the Latin Church, whom was Father of the Biblical sciences and translator of the bible to the Latin, Presbyter, literary man of ascetic, eminent life (343-420). He studied the Sacred Writings, was born around the year 342, in Stridon, a small population placed in the limits of the region dálmata of Panonia and the territory of Italy, near the city of Yarrow. Jerónimo took as a tutor Donato, the famous pagan grammarian. After three years in Rome, he felt the desire to travel to extend his knowledge’s with his friend Bonoso, thus, going to Tréveris. There it was where he was reborn impetuously, where his religious spirit that always was had been established at the back of his soul, now became all of him, his heart completely submitted entirely to God.


“…we had the custom, my friends and I of the same age and tastes, of visiting, every Sunday, the tombs of the martyrs and of the apostles and we got into the underground galleries, in whose walls remain the relics of the dead men.”

San Jeronimo


In this book, I have taken the dead and live spirits, and customs, traditions, legends, and put them into poetic form for posterity for the Peruvian people.

Dennis L. Siluk












Spanish Version


SAN JERÓNIMO

Uno de los cuatro Doctores originales de la Iglesia Latina, quien fue Padre de las ciencias bíblicas y traductor de la Biblia al latín; presbítero, hombre de vida ascética, eminente literato (343-420). San Jerónimo fue quien más estudió las Sagradas Escrituras, nació alrededor del año 342, en Stridon, una población pequeña situada en los confines de la región dálmata de Panonia y el territorio de Italia, cerca de la ciudad de Aquilea. Jerónimo tuvo como tutor a Donato, el famoso gramático pagano. Después de haber pasado tres años en Roma, sintió el deseo de viajar para ampliar sus conocimientos y, en compañía de su amigo Bonoso, se fue hacia Tréveris. Ahí fue donde renació impetuosamente el espíritu religioso que siempre había estado arraigado en el fondo de su alma y, desde entonces, su corazón se entregó enteramente a Dios.



“… teníamos la costumbre, mis amigos y yo de la misma edad y gustos, de visitar, los domingos, las tumbas de los mártires y de los apóstoles y nos metíamos a las galerías subterráneas, en cuyos muros se conservan las reliquias de los muertos".

San Jerónimo



En este libro, he tomado en cuenta a los espíritus muertos y vivos, las costumbres, tradiciones y leyendas, y los he puesto en forma poética para la posteridad de la gente peruana.

Dennis L. Siluk








Index




*Pertaining to the Avelinos Feast
Introduction of: SAN JERÓNIMO
Elegy and Tribute
Introduction Poem
“The Purple River” *
No: 1441 8-27-2006; written while in Huancayo, Peru


Prologue: The Magic of the Avelinos (overview)

Reviews (End of Book)


Part One:
(Poetic Legends, Cultures and Lore of the Mantaro Valley)


1) “The Magic of the Avelinos”
2) Early Breakfast in Huancayo
3) In the Blue Valley of the Sierras (of Peru)
4) The Mighty Sore Foot
5) The Wanka: and the Arwaturo Ruins (of Peru)
6) The Legend of: Mummy Mountain
(De Perú: Valle del Mantaro: a Poetic Fable))
7) Wariwilca (Aa old Wanka ruins)
8) The Walls at Arwaturo Ruins—talk!
9) The Generals Chullos*
10) The Winds of August
11) “Bullfight at the Avelinos´ Feast”*
12) The Chonguinada´s Dance*
13) Watching the Birds Fly
14) Huancayo Pancakes
15) The Little People of Huancayo
16) A Death in Huancayo
17) Unishcoto Ruins (and Catalina Wanka Legend)
18) Anticuchos & Picarones







Part Two:
(Poems, Legends and other works from other Peruvian books of the author’s)


From: “Spell of the Andes”

18) Spell of the Andes
19) The Ghoul of La Laguna de Paca
22) Footprints to Mantaro Valley
21) Little Girl from Huancayo

From: “Peruvian Poems”

22) “Ode to: The Ice Maiden of Ampato's Summit”


From: “Poetic Images Out of Peru”

23) “Under the Algarrobo Tree















Р



Prologue (Feast of the Avelinos): Five days in August each year, the little town of San Jeronimo de Tunan, of Peru, has its biggest festival that draws the whole Mantaro Valley to it, to include many folks from all over Peru, and the world in broad-spectrum. It is the “October Feast,” of South America you could say, of culture and devotion to San Roque. And the performance of the famous Avelinos, which is brought to its zenith pertaining to the Pacific War, fought in the 1880s with Chile, in the form of dance, drink and eating, and a mass given to bless the festivities.

Along with a number of bullfights, several musical bands play throughout the center of the city during these five days; Cable TV, along with every TV station available, and radio station in the valley are present and--presently, Mayor Jesus Vargas Parraga (present mayor of the city) insured the celebratory feast goes smoothly. It is an enduring event to say the least, watching and seeing and participating in all the events.

The Mayor and the Chacteo—

The Chacteo the event, where at this time the Avelinos come from San Sebastian church to the Plaza de Arms in the center of the city, to serve the dignitaries, authorities, and common folk. The mayors don’t always attend this event, and now I know why, and I shall explain in a moment. When I was invited to one, by Mayor Jesus Vargas Alcalde de San Jeronimo of Tunan, the Avelinos came one after another, perhaps to the mayor thirty of them or more, and to me, perhaps ten. And although the bits of food and drink (alcohol) they bring to you are in small amounts, indicating how poor they were in those far off days, after ten or so, you are full (if you’ve had a healthy lunch prior to this, like the Mayor and I had), thus, I can’t imagine how the Mayor felt the next day, with thirty plus, my gosh, he did a great sacrifice for the city folks, and therefore, I must give him a big thank you for allowing me to be his guest and participant.

By the Author, Dlsiluk




Spanish Version


Prólogo (Fiesta de los Avelinos): Cinco días en agosto de cada año, la pequeña ciudad de San Jerónimo de Tunán, de Perú, tiene su festival más grande que atrae a todo el Valle del Mantaro, y a mucha gente de por todas partes del Perú, y del mundo en el espectro amplio. Esta es “La Fiesta de Octubre” de Sudamérica podrías decir, de cultura y devoción a San Roque. Y la representación de los famosos Avelinos, que es traído a su cúspide concerniente a la Guerra del Pacífico, luchada en los años 1880 con Chile, en la forma de baile, bebida y comida, y una misa celebrada para bendecir las festividades

Junto con un número de corridas de toros, muchas bandas musicales tocan en todas partes en el centro de la ciudad durante estos cinco días; televisión por cable, con cada estación de la televisión disponible, y emisoras de radio en el valle están presentes–y el actual Alcalde de la ciudad, Sr. Jesús Vargas Párraga, se asegura que el banquete festivo se desarrolle apaciblemente. Este es un acontecimiento perdurable por decir de menos, mirando, viendo y participando en todos los acontecimientos.


El Alcalde y el Chacteo-

El Chacteo, el acontecimiento, donde en esta parte los Avelinos vienen desde la iglesia San Sebastián a la Plaza de Armas en el centro de la ciudad, para servir a los dignatarios, autoridades, y la gente común. Los alcaldes no siempre asisten a este acontecimiento, y ahora sé por qué, y lo explicaré en un momento. Cuando fui invitado a uno, por el Alcalde de Jerónimo de Tunán, Jesús Vargas, los Avelinos vinieron uno tras otro, quizás fueron hacia el alcalde unos treinta de ellos o más, y a mí, quizás diez. Y aunque los añicos de alimentos y bebidas (alcohol) que ellos te traen son en pequeñas cantidades, expresando qué pobres fueron ellos en aquellos días muy lejanos, después diez y algo más, estás satisfecho (si has tenido un almuerzo saludable antes de esto, como el Alcalde y yo lo tuvimos), así, no puedo imaginarme como el Alcalde se sintió al día siguiente, con más de treinta bocados, ¡mi Dios! él hizo un gran sacrificio por la gente de la ciudad, y por lo tanto, debo expresarle mi gran gratitud por permitirme ser su invitado y participante.

Por el Autor, Dlsiluk
A



(Poetic Legends, Customs, and Lore of the Mantaro Valley Region)



1) “The Magic of the Avelinos”


With dark wide eyes,
a long red nose,
red thick lips and thick eyebrows:
the Avelinos came (with their
dark gray feathered bodies:
covered from head to toe):
came out of nowhere
to celebrate their own feast—
“The Quest and the Magic
of the Avelinos!”

With a horn attached to their side
a brown sack, on their back,
like beggars they came
to the Plaza de Arms
dancing and shoe tapping
like little mice:
stopping and stomping
here and there
sharing—feeding (with
bits of meat, bread, fruits and
salads—corns) the city’s
rich and poor, in remembrance
of the Pacific War, once fought
by the Avelinos (long ago).



#1426 8-17-2006.


Note: Written the 1st day of the feast, after attending it for six-hours, and going back to my house in Huancayo, Peru.

Dedicated to the Mayor: Jesus Vargas.



Spanish Version



“La Búsqueda de los Avelinos”

Con amplios ojos oscuros,
una larga nariz larga roja,
gruesos labios rojos y cejas espesas:
los Avelinos vinieron (con sus
oscuros grises cuerpos emplumados:
cubiertos de cabeza a pies):
vinieron de la nada
para celebrar su propio banquete—
“La Búsqueda y el Encanto
de los Avelinos!”

Con un cuerno atado a su lado
un saco marrón, sobre su espalda,
como mendigos ellos vinieron
a la Plaza de Armas
bailando y zapateando
como pequeños ratones:
parando y pisoteando
aquí y allá
compartiendo—alimentando (con
los añicos de carne, pan, frutas y
ensaladas—maíz) a los
ricos y pobres de la ciudad, en recuerdo
de la Guerra del Pacífico, una vez luchada
por los Avelinos (hace mucho tiempo atrás).



#1426 17-Agosto-2006.

Nota: Escrito el 1er día de la fiesta, después de asistir a ésta por seis horas, y de regreso a mi casa en Huancayo, Perú. Dedicado al: Alcalde Jesús Vargas.



2) Early Breakfast in Huancayo

Friend, today I sat at
a little café,
adobe walls
outside my casa
where one makes chatter
loose conversations (gossip)
with the many outside
guests….

Early breakfast
in Huancayo
can be heavy…
a feast
with a simple bowl of
soup
(chicken, lamb or mondongo:
noodles, noodles—corn,
and yellow potatoes))
and yellow grease
floating
on the surface
for flavor and taste!))


The weather was pleasant
this afternoon in
Huancayo, Peru!...


This evening it rains lightly,
and the car won’t start
(stuck in the middle of downtown);
as a horde of families
pass me by
seeing me sullen through
the car window…

It looks to me, in
this busy Andean city:
everyone, everywhere
(walking by)
are in their own little world.

“Where” I ask myself,
“are they all going?”
the rain and car lights—
are blinking and blinding; if
you miss people:
HERE THEY ARE!

I get the car started—
I pop the clutch, after a group
of people give me a push—
and head on home,
to watch a movie at Mini`s


I feel all right now—.
A relief resides in me…
The busy day, the creaks
in my body, will soon die,
fade away, and Tuesday, yes
Tuesday will soon be.




# 1416 8/7/2006.

Note: Dedicated to Mini (of whom I learned from, breakfast in the Mantaro Valley can be a traditional giant bowl of lamb, chicken or Mondongo). Translated by Ximena Herrera; edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk.


Spanish Version




Desayuno Temprano en Huancayo


Amigo, hoy me senté en
un pequeño café,
paredes de adobe
afuera de mi casa
donde uno hace charla
conversaciones sueltas (chisme)
con los muchos invitados
de afuera…

¡Desayuno temprano
en Huancayo
puede ser pesado…
un banquete
con un simple tazón de
sopa
(pollo, cordero o mondongo:
fideos, fideos – maíz
y papas amarillas))
y grasa amarilla
flotando
en la superficie
por sabor y gusto!))

¡El clima fue agradable
esta tarde en
Huancayo, Perú!...

Esta tarde llueve ligeramente,
y el carro no arranca
(atorado en el centro de la ciudad);
mientras una multitud de familias
pasan
viéndome malhumorado por
la ventana del carro …

Me parece, en
esta ocupada ciudad andina:
todos, por todas partes
(paseando por allí)
están en su propio pequeño mundo.


“¿Dónde” me pregunto,
!están todos ellos yendo?”
la lluvia y las luces de los carros –
están parpadeando y cegando; si
extrañas a la gente:
¡AQUÍ ELLOS ESTAN!

Consigo que el carro arranque –
bombeo el embrague, después que un grupo
de personas me da un empujón –
y me dirijo a la casa,
a mirar una película en casa de Mini.

Me siento muy bien ahora—.
Un alivio reside en mí…
El día ocupado, los crujidos
en mi cuerpo, pronto morirán,
se desvanecerán, y el martes, sí
martes pronto será.



# 1416 7/Agosto/2006.


Note: Dedicado a Mini (de quien aprendí que el desayuno en el Valle del Mantaro puede ser un tradicional tazón grande de caldo de cordero o de gallina, o mondongo). Traducido por Ximena Herrera; corregido por Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk.





3) In the Blue Valley of the Sierras
(Of Peru)


(Forenoon)) An old man’s spring day))


Sounds of the San Jeronimo creek
In the Mantaro Valley of Peru
Rushing down the Mountainside—
And sorry I could not climb her,
And looking up, as far as I could
To where an old brick oven stood—,
Now abandoned,
Resting amongst the underbrush,
Then I looked to its side
Just as far, and
Surely not the better view
It was of rock and dirt,
And of need of no wear,
But for passing or climbing
They were both worn about the same.

(Here the Rio can talk to one,
If ones soul is at peace.)



(Afternoon)) An old man’s Spring Day.))


And this afternoon, equally lay
In the Blue Valley
Along the Quichuay Rio
In the grass, all trodden down:
Two women washing cloths.
Oh, I kept no thinking for another day—
And said to Mini and Rosa:
“I shall be telling this story
One day with a sigh,
And others, in ages hence
That war, with all its destruction!!
Has not been heard of here,
Nor changed the face of the land.”

Perhaps it will remain that way,
It would make all the difference,
For another day.


Written in the Mantaro Valle of Peru, 8-11-06 (No: 1420)



Poetic Note: The Blue Valley, a peaceful place in the Sierras. Here I asked a young boy to wash my car, and guard it while eating trout, along the Rio, he never heard of the internet. The hogs, chickens, donkeys, dogs and a fat old pig just grazing around the restaurant, along the riverside. Here I think the only worry man has is when he will eat, sleep and make love. There are no phones, TVs, but I’m sure things will change, and perhaps that is the theme of the poem.




Spanish Versión


En el Valle Azul de las Sierras
(De Perú)

(Medio día) (Un día de primavera del anciano))

Sonidos del riachuelo de San Jerónimo
En el Valle del Mantaro del Perú
Bajando de prisa la Ladera—
Y lo siento no pude treparla,
Y mirando hacia arriba, tan lejos como pude
Hacia donde un viejo horno de ladrillos estaba,
Ahora abandonado,
Descansando entre la maleza,
Luego miré a su costado
Justo tan lejos, y
Seguramente no la mejor vista
Este era de roca y tierra,
Y de necesidad de no usarlo
Pero para pasarlo o treparlo
Ambos estaban gastados casi lo mismo

(Aquí el río puede hablarle a uno,
Si tu alma está en paz)

(En la tarde)(Un día de primavera del anciano)

Y esta tarde, igualmente yacen
En el Valle Azul
A lo largo del río Quichuay
En el pasto, todo pisoteado:
Dos mujeres lavando ropas
Oh, no guardé pensamiento para otro día—
Y les dije a Mini y Rosa;
“Contaré esta historia
Un día con un suspiro,
Y otras, de aquí en años
¡¡Esa guerra, con toda su destrucción!!
No ha sido oída por aquí,
Ni cambió la faz de la tierra”.

Talvez este permanecerá de esa forma,
Esto haría toda la diferencia,
Para otro día.


Escrito en el Valle del Mantaro del Perú 11-Agosto-2006 (Nº: 1420)


Nota Poética: el Valle Azul, es un lugar lleno de paz en la Sierra. Aquí, le pedí a un muchacho que lavara mi carro, y lo cuidara mientras comíamos trucha, junto al río, él jamás escuchó acerca de la Internet. Los cerdos, gallinas, burros, perros y viejos puercos gordos rasguñando alrededor del restaurante, a lo largo de la rivera del río. Aquí pienso que la única preocupación que el hombre tiene es cuándo comerá, dormirá y hará el amor. No hay teléfonos, televisores, pero estoy seguro que las cosas cambiarán, y talvez ese es el tema del poema.



4) The Mighty Sore Foot


The foot, the foot, the foot
Can be a mighty thing,

The foot, the foot, the foot
Supports everything.

But when it’s sore,
One seems helpless.

The foot, the foot, the foot:
And that’s another thing!




# 1421 8-12-06, written in the Mantaro Valley, in Huancayo, Peru.

Dedicated to Mary Sophie (nine-years old), for giving me a sore foot rub, and soak in the water.




Spanish Versión



El Intenso Dolor de Pie

El pie, el pie, el pie
Puede ser una enorme cosa,

El pie, el pie, el pie
Soporta todo.

Pero cuando está adolorido
Uno parece impotente.

El pie, el pie, el pie.
¡Y eso es otra cosa!



# 1421 12-Agosto-2006, escrito en el Valle del Mantaro, en Huancayo, Perú.

Dedicado a Maria Sofía (de nueve años de edad), por darme una frotación para mi dolor de pie, y remojarlo en agua.




5) The Wanka:
And the Arwaturo Ruins (of Peru)


(Urpurampi & the God Huallallo Carhuancho)

Over looking Laguna Ñahuinpuquio
from the mountain-top
where resides
Las Ruins De Arwaturo,
one can visualize the Wanka…
walking, talking, ruling,
and storing their grains:
cloths, corn, potatoes, olluco y masgua
(storing them in graneros,
in the towering ancient ruins)
alongside and within
this Valley-region, of beauty—.

Here the dark-breathe, that rests
underneath the belly of the rain-clouds
are sucked to and upon
the tops of the mountains,
within its gorges and crevasses,
making shadows upon its breasts.
This is the land of the Wankas.



Cultural Commentary: The Wanka culture was founded by Urpurampi, and the God was Carhuancho, in the Mantaro Valley Region. They used to sacrifice the dog, after the sacrifice of the dog, they ate him. The skull of the dog was used for a horn during time of war. The culture predates the Inca culture. The Wankas were warriors, and used lances and shields, also porras, and slings (like King David used); and they were rebels who sought their liberty. They took advantage of the rain, to grow the many fruits and vegetables within their valley regions. They also had herds of llamas and alpacas: from these two animals, they made their sandals. Arwaturo, the name of the ruins, means: ´burnt bones´. The Wanka culture dates from 800 AD to 1400 AD. The Arwaturo ruins, of which I’ve climbed, are up some 11,318 feet.


# 1422; 8-13-2006; written after visiting the site.

Dedicated to Cesar Segura (of TV Cable), Joseito Arrieta (of Radio Sabor Mix) and Diego Veliz (2006—Candidate for Mayor of Huancayo, Peru))







Spanish Versión



Los Wankas
Y Las Ruinas Arwaturo (de Perú)

(Urpurampi y El Dios Huallallo Carhuancho)

Mirando de arriba la Laguna Ñahuinpuquio
Desde la cumbre de las montañas
donde reside
Las ruinas de Arwaturo,
uno puede visualizar e los Wankas…
caminando, hablando, gobernando, y almacenando sus granos:
ropas, maíz, papas, olluco y masgua
(almacenándolos en graneros, en las ruinas altísimas antiguas)
junto y dentro de este Valle—región, de belleza—.

Aquí la respiración-oscura, que descansa
debajo del vientre de las nubes de lluvias
son aspiradas sobre
las cimas de las montañas,
dentro de sus desfiladeros y hendiduras,
haciendo sombras sobre sus pechos.
Esta es la tierra de los Wankas.



Comentario Cultural: La cultura Wanka fue fundada por Urpurampi, y su Dios era Carhuancho, en el Valle del Mantaro. Ellos solían sacrificar al perro, después de sacrificarlo, ellos lo comían. El cráneo del perro era usado como cuerno durante tiempos de guerra. La cultura precede a la Cultura Inca. Los Wankas eran guerreros, y usaban lanzas y escudos, también porras, y hondas (como usaba el Rey David); y ellos eran rebeldes que buscaban su libertad. Ellos aprovecharon las lluvias, para cultivar muchas frutas y verduras dentro de sus regiones de valle. Ellos también tenían manadas de llamas y alpacas: de estos dos animales, ellos hicieron sus sandalias. Arwaturo, el nombre de las ruinas, significa: “huesos quemados”. La cultura Wanka data del año 800 después de Cristo al año 1400 después de Cristo. Las Ruinas Arwaturo, la cual subí aproximadamente 11,318 pies.

# 1422; 13-Agosto-2006; escrito después de visitar el lugar arqueológico.


Dedicado a Cesar Segura (de TV Cable), Joseito Arrieta (de Radio Sabor Mix) y Diego Véliz (Candidato a la Alcaldía de Huancayo, Perú—2006)






Ñahuinpuquio Valley





6) The Legend of: Mummy Mountain
(De Perú: Valle del Mantaro: a Poetic Fable))


Advance: in the Valle del Mantaro by Huancayo, Peru there resides three enchanting sites, where all seem to be tucked away together (in the area of Chupaca/Ahuac): Here resides Laguna Ñahuinpuquio (where legends have come and gone, some forgotten), and the 9th Century (800-1400 AD Wanka site) Ruinas De Arwatuno, overlooking the valley below and the Laguna. But there is a third legend, almost forgotten, it would seem hidden from the minds of the youth of the area today, but not from a few old timers: the legend of Mummy Mountain (that resides nearby, and can be seen with the naked eye from any location thereby), a tall tale possibly, or perhaps as true as the mountain itself—for it looks its name. I will leave that to your discretion, imagination to deliberation; I can only tell what I have heard, and so I shall tell it to you:

In the year 825 AD, there was a great man by the name of Urpurampi, who appeared in the valley, and brought with him his faith in a god called Tunanmaca. The valley was rich with rain and here he founded the Wanka culture. But in time he knew he would pass on (as Tunanmaca had told him, “To each man, a time and place is assigned him to die”), and so he skilled all his sons in the art of warfare lest some foe take this rich valley away from them.
He lived to a ripe old age, and before he died he asked Tunanmaca a favor,
“Take my body, make it into a mummy, and place it so I can watch over my people and land.”
And the favor was granted. And thus, as the years passed, the landscape changed, where his people buried him, into a hung mountain sculptured, what looked like a resting body, one resembling a mummy.
And so the legend ends with these final words: should there be war to where Uraurampi´s people need him, they need simply awake him, and he will make the earth tremble and swallow the rival.

Afterward: Today standing below the old ruins, perhaps the very ones his sons built (Arwaturo) one can see this Mummy shaped mountain, and with rain clouds, its silhouette even more so; it is not hard to realize (without a doubt) why it was called, Mummy Montana.




# 1424 8-13-2006.

Note: written after leaving the archeological site, about 35-minutes ride from Huancayo, Peru (in the Andes). Inspired by Mini and Ximena, after an evening’s conversation of my recent trip to the Valley of Ñahuinpuquio with Ximena.







Spanish Versión



La Leyenda de: La Montaña Momia
(De Perú: Valle del Mantaro: Una Fábula Poética)

Avance: En Valle del Mantaro por Huancayo, Perú allí residen tres sitios encantadores, donde todos parecen estar metidos juntos (en el área de Chupaca/Ahuac): Aquí reside la Laguna de Ñahuinpuquio (donde las leyendas vinieron y se fueron, algunas olvidadas), y del noveno siglo (800-1400 después de Cristo, los restos arqueológicos Wankas) las Ruinas de Arwaturo, mirando hacia abajo el valle y la Laguna. Pero hay una tercera leyenda, casi olvidada, parecería hoy oculta de las mentes de la juventud del área, pero no de los pocos ancianos del lugar: la Leyenda de La Montaña Momia (que reside cerca, y puede ser vista a simple vista de cualquier posición por allí), un cuento increíble posiblemente, o quizás tan verdadero como la montaña misma—por que esta se parece a su nombre. Dejaré esto para tu imaginación para que deliberes y tomes una decisión, sólo puedo decir lo que he oído, y por eso te lo contaré:


En el año 825 después de Cristo, había un gran hombre llamado Urpurampi, que apareció en el valle, y trajo con él su fe en un dios llamado Tunanmaca. El Valle era rico con las lluvias y aquí él fundó la cultura Wanka. Pero con el tiempo él sabía que él moriría (como Tunanmaca le había dicho, “A cada hombre, un tiempo y un lugar le es asignado para morir”), y por eso él preparó a todos sus hijos en el arte de guerra no sea que algún enemigo les quite este valle rico.

Él vivió hasta una avanzada edad, y antes de que él muriera él preguntó a Tunanmaca un favor,
“Toma mi cuerpo, conviértelo en una momia, y colócalo para que así pueda cuidar de mi gente y mi tierra”.

Y el favor fue concedido. Y así, mientras los años pasaban, el paisaje cambió, donde su gente lo enterró, en una montaña esculpida en lo que se parece a un cuerpo que descansa, uno semejante a una momia.
Y entonces la leyenda se termina con estas palabras finales: Si hubiera guerra allí donde la gente de Urpurampi lo necesitara, ellos necesitan sólo despertarlo, y él hará que la tierra tiemble y trague al rival.


Después: Hoy parado debajo de las viejas ruinas, quizás las mismas que sus hijos construyeron (Arwaturo) uno puede ver esta montaña en forma de Momia, y con nubes de lluvias, su silueta aún más clara; no es difícil de darse cuenta (sin lugar a dudas) por qué lo llamaron así, la Montaña Momia.


# 1424 8-13-2006.


Note: escrito después de abandonar el sitio arqueológico, 35 minutos cerca a Huancayo, Perú (en Los Andes). Inspirado por Mini y Ximena, después de una conversación en la noche sobre mi viaje reciente al Valle de Ñahuinpuquio con Ximena.




7) Wariwilca
(Ancient Ruins by the Andes of Peru, 700 AD)


(there are) Ancient ruins, hidden away
in the Mantaro Valley
by Huancayo….
A scent of silence…
in the quiet skies
over Wariwilca!...
A cheerful breeze clashes my knees
(today) as I kneel down
and Drink form its spring…;
in its quiet corners
(I notice) the spirits still linger
unruffled….



#671/5-16-05 (originally published in the book, “Spell of the Andes.”)






Spanish Versión


Wariwilca
(Ruinas Antiguas por Los Andes de Perú, 700 después de Cristo)

(Hay) Ruinas antiguas, ocultadas lejos
en el Valle del Mantaro
por Huancayo…
Un olor de silencio …
en los cielos tranquilos
sobre Wariwilca!...
Una brisa alegre choca mis rodillas
(Hoy) mientras me arrodillo
y bebo desde su manantial…;
en sus esquinas tranquilas
(Noto) los espíritus todavía perduran
ecuánimes…



#671 16-Mayo-2005 (Originalmente publicado en el libro, “Evocación de Los Andes”).




8) The Walls at Arwaturo Ruins–
Talk!

Now a haunted rubble of sort—;
Arwaturo, battered and bruised
From head to heel—
Dazed and weary,
Hungry for life again:
So resides this ancient ruins,
In the Valley of Ñahuinpuquio.

I stumbled along its rolling path
Adjacent to its primordial walls
They have been beaten to death—
Now standing wordless, panting
From a thousand years of exertion:
Hammering, just hammering—;
“Let her lay!” I sigh…
(As the walls snub back at me);
If I could, I would, but
I can’t—bandage her wounds
Too old and too bruised:
“Let her lay, let her lay!” I cry

As she whispers back:
“Take this gift, and let me be….”
Terrible with loneliness,
With shadowed memories!
On top of a mountain she resides
(In a sunny kind of haze)
In the Valley of Ñahuinpuquio.


#1429 8-18-2006; it is peaceful there on top of the mountain in the Valley of Ñahuinpuquio.




Spanish Versión



¡Las Paredes en Las Ruinas de Arwaturo-Hablan!

Ahora una clase de escombros encantados—;
Arwaturo, maltratado y magullado
De cabeza a talón—
Aturdido y cansado,
Hambriento por vida otra vez:
Así permanecen estas ruinas antiguas,
En el Valle de Ñahuinpuquio.

Tropecé a lo largo de su camino apisonado
Adyacente a sus paredes primordiales
Ellas han sido golpeadas a muerte–
Ahora de pie mudas, jadeando
De mil años de agotamiento:
Martillando, solamente martillando—;
“¡Déjela descansar!” Suspiro…
(Mientras las paredes me hacen un desaire);
Si yo pudiera, podría, pero
No puedo—vendar sus heridas
Muy viejas y muy magulladas:
“¡Déjela descansar, déjala descansar!" Grito

Mientras ella susurra respondiendo:
“Toma este regalo, y déjame ser… .”
¡Terrible con soledad,
Con memorias sombrías!
Sobre la cima de una montaña ella reside
(En una soleada clase de neblina)
En el valle de Ñahuinpuquio.


#1429 18-Agosto-2006; es tranquilo allí sobre la cima de la montaña en el Valle de Ñahuinpuquio.


9) The General’s Chullos


General Avelino, dressed llamas up with chullos (caps), and his soldiers with feminine skirts—and fooled the Chilean invaders, as they killed them: one by one, in the Pacific War, in the Mountains, of the Mantaro Valley of Peru.



Note: #1431 8-19-2006; Inspired by Marissa Cardenas, of the Correo newspaper, during my Interview on 8-19-2006.





Spanish Versión

Los Chullos del General


El general Avelino, disfrazaba a las llamas con chullos (gorras), y a sus soldados con faldas femeninas–y engañó a los invasores chilenos, mientras ellos los mataban: uno por uno, en la Guerra del Pacifico, en las montañas, del Valle del Mantaro del Perú.


Nota: #1431 19-Agosto-2006; Inspirado por Marissa Cárdenas, del periódico Correo, durante mi entrevista el 19 de Agosto del 2006.




10) The Winds of August

The winds of August
In Huancayo,
In the Mantaro Valley—
And all its town-lets:
Gusty they can be—
(With their physical prowess);
A time to fly kites,
To rest in meadows, parks
And along the banks of the Rios:
Feel its vitality, as the winds
Blend in, with the sun.



#1428 (Dedicated to and inspirited by: Rosa Pentaloza de Siluk, while walking down the sidewalk, in Huancayo, 8-18-2006.



Spanish Versión



Vientos de Agosto

Los vientos de agosto
En Huancayo,
En el Valle del Mantaro–
Y todas sus ciudades:
Impetuosos pueden ser–
(Con su destreza física);
Un tiempo para volar cometas,
Para descansar en prados, parques
Y a lo largo de la ribera de los Ríos:
Sentir su vitalidad, mientras los vientos
Armonizan, con el sol.



#1428 (Dedicado e inspirado por: Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, mientras camina bajo la acera, en Huancayo, 18-Agosto-2006.




11) “Bullfight at the Avelinos
Feast”

The bullfight at the Avelinos annual feast—in August, in San Jeronimo de Tunan, Peru, is most different than others I’ve know.

The Horns blast, and the bull-beasts run from the pen into the Plaza de Toros; hundreds of guests in the bullring, jump up, and on, and behind the fences—;
As the Avelinos dance, wave and stumble about the bullring in a craze.



#1430, 8-19-2006; written on the bus, on the way back from the bullfight, at the feast, about 5:15 PM; cramped in this little bus, it was a feat to write anything at all.




Spanish Versión



“Corrida de Toros en la Fiesta de los Avelinos”

La corrida de toros en la fiesta anual de los Avelinos—en agosto, en San Jerónimo de Tunan, Perú, es muy diferente que otros que he conocido.

Los Cuernos arremeten, y las bestias-toro corren desde el corral hacia la Plaza de Toros; cientos de invitados en la plaza de toros, saltan, y se esconden detrás de las vallas–;
Mientras los Avelinos danzan, saludan y tropiezan cerca al ruedo en una locura.



#1430, 19-Agosto-2006; escrito en el autobús, en el camino de regreso a casa después de la corrida de toros, cerca de las 5:15 de la tarde; apretado en este pequeño autobús, fue una hazaña de escribir algo.









The Chonguinada Girl




12) The Chonguinada’s Dance
(At the San Roque Feast)


The Chonguinada’s dance like pelicans, with spread out wings—with decorative cloths: dresses, capes, and Rhine-stones, old coins all attached to their costumes; black and white hats, a feather tucked into its side; then they dance up and down the streets head held high, smiling, making everything alive, beer in hand, making fun with sparks of snobbery, gestures at the Spanish, of those far off days.



Note: #1427 8-18-2006, in part, inspired by Basilia Bonilla.





Spanish Versión

El Baile de la Chonguinada
(En la Fiesta de San Roque)


El baile de la Chonguinada como pelícanos, con alas extendidas—con trajes decorativos: faldas, capas, y piedras de fantasía, monedas antiguas todas pegadas a sus disfraces; sombreros negros y blancos, una pluma metida a un lado; luego ellos bailan arriba y debajo de las calles con la cabeza sostenida alta, sonriendo, haciendo vivir todo, cerveza en la mano, burlándose con una chispa de esnobismo, gestos de los españoles, de aquellos lejanos días.



Nota: #1427 18-Agosto-2006, en parte, inspirado por Basilia Bonilla.




13) Watching the Birds Fly


My feet sway, slowly, now at the floor;
My torso tugs tightly against my thighs,
Sometimes when I’m watching birds fly
about—
From the windows of my apartment
house—(in Huancayo)
A white and blue sky under them…
I seem to have less to say, perhaps
thinking
(Like they would like to think)) if
they could))
Thinking: soon we shall be gone; thus,
We move slowly now (both, them and I))
Or not at all))
From our dwelling place?



Note: written at my apartment on a Monday Morning; 8-21-2006, #1435.




Spanish Versión



Mirando Volar los Pájaros


Mis pies se balancean, despacio, ahora en el piso;
Mi torso tira fuerte contra mis muslos,
A veces cuando estoy mirando a los pájaros volar
alrededor–
Desde las ventanas de mi departamento
casa—(en Huancayo)
Un cielo blanco y azul bajo ellos…
Yo parezco tener menos que decir, quizás
pensando
(Como a ellos les gustaría pensar)) si
ellos pudieran))
Pensando: pronto nos iremos; así
Nos movemos lentamente ahora (ambos, ellos y yo)
O no todos))
¿Desde nuestra primitiva morada?


Nota: escrito en mi departamento un lunes en la mañana; 21-Agosto-2006, #1435





14) Huancayo Pancakes



Darkness from the sky
Had descended onto the city
Gutters running with garbage
(Yet to be cleaned from the Sunday feast)
The streets still filled with bodies….
The night still filled with noises—,
Flickering faces among the arc-lights,
Dogs cursing one another—
Fighting for the leftovers of the
Sunday feast (along the market street);
You could hear the trashing sounds
Mingled with clashing of ivory
Steel (grinding) teeth! …
Mad dogs, no longer at play;
Women, children moving out of their way.

“A pancake please!” so says my wife, as
We sit on two of the five stools
At this scanty street café—
“Coffee, please,” I add.
And there we sat, strangers and all
(At this very little café, the sky overlooking
Huancayo)
And we talked about the beauty of the city
and Peru,
And all that strangers talk about, at 7:00 PM—
(on a dark Sunday Evening).

This is what life is made of (I tell myself
looking about),
Strangers who become friends
Slobbering down coffee and pancakes
At 7:00 PM! …my toes in sandals
Touching a huge block of cement,
No great comfort, just escaping
for the moment.



Note: 8-20-2006, the Huancayo Pancake, is deep fried, and looks round, and large as elephant ears; and when it is cooking in the hot grease it bubbles and fries to a deep brown.




Spanish Versión


Panqueques de Huancayo


La oscuridad del cielo
Había bajado sobre la ciudad
Alcantarillas corriendo con basura
(Aún para ser limpiadas desde la fiesta del domingo)
Las calles todavía llena de cuerpos…
La noche todavía llena de ruidos—,
Rostros parpadeando entre las luces del arco,
Perros ladrando el uno al otro–
Peleando por los restos de la
Feria dominical (a través de las calles del mercado);
¡Tú podías oír los ruidos de la basura
Mezclados con el sonido metálico de los dientes de acero marfil (rechinando)! …
Perros rabiosos, ya no juegan;
Mujeres, niños moviéndose fuera de su camino.

“¡Un panqueque por favor!” eso dice mi esposa,
Mientras nos sentamos sobre dos de los cinco taburetes
En este escaso café de la calle—
“Café, por favor”, añado.
Y allí nos sentamos, forasteros y todos
(En este muy pequeño café, mirando el cielo
de Huancayo)
Y hablamos de la belleza de la ciudad
y Perú,
Y todo lo que los forasteros hablan, a las 7:00 PM —
(en un oscuro domingo por la noche).

¡Esto es de lo que la vida es hecha (me digo
a mi mismo mirando alrededor),
Forasteros que se hacen amigos
Tomando café con panqueques
A las 7:00 de la noche! …mis dedos en sandalias
Tocando un enorme bloque de cemento,
Ninguna comodidad grande, solamente escapando
por el momento.



Nota: 20-Agosto-2006, el Panqueque de Huancayo, es frito, y luce redondo y grande como orejas de elefante; y cuando está cocinándose en el aceite caliente este se infla como burbujas y se dora a un marrón profundo.




15) Little People from Huancayo
(Monday in Huancayo)


What are the little people--they’re going to return
To eyecatching Huancayo; it is striking at 2:15 PM,
And already it is very sunny.

Rosa said she’d go meet Daniel at school.

Daniel, Mary-Sophie, Rosa—
Be careful coming back
The cars are winding up
Racing around town
I think I’ll stay here, on the
Computer, it all drives me local
Sometimes—!

Let’s go see about an antique clock
The one I want is by the Cathedral!—
(By the Plaza de Arms)
I played with it a ting the other day
Behind the shops counter as the owner
Polished and tighten things.
Been thinking about it,
For two and a half days.

Got to wait on children (responsibility)
Their helpless for being who they are
No apologies of the little people
Who are normally the first to takeoff?
And hide from us adults, somewhere,
Anywhere, and when needed,
Who can find them in the house—?
They act like we are really tied down to them.

Don’t leave them behind, nonetheless,
When I’m old and alone—
They’ll all be gone, is my guess.


Note: #1436 (9-21-2006)) Written on Monday in Huancayo))




Spanish Versión



Pequeñas Personas de Huancayo
(Lunes en Huancayo)

Qué son la gente pequeña –ellos van a volver a Huancayo llamativo; es destacado a las 2:15 PM.
y ya es muy asoleado.

Rosa dijo que ella iría encuentran a Daniel en la escuela.


What are the little people--they’re going to return
To eye-catching Huancayo; it is striking at 2:15 PM,
And already it is very sunny.

Rosa said she’d go meet Daniel at school.


¡Daniel, María-Sophie, Rosa Rosa-Ser la vuelta cuidadosa los coches terminan Corriendo alrededor de la ciudad yo piensa que me quedaré aquí, sobre el Ordenador, esto todo me conduce local A veces-!

¡Vaya a ir piensan en una antigüedad cronometran el que que quiero es por la Catedral! - (Por Plaza de Arma) jugué con ello un tintineo otro día Detrás del contador de tiendas como el dueño Pulido y apretar cosas.
Pensar sido en ello, Para dos y días ahalf.

¿Consiguió esperar sobre niños (la responsabilidad) Su desvalido para ser quién ellas no son Ningunas apologías de las pequeñas personas Que son normalmente las primeras al despegue?
¿Y el puesto de nosotros adultos, en algún sitio, De todos modos, y cuándo necesario, Quien puede encontrarlos en la casa-?
Ellos actúan como realmente les somos atados.

No olvídelos, sin embargo, Cuando soy viejo y solo - Ellos serán idos todos, son mi conjetura.


Note: *1436 (9-21-2006)) Escrito el lunes en Huancayo))


Daniel, Mary-Sophie, Rosa—
Be careful coming back
The cars are winding up
Racing around town
I think I’ll stay here, on the
Computer, it all drives me local
Sometimes—!

Let’s go see about an antique clock
The one I want is by the Cathedral!—
(By the Plaza de Arms)
I played with it a ting the other day
Behind the shops counter as the owner
Polished and tighten things.
Been thinking about it,
For two and a half days.

Got to wait on children (responsibility)
Their helpless for being who they are
No apologies of the little people
Who are normally the first to takeoff?
And hide from us adults, somewhere,
Anywhere, and when needed,
Who can find them in the house—?
They act like we are really tied down to them.

Don’t leave them behind, nonetheless,
When I’m old and alone—
They’ll all be gone, is my guess.


Note: #1436 (9-21-2006)) Written on Monday in Huancayo))


16) A Death in Huancayo


I will die in Huancayo one sunny day,
Which perhaps I will remember.
Death will not step aside—
Maybe on a Wednesday, like
today, in Spring.

Writing these lines down, on
A Wednesday at 10:19 PM I have
Discovered evil has no say
In the matter—it is my road ahead—
and mine alone.

Dennis Siluk is dead. Life was as
It was, everyone pushing and
Shoving; self-interest was the stick
he was beaten with.

There are witnesses, but they must
Go on living—my bones, the marrow
In my bones, these are my witnesses,
And they must endure the grave:
Its solitude, the elements; it is the
next road that lays ahead.


#1438 8-23-2006




Spanish Versión

Una Muerte en Huancayo

Moriré en Huancayo un día asoleado, Que quizás recordaré.
La muerte no se apartará - Tal vez un miércoles, como hoy, en la Primavera.

Anotando(Escribiendo) estas líneas, un miércoles en 10:19 de la tarde he Descubierto que el mal no tiene dicen en la materia(el asunto) - esto es mi camino delante - y lo mío solo.

Dennis Siluk está muerto. La vida era como era, cada uno el empujar y el Empujando; el interés propio era el palo con el que él fue golpeado.

Hay testigos(testimonios), pero ellos deben Continuar a vivir - mis huesos, el tuétano En mis huesos, estos son mis testigos(testimonios), y ellos deben aguantar la tumba:
Su soledad, los elementos; esto es el siguiente camino que está por delante.



17) Unishcoto Ruins
(And the Catalina Wanka Legend)


Advance: Tucked away like a nest on top of Catalina Wanka Mountain, in San Jeronimo de Tunan, Peru, is Unishcoto Ruins—


Part One:
The Legend


In the Mantaro Valley of Peru, resides an old Wanka
ruins (800 AD), the Old Brick Layer—when he burns his bricks, late at night, hears Catalina singing (she hid her silver they say, in the 16th Century, somewhere amongst these stonewalls).


Part Two:
The Geography


The ruins dwells—in solitude on her mountaintop—I climbed her every inch, all the way to her summit, some 15, 000-feet up, past the silver-leaf trees, and when I looked down, I could see layers of mountains—and mountains looking up, with their sparse patches of burnt looking green foliage—; overhead, clouds nearing me, almost touching my hat; wild winds seeping through a grand-little canyon; and through the leafage of the forest, winds bend the trees, ooze through my hair.

Everything there is to see, in the valley, can be seen from the eyes of the ruins, from the summit of Unishcoto—even the Mantaro Rio.

Here on the mountain top are nineteen-stone storage bends; here they planted potatoes and harvested them, stored them; here the Wanka warred with the Inca!...


Part Three
The Ruins

It was like a citadel, towering over the valley, I was bewildered by the array of pinnacle that met my gaze—I got the impression this rock build, huge storage house—each part connected with the rest, lounging as if on couches on the flat roof of a mountain, below us, the Mantaro Valley, looking like a landing field—I felt like a winged man, and could disperse (fly away if need be), leaving the Wanka world behind.


End
Meditation


There was an owe-inspiring majesty about this incongruous beastly structure, as I moved somberly through these great Wanka arches (of this Dead City).

While meditating on the grass, nearby the ruins, (thereafter), I was carried through a great portal—the moment was disquieting like the hymn from the soulless dead: I sensed that of all the human boundaries in ones consciousness, the Wanka neither had fear nor mercy; for the moment I was their captive, yet, where I stood, I wondered who was the barbarian…!



Written in part on top of Catalina Wanka Mountain at the archeological site Unishcoto (8/24/2006; #1440); dedicated to our excellent guide Luis Felio Bonilla, and to the Mayor of San Jeronimo, special thanks for arranging things.



Spanish Version



Unishcoto Ruinas (y Catalina Wanka Leyenda)

Avance: Metido como una jerarquía sobre la cima de Catalina Wanka la Montaña, en Jeronimo de Tunan San, Perú, es Ruinas de Unishcoto-

Parte Un: La Leyenda

En el Valle Mantaro de Perú, reside los viejos Wanka ruinas (800 ANUNCIO), la Vieja Capa De ladrillo - Cuando él quema sus ladrillos, tarde de noche, oye el canto de Catalina (ella ocultó su plata que ellos dicen, en el 16o siglo, en algún sitio entre estos stonewalls).



Parte Dos:
La Geografía

Las ruinas moran - en la soledad sobre su cima-I de montaña le subió cada pulgada, toda la manera a su cumbre, aproximadamente 15, 000 pies encima de, por delante de los árboles de hoja de plata, y cuando miré abajo, yo podría ver las capas de montañas; y montañas que buscan(visitan), con sus parches escasos de follaje quemado verde que mira-; en lo alto, nubes que se acercan a mí, casi conmovedor mi sombrero; vientos salvajes que se rezuman por un magnífico poco cañón; y por el leafage del bosque, los vientos doblaron los árboles, el lodo por mi pelo.

Todo debe ver, en el valle, puede ser visto de los ojos de las ruinas, de la cumbre de Unishcoto-hasta Río Mantaro.
Aquí sobre la cima de montaña son curvas de almacenaje de diecinueve piedras; aquí ellos plantaron patatas y los cosecharon, los almacenó; ¡aquí el Wanka warred con el inca!...


Separe Tres las Ruinas
Se pareció a una ciudadela, altísima sobre el valle, fui desconcertado por la serie de pináculo que se encontró mi mirada-fija-I consiguió la impresión esta roca construye, la enorme casa de almacenaje - cada parte unida(conectada) con el resto, holgazaneando como si sobre canapé sobre la azotea de una montaña, debajo de nosotros, el Valle Mantaro, pareciéndose a un campo-I que aterriza pareció a un hombre de winged, y podría dispersarse (volarse si es necesario), olvidando el mundo Wanka.


Meditación de Final

Había un deber - la majestad inspiradora sobre esta estructura incongruente bestial, como moví sombríamente por estos grandes arcos Wanka (de esta Ciudad Muerta).

Meditando sobre la hierba, cerca las ruinas, (a partir de entonces), fui completado una gran entrada - el momento inquietaba como el himno del desalmado muerto: Yo no sentí las de todas fronteras humanas en el conocimiento de, el Wanka, ni tenía el miedo, ni piedad; ¡para el momento yo era su cautivo, aún, dónde estuve de pie, me pregunté quien era… bárbaro!



Escrito en parte sobre cima de Catalina Wanka Montaña en el sitio arqueológico Unishcoto (8/24/2006; *1440); dedicado a nuestra guía excelente Luis Felio Bonilla, y al Alcalde de Jeronimo San, especial gracias por arreglar cosas


18) Anticuchos & Picarones
(In Ol-Huancayo)


Anticuchos and Picarones
Anticuchos and Picarones
(It’s what I eat ((do)) while in
Ol-Huancayo)…

It is hard to pick between the two
So guess what I do?
I eat them both
(with my coffee and coke).

An evening snack in ol-Huancayo,
Or, an afternoon treats—
Walking the streets
(in the market pace).

Anticuchos and Picarones
Anticuchos and Picarones
(It’s what I eat ((do)) while in
Ol-Huancayo)…


Note: #1442 8/28/2006



Note: there are many traditional foods in the Mantaro Valley of Peru to include, anticuchos (cow hearts barbecued like ribs with a sauce); and Picarones (like doughnuts, cooked like French-fries in a hot oil); Cuy (ginny pig, which is cooked many different ways, and very nutritious), Pachamanca and Chicharron (forms of pork).

I have eaten them all, between 1999, and 2006, and they are all delicious; especially cuy (Ginny Pig, or Cuy Colorado ((in red hot sauce)).

Dedicated to Mrs. Arrieta, who makes a good Cuy Colorado.


















End of Part One



ЅЩ


Part Two:


(Other Selected Works, poems and Legends from Previous Published Peruvian works ((books)) of the author)

Note: written after seeing the little adobe 16th century church San Sebastian, in San Jeronimo, by the mountains of Huancayo, Peru, after being taken there by the Wandering Quechua guide, Enrique (4-13-2005).




19) The Treasure of Catalina Huanca
(Wanka)


There, by the lofty mountains fair
Hidden under the earth by Huancayo
In San Jerónimo de Tunan—
Is Catalina’s treasure of gold!
Whereupon, the Spaniards killed
Atahualpa, the Inca King--; Hence,
Catalina turned around to seek
And found—her new, sacred ground!...
And, a glutted stream swept—
This little adobe church
Called San Sebastian—ever since
In the lofty mountains by Huancayo!...




Spanish Version
Translated by: Rosa and Minerva Peñaloza


Note: Escrito después de visitar la pequeña iglesia San Sebastián construida de adobe en el siglo 16, en San Jerónimo de Tunán, por las montañas de Huancayo, Perú, después que ser tomado allí por el Peregrino Quechua guía, Enrique (13-Abril-2005)





El Tesoro de Catalina Huanca
(Wanka)


Allí, por las altas montañas
Ocultado bajo la tierra de Huancayo
En San Jerónimo de Tunán—
¡Esta el tesoro de oro de Catalina!
Por el cual, los españoles mataron
Atahualpa, el Inca Rey-; De ahí,
Catalina giró para buscar
¡Y encontró - su nueva tierra sagrada!...
Y, una corriente saturada barrió-
Esta pequeña iglesia de adobe
Llamada San Sebastián - desde entonces
¡En las altas montañas de Huancayo!...


There, by the lofty mountains fair
Hidden under the earth by Huancayo
In San Jerónimo de Tunan—
Is Catalina’s treasure of gold!
Whereupon, the Spaniards killed
Atahualpa, the Inca King--; Hence,
Catalina turned around to seek
And found—her new, sacred ground!...
And, a glutted stream swept—
This little adobe church
Called San Sebastian—ever since
In the lofty mountains by Huancayo!...






20) The Ghoul of La Laguna de Paca


Introduction: I am in the Andes, and within the surrounding region of Huancayo, Peru, and a few days ago I went to the La Laguna de Paca, to whom this poem is dedicated to, Enrique Herrera, the Wandering Quechua of the Andes and Huancayo...! 4-05


Part One

I shall tell you a legend of long ago
Of the sunken city of La Laguna de Paca,
(Where I had met a lingering ghost)
Wherein this region of Huancayo-Peru;
Truth lies, but only the soul knows.

Part Two

So the legend goes, of long ago:
During the rising of the full moon
The Mermaid of La Laguna de Paca, appears
And to the nearby town’s folks, she echoes…
Echoes: her cries and moans!!

Then when one thinks all is well—
The enchanting rings, the rings…!
Of the bells, the Great Bells, bells
Of the sunken church of La Laguna de Paca
Are heard, heard by the folks of the town.

Part Three

But there is more to this legend:
For it is said, wherein the dark night
(The ink dark macabre star-lit nights)
Wherein the eeriness of the full moon
Ebbs across the Laguna de Paca, gives birth,
To the Great Bull, who scorches the hillside!
Scorches the foliage to its bones…!
Scorches with fire and brimstone.

Part Four

And now I tell you of my tale—
A tale that took place but a few days ago,
By a misty embankment along the
Laguna de Paca.
Here, here I stood, stood within its grip, trance:
Aloft in the eldritch dark—it lingered
This shadowy configuration of the ghoul,
The ghoul l…l… of the lake,
Laguna de Paca--.
And there in the giant eucalyptus,
Grande Tree
It shifted and swayed, peering: looking at me…
Then at forth glance, it disappeared,
As if it sank—submerged!
…into the great lake…
Of La Laguna de Paca!...


# 624 (04-13-05); written in Huancayo, Perú.


El Fantasma de La Laguna de Paca
(Traducido por Ximena Herrera Peñalosa)


Parte Uno

Les diré una leyenda de hace mucho De la ciudad hundida en La Laguna de Paca, (Donde yo me encontré a un fantasma persistente) Dentro de esta región de Huancayo-Perú; La verdad existe, pero sólo el alma lo sabe.

Parte Dos

Entonces la leyenda va, desde hace mucho:
Durante la aparición de la luna llena
La Sirena de La Laguna de Paca, aparece Y a la gente de la ciudad cercana, ella llora…
Ecos: ¡¡sus gritos y gemidos!!

Entonces cuando uno piensa que todo está bien— ¡Los toques encantadores, los toques…!
De las campanas, las
Grandes Campanas, campanas
De la iglesia hundida en
La Laguna de Paca
Son oídos, oídos por la gente de la ciudad.

Parte Tres

Pero hay más a esta leyenda:
Porque se dice, que en la noche oscura
(Las noches oscuras macabras iluminadas por las estrellas) En el misterio de la luna llena
Los reflujos a través de
Laguna de Paca, dan a luz,
¡Al Gran Toro, que chamusca la ladera!
¡Chamusca el follaje hasta sus huesos…! Quemaduras con fuego y azufre

Parte Cuatro

Y ahora le digo mi cuento—
Un cuento que ocurrió, unos días atrás,
Por un terraplén húmedo a lo largo de
Laguna de Paca.
Aquí, aquí estuve, estuve dentro de su presión, trance: En lo alto tenebroso oscuro—éste se agachó Esta configuración vaga del fantasma,
El fantasma a…a… del lago,
Laguna de Paca—.

Y allí en el eucalipto gigante, árbol grande
Este se movió y balanceo, mirando: mirándome a mi… Entonces en adelante eché un vistazo, este desapareció,
¡Como si se hundió—sumergió!
…dentro del gran lago… ¡
De La Laguna de Paca!...


# 624 (Abril 13 del 2005 ©); escrito en Huancayo, Perú



21) Footprints to Mantaro Valley


In what retreat art hid?—
Where falling mountains groan
In shadow and among
The rapids of the Rio?
Is not your name Mantaro Valley?
Beyond the footprints of the Andes--?
I can hear your voice in echoes
I can hear thy voice, divinely low.
I do but know thy by a glance
As the clouds above me know….
Ah! Gone like that, but love—love!
Hath found my naked soul!



4-20-05 (#627) Note: written after seeing the Mantaro Valley, beyond the Andes. Huellas al Valle del Mantaro Por Dennis L. Siluk Traducido por Rosa Peñalosa.




Spanish Version

En que retiro el arte se esconde?
Donde Montañas decrecientes gimen
En la sombra y entre
Los rápidos del río?
No es tu nombre Valle del Mantaro
Más allá de las huellas de los Andes—?
Puedo oír tu voz en ecos
Puedo oír tu voz, divinamente bajo.
Pero te conozco por una mirada
Como las nubes arriba conocen....
Ah! ido así, pero amor—amor!
Encontraron mi desnuda alma!




22) Little Girl from Huancayo


Little girl from Huancayo
Do you really, really know?
Just how fast those feet will grow,
On the streets of Huancayo.
Little girl with jumping jacks
On the street, looking back;
Back to see whose watching her,
A little boy with a bird.
Little boys and little girls,
Playing in the Huancayo world
Do you really, really know?
Someday you will have to grow…
Grow-up to, be—big like me
Then you will know many things;
But tell then, I’ve got to go
See you soon in Huancayo.
Little Girl from Huancayo
Do you really, really know?



Note: While visiting Huancayo in April of 2005, I noticed a little girl on the street playing; jumping from square to square. And she had a few kids around her, and so she was my inspiration for this poem. I even took a picture of her, and did a drawing. It is a fresh, fresh feeling to see young people enjoying the simply things of life; #665 5/15/2005; it’s a simply poem with a little beat, but a pleasing one for my soul.

In Spanish


Niña de Huancayo
Niña de Huancayo
¿Realmente, realmente tu la conoces?
Justo como creceran tan ràpido aquellos pies,
Sobre las calles de Huancayo.
Niña con gatos saltadores
mira hacia atrás,
Detrás Sobre las calles para ver quien esta mirandola, un niño con un pájaro.
Niños y niñas,
Jugando en el mundo de Huancayo ¿
Realmente, realmente tu los conoces?
Un día tu tendrás que crecer…
Crecer para ser - grande como yo
Entonces usted conocerá muchas cosas;
Pero cuente entonces, tengo que ir
para mirarte pronto en Huancayo.
Niña de Huancayo
¿Realmente, realmente tu la conoces?



Nota: Visitando Huancayo en abril de 2005, noté a una niña jugando en la calle; saltando de cuadro a cuadro. Y ella tenía unos niños alrededor de ella, y entonces ella fue mi inspiración para este poema. Hasta tomé una foto de ella, e hice un dibujo. Esto es un fresco, fresco sentimiento ver a gente jóven disfrutar de las cosas simples de la vida. *665 5/15/2005; es un poema simple con un poco de golpe, pero una complacencia un para mi alma.




23) Ode to: The Ice Maiden of
Ampato's Summit


Dedícate to Antonio Castillo. L. Of. Los Andes Universitario

Ode to:
The Ice Maiden of Ampato’s Summit
English Version

Part One

The Climb

In the spring of my life, in my village
By the Andes, I awoke one morning
To find I was chosen for a journey
How shall I say: to the summit of Ampato!
Ampato, our sacred mountain
I climbed with our holy priests.
I found myself twenty-thousand feet high;
I would be the sacrificial offering
Ordained so by our celestial chief priest:
Once on top, death could scarcely be
Any bitter than its wild arduous winds;
And the icy cold Andean ceremony…!
And there I sat, within the clouds, and
rested.
With figurines of silver and gold,
And beautiful textiles adorning me
All dressed, in fine indulgent 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 pleased today’; for my body,
Will be frozen soon, anyway;
Yet, I’m so very cold, and my hands clutch,
To my dress—tightly, against my side;
I cannot see anything vividly.
Thus, the holy moment 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 discolored air,
After a very, very long silence;
No woman, though 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 coming 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 untouchable hands,
Leads me to the Holy City!...

#748 7/4/05



In Spanish/Español
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza Edited by Rosa Peñaloza

La Doncella de Hielo De la Cumbre de Ampato
Versión en español

Primera parte

La Subida

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 celestial 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!....)

Segunda Parte

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 primer 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







24) Under the Algarrobo Tree


They’re going to bury me
under that Algarrobo Tree
(in Huancayo, Peru) they
say. Put flowers around
me; pray over me...! Cut
the grass above my head;
as if I wasn’t dead. How
about a fence—? So I can
rest in peace...and write
(day and night) my poetry!...



#904, written on October 23, 2005, in Huancayo, Peru, Sunday, 11:28 AM. Dedicated to Mary Sophie, and Daniel (both 8-years old), as they are looking over my shoulders, one on each side of me as I write this poem; after visiting Mama Maria’s grave.



Spanish Version




Debajo del Árbol de Algarrobo


Ellos van a enterrarme
debajo de ese árbol de Algarrobo
(en Huancayo, Perú), ellos
dicen. ¡Pondrán flores encima de
mi; rezarán sobre mi…! Cortarán
la hierba encima de mi cabeza;
como si no estuviera muerto. ¿Qué
tal si me ponen un cerco—? Así puedo
descansar en paz…y escribir
(día y noche) mi poesía!...


# 904 escrito el domingo 23 de octubre del 2005, en Huancayo, Perú a las 11:28 A.M. Dedicado a María Sofía y a Daniel (ambos de 8 años de edad), mientras miran sobre mis hombros, uno a cada lado mío mientras escribo este poema; después de visitar el sepulcro de Mamá María.









Reviews




“The Magic of the Avelinos”


Present Note: September, 2006: This most recent book of Dennis´, “The Magic of the Avelinos of the Mantaro Valley” has recently been seen on Television with most favorable reviews by: Channels 21 (Elizabeth Zapata); 2 (Gustavo Benito and Walter Campos); 15 (Marco Antonio Ponce and Marlene Priale); along with Red Global (Rocio Abarca and Lily Unchupaico).
To include, the University of Los Andes fine consideration (Adelmo Huamaní and Antonio Castillo); and the radio stations: 15-50 (Rodolfo Vergara), Sabor Mix (Joseito Arrieta), Super Latina (Junior Meza), whom showed a considerate interest and very sound evaluation of the book. The Mayor of San Jeronimo, Jesus Vargas, and the Huancayo Correo newspaper (Hector Mayhuire and Marissa Cardenas), also shared their find opinion for the book.

Dennis´ next book on Peru, to be out in 2007, “La Casa de Azul” (“The House of Blue”) is about the cultures of Peru, in Poetic form; you will see them appear from the mist of mystery, and vanish in the Midst of oblivion.




Note: The book: ‘The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon,’ writes Pastor Naason Mulâtre, from the Church of Christ, Haiti, WI; “…I received…four books [The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon…]. My friend it’s wonderful, we are pleased of them. We are planning to do a study of them twice a month. With them we can have the capacity to learn about the Antichrist. I have read all the chapters. I have…new knowledge about how to resist and fight against this enemy. I understand how [the] devil is universal in his work against [the] church of Jesus-Christ. Thanks a lot for your effort to write a so good book or Christians around the world.” [2002]




Notes: Mr. Siluk was the winner of the magazine competition by “The Eldritch Dark”; for most favored writer [contributor] for 2004 [with readership of some 2.2-million].

And received a letter of gratitude from President Bush for his many articles he published in the internet Magazine, “Useless-knowledge.com,” during his campaign for President, 2004 [1.2-million readership].

Still some of his work can be seen in the Internet Ezinearticles Magazine, with a readership of some 12-million, annually. [2006, some 1100-articles, poems and short stories]

Siluk’s poetic stories and poetry in general have been recently published by the Huancayo, Peru newspaper, Correo; and “Leaves,” an international literary magazine out of India. With favorable responses by the Editor

Mr. Siluk has been to all the locations [or thereabouts] within his stories and poetry he writes; some 696,000-miles throughout the world.



Dennis’ most recent books are: “The Spell of the Andes,” (2005) “Peruvian Poems,” (2005) “Poetic Images out of Peru,” (2006) and “Last Autumn and Winter (Poems out of Minnesota)) 2005-2006))—and now this most appealing book “The Magic of the Avelinos of the Mantaro Valley,” (to be out late 2006); and in 2007, the book, “La Casa de Azul” (“The House of Blue”).


Note: on the book “La Casa de Azul” (a Poetic Book on Peruvian Cultures): it is more than tales! I shall tell you these tales blast your reason! The cultures of Peru, appeared from the mist of mystery, moved over the restless land like waves from the Ocean, and vanished in the midst, of oblivion. In this book of cultures, you watch them come and go. Each in their own time bending beneath the yoke of their own godship; Peru has endured, not centuries but millenniums and cycles.



***


Review by:

Benjamin Szumskyj
Editor of SSWFT Magazine
Australia


“In the Pits of Hell, a Seed of Faith Grows”

"The Macabre Poems: and other selected Poems,"

“…Siluk’s Atlantean poems are also well crafted, from the surreal…to the majestic…and convivial…” and the reviewer adds: “All up, Siluk is a fine poet…His choice of topic and theme are compelling and he does not hold back in injecting his own personal thoughts and feelings directly into his prose, lyrics, odes and verse…”

To see the whole review, see: http://calenture.fcpages.com/
Download #1... 1.1: September 2005




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From the book, “Death on Demand,” by Mr. Siluk, says author:

E.J. Soltermann
Author of Healing from Terrorism, Fear and Global War:


“The Dead Vault: A gripping tale that sucks you deep through human emotions and spits you out at the end as something better.” (Feb. 2004)


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Recent Notes (2005)

Pertaining to Mr. Siluk’s interviews, and correspondents:

Note 1: Recent interview on Radio Programas del Perú, concerning his two publications: “Spell of the Andes,” and “Peruvian Poems”; reaching five countries, and three continents; over 15-million people; by Milagros Valverde, 11/15/2005, 11:00 PM. (Milagros read poems from both of Mr. Siluk’s books: “Spell of the Andes” and “The Ice Maiden”.)

Note 2: “Spell of the Andes,” recommended by the Cultural Agency in Lima- Peru; located in Alfredo Benavides # 605 - Apartment 201, phone number 2428942

Note 3: Interviewed by JP Magazine, interviewer Jose Luis Pantoja Ventocilla, who had very positive comments and appreciation for Dennis’ Poetic Peruvian Traditions and Contemporary way of Life; 10/26/2005.

Note 4: Mayor of San Jeronimo, Peru, Jesus Vargas Párraga, “All mayors should recognize Dennis’ work (on his Poetic Traditions of Peru; and favorable articles for the Mantaro Valley Region) and publicize it.... (Paraphrased: we should not hide his work)”

Note 5: 91.7 Radio “Super Latina”, 10/19/2005, interviewer Joseito Arrieta, reaching 1.2 million people in the Mantaro Valley Region about the book “Spell of the Andes” (paraphrased): the Municipality and the Cultural House from Huancayo should give an acknowledgement for the work you did on The Mantaro Valley.

Note 6: Channel #5 “Panamericana” 10/16/2005, “Good Morning Huancayo” (in Huancayo, Peru ((population 325,000)); interviewed by reporter: Vladimir Bendezú, on Mr. Siluk’s two books: “Spell of the Andes,” and “Peruvian Poems”: also on, Mr. Siluk’s biography; for the Mantaro Valley Region, in Peru.)

Note 7: Cesar Hildebrandt, International Journalist and Commentator, for Channel #2, in Lima, Peru, on October 7, 2005, introduced Mr. Siluk’s book, “Peruvian Poems,” to the world, saying: “…Peruvian Poems, is a most interesting book, and important….” (Population of Lima, eight million, and all of Peru: twenty-five million)) plus a number of other Latin American countries: reaching about sixty-three million inhabitants, in addition, his program reaches Spain)).

Note 8: More than 240,000-visit Mr. Siluk’s web site a year: see his travels and books…!

Note 9: Mr. Siluk received a signed personal picture with compliments from the Dalai Lama, 11/05, after sending him his book with a letter, “The Last Trumpet…” on eschatology.

Note 10: Ezine Articles [Internet Magazine] 11/2005, recognized by the Magazine Team, as one of 250-top writers, out of 14,700. Christopher Knight, Editor; annual readership: three-million.

Note 11: Dennis L. Siluk Columnist of the Year, on the International Internet Magazine, Useless-knowledge.com; December 5, 2005 (Annual Readership: 1.5 million).




The Author and his Writings



“…I liked your poem [‘The Bear-men of Qolqepunku’] very much. It is a very poignant piece.”

Aalia Wayfare
Researcher on the Practices
Of the Ukukus

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“I just received your book ‘Spell of the Andes,’ and I like it a lot.’

—Luis Guillermo Guedes, Director
Of the Ricardo Palma Museum-House
In Lima, Peru [July, 2005]

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“The Original title of the book Dennis L. Siluk presents is ‘Spell of the Andes’ which poems and stories were inspired by various places of our region and can be read in English and Spanish. The book divided in two parts presents the poems that evoked the Mantaro Valley, La Laguna de Paca…Miraflores, among other places. The book is dedicated to ‘the beautiful city of Huancayo’…”

By: Marissa Cardenas, Correo Newspaper,
Huancayo, Peru [7/9/05]
Translated into English by Rosa Peñaloza.

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Mr. Siluk’s writings, in particular the book: ‘Islam, in Search of Satan’s Rib,’ induced a letter from Arial Sharon, Prime Minister of Israel, along with a signed picture. [2004]

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“You’re a Master of the written world.” [Reference to the book: ‘Death on Demand’]

—Benjamin Szumskyj,
Editor of SSWFT-magazine out of Australia [2005]

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A poetic Children’s tale “The Tale of Willy, the Humpback Whale” 1982 Pulitzer Prize entry, with favorable comments sent back by the committee.


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“Dennis is a prolific and passionate writer.”

—Matt James,
Editor of ‘useless.knowledge,’ Magazine [2005]


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“The Other Door,”…by Dennis L. Siluk…This is a collection of some 45 poems written…over a 20-year period in many parts of the world. Siluk has traveled widely in this country and Europe and some of the poems reflect his impressions of places he has visited. All of them have a philosophical turn. Scattered through the poems—some long, some only three lines—are lyrical lines and interesting descriptions. Siluk illustrated the book with his own pen and ink drawings.” —St. Paul Pioneer Press [1981)


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“Your stories are wonderful little vignettes of immigrant life….”

“… (The Little Russian Twins) it is affecting….”

—Sibyl-Child (a women’s art and culture journal) by Nancy Protun, Hyattsville, Md.; published by the Little Peoples’ Press, 1983


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“The Other Door, by Dennis L. Siluk-62pp. $5….both stirring and mystical….”

—C.S.P. World News [1983]


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“For those who enjoy poetry…The Other Door, offers an illustrated collection…Reflecting upon memories of his youth, Siluk depicts his old neighborhood of the 1960’s…Siluk…reflects upon his travels in poems like: ‘Bavaria’s Harvest’ (Augsburg, Germany and ‘Venice in April.’’’


—Evergreen Press
St. Paul, Minnesota [1982]

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“Siluk publishes book; Siluk…formerly lived in North Dakota…”


—The Sunday Forum
Fargo-Moorhead, North Dakota [1982]



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“Dennis Siluk, a St. Paul native…is the author of a recently released book of poetry called The Other Door….The 34-year old outspoken poet was born and reared in St. Paul. The Other Door has received positive reaction from the public and various publications. One of the poems included in his book, ‘Donkeyland-(A side Street Saga)’, is a reflection of Siluk’s memories…in what was once one of the highest crime areas in St. Paul.” [1983]

—Monitor
St. Paul, Minnesota

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“This entertaining and heart-warming story …teaches a lesson, has all the necessary ingredients needed to make a warm, charming, refreshing children’s animated television movie or special.” [1983]


—Form: Producers
Report by Creative
Entertainment Systems;
West Hollywood, CA
Evaluation Editor

Thursday, August 17, 2006

The Avelinos of the Mantaro Valley of Peru

The Avelinos
(The Beggars Legend)


Dressed like old beggars they attacked,
like the old warriors: the Avelinos:
these soldiers from San Jeronimo—
of the Mantaro Valley—of Peru;
spies for General Andres Avelino Caceres
(in the 1880s)
attacked the Chileans, in the Pacific War…
now celebrated yearly.





Spanish Version


Los Avelinos
(La Leyenda de los Pordioseros)


Vestidos como viejos pordioseros ellos atacaban,
como viejos guerreros: Los Avelinos:
estos soldados de San Jerónimo—
del Valle del Mantaro—de Perú;
espías para el General Andrés Avelino Cáceres
( en los años 1880)
atacaron a los chilenos, en la Guerra del Pacífico…
ahora celebrada anualmente.





Prologue (Feast of the Avelinos): Five days in August each year, the little town of San Jeronimo de Tunan, of Peru, has its biggest festival that draws the whole Mantaro Valley to it, to include many folks from all over Peru, and the world in broad-spectrum. It is the “October Feast,” of South America you could say, of culture and devotion to the famous Avelinos, which is brought to its zenith pertaining to the Pacific War, fought in the 1880s with Chile, in the form of dance, drink and eating, and a mass given to bless the festivities. Along with a bullfight; several musical bands play throughout the center of city during these five days; Cable TV, along with every TV station available, and radio station in the valley are present and--presently, Mayor Jesus Vargas Parraga has insured the feast goes smoothly, and does a wonderful job doing it. It is an enduring event to say the least, watching and seeing and participating in all the events.



The Mighty Sore Foot


1) “El Quest de Avelinos”


With dark wide eyes,
a long red nose,
red thick lips and thick eyebrows:
the Avelinos came (with their
dark gray feathered bodies:
covered from head to toe):
came out of nowhere
to celebrate their own feast—
“The Quest of the Avelinos!”

With a horn attached to their side
a brown sack, on their back,
like beggars they came
to the Plaza de Arms
dancing like little mice:
stopping here and there
sharing—feeding (with
bits of meat, bread, fruits and
salads—corns) the cities
rich and poor, in remembrance
of the pacific War, once fought
by the Avelinos (long ago).



Note: Written the 1st day of the feast, after attending it for six-hours, and going back to my house in Huancayo, Peru.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Legend of the Archangel of Tarma (A Poetic Fable)

7) Legend of the Archangel of Tarma
(A Poetic Fable)

Advance: Long, long ago, in the province of Junin, Peru, near the town called Tarma, there came about a severe happening…

On top of a hill, there was a cross, here appeared an Archangel and on this certain path, we the people saw this angel, he looked like a priest with white feathered wings, and the rays of the sun, brightened him, oh, so very much, it caused us to blink constantly, when looking upon him. I myself wondered if this happening was as it was, as it appeared to be, it would seem to me, he was ready for battle, with armament, battle gear on, he stood tall and straight like a soldier, and us being his folk, were somewhat composed, yet we swore and gossiped at his appearance, with all dirty voices, and the angel said, “I come here to announce what will take place in future time, ye, gather all around me, lest you be left out in the dark.”
And so it was, and so it took place, on this little hillside and in the valley, by Tarma, in the province of Junin.
Next, the Archangle spoke (loud and clear, saying): “Soon there will be a plague in your land: the water will dry up, and the corps will spoil, the corn will not be harvestable, and day will turn into a frozen long night, as the sun hides behind the moon; this will happen my aberrant flock, very soon, it is because of your sinfulness.”
And we all began to laugh, thinking: who could take away our valley comforts. Then I stepped forward a ting, and said to him, the Archangel of Tarma: “Why are there burns on both of your hands?”
And he replied with jest and honestness “I’m glad you asked.”
And he raised his hands up high, for all of us to see, and said boldly, “These are the rope burns from the rope, I climbed down from the high heavens to your hill, save, I flew to the clouds, it is true.”

Afterward: And so the legend ends abruptly, that is, the plague came the following day, but—be not dismayed, all the towns folks scooted to other far reaching cities, and lands, such as Huancayo, and Satipo, and stopped their damn sinning.


Note: Written 8-15-2006, in Huancayo, Peru

Monday, August 14, 2006

The Legend of Mummy Mountain & The Parrots of the Andes

5) The Legend of: Mummy Mountain
(De Perú: Valle del Mantaro))


Advance: in the Valle del Mantaro by Huancayo, Peru there resides three enchanting sites, where all seem to be tucked away together (in the area of Chupaca/Ahuac): Here resides Laguna Nahuinpuquio (where legends have come and gone, some forgotten), and the 9th Century (800-1400 AD Wanka site) Ruinas De Arwatuno, overlooking the valley below and the Laguna. But there is a third legend, almost forgotten, it would seem hidden from the minds of the youth of the area today, but not from a few old timers: the legend of Mummy Mountain (that resides nearby, and can be seen with the naked eye from any location thereby), a tall tale possibly, or perhaps as true as the mountain itself—for it looks its name. I will leave that for your imagination to deliberate and make a decision on, I can only tell what I have heard, and so I shall tell it to you:

In the year 825 AD, there was a great man by the name of Uraurampi, who appeared in the valley, and brought with him his faith in a god called Tunanmaca. The valley was rich with rain and here he founded the Wanka culture. But in time he knew he would pass on (as Tunanmaca had told him, “To each man, a time and place is assigned him to die”), and so he skilled all his sons in the art of warfare lest some foe take this rich valley away from them.
He lived to a ripe old age, and before he died he asked Tunanmaca a favor,
“Take my body; make it into a mummy, place it so I can watch over my people and land.”
And the favor was granted. And thus, as the years passed, the landscape changed, where his people buried him, into a hung mountain sculptured into what looks like a resting body, one resembling a mummy.
And so the legend ends with these final words: should there be war to where Uraurampi´s people need him, they need simply awake him, and he will make the earth tremble and swallow the rival.

Afterward: Today standing below the old ruins, perhaps the very ones his sons built (Arwaturo) one can see this Mummy shaped mountain, and with rain clouds, its silhouette even more so; it is not hard to realize (without a doubt) why it is called, Mummy Montana.


Note: written after leaving the archeological site, about 35-minutes ride from Huancayo, Peru (in the Andes) 8-13-2006, No: 1424.








6) Los Loros (parrots) de Andes
(De Perú)

During the time of harvest
Parrots (loros) of the Sierras
Search high and low for food
Like hungry children of the Devil
They fly—hundreds of them—
(Like a swarming plague, in packs)
Through mountainous passages
Into villages looking for corn,
Wheat, grains, fruits, foods—!
Always in a group, never alone,
They echo their noisy voices
Unto the high heavens,
Like a dark overlooking cloud.

Now, overlooking the farmers’ fields,
In the clap of an eye, they they’ve eaten
Every trace of corn, every crumb of wheat
Every seed of grain, planted by the farmers
Leaving only tears and pain…!

And the youth of the land
(Early in the morning they wake…
And wait, anticipate,
Wishing to save the harvest)
Grab slingshot, rock and hand
Trying to kill the ascending foe
In the wheat and cornfields—.
But lo, the Loros are keen and swift,
They hide in trees and bushes,
Wait for the youth to fall to sleep:
And with wit, and yellow beaks,
Green wings and red necklaces
They eat everything…!


Note: No: 1423, 8-14-2006 (Written while in the city of Huancayo, Peru, in the Andes)