Friday, September 29, 2006

A Four Part Poem for the Inauguration of the Statue: Virgin Mary, of the City, Concepcion

A Four Part Poem for the Inauguration of the Statue: Virgin Mary, of the City, Concepcion
(Peru)




1

“I’ll build Me a City!”

I’ll build me a city
Out of love and stone,
I’ll build me a city
That loves and cares…

I’ll build me a city
With a statue that bears
Its name, of the Holy Virgin
And to heaven above.


And when I am dead
Resting underground—
The Holly Virgin will look
Down, from atop the hill,

She’ll say with her heart
And bow with her crown—
To the love and pride
The city has found…!


Dedicated to the city of Concepcion, Peru, and its Mayor Jesus Chipana; #1488 9-29-2006



2


Mary of Concepcion


“Follow me softy…
(I heard the voice say)
“In Silence
“To Stone Stand Hill
(where the hills and skies meet);
“He will find a path to you—
“From the edge of Heaven’s gates…!”



Note: #1486 9-29-2006; dedicated to Antonio Isla Cordova (Engineer of the construction project)




3



The Irrecoverable Path

My eyes fill, with tears and I know not why.
On a fair hill, an irrecoverable place;
I roamed her once, on paths
I shall nevermore retrace?
There resides a Statue, not of time or space!...




Note: #1487 9-29-2006 dedicated to the building of the statue of the Virgin Mary of Concepcion, Peru, and all its construction workers.


4


The Road to Piedra Parada
(The Road to Standing Stone Hill)

A road winds up a marron hill,
And glad I could travel it
And be one traveler—short I sat
And looked down one side, as far as I could
To where the city of Concepcion stood;

Then looked to the top, not quite as far,
And being perhaps the lesser view,
Because it was un-grassed and barren
Though—as for time, a statue she’d bear
How beautiful then, perhaps the same;

And both that morning they equally lay
In clouds of love and turquoise blue;
Oh, I kept the view for another day
Yet knowing how thoughts lead on thoughts
I qualm if I could capture her back.

Someplace, sometime, in ages thus:
I shall be telling this with a tear—
A road that winds up a marron hill
I once took, where now stands a statue
(of) the Holy Virgin Immaculate Concepcion

(where once it was just a barren hill).



Note: #1487 9-29-2006, dedicated to our guide and young poet, Vanneza Ganarra


Note: written at the request of the Mayor of Concepcion, the event is due to take place in the city December 2006

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Sipan (of: Lambayeque)

Sipan
(of: Lambayeque)


By Dennis L. Siluk


Sipan, king of the desert,
and its sea of sand—;
Lord of the valley,
farthest bound:
behold the crimson sun,
above, shines down upon
your tomb.
By some new sorrow
in the wind’s tone
(expectant and alone),
I feel your pulse:
fresh from Your sea of sleep…,
from the Lambayeque Valley:
Your spirit weeps!...

#1485 9-27-2006



Note: Sipan, King or Lord, of Northern Peru (around: Chiclayo), in the Sipan Valley, or—also known as Lambayeque, lived around 200AD and ruled the valley for about 40-years. His tomb along with others were discovered in the late 80s; in 2006, I visited the site in March, it was most interesting, along with climbing the pyramids nearby. The spirits there are annoyed with the fact, that the tomb of the king, considered the richest archeological find of the 20th Century, has been dishonored (for all the original relics have been replaced with replicas (so they told me).

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

The Sighting of Mary(The Miracle at Sapallanga))1820s)) In English and Spanish

Written by:
Dennis L. Siluk



(In English and Spanish)

The Sighting of Mary
(The Miracle at Sapallanga))1820s))




I


In silence and
forevermore, I stood
upon a mountain top
where many stood before,
and blue gold and
yellow gold were the
clouds upon the sky…
startling it was, as a
mist, enfolded, descended
the mountain top
like a lake where
marble angels stood,
held like ruby-stones
in Heaven’s hand.

And there I beheld her
as she stood in her grace,
stars upon her lovely face,
and whence she come
there was no trace.


II


Holy, holy was the
young Seraph´s
words,
cast in love by Christ.
Fair, fair was she as
Venus of the sky,
starlight in her eyes;
weak with the sight
I leaned upon a rock
listened to my soul,
music rendered (somewhere)
from the unknown….

It was as if she stood
in a silent shrine—
and she sent forth her gaze
—which descended
throughout the mountain top;
then she sent forth
her soul…
to the little town
called Sapallanga—
below Heaven’s silver breasts
(and so—, now the
legend is told…).







Notes: #1459 (9/12/2006) On top of the mountain called, St. Christopher, near the town-let called Sapallanga, perhaps ten miles from Huancayo, Peru, in the Mantaro Valley, twenty-children in the early 1820s saw a vision of the Virgin Mary, the Mother of Christ; thus, since—once a year a festival is held in her honor and for that special happening.

The Chutos parade down the streets of this little village, with the Chonguinadas, as they hack, slice, and slash their whips as the protectors of these dancers, as the festival goes on for approximately three days.

Poem: dedicated to the Mayor of Sapallanga, Luis Alberto Perez Peralta, who was kind enough to welcome and escort me and my wife around the city and inform me of the legend, and point out the mountain and its pilgrims that hike up to the top to the little church to give homage to the event (and special thanks to Lily Unchupaico, for her tour of the fest).


















Spanish Version
Translated by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

La Aparición de María
(El Milagro de Sapallanga))1820s)




I


En silencio y
por siempre jamás, estuve
sobre una cima de montaña
donde muchos estuvieron antes,
y oro azul y
oro amarillo eran las
nubes sobre el cielo…
asombroso era, mientras una
niebla, envuelta, bajó
la cima de la montaña
como un lago donde
ángeles de mármol estuvieron de pie,
sostenidos como piedras de rubíes
en la mano del Cielo.

Y allí la contemplé
mientras ella estuvo en su gracia,
estrellas sobre su cara encantadora,
y de dónde ella viene
no había ningún rastro.



II


Santo, santo era las
palabras del Serafín joven,
moldeado en amor por Cristo.
Muy bonita, muy bonita era ella como
Venus del cielo,
luz de las estrellas en sus ojos;
débil por la visión
me incliné sobre una roca
escuché a mi alma,
música dada (en algún sitio)
del desconocido…

Era como si ella estuvo de pie
en un santuario silencioso—
y ella envió en adelante su mirada fija
—que descendió
en todas partes de la cima de montaña;
entonces ella envió en adelante
su alma…
a la pequeña ciudad
llamada Sapallanga—
bajo de los pechos de plata del Cielo
(y entonces—, ahora la
leyenda es contada…).





Apuntes: # 1459 (12/Septiembre/2006) Sobre la cima de la montaña llamada San Cristóbal, cerca de la ciudad pequeña llamada Sapallanga, quizás a diez millas de Huancayo, Perú, en el Valle del Mantaro, veinte niños a principios de los años 1820 vieron una visión de la Virgen María, la Madre de Cristo; así, una vez al año un festival es llevado a cabo en su honor y por aquel acontecimiento especial.

El desfile de los “Chutos” abajo de las calles de este pequeño pueblo, con las Chonguinadas, mientras ellos tiran sus azotes como los protectores de estos bailarines, mientras el festival continúa durante aproximadamente tres días.

Poema: dedicado al Alcalde de Sapallanga, Luis Alberto Pérez Peralta, quien fue bastante amable en darnos la bienvenida y escoltarnos a mi esposa y a mí alrededor de la ciudad e informarme de la leyenda, y enseñarnos la montaña y sus peregrinos que van de excursión hasta la pequeña iglesia que está en la cima para dar su homenaje (y gracias especiales al Lily Unchupaico, por mostrarnos el festival).

Friday, September 08, 2006

The House on Unishcoto (and two other poems)

1) The House on Unishcoto

Weep for the one so strong to die Whom war has taken at last!

Moron or his wife that sings no more And the ruins on Unishcoto.

This was he who had a flaming heart And heroic breath, Whose weapons are laid, and hung In the House of Unishcoto.

It was he who grew mighty in war, But her war was otherwise:

Thus, weep for one so strong in war Whose war is now, of the night!

#1451 9-7-2006: note, Unishcoto is a ruin on to of one of the mountains in the Mantaro Valley of Peru.

2)Stone Oven

Behind the stone oven—she sat One bronze woman, half-grieving Her face shinning with heat And rolling dark eyes; by her Feet one dog and four puppies, Scratching and bumping— As they ate—their meal… Fire reflected: flashes of teeth; Curiosity had vanished—.

#1453 (9-8-2006)

3) Stone Window

Outside her stone window In the sky no stars showed; The earth was a deflated swell; The sky was sagging its dark shape; The trees beyond, like chilled ghosts; And the moon shown a cold Corpse-like light, thus, a gray Chill seeped through and upon the stones.

Trickling like water all around her, Halting at her breasts, her unimpeded Bones: her breath, flesh was without Sensation. “How long must I grieve?” She pleaded in her gray like silence. Then the gray above her head Began to dissolve.

#1454 (9-8-2006)

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

By the Teeth of the Moon (The Great Wanka Battle)

By the Teeth of the Moon
The Great Wanka Battle

A poetic Adventure from the 16th Century




By Dennis L. Siluk

In English and Spanish [Español]


Copyright © Dennis L. Siluk
By the Teeth of the Moon
[The Great Wanka Battle]

Dedícate to:






Initial Remarks

A Brief look at the Wanka Warrior of the Mantaro Valley (Advance):
The Chavin culture is the oldest of the great Peruvian civilizations; it flourished between 1800 and 300 BC, approximately two millennia before the Inca Empire. The jaguar being a symbol to the culture; the Inca was perhaps the most cleaver and imperialistic of all the cultures that appeared in Peru, but the Wankas from Huancayo were perhaps the toughest of all the warriors that emerged in Peru’s history: located at 3’260 m (of altitude) in the fertile valley of Rio Mantaro.
The city of Huancayo (in a conventional tone, of this present day) is most famous for its Sunday markets, and two-2 km from Huancayo there is what is called Torre-Torre, red-colored geological formations due to erosion. In a new park of the city, Wanka statues of stone evoke the culture of the old Huanca civilization.
The Wanka warrior lived between 800 to 1400 AD (Huanca: or Wanka) Waaka Michiq (or: Huanca Quechua: original). I have traveled all over the Mantaro Valley, and it is beyond description, its beauty, and spectacular views (vistas) from the top of nearby mountains. Theretofore, it was natural (as time progressed) for the Wanka to deal with their differences by talking, not always warring between themselves, which they did a lot of; thus, I repeat, what usually followed was the talking (since they were all neighbors anyhow): talking meaning: “Kawagley”, or singing, dancing, drumming, as they do today.
The Wanka had a love for the earth (Quechua language, the word pacha is used to describe earth)) or allpa, which means ground or land; and Urqu Pacha, refers to the world of the dead.))

The Wanka Continued

One must remember in the world of the Wanka, or in particular, the Andean world, nothing is finite. Life and death is like water, a necessity, and part of creation. Pachayachachi (to live on this earth, was a part of their philosophy), one must accept the normal process of life and death, lest he be haunted his whole life with bewilderment.
WAR: I do not know of any specific word for War, in Quechua, or in the Wanka dictionary: the word: awqatinkuy, meaning to fight, is pretty close. Or wañuchina kushunchu, which means to cause death. Taking this to a more personal level: the word “warrior” in, Yupiaq; thus, a warrior is called: a warrior’s name that is, is anguyagta.

The Warrior used: bows, arrows, harpoons, and spears, slingshots, kayaks, and lived in villages. They had a community house to talk things out; and they often fought among themselves, as I had said earlier. They also played games, games of skill, things like that. There was perhaps a period of time when the Wanka tried psychologically—as well as a spiritually—in an approach in dealing with a way to do away with war. And again, I repeat, used dancing instead, as we see nowadays; thus, holding together the culture and language, its revitalization efforts, you could say.

Waging War: The focus of this story is not so much about how one wages war, or its ability to wage war, but rather on the ability to look at war, to reflect the individual and the peoples actions (there is always a conglomerate of some sort involved; and many sides to the pains that go along with war)—in this case, using tools as weapons to kill each other; and we will see that it is more than a battle cry heard across a river. As we see today in the Mantaro Valley of Peru, Harmony has replacement war.

It should be noted, the Wanka Warrior was a striking and impressive looking individual, with a fierce expression and glaring teeth when in battle.

The Wanka Today: The Wanka today are much like any other group of people in many ways, they have their problems such as: alcoholism, domestic violence and suicides at the community level and self-governance and educational rights—they seek, at the institutional, and political levels. There is no word for alcoholism in Quechua, no word for suicide, thus, it had to be invented for the 20th and 21st century (we can call it: hatun wasi or yatray wasi ((the learning house)).



GWB


Ancient Wanka Ceramic





First Faction
[1 thru 4]

The Warrior



1
The Warrior


I was born in the Mantaro Valley
I came from an old Wanka stock—
Race whoses characteristics
Were inclined towards violence—war
We battled against one another…!

In the mountain country—I lived
A valley surround it, is where I spent
My boyhood, a physical contest!
It was all a breath of life to me…;
Restless of life, I became a warrior.

One must understand the risks,
The uncertainties as a warrior;
You must be utterly fearless, wild,
Primitive, and it was done, I was
I was all of this, aloof, strange…!



2
The Blade


As a warrior, I could expect nothing,
Only fury, from my muscles, aching:
Grasp, raw skinned knuckles, aching;
Staring down my victims, doom,
My murderous blade, sharp at is point.

(I learned death in a thousand forms))
And due to this, I was partly dead.
In my life, at this time, I can but reply:
Continual violent action: imposes!...
Oversimplified, and now I die…!


3
Captured


I was captured once and left to die
My wife (but not then))I shall not name))
Fumbled vainly at my feet: I had been
Physically tortured, she held me upright
She cried, and prayed and cried…!

Worthless, yet she had pity for me
And now she waited vainly, hoping…
Wringing her hands, knowing I was well
No more a shield, thus, I was free to:
Fight again; whoever saw such a woman [?]

You will say perhaps, ´…it is impossible
For a man like you, to fall in love—“
She was indeed a blinding flame,
A deafening sound in my chest—
A sound I could never put to rest.

For a long time I was senseless, dead,
In my healing, longing in my sleep to love
Never really hoping to find it, yet:
Once found, she disrupted my life…
Yet, somehow, we became one.


4
The Vanquished


I always thought I return to her
My little yellow flower of the mountain
“I shall return,” I decreed…! Freed
The vanquished bloodstains kill…
They do not play favors for anyone.

My mind as I came to her—
Her features sparkled and floated,
Around my eyes I can visualize
It now is all a transcendent vision
Yet strangely familiar as I walk…




—5 Interlude
Death Shadows


As in any war, he found his eyes upon the dead, his eyes trying to close (the dead that laid now behind him bleakly and quietly, he tried to wipe out their memory, the battle; he remembered all the shapes they had…!

Stiffly in their cast mode, bold and cold, immortal faces, shrinking, he got away from them…!

He called it hopeless surrender; he would have to learn how to be uncold, for the world could not afford a warrior with true affection (sorrowful it would be in battle)) but he was coming home)).

In his journey back, he lost all account of time, dead feet walking, lost is at period, un- hurrying, he clinched his hands, a snarl on his face: one way or another, he was coming home to his wife.

Their faces—teeth showing, face bleached white, incapable of further movement, he made no sound, his breath hissed, as he recollected, wordless, he sank into a silence of profanity, yet he kept waling, walking, walking.



The Great Wanka Battle





Part One
By the Teeth of the Moon


Four-thousand warriors battled this night
Two-thousand Wanka warriors would die
Along the Mantaro Rio, in the Valley
And they had equal weapons and all
And many of the warriors were hidden

On both sides of the Rio were Wankas
I and the Wankainos (the ancient ones)
Kept up our incessant fires, and spirits
But with scant avail, for we all knew
Slowly the other village crept closer...

Closer and closer they crept for accuracy
To the edge of the Rio–spying they came
Hid in the ditches along the Rio, and trees
Held their positions, waiting, just waiting:
In short order—, hoping to wipe us out.

Suffering terrible, in the cold winds
It would have been madness to swim
Across the Rio at night, but we did
Suffering terrible from the cold winds
Slowly we crept closer to them…!

Thus, we crossed the Rio at night with
Only the teeth of the moon for light,
Arching down, now on the ground
Blue blades by our sides—determined
Bizarre figures, spears at our thighs.



Part Two
Battle along the Rio


I heard a voice vaguely familiar:
“I slashed off his head—it rolled
Grinning down the hill to the mud—“;
Once on land we rushed the camp
In-between fires, dogs and cats…

Panting, blood stained, fierce faces
Led only–by the teeth of the moon—
Flamed eyes, fumbling in our haste,
“Back!” I heard someone say—
Instantly my ears heard a distant roar!

The shooting of porras snarled by—
Fire arrows singed burn my hair,
I was the last Wanka warrior to die
In this chaotic war; blindly we fought
Some bodies smoking burnt crisp…

I saw the remnants of my comrades
There was no escape; none! None at all.
We walked into a devouring path –
I and I alone, escaped to the Rio…
By the teeth, the teeth of the moon!

I raced through the water of blackness—
I suspected, I was confused, mumbling:
The erratic moon, bobbing above me
Then I reached my side of the Rio—
There was the spy in the hollow log…!



Part Three
In the Midst of Battle


In the midst of the Wanka battle
Massed thick with Wanka bodies
We were all fighting like demons
The battle was a gasping deadlock
They could not thrust us back…

We slashed, heaped high their bodies
Then when we were exhausted, they
Came in full force—hand to hand
Men stumbling among the dead—
Flesh and blood with a thunderous roar!...

Wanka warriors—we were everyplace
Everyone madden to a frenzy (hidden)
They—our enemy Wanka brothers,
They were hidden in trees, logs, ditches
Desperate melee, we gave way!..

The battle streamed out, throughout
The camp, and down to the Rio,
Trampling feet, shouts—with blue steal
Hand to hand, came the vengeance:
All foes in the same valley and Rio...!



Part Four
Death (in the Midst of Agony)

On we died like locust, so thick in battle
So broad we could not spread our arms,
And once we tried, wide, broken wings
(With broken arms and knees, we fought)
Thus, being repaid—we died in agony.

Red, red blood was the repayment—
I could not pity them, or they us…:
We were all dazed by the battle sight
Some cowering in terror, and me, me—
I was in the painful midst of Agony!...

Hacking and slashing—warriors!
I avoided chance blows—somehow;
I slash and gashed, a path to the Rio
I swam swiftly through the currents
My bronze limbs against the water-walls

Now cross the Rio, glaring in on me—
I found a path, where the wind blew…
The dome of the moon –shattered
In the semi-darkness: my bronze limbs
Crushed, with pain and the rain…!

I heard from distant Wanka iron hands,
Pounding lungs, their feet in triumph—
The say, “We conquered the fools,” yet
They, like us, are from the Valley—
And some day they will be conquered too.



Part Five
Stonewalls



Of this past cataclysmic frenzy
That took place awhile ago—
The death of howling humans,
Brought me memory crushing walls
A ghastly roaring through it all…!

You think before a battle, and during:
Your body can blast through it all;
How many fell that day, do not know
But I was the only one to escape—
Over the rivers, over the river’s flow.

What I expected to find or gain in war
Is different than what I found—
Like blind and brainless monsters
We fount—a blinding white flame
Enveloped in a frantic oblivion.

(You my say perhaps it was all in vain,
My only reply is that I was part of it;
Senseless as it is, was, and will be—:
Again, afterwards, one becomes vested
In delirium, paralyzed with…!



Part Six
By Lantern of the Moon
(After the Battle)




As I walked towards my home—,
Trees loomed out of the darkness
Thinning branches—with a hushed
Vague sky—dog barking ahead:
Guided only b y the lantern of the moon.

I struggled now up side of the sierra
The old creek bottom, behind me now
My mind in a fine obliviousness—
At last I saw, from far away…
A shadow standing in the darkness…!

I felt a sad, gloomy, faintly chill
My wounds—my whole body dying
Dying among the living sierra trees
The dog heard me, barked again,
His shadow trying to listen, to listen!!

Her voice, humming, ebbing my way
My path—like a falling echo…
Motionless, like a broken branch
The dog barked again, nearer…:
My wife stared off into the darkness.


7
I Died

I died, and went into a silence
I died, and the silence rippled
It was neither night—nor day
I wanted to follow the path
You know the one to my house!

But I was dead—among the trees
The house seemed to loom before me
(a different dimension perhaps)
Then I found myself beside her—
I whispered her name—stirringly!

Her lips were cold, or where they mine?
She tasted fatality, doom—didn’t know
Her head bowed between her breasts;
I was now above her: she was so brave.
(And I died, and she went to bed.)

And I thought then, about the times
She and I, held each other—
And we would lay in the meadows,
And quietly in the darkness—she’d
Make me warm, and she was soft.

(But this doom, I could not escape.)






—Part Eight
Spring and Decay


There were no intimate things in her room, empty—the entire room still—a chill of desolation, spring had come, in a bright blue sky, she saw flowers lying on the ground, as if forgotten…

—she walked further into the wooded area, there—withered and dead laid her husband. Crumbled in his fingers, flowers, she touched his hand, they had left a stain, and he smelled: reeked with decay—!

Soberly and a little sorrowful, in the chill of the morning air, she paused, fretfully, brooding, alarmed, her fear and bewilderment had come true: trying to remember what little they had done together.

The gist of it was plain enough, she had never understood him or war, but she did today, it meant—detachment. It all implied—one must put it behind them, to stay alive, to survive, yet shocked and curious—she didn’t appreciate it.

She asked herself— “What are the words to this?” there was nothing to do [perform, carry out] save, hope for a new husband, yet that brought back distaste, and dread; she had to trust to a stranger (she put this aside for the time being).




—Part Nine (conclusion) Interlude
The Ghost of Weeping


(Grieving) She stood sluggishly by her fireplace, her hands cold to the bones—she stood before it, then turned towards the window, there she could see the drooping threes, her heart leaped a little “You fool,” she said; his shadowy shape came leaping unto the open sill of the window—, “You idiot,” she said; the shadow seemed to stare at her, with a wild repose.

Her wet face, lighted up “Don’t,” she cried, and then she tasted her own tears—she clung to the window, the shadow showed saber intensity “Have I gone crazy?” she asked herself.

She had been hoping he would have come home, I mean, come home for good, she had waited—so she said aloud, ”… longer than a thousand fires—“ and perhaps had she not found his body, she would have waited longer. “No,” she answered, “wishful thinking!” That is what it was. “What?” she said; a voice said, “…you’ll find someone soon…” she stared quietly (it was if the voice was annoyed).

Her chin now in her palms, looking into the fire, “You don’t want to!” She said “Surely for what it’s got to be.” She added, “Whatever you think, it is because it is what you want to believe.”

She picked up a cup, drank its contents sat back, her face rosy in the firelight. She closed the window, “People smell bad because of the things they do;” she said, “living corruption, flags the flesh, all soiled.” She felt clean to the bone—then the fire went out.


She murmured “He gave half of himself to me, and the other half, perhaps the better half, he swapped for war—that part, I could never find, until now.


W

#1450 9-6-2006 (First parts written the first last week of August, and the last parts written the first week of September, 2006)) drawings also drawn during the same periods.))

Monday, September 04, 2006

A Brief look at the Wanka

GWB


A Brief look at the Wanka (Advance): the Chavin culture is the oldest of the great Peruvian civilizations; it flourished between 1800 and 300 BC, approximately two millennia before the Inca Empire. The jaguar being a symbol to the culture; the Inca was perhaps the most cleaver and imperialistic of all the cultures that appeared in Peru, but the Wankas from Huancayo were perhaps the toughest of all the warriors that emerged in Peru’s history: located at 3’260 m (of altitude) in the fertile valley of Rio Mantaro.
The city of Huancayo is most famous for its Sunday markets, and two-2 km from Huancayo there is Torre-Torre, red-colored geological formations due to erosion. In a new park of the city, Wanka statues of stone evoke the culture of the old Huanca civilization.
The Wanka warrior lived between 800 to 1400 AD (Huanca: or Wanka) Waaka Michiq (or: Huanca Quechua: original). I have traveled all over the Mantaro Valley, and it is beyond description, its beauty, and spectacular views (vistas) from the top of nearby mountains. It was natural for the Wanka to deal with their differences by talking, not always war, and what usually followed the talking was “Kawagley”, or singing, dancing, drumming. The Wanka had a love for the earth (Quechua language, the word pacha is used to describe earth)) or allpa, which means ground or land; and Urqu Pacha, refers to the world of the dead.))
The Wanka
One must remember in the world of the Wanka, or in particular, Andean world, nothing is finite. Life and death is like water, a necessity, and part of creation. Pachayachachi (to live on this earth), one must accept the normal process of life and death, lest he be haunted his whole life with bewilderment.
WAR: I do not know of any specific word for War, in Quechua, or in the Wanka dictionary: the word: awqatinkuy, meaning to fight, is pretty close. Or wañuchina kushunchu, which means to cause death. Taking this to a more personal level: the word “warrior” in, Yupiaq; thus, a warrior is called: a warrior’s name that is, is anguyagta.

The Warrior used: bows, arrows, harpoons, and spears, a kayak, and lived in villages. They had a community house to talk things out; and they often fought among themselves. They also played games, games of skill, things like that. There was perhaps a period of time when the Wanka tried psychologically as well as a spiritual approach in dealing with a way to do away with war. And used dancing instead, as we see today, thus, holding together the culture and language, its revitalization efforts, you could say.

Waging War: The focus of this story is not so much about how one wages war, or its ability to wage war, but rather on the ability to look at war, to reflect the individual and the peoples actions—in this case, using tools as weapons to kill each other. As we see today in the Mantaro Valley of Peru, Harmony has replacement war, based on singing, dancing and drumming,

The Wanka Today: The Wanka today are much like any other group of people in many ways, they have their problems such as: alcoholism, domestic violence and suicides at the community level and self-governance and education rights at the institutional, political levels. There is no word for alcoholism in Quechua, no word for suicide, thus, it had to be invented for the 20th and 21st century (we can call it: hatun wasi or yatray wasi ((the learning house)).

Friday, September 01, 2006

"Corona del Fraile" (and recent TV and Radio Appearances)

“Corona del Fraile”

Beyond the old dirt road, the fields, and
trees—a mountain stretches away;
Simmering, broken here and there:
clumps of trees, makeup the crown
On the mountain (Corona del Fraile).

Motionless I stand, on the old dirt road—
See the dissolving blue, behind the
September sun, above the mountain—;
My face against the cool faint draft
(it comes steadily from somewhere);
Yet, the air is too warm to be called
a breeze—.

Here,
I hear the drowsy murmur of voices;
here, natures stirs the soul, lulls it to
Sleep—almost; like a hymn humming;
here one must savor the moment,
Lest he have many to spare…!



Note: Dedicated to Luis Calmell Del Solar and his Father in
Law; 9-1-2006; #1448; location: San Carlos, Huancayo, Peru.
To be published in: “The House of Blue”, cultures of Peru
To be out in 2007.



Recent Reviews

October, 2006: “The Magic of the Avelinos…” is Dennis’ most recent book, which includes poems of the Avelinos’ Annual Festival, its dancing and celebration (held in San Jeronimo de Tunan); also poems from the Mantaro Valley, Huancayo, Peru: its customs, foods and archeological sites.

This book 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); 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; to include the Mayor of San Jeronimo, Jesus Vargas, and the Huancayo Correo newspaper (Hector Mayhuire and Marissa Cardenas).

“I want to take this opportunity to thank the Los Andes University (along with: President Adelmo Huamani, and Antonio Castillo) in Hauncayo, for their outstanding work in promoting the Culture of Peru, especially that of the Mantaro Valley region.”

Dennis Siluk

"Corona del Fraile" (and recent TV and Radio Appearances)

“Corona del Fraile”

Beyond the old dirt road, the fields, and
trees—a mountain stretches away;
Simmering, broken here and there:
clumps of trees, makeup the crown
On the mountain (Corona del Fraile).

Motionless I stand, on the old dirt road—
See the dissolving blue, behind the
September sun, above the mountain—;
My face against the cool faint draft
(it comes steadily from somewhere);
Yet, the air is too warm to be called
a breeze—.

Here,
I hear the drowsy murmur of voices;
here, natures stirs the soul, lulls it to
Sleep—almost; like a hymn humming;
here one must savor the moment,
Lest he have many to spare…!



Note: Dedicated to Luis Calmell Del Solar and his Father in
Law; 9-1-2006; #1448; location: San Carlos, Huancayo, Peru.
To be published in: “The House of Blue”, cultures of Peru
To be out in 2007.



Recent Reviews

October, 2006: “The Magic of the Avelinos…” is Dennis’ most recent book, which includes poems of the Avelinos’ Annual Festival, its dancing and celebration (held in San Jeronimo de Tunan); also poems from the Mantaro Valley, Huancayo, Peru: its customs, foods and archeological sites.

This book 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); 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; to include the Mayor of San Jeronimo, Jesus Vargas, and the Huancayo Correo newspaper (Hector Mayhuire and Marissa Cardenas).

“I want to take this opportunity to thank the Los Andes University (along with: President Adelmo Huamani, and Antonio Castillo) in Hauncayo, for their outstanding work in promoting the Culture of Peru, especially that of the Mantaro Valley region.”

Dennis Siluk