Celebrating 15 Years
By CRUZ ALEJANDRA LUCAS JUÁREZ
Translated by WENDY CALL & WHITNEY DEVOS
Poems appear below in English, and Spanish and Tutunakú, the original languages.
Translators’ Note
Poet Cruz Alejandra Lucas Juárez creates her work bilingually, in Spanish—the language in which she was educated—and in Tutunakú—the language in which she was raised. Tutunakú is the home language of approximately 220,000 people in the Mexican states of Puebla and Veracruz. It has multiple variants and Lucas Juárez seeks out speakers from different communities to expand her poetic vocabulary.
She generally begins writing in Tutunakú, but lines also come to her in Spanish, so she moves back and forth between the two versions of each poem, creating the bilingual pair simultaneously. “It’s two creation processes happening at the same time,” she says. Tutunakú is agglutinative, so it contains words up to a dozen syllables long that translate as whole phrases or sentences in Spanish. Her translation process must be “letter by letter, not word by word, because each word contains so much,” she explains. Tutunakú is also a highly metaphorical language: “being pregnant” translates to “I am not alone,” while “I miss you” translates literally as “My stomach is sinking.”
Although poetry is a regular part of Tutunakú cultural life, Lucas Juárez is the first woman to publish a book of poetry in the language. These poems are drawn from her 2021 debut collection, Xlaktsuman papa’ / Las hijas del Luno. The title, “Daughters of Luno,” uses the masculine version of the Spanish word for moon (luna). Luno is the metaphorical father of Tutunakú women.
We began co-translating “Daughters of Luno” in 2023, inspired by the depth of Lucas Juárez’ poetic voice, written when Lucas Juárez was in her early twenties. To create our English translations, we worked primarily from the Spanish, observing and listening to the Tutunakú versions, though neither of us has formally studied the language. We met with the poet in person and via video call, and also exchanged many messages. We are grateful for her patience, generosity, and linguistic expertise, all of which have been crucial to our process.
— Wendy Call & Whitney Devos
Table of Contents
- Litutunaaku
- Tantsulut Bird
- The Voice of The Buried
“Litutunaaku” is the Tututnakú people’s name for themselves. The word translates as “people who belong to the culture of the three hearts,” referencing the brain (memory), the antomical heart (physical life), and the stomach (emotional experience). Together, these three interdependent “hearts” sustain Tutunakú “triple consciousness.” “Li,” the word’s first syllable, refers to a Tutunakú person’s homeplace—which is central to identity.
Litutunaaku
Nina puskat xakwan,
nina akgalhtum xakchuwinan,
xakgokgxwata xwaniti nkintalakapastakni’.
Kgasiyaja laa nina xakkgalhpakgoskgoyi nkintapikwa,
nina xaklakgapasa xtatantlini jili’,
nina xakmakgkatsiy lhkuyat
chuwa nina xaktalalakaukxilha nkilhtamaku,
litutunakuja xakwanit.
Nina laa xaktlawan
ni para xak’alhtuj kxamonkgawa ntiyat
tipatututa xtliyi nkilistakni’.
Kakuwa ntankgala tankgala xaktlawan,
akgtututa nkiti xakkgalhi nkintapuwan.
Maski nina xaktakgmunu,
xkgosnantapulikgoya ntantutu nkinkuxta
unu ntani anankgoyi ntsinkalapatux,
kxtatlawaan kintse Tere.
Nina xaklakgapasa nkilakan,
makgtututa ntlakg pixlanka
xak lakapastak chu xak xekgnan,
litutunakuja xakwanit.
Litutunaaku
Antes de ser mujer,
sin apenas pronunciar mi primera palabra,
ya era trenza mi pensamiento.
Antes de cruzar las fronteras de mis miedos,
de admirar la danza del trueno,
de sentir la primera caricia del fuego
y de cruzar la mirada con el tiempo,
ya era un ser tutunakú.
Antes de caminar
y caer sobre la tierra húmeda
ya solfeaba mi corazón en tres tonos.
Cuando mis pasos aún eran torpes,
poseía ya tres conciencias.
Mucho antes de mi bautizo,
mis tres nahuales corrían ya
en esta tierra de orquídeas,
bordado de mamá Tere.
Antes de conocer mi rostro,
ya pensaba y gritaba con triple intensidad,
ya era tutunakú.
Litutunaaku
Before I was a woman
even before I uttered my first words
already my thought was a braid.
Before crossing the borders of my fears,
before contemplating thunder’s dance,
before feeling fire’s first stroke
and before catching time’s eye,
already I was a Tutunakú being.
Before learning to walk
and before I’d fallen upon the wet earth
already my heart hummed in three tones.
Even when my steps were still clumsy,
I already held three consciousnesses.
Long before my baptism,
already my three nahuals were running
through this land of orchids,
embroidered by Mama Tere.
Before others even came to see my face,
already I was thinking and shouting with a threefold force,
already I was Tutunakú.
The “tantsulut” is a bird common in the Tutunakú home region, in the mountains of Puebla, Mexico, also considered to be a guardian of wisdom. According to Tutunakú legend, the tantusult brought light to the land by rolling away the stone that blocked the sun. The “sun-egg” in the poem refers to a Tutunakú origin story for the sun, in which a woman gave birth to the sun after eating a special egg.
Tantsulut
Akxní mapakuwikgon laa xaktalaliyamakgon,
wa mintaskgaw nti makgamakgtayakgo lakchixkuwin,
laa ntimapanunikgo xchiwix chichini’
ntani chali chali xmin patsitsiwani sluluk.
Uyma xkgalhwat chichiní kgaxmatlhi mintatlin
pikwalh, makgat tapili’alh
lakgachixkuwilh xamakglakgawitina tatlin.
Nitu atipatu xtanana’ mintatlin
kinkalimakatsiniya kxakgan kalama’
¿Pi kuwa kakgachí nachimpala kintlat?
¿Pi kuwa kawi ntani tamakgwastayalh?
¿Pi kuwa katanulh tantum xaluku luwa’ kchiki’?
Kakgatakgsniputununan
xatakgalhteskgni spun,
nii ntlawanita mimasakg
kwaputun mintalilokgtat
ntu ni’amakgstum
kgalhwanankgoy lakchixkuwin.
Pájaro Tantsulut
Tu nombre se originó entre apedreos,
fue tu pago por socorrer a los hombres,
por quitar la piedra corazón del sol
donde todos los días la lagartija calentaba su vientre.
El huevo del sol escuchó tu canto
y horrorizado, rodó monte abajo
obedeciendo esa hipnotizante melodía.
Tu canto tan inconfundible
nos advierte posando en el chalawite
¿Acaso papá llegará borracho de nuevo?
¿Cayó en algún peñasco?
¿Entró una serpiente venenosa en la casa?
Quiero leerte
pájaro mensajero
dónde tienes tu nido
para beber de tu sabiduría
jamás probada por los hombres.
Tantsulut Bird
Your name emerged as they stoned you,
your reward for rescuing men,
for moving the stone that blocked the sun
where the lizard warmed his belly.
The sun-egg heard your song
and rolled down the hill, aghast,
following that hypnotic melody.
Perched in the Chalawite tree
you warn us with your signature song
Maybe Papa will come home drunk again?
Has he fallen into the canyon?
Is there a poisonous snake in the house?
I want to devour your knowledge
messenger bird
at home in your nest
to drink of your wisdom
not yet tasted by men.
This poem, “The Voice of the Buried,” was the first poem Lucas Juárez completed—by which she means, finished in both Tutunakú and Spanish and then published—when she was nineteen years old.
Xtachuwini nti aknú
Xtachuwini nti aknú xtachuna akgtumi ntlanka likan,
kgantum tankgaxekg nima stujwa stak,
akgtum tamakxtumit xatlakgwani ntakilhkaksat,
wa akgtum tapikwa nima makgatatatla nkilistakna’.
Xtachuwin nti aknú wa xtatsiksnit anima
wa nima lakgpuwan xalakmuksun talakapastakni’.
Xtachuwin nti aknú man xtakganin kali’unin kgaxmatkgoy,
xaxtajati ntuwan chu xanat.
Xtachuwin nti aknu wa ntaxekgnat
nima ntalakgaxi ksakgalina nti makilhkaksaputun.
Xtachuwin limaxkgan nawa nkila’,
kimakanin xala kkakiwin
makgaxkgakganan kintalitsinat chuwa tlakgnani nkintachuwin.
Xtachuwin limaxkgan wa ntatsokgni nima nkgostawaka kxlakgstipa-
nin puklhni’
wa nima ntatsekga kxkgalhni teja xla tiyat.
Xtachuwin limaxkgan, kita xla’,
tsumat nti ntliyi xatutunaku chu xasnapapa lhakganan
napulhtakichi xtachuwinkan Litutunaaku
La voz del enterrado
La voz del enterrado es un arma divina,
una raíz que emerge erguida,
bandada de silencio cansado,
miedo anclado en el centro del corazón.
La voz del enterrado es esa hambre profunda del alma
que ansía los frutos melifluos de las fragantes memorias.
Es esa voz escuchada por los oídos del viento,
resina de hojas y flores humeantes.
La voz del enterrado es ese susurro sonoro
que se lanza contra las rocas resistiéndose a desaparecer.
La voz del enterrado es también la mía,
mis manos de campesina,
mi sonrisa de alba y mi voz de guitarra.
La voz del enterrado es esa palabra que se difunde entre las nubes,
aquella que se camufla sobre las tejas de barro.
La voz del enterrado soy yo misma,
la niña que canta en tutunakú y viste color blanco
para germinar la lengua de los Litutunaaku.*
*Litutunaaku: gente que perteneece a la cultura de los tres corazones (cultura tutunakú).
The Voice of The Buried
The voice of the buried is a divine weapon,
a root that grows straight,
flock of tired silence,
fear anchored in the heart’s center.
The voice of the buried is the soul’s deep hunger
that craves scented memories’ sweet fruits.
It is that voice heard by the wind,
resin of moist flowers and leaves.
The voice of the buried is that melodious murmur
that dashes itself against the rocks and refuses to disappear.
The voice of the buried is also my voice,
my campesina hands,
my daybreak smile and guitar voice.
The voice of the buried is that word spreading among the clouds,
the one hiding itself among clay rooftiles.
The voice of the buried is in fact me
the girl who sings in Tutunakú and dresses all in white
planting the language of the Litutunaaku.*
*Litutunaaku: people of the Culture of Three Hearts (Tutunakú culture).
Cruz Alejandra Lucas Juárez is author of the bilingual Tutunakú-Spanish poetry collection Xlaktsuman papa’ / Las hijas de Luno. Originally from Tuxtla, Zapotitlán de Méndez, Puebla, Mexico, she studied language and culture at the Intercultural University of the State of Puebla. In 2022 she received a second fellowship from the prestigious National Fund for Culture and the Arts (FONCA), in the category of poetry in Indigenous languages. Her comic Laktsuman xla kuxi’ / Mujeres maíz, which won fourth place in a nationwide contest for comics in Indigenous languages, was published by Mexico’s National Institute of Indigenous Languages (INALI). She works as a Tutunakú-Spanish translator, offers workshops and courses in creative writing, and has organized forums for the dissemination of literature in Indigenous languages.
Wendy Call is author, co-editor, or translator of eight books, including No Word for Welcome and the annual anthology that she co-founded, Best Literary Translations. Her co-translation of Mikeas Sánchez’s How to Be a Good Savage and Other Poems won the 2024 International Latino Book Award’s Gold Medal for Best Translation.
Whitney DeVos is a scholar, translator, writer, and editor based in Mexico City. Her translations have appeared in World Literature Today, POETRY, and the New Yorker, with full-length collections published by Cardboard House Press, Ugly Duckling Presse, and, most recently, Black Ocean. Her current work focuses on contemporary poets publishing bilingually in lenguas originarias and Spanish; related projects have been supported by the National Endowment for the Arts, the Cornell Institute for Comparative Modernities, and MacDowell. Part of a number of collaborative projects and teams, she is a co-founder of the translation collective NAFTA (North American Free Translation Agreement/No America Fraught Translation Argument) and co-editor of the multi-volume, plurilingual ecopoetry anthology Ruge el bosque, published by Caleta Olivia in Argentina.
