|TU LAANU, TU LANU||WHO ARE WE? WHAT IS OUR NAME?|
Guinié', gabe' ya huaxhinni;
gabe' ya lu gueela'.
Tu guinienia', xi guinié'
pa guiruti' guinni ndaani' yoo
ne nisi berendxinga ribidxiaa riuaadia'ga'.
Pa guinié' ya, pa guinié' co'
tu cayabe' ya, tu cayabe' co';
paraa biree co' ne ya di ya'
ne tu canienia' lu gueela'.
Tu gudixhe ca diidxa' di' lu gui'chi'.
Xiñee rucaa binni lu gui'chi'
ne cadi lu guidxilayú:
Xiñee qué ruca'nu' xa guibá'
guirá' ni rini' íquenu
ne riale ladxido'no.
Xiñee qué ruca'nu' lu bandaga yaa,
lu za, lu nisa,
paraa biree gui'chi',
gasti' cá lu,
gutaguna' diidxa' riree ruaanu,
diidxa' biruba ca bixhozególanu lu guie,
ni bí'ndacabe lu gueela'
ni bitieecabe guriá lídxicabe,
ra yoo la'hui' stícabe.
Ni bedané diidxa' biropa,
bedaguuti stiidxanu ne laanu,
bedaguxhatañee binni xquídxinu,
sícasi ñácanu bicuti'
biaba lu yaga, nexhe'layú.
Tu laanu, tu lanu.
Speech. Saying yes to the night,
saying yes to darkness.
Whom to speak with, what to say
if there is no one in this house
while I feel so lonesome at the cricket's sadness?
If I say yes, if I say no:
to whom yes, to whom no?
Where did that yes and that no
come out of and with whom did I talk in that heart of darkness?
Who got these words downs on paper?
Why write on paper at all instead of on the ground?
Earth is huge, broad, extensive.
Why don't we write below the sky's
surface everything our minds speak out,
everything born in our hearts?
Why don't we write on the green leaves,
on clouds, on water,
on the palm of the hand?
Why on paper?
Where was paper born
that was born white and
imprisons our own speech,
the word our fathers sculpted among flowers,
they sang at night when they created
they used to decorate their houses,
inside their shrines,
in their royal palaces?
Who brought that second language
coming to trample down our people
as if we were maggots fallen from trees,
scattered over the ground?
Who are we? What is our name?
English version:Nathaniel Tarn, The Taos Review, Premier Issue, Taos, New Mexico, 1989.