Saturday, August 11, 2007

Introduction, Commentary, and thoughts on: Juan Parra del Riego (in English Only) by Dlsiluk

Chosen and Translated
By

Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk And Dennis L. Siluk Dr. h.c.


With Introduction, Commentaries
Biography and Editing by Dennis L. Siluk
(Author's forthcoming book: "Jatunmayo..."
(The Mantaro Valley)

The Poetry of: Dennis L. Siluk Dr. h.c.


and ‘The Translated Poetry of Juan Parra del Riego’
(Translated from the Spanish into English
by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, and Edited by Dennis L. Siluk-Poet Laureate)


First Time Ever Translated Spanish into English




Introductions
By Dennis L. Siluk and Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk


Juan Parra del Riego, is an authentic poet with deep feeling. He does not hide the difficult parts of his life, which are often full of despair, and dim lights, he describes it with love and paces rapidly to and fro, the master of Polirritmo in the time of Modernism in poetry (1914 to 1965).There is tenderness, rowdiness, hunger, restlessness, and compassion for life in his poetry (he was dying when writing much of his poetry, and lived only until his 31st Birthday). Born in Huancayo, Peru, he eventually moved to Uruguay, where he started his own movement. He visited Paris once and had to borrow money to get back home, like most poets of their times, he died a pauper. His poetry must be explored more so than simply read, it has a delicate balance to it, a lively spirit inside of it, and the author never seems quite content. Dlsiluk


About my husband, Dennis L. Siluk, he was awarded Diploma of Recognition by Los Andes Peruvian University, in Huancayo, Peru for outstanding literary achievement and promoting the culture of the Mantaro Valley (12/2006); Awarded a Diploma of Honor by “The College of Journalists of Peru “for his (poetic) writings and contributions; Awarded a certificate of recognition by the University National Center Peru for his contribution to the Education and Culture of the Mantaro Valley (2007). Dennis was also the winter of two columnists’ awards (2004, 2005), and awarded the English Magazines top story of the month (October, 2006). And most recently his poetry was published in the anthology of Peruvian Poets, “Literaturea de Junin Siglo XX” by Apolinario Mayta Inga.

I brought my husband to the Mantaro Valley five years ago, and he fell in live with it, and hearing of Juan Parra del Riego, he wanted to read his poetry, but it was all in Spanish, never translated, thus he and I started to translated it, sometimes spending many hours (each) on just one poem (morning and nights) to insure we got the correct meaning in English, imagery (and or symbolism), and content (for as my husband said, “He uses a lot of figurative meanings”), or at least the closest one could get. He found Juan Parra’s poetry to be quite interesting, and had told me he enjoyed it much more than Cesar Vallejo’s, all respect intended.

By Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk


Carlos Parra del Riego, one more brother to Juan Parra del Riego, was also a poet in his own right, and like his older brother Juan, died also tuberculosis. He got his illness in Argentina, and in 1936, came back to Huancayo, Peru for a cure. He lived here in Huancayo for another three years and died (also lived part time in Jauja). He was hospitalized most of the time. His writings, “Why I killed the child,” and “Romantic Serenade,” both done in prose style poetry.



Thoughts and Notes on Juan Parra del Riego


1—It should be noted, Cesar Vallejo was 45-years old when he died, and Juan Parra del Riego was 31; Vallejo born 1893, died 1938, and Riego born 1894, died 1925, both were friends. One year apart in age. ´Both Great poets, but for my money would take Juan Parra before Vallejo; he is the greatest modern poet in Uruguay, and not quite that well known in Peru, although Huancayo, where he was born he is clearly a name recognized.

2—To my knowledge one has yet to write a full biography of Riego in English, the contents in this book (and on a site I created for him on the internet in English and Spanish) is the closest thing to one; with some poems, background, sketches, photos of himself and his brothers, and so forth, some external facts to guide us through his life, is the closest thing thus far written on him in over a half century, and the only one in English., ever.

3—We know like Vallejo, Juan went to Paris, and had to borrow money to get back home, thus, he ended up poor, as most poets do, a few exceptions who have received inheritances to help them make it through life.

4—Some reader may ask, ‘Just what can we learn from this Peruvian poet?” This would in itself give justification for publishing, editing, and translating his poetry and background. I mean it was no easy task to do. First of all, scarcely does anyone know the existence of this great poet in North America, or Europe. As they didn’t know about Vallejo, until Robert Bly (North American Poet) translated his works in 1962. I have tried to bring this poet stamina and imagination to bear on the hunger and pain he faced, while writing his poetry, for he was dying during the process, thus we see a different kind of reality here. We see his inner world, almost his soul; this is why I think he is an import poet. Dlsiluk

Thursday, August 9, 2007

Thoughts and Notes on Juan Parra del Riego (by Dennis L. Siluk)

1—It should be noted, Cesar Vallejo was 45-years old when he died, and Juan Parra del Riego was 31; Vallejo born 1893, died 1938, and Parra del Riego born 1894, died 1925, both were friends. One year apart in age. ´Both Great poets, but for my money would take Juan Parra before Vallejo; he is the greatest modern poet in Uruguay, and not quite that well known in Peru, although Huancayo, where he was born he is clearly a name recognized.

2—To my knowledge one has yet to write a full biography of Parra del Riego in English, the contents in this book (and on a site I created for him on the internet in English and Spanish) is the closest thing to one; with some poems, background, sketches, photos of himself and his brothers, and so forth, some external facts to guide us through his life, is the closest thing thus far written on him in over a half century, and the only one in English, ever.

3—We know like Vallejo, Juan went to Paris, and had to borrow money to get back home, thus, he ended up poor, as most poets do, a few exceptions who have received inheritances to help them make it through life.

4—Some reader may ask, ‘Just what can we learn from this Peruvian poet?” This would in itself give justification for publishing, editing, and translating his poetry and background. I mean it was no easy task to do. First of all, scarcely does anyone know the existence of this great poet in North America, or Europe. As they didn’t know about Vallejo, until Robert Bly (North American Poet) translated his works in 1962; I have tried to bring this poet stamina and imagination to bear on the hunger and pain he faced, while writing his poetry, for he was dying during the process, thus we see a different kind of reality here. We see his inner world, almost his soul; this is why I think he is an import poet. Dlsiluk

Monday, August 6, 2007

"Far & Magic Christmas Eve" (By Juan Parra del Riego)(Edited by Dennis L. Siluk) In Spanish and English

Two Poems

(By Juan Parra del Riego)

Translated by Rosa de Peñaloza de Siluk & Edited by D. L. Siluk, Poet Laureate

Fragments

Far & Magic Christmas Eve

Lejos

(Spanish)

Con alas de oro, de plata y música
me fui a la vida.
Cabeza cana que nunca olvido
luna dormida en mi corazón.


Far
(English)
(Written to his mother in Lima, Peru)

With golden wings, of silver and music,
I went to life.
Gray hair I never forgot
sleeping moon in my heart.




¡Noche Buena Mágica!

(Spanish)

Era en Lima, la áurea ciudad colonial…
Te acuerdas, oh, madre, de la Nochebuena
tan sentimental?
Yo aun miro la cena,
los hilos de plata que el árbol llovía.
Dios era en la casa
el buen compañero de aquella alegría.




Magic Christmas Eve!

(English)

It was in Lima, the golden colonial city…
Do you remember, oh, mother, of the Christmas Eve night
so sentimental?
I still look at the dinner,
the silver thread that rains from the tree.
God was in the house
the great sidekick of that happiness.


Note: Here are two poems, in fragment and stanza form (extracted from the book by Juan Parra del Riego ‘Prosa,’ 1943 (Biblioteca de Cultura Uruguaya, Montevideo). And like many of his poems Juan Parra focuses on deep dramatics, death, images, illusions and fantasy. His poems rip at ones insides, tender and spiritual they can be, with flexible rhythm. His intentions were to create a series of poems with this sort of flexible rhythm, mixed with dramatics and diversity, but he died before he could get to that summit. When he first started writing his poems, he gave public lectures, and readings on them.

It might be of interest to the reader, that even this great poet, like so many of us, Juan Parra del Riego had his heroes, people that inspired him, and influence him. The two he most admired were Chocano, and Walt Whitman, in that order. What I see here is that their poetry melted into his own qualities, thus he created his own voice (or style), yet it was perhaps down through them.



Manuel Parra del Riego & Articulo de Adolfo Garcia Salas
(Two Brothers) 1975 and 1949

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Canto to the Carnival (Canto al Carnaval)

By Juan Parra del Riego, translated from the Spanish into English by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, and edited by Dennis L. Siluk-Poet Laureate.


ENGLISH VERSION

Canto to the Carnival

Laughing has a wonderful freedom,
the city’s carnival has a wheel of colors.
In the squares, on the towers, windows and corners,
the moon is jumping like a little girl
as the ribbons are hung around telephones
for this fuming universal party.

Swings of laugher! Trees of love!
With their hearts, boyfriends warm the night.
One has already run for a dress-coat, pale he goes!
Crimson dreams
she’s thinking of something sly and unlikely
that only this night might bring…

In the jingle-bells there are small elves
that say: do not doubt! Let’s go to dream!
Let’s go to dance!
Let’s go to sing!
The night opens silk windows
and if you do not come, forever you shall remain
in the bleak pearl of waiting.
Let’s go to sing!
Let’s go to dance!

And on the Avenue
that burns the fruits hanging from the lighting
now the moving platforms (floats), lift their hallucinations
heads with masks—the great fantasy.
The sidewalk lights are happy with illumination, like a dream port.
The houses yell, kiss and hug each other
as clouds of music and paper-ribbons
and the mad music, and painted signs
move on dreamily with its happy blaze.

Comic acrobatics…exceptional ventriloquism
from a shotgun muzzle
the black tear on a white faced clown,
under Cleopatra, a choir of trumpets
greeting to the stars and to love!
Kettledrums! Piccolos!

Insolence outrage… bizarre kites
The open air gardens are fresh and flat.
Madness, happiness, paleness, and love!
Passes the slow car of concubines,
the white group with green humor
passes the group of Ten Franciscas
and the marvelous car of the Emperor!
Queens and clowns,
- a red colored cane, flies in the air-
the comedians tangle by the moon with their steps,
drums of the east have enchanting strokes
and jumps, and reflections, nights and fruits.

Here come the blacks of sensual dance
with legs of puppets and laughs of the moon
they fall asleep on the tropical bass-drum;
these fantastic and imaginative blacks
they dramatize with vague and full of life
gestures and greetings of monkey’s and goats
laughing to the spinal marrow.

A car brings a sudden float of angels
and then another, with ‘Walkiria’ swift hairs of paper
one after another moves away throwing delightfully
jingle-bells of a crazy harlequin.
The astronomic group of the Chinese passes
-how cheerless, onward, goes the pale and sweet mandarin!
The rider cuts me
a paper-ribbon with a blue elf!
(be careful with this girl, she is like a toy
defending her wings of tulle)
and the floats, rise with the night, in golden arms.

Large and tropical music for the popular streets.
Behind the cloudy sorrow, of purple teeth,
this is my pirouette, my nose, my walk!
And I look at this house:
laughs from the balcony, with beards, ribbons and veils,
sounds by a window…a mask passes…
and I vision, she is with them and others
dancing to this tearful music and violoncellos …
Silver and blue bicycles with stars run their way
towards the boulevards
jump, and rise with mocking faces,
and I am mad now, for never am I able to reach
the fantastic mouth of this thin mask,
that throughout the whole night makes me flutter.
But at this corner
four dominos have remained still,
and I am afraid at his corner
of the dominos standing up and still.

Let’s go Ana!
Give me your arm Margarita!
There is a dance in this house called the bell
of a never-ending madness!
Grab me, Josefina!
I bring love to the circus with my red beard.

I know what it did not tell you, the crazy ribbon
that is in your pony-tail was falling asleep as if it was a flower.
But the float passes…
Passes!
A springboard for the lively acrobat at heart!
Ditches with water, ribbons, clowns and women.
Full of wine and happiness, and their mouths of delusion
The float passes…
Passes…passes..!
Now the streets are empty and…on the ground there is a lost mask
this last clown gets into a house where
a burning light is by a little window!

And again the floats go on their way
the roar of the shouting is like the sleigh-bells!
The Bears! The Fairies…the queen…the bandit…
All are tales that come out into the street
staggeringly free of their houses of paper…!
The Volanta of Colombina has arrived
—I throw this flower to the blond laughing—
The Volanta of Colombina has left
and now a serenade of paper-ribbons
go calling her in the street with their flutes of color!

Lost, ancient, gray, and sweet-smelling
pieces of music give me a shiver,
—there is a dance in those distant balconies—
and I know that she is, whose gloves these belong to
that behind her back is crystal,
a suspension of the moon
and on her black vest, a flower opens.
Passes the float with its river
which is going to get lost to the moon, with its triumphal uproar.

And in the city, it became like a great empty theater
I feel that my heart
is walking as a lonely and ghostly cat.
The floats go away! The noise goes away
but I hang onto the magic, to your lights, and loves,
the Carnival!
An undertaking of immense health, like watering of the flowers
that leave our heads like colorful tops
spinning, spinning, spinning,
in your hand of crystal.


SPANISH VERSION


Canto al Carnaval

Libertad maravillosa de la risa,
la ciudad corre en las ruedas de colores, ¡Carnaval!
Ya en las plazas y torres, ventanas y esquinas,
saltando como una niñita la luna
cuelga los teléfonos de las serpentinas
para tu furiosa fiesta universal.
¡Columpios de risas! ¡Árboles de amores!
Los novios calientan la noche con su corazón.
Ya aquel ha corrido por un frac… ¡va pálido!
Rosada de sueños
ella piensa en algo furtivo y fantástico
que sólo esta noche podría pasar…
(En los cascabeles hay duendes pequeños
que dicen: ¡no dudes! ¡vamos a soñar!
¡Vamos a bailar!
¡Vamos a cantar!
La noche abre dulces ventanas de seda
y si tú no vienes por siempre te quedas
en la desolada perla de esperar.
¡Vamos a cantar!
¡Vamos a bailar!
Y por la Avenida
que quema las frutas de la iluminación
ya el Corso va alzando con su delirante
cabeza de máscaras la gran ilusión.
Veredas con luces felices de puertos soñados.
Las casas se besan, se gritan, se abrazan
a nubes de música y de serpentinas,
y la opera loca de gritos pintados
avanza soñando su incendio feliz.
Acrobacias bufas…ventriloquia rara
súbita escopeta de aquella nariz
La lágrima negra de esa blanca cara.
Cleopatra sobre un coro de trompetas
saludando a las estrellas y al amor!
¡Timbales! ¡Flautines!
Latones de escándalo…absurdas cometas.
El aire abre planos y frescos jardines.
Locura, alegría, palidez, amor!
Pasa el carro lento de las odaliscas,
La comparsa blanca, la del verde humor,
pasa la comparsa de las Diez Franciscas
el carro tremendo del Emperador!
Reinas y payasos,
-por el aire vuela un bastón colorado-
los pierrots que enredan la luna en sus pasos,
tambores de Oriente de golpe encantado,
y saltos de espejos y noches y frutas.
Ya llegan los negros del baile sensual
con piernas de títeres y risas de luna
que se duermen sobre el bombo tropical;
los negros fantástico e imaginativos
que se dramatizan en vagos y vivos
saludos de monos y gestos de chivos
que se ríen por la médula espinal.
Trae un auto una súbita bandeja de ángeles
y tras otro, Walkiria de veloces cabellos de papel
cruza uno que se aleja tirando los divinos
cascabeles de un lunático arlequín.
Pasa la astronómica murga de los chinos
-qué triste, adelante, va el pálido y dulce mandarín!
Me corta el jinete
de una serpentina con su duende azul!
(Cuidado con esa niña que es como un juguete
defendiendo sus alas de tul)
Y el corso levanta la noche en sus brazos dorados.
Largo trópico de música por la calle popular.
Atrás turbia pena de dientes morados,
esta es mi pirueta, mi nariz, mi andar!
Y miro esa casa:
el balcón se ríe con barbas de cintas y velos,
suena una ventana…un antifaz pasa…
y yo soñé que es ella que está con los otros
bailando a esa música de agua y violoncellos…
Las estrellas corren en sus bicicletas
plateadas y azules por el “boulevard”
saltan, como rosas, tristes morisquetas,
y yo ya estoy loco de nunca alcanzar
la boca fantástica de ese antifaz fino
que toda la noche me hizo palpitar.
Pero en esa esquina
cuatro dominós se han quedado quietos,
y yo tengo miedo en aquella esquina
de los dominós parados y quietos.
¡Vamos Ana!
¡Dame el brazo Margarita!
En esa casa hay un baile que parece la campana
de una locura infinita!
Préndete, a mi, Josefina!
en mis barbas coloradas llevo el circo del amor!
Yo sé lo que no te ha dicho esa loca serpentina
que en tu moño fue durmiéndose como si fuera una flor.
Pero el Corso pasa…
¡Pasa!
¡Trampolín para el acróbata lívido del corazón!
¡Regatas de aguas, de cintas, de payasos y mujeres
con sus viñas de alegría y sus bocas de ilusión!
Pasa el corso…
Pasa…pasa…!
Y ya la calle está sola…por el suelo hay una máscara perdida
Y es tan grave este último payaso que se mete en esa casa de
una sola ventanita encendida!
Y otra vez el Corso rompe en su camino
La nube de gritos que es su cascabel!
¡Los osos! Las hadas…la reina…el bandido…
son todos los cuentos que a la calle han salido
fabulosamente libres de sus casas de papel…!
Llega la volanta de las colombinas
-a la rubia de la risa yo le tiro esta flor-
Se va la volanta de las colombinas.
Y serenata de serpentinas
van llamándola en la calle con sus flautas de color!
Perdidos, antiguos, plateados, fragantes
pedazos de música me dan su temblor.
-Hay baile en aquellos balcones distantes-
Y yo sé que es ella la de aquellos guantes
que tras el cristal da su espalda en una
disolución de luna
que sobre el negro corpiño le abre su flor.
Pasa el Corso con su río
que va a perderse a la luna con su estrépito triunfal.
Y en la ciudad que se queda como un gran teatro vacío
yo siento que el corazón mío
se pasea como un gato solitario y fantasmal.
¡Se va el Corso! Se va el ruido
Pero yo me cuelgo, mágico, a tu luz y tus amores
Carnaval!
¡Salud inmensa aventura de las aguas y las flores
que nos dejan las cabezas como trompos de colores
dando vuelvas, vueltas, vueltas
en tu mano de cristal.

Letter from my mother (Carta de mi madre)

By Juan Parra del Riego, translated from the Spanish into English by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, and edited by Dennis L. Siluk-Poet Laureate.


ENGLISH VERSION


Letter from my Mother

A letter that I was waiting for in fear
a letter I’ve scarcely
read, distracted by the dinning room.
This letter from mother…the one that always
makes me tremble,
turn pale and yell…
Postman! How late did you come today!
With her deafness she was going to poison me.
This letter from her…letter that I waited for!
A sudden happiness filled my heart!
And with a few rare doubts in which I’ll die
alone and pale with, as a thief.
A letter from my mother that already I have forgotten,
in which she only sends me orders
ay! Letters that so many times have saved me,
this time…cannot, forgive me so?



SPANISH VERSION


CARTA DE MI MADRE

Carta que esperaba antes con temblor
carta que ahora apenas
leo distraído por el comedor.
Carta de ella…la carta que solo
ya me hace temblar
palidecer o gritar…
¡Cartero! ¡Qué tarde llegaste hoy día!
Con su sordo alcohol me iba a envenenar.
Carta de ella… ¡Carta que ya solo espero!
¡Alegrías súbitas en mi corazón!
O unas dudas raras con las que me muero
Solitario y pálido como un ladrón.
Carta de mi madre que ya te he olvidado
por la que ella solo me puede mandar
¡Ay! Carta que tantas veces me has salvado,
esta vez…¿No me puedes perdonar?