The Avelinos of the Mantaro Valley of Peru (August Feast)

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.

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

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)

The Wanka: And the Arwaturo Ruins (of Peru)

The Wanka:
And the Arwaturo Ruins

(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, 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 Man- taro 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 Hondas (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 so had herds of llamas and alpacas: from these two animals, they made there 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.

Dedicated to Cesar, Joseito Arrieta, and Diego Veliz (No: 1422; 8-13-2006; written after visiting the site.

In The Blue Valley of the Sierras (of Peru) and The Mighty Sore Foot (In English and Spanish))poems

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 their 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
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza
Edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk




En el Valle Azul de la Sierra
(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,
Entonces miré hacia 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 su alma está en paz)

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

Y esta tarde, igualmente yace
En el valle azul
A lo largo del río Quichuay
En el pasto, todo pisoteado
Dos mujeres lavando ropas
Oh, no guarde pensamiento para otro día—
Y dije a Mini y Rosa;
“Contaré esta historia
Un día con un suspiro,
Y otros, 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, un lugar lleno de paz en la Sierra. Aquí, le pedí a un muchacho que lavara mi carro, y cuidarlo mientras comíamos trucha, junto al río, el 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 cuando 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.




∞


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!


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
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza
Edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk



El Enorme 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!


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.

In The Blue Valley of the Sierras (of Peru) and The Mighty Sore Foot (In English and Spanish))poems

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 their 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
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza
Edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk




En el Valle Azul de la Sierra
(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,
Entonces miré hacia 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 su alma está en paz)

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

Y esta tarde, igualmente yace
En el valle azul
A lo largo del río Quichuay
En el pasto, todo pisoteado
Dos mujeres lavando ropas
Oh, no guarde pensamiento para otro día—
Y dije a Mini y Rosa;
“Contaré esta historia
Un día con un suspiro,
Y otros, 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, un lugar lleno de paz en la Sierra. Aquí, le pedí a un muchacho que lavara mi carro, y cuidarlo mientras comíamos trucha, junto al río, el 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 cuando 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.




∞


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!


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
Translated by Nancy Peñaloza
Edited by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk



El Enorme 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!


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.

Visit Huancayo Peru and see the Legends

The Legends of Laguna De Nahuinpuquio
[For a Lost City in Peru] Part I


And let her Golden Bell ring, at midnight, nightly
The lost city by Chupaca now sunk with her soul,
To her grave, in La Laguna de Nahuinpuquio…

Write this, above her dead and withered bones:
“No more she lives to give us comfort for worship,
Who asked for only bread, amongst her stones!”



#1408 8/3/2006 There were two cities near Huancayo, that sunk deep into its lakes, long before my time, and legend says, the one that was near Chupaea, now resides in the lake of Nahuinpuquio. The other one, I already wrote about before, known as Laguna de Paca, which also has its legends.
The Wanka culture [Huanca culture] lived in this area, an old culture perhaps dating back to near the time of Christ. And Now I shall introduce you to the second part of the new Legend that blends into Laguna De Nahuinpuquio:


The Legend of: El Amaru and Huaytapallana
[For the New Love] Part II

El Amaru of the plateaus of the Mantaro Valley beyond the Andes, in Peru, perhaps of the Wanka race or culture, during his youth found out he could shape change, and thus, became a huge snake, and ate everything eatable in the valley, and fell in love with a young maiden that lived on the edge of the lake of Nahuinpuquio, they had a daughter named Pucuhs Uclo, she loved the area, and drank from the lake its pure waters; her Grandfather took a liking to her, and gave her all the animals of the valley she desired to play with, it would seem they were a very happy family indeed for a long spell; and everyone in the valley loved her very much. But her father was not happy, and shape changed again, into an eagle, and left home, as often fathers do it seems, when they become restless; and he soared above the Andes, looking here and there, but not knowing what for just looking. Whereupon, he found a beautify young girl, near the city that now is called Huancayo, she was up in the mountains, in a valley of sorts (where I have been), this girl was washing her hair in the little lake, more like a pond. The girl was called Huaytapallana [or White Mountain]; and he turned back into his natural form, a man of now middle age, and married this young girl and had five kids. As a result, this mountain now is called: Huaytapallana, or white Mountain, and is most breathless, when looking upon her from a hillside that parallels her elbows. There are three lakes in this area, and a small lodge near the hillside I just mentioned.