A drop of salt on paper
is silence killing us
Where have your footsteps taken you?
In what corner of the world
. do they hear your laughter?
What shard of earth drinks your tears?– from “A drop of salt on paper”
****
I traveled the path from the south
my feet blistered with memories
so tired from dragging
all my people’s dreams– from “I travelled the path from the south”
The migration conversation, in various formulations, is occurring in countries and communities around the globe. Migrant workers are needed to do jobs no one else wants, but the migrants themselves are viewed with suspicion and worse; foreign students and the higher tuitions they can be charged are courted, but when they arrive they are blamed for housing shortages; and refugees fleeing war, famine and persecution—well, nobody really wants them at all it seems. But what about those who see no other option for themselves and their families than to seek opportunities abroad even if it means facing precarious, illegal conditions, torn from the land that they love, fueled by the hope that they will someday be able to go home again? And what about those who stay behind, holding onto tradition, waiting for the absent worker to return?
Nostalgia Doesn’t Flow Away Like Riverwater, a three-part sequence of poems by Indigenous Latin American poet Irma Pineda, breathes life into the painful situation in which many people in her own hometown of Juchitán, Oaxaca, have found themselves over the years. Pineda publishes her poems bilingually, in Didxazá, the language of the Binnizá (Isthmus Zapotec) people, and Spanish. She describes these two versions as “mirror poems.” In this collection, translator Wendy Call who has been translating Pineda’s work for many years, draws from both languages, with the close support of the poet herself, to create English translations. As she describes in her introductory essay, there are certain features of English that are closer to Didxazá than Spanish is, allowing her to reflect some qualities that cannot be maintained between the two original versions. The result is a simmering trilingual collection that offers even an unilingual Anglophone reader the opportunity explore and compare the very different appearance and tones of the poems as they appear in the three languages.
The poems in Nostalgia Doesn’t Flow Away Like River Water are divided into three sections of twelve poems each. They are “persona poems,” carrying the voices of two fictional characters from the poet’s hometown of Juchitán—one who has travelled north to the United States looking for work as an undocumented labourer, and their partner who has stayed behind. The poems speak to the impact of ecological pressures, climate change and pollution on the local fishing industry, as a main driver of migrants, men and youth, out of the community, leaving those who stay to try to hold on to their traditions for future generations and for those they hope might return. As Pineda explained to Call, “I create poetry as a way to keep collective memory of my culture alive and to reflect on what is happening to our culture. When I say ‘our culture,’ of course I’m also referring to the earth and the sea.” The river, the sea and the soil all feature in these poems, as do references to Isthmus Zapotec legends and stories.
The first part of this work, MY HEART IN TWO / Chupa ladzidua’ / Dos mi corazon, chronicles the migrating partner’s decision to leave. The reluctance to leave and sadness of those who must let a loved one go is palpable. The inevitability of homesickness is understood from the first poem onward:
Pack your suitcase well
leave the pain here
. I will take good care of it
leave the nostalgia
. so it won’t make you sick once you are there– from “The Suitcase”
At the same time, the uncertainty of the fate that lies ahead of the departing partner weighs heavily:
Doubt wounds me
not knowing which rocks
I must stumble over
not knowing which paths lead
to my destiny
no way to stare
my future in the face– from “Doubt”
The closing poems of the first section see the migrant departing before daybreak to make it easier on themselves and those who must stay behind. Part II, ON THE PATH / Lu neza / Sobre el camino chronicles the journey north while the character remaining behind speaks of the forces that have led so many to leave and the changed face of the village:
Where did its lifeblood go?
Did its unbearable silence scare away
the dogs?
There are no children in the street,
not even the robbers prowling the roofs
Even the birds have gone away…– from “The houses of your village have eyes”
In the pieces in this central sequence the sense of absence and distance becomes increasingly evident. Far away from all they have known and loved, the feeling of homelessness and alienation settles on the migrant:
I don’t know which hurts us more
the misfortunes we left behind
or those we find here
becoming invisible
no one looks into my black eyes
no one hears the songs on my tongue
is my brown skin transparent?– from “Many full moons have passed”
If the second part is transitional in relationship to place and form—somewhat direct and contained—the third, THE DAY WILL COME / Zedandá tí dxi / Un dia llegará, is intense in emotion and energy, similar to the first but more so. The longing is more desperate, tears flow freely, at home and abroad, and the migrant worries that if they are ever able to return will they be forever ruined by their experience in the north. Yet, for the partner waiting back home in southern Mexico, there is no question that welcome awaits no matter the circumstances. Nostalgia is a force pulling on both sides, a desire to be together where they belong is strong:
You will return to me
lugging your heavy bags
in clothes woven of pain
and words carried from the other side
You will return with strange rhythms
unrecognizable thoughts
I won’t hold fear in my hands
but rather my heart’s song– from “The days won’t end”
Nostalgia Doesn’t Flow Away Like Riverwater is a very special collection that lays bare the painful decisions that migrants face and the risks they take to provide a better future for their families, while exposing the sacrifices made by those who stay behind. By publishing her poetry in her native tongue, Didxazá, and in Spanish, Pineda is not only writing of and for the Binnizá (Isthmus Zapotec) people, but inviting others to hear their stories. Now with this trilingual edition, English language readers have the ability to appreciate this vital poetic conversation at a time when we need to be listening to the voices of others more than ever.
Nostalgia Doesn’t Flow Away Like Riverwater / Xilase qui rié di’ sicasi rié nisa guiigu’ / La nostalgia no se marcha como el agua de los ríos by Irma Pineda in Didxazá (Isthmus Zapotec) and Spanish with English translations by Wendy Call is published by Deep Vellum & Phoneme Media.
roughghosts 
Those are lovely extracts Joe – thank you! I’ll add this one to the wishlist!
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I love see work that includes Indigenous language directly like this in an English translation. It’s both important and powerful.
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“The result is a simmering trilingual collection that offers even an unilingual Anglophone reader the opportunity explore and compare the very different appearance and tones of the poems as they appear in the three languages.”
This sounds immensely satisfying. It’s not the same, but I read a collection of poems and prose from Quebec a few years ago, by Indigenous writers, and there were works translated from native languages and French throughout the single volume, side-by-side translations…such a useful reminder that creative works exist in all these languages and we’re missing out on so many of them. (Let alone the intricacies that you’re enjoying in a volume like this one.)
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