To The Marinera from Lima - Victoria Santa Cruz

The poem A La Marinera Limeña by the Peruvian poet Victoria Santa Cruz.

A La Marinera Limeña

To the Marinera from Lima

A veces suceden cosas tan raras, tan especiales que no me atrevo a contar, no por temor a la mofa sino para que no digan: “Victoria se ha vuelto loca”. Pero el deseo insistente de la comunicación me impulsa, me acicatea y cedo. Ya hablando estoy... Caminaba, pensativa, fija en mi mente una idea, cuando al doblar una esquina divisé a La Marinera*. Me detuve sorprendida ¿La Marinera? ¿No es broma? ¿La Marinera Limeña? ... ¡La Marinera en persona! Pasó muy cerquita a mí rozando casi mi cuerpo ; caminaba presurosa, hermosa, graciosa, altiva. Tan rápido se alejaba, tan segura iba de sí que sin pensarlo dos veces sobre mis pasos volví : ¡Marinera! ¡Marinera! ¡Marinera!… No volteó. Ni hubo en ella el menor gesto que indicara que me oyó. -Que extraño ¿Qué le pasó? ¿Qué fue lo que sucedió? Ella tan sensible y franca ... ¿No le ha gustado mi voz? “¡A usté’ también se la hizo! ¡Tampoco le contestó!” -Me dijo un guapo moreno que observaba mi estupor. Ya ve usted, ni me ha mirado. -Ella es así ¿Por qué pues? ¿Se le han subido los humos porque reina y señora es ...? No creo, será tal vez que el nombre no le ha gustado, porque lo de “Marinera” fue posterior... -¡Eso no e’! Hace apenas unos días lo mismo a mi me ocurrió y apelé a su antiguo nombre: ¡Zamacueca*! No voltió. ¿No le hizo caso? -Ni caso ¿No le gustó? -Que se yo, lo cierto e’ que sin mirarme al lado mío pasó. Y llevo algunas semanas enquistao’ en esta esquina esperando que se rompa esta imaginaria inquina... ¿Qué va usted a hacer? -¡Sabe Dio’! pero tengo una esperanza porque ahora somos dos. Ya recurrí a varias tretas, ninguna fruto me dio, tócale a ‘uté el turno amiga, hurge en su imaginación. ¿Quéhay que hacé’ para que escuche, se detenga, nos responda...? ¿Si está a disgusto con su obra? ¿Si siente sati’fación? ¿Eso va usted a preguntarle? ¿Y ‘uté? Pues eso yo no. A mi me importa saber el lugar donde nació -¡Eso es fácil! ¿De dónde es? -Dicen que de España ¿Ah sí? -¿No está de acuerdo? ¡Pues no! -¿Africana entonce’? ¡No! ¿Entonce’? ¡Entonces qué! ¿Soy acaso una adivina que misterios develara? En todo caso de bruja no tengo más que la cara... ¿Que somos dos...? Aceptado. Que una idea ha de brotar. Dígame ... ¿De la guitarra las cuerdas hace trinar? ¡Perfecto! ¿Dónde aprendió? ¿Por tradición? ¡Reperfecto! ¡Mañana a esta misma hora la esperamos! ¿Si? -¡De acuerdo! Y al otro día, en la esquina, no vino solo, eran dos : su hermano -gran cajonero* y él -amo del bordón . Y ocurrió lo inesperado, el milagro, ¡Apareció! Cautivando con su gesto, hipnotizando, bailó... Olvidamos las preguntas ingenuamente planteadas, la vida de ella emanaba como diciendo: ¡Que importa! ¿Qué cosa puede importar el lugar donde nací a quien vibra y vive en mí? No respondo a ningún nombre Bailo en tierra o en tapiz. Para vivir falta no hacen pergaminos, flor de lis. Mientras existan guitarras, dedos que sepan tañer, percusionistas con fibra, voces rajadas, con fe, yo estaré presente, viva; pues la danza es eso. ¡Eso es! Eso que no se remeda, que no se cuenta “un, dos, tres...” ¡Es orgánica, sentida, brota del alma, del ser. ¿Quieren conocer mi origen, de dónde realmente soy? ¡Pues de aquel que vibra y siente! ¡Víveme y a ti me doy!

sometimes things happen so rare, so special that I don't dare to tell, not because of the fear of ridicule but so that they do not say: “Victoria has gone crazy.” But the insistent desire of the communication drives me, spurs me on and I give in. I'm already talking... I walked, thoughtfully, in my mind, there was a fixed idea, when turning a corner I spotted the Marinera. I stopped surprised The Marinera? Isn't it a joke? The Marinera from Lima? ... The Marinea in person! She passed by very close to me almost touching my body; she walked quickly, beautiful, funny, proud. She walked away so quickly, she kept going so sure of herself that without thinking twice I turned my steps back: Marinera! Marinera! Marinera!… She didn't turn around. There was not even the slightest gesture in her indicating that she heard me. -How strange! What happened to her? What happened? She who is the one so sensitive and frank... Didn't she like my voice? “She did it to you too! "She didn't answer me either!" -A handsome dark-skin man told me while he observed my stupor. You see, she didn't even look at me. -She is like that Why then? Has it gone to her head? because she is the queen and the lady...? I don't think so, I wonder, maybe that she didn't like the name, because “Marinera” was later... -That's not it! Just a few days ago the same thing happened to me and I appealed to her old name: Zamacueca! She didn't look back. Did she not pay attention? -No way Didn't she like you? -How can I know? the truth is that without looking at me She passed next to me. And it's been a few weeks that I'm entrenched in this corner waiting for this imaginary feud to be broken... What are you going to do? -God knows! but I have hope because now we are two. I already resorted to several tricks, It gave me no results, It's your turn, friend, delves into your imagination. What do I have to do to make her to listen, to stop, that she replies to us...? Is she unhappy with her work? Does she feel satisfaction? Are you going to ask her that? And you? Well, not me. It matters to me to know the place where she was born -That is easy! Where is she from? -They say that from Spain Oh yeah? -Would not you agree? Well no! -African then? No! So? So what! Am I a fortune teller that reveals mysteries? In any case from a witch I have nothing but the face... We are two...? True. An idea will emerge. Tell me... About the guitar Do you know how to make the strings trill? Perfect! Where did you learn? By tradition? Perfect! Tomorrow at the same time We are waiting for you! Ok? -Sure! And the next day, on the corner, He didn't come alone, there were two: his brother - a great cajonero and he - master of the strings. And the unexpected happened, The miracle, She appeared! Captivating with her gesture, mesmerizing, she danced... We forget the questions naively stated, life emanated from her like saying: It doesn't matter! Why do the place  where I was born matter to whom vibrates and lives in me? I don't answer to any name I dance on the ground or on a tapestry. To live it is not necessary parchments, fleur-de-lis. As long as guitars exist, fingers that know how to play, percussionists with fiber, cracked voices, with faith, I will be present, alive; because this is what dance is. That's it! That which cannot be imitated, that you don't count “one, two, three…” It is organic, heartfelt, It springs from the soul, from the being. Do you want to know my origin, where am I really from? Well, I'm from the one that vibrates and feels! Live me and I give myself to you!

*Marinera - a couple dance best known on the coast of Peru. The main variants are: the marinera from Lima, the northern marinera, and the marinera of the towns of southern Peru.

**Zamacueca - an ancient colonial dance and music that originated in Peru, taking its roots from Spanish and Andean rhythms. This musical style is considered a precedent of the cueca, the zamba, chacarera, bailecito and the marinera.

***cajonero - musician who plays the cajon, an instrument of Afro-Peruvian origin widely used in flamenco

Note: The English version available in this post is a loose translation from the original text.

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About The Poet

Victoria Santa Cruz (1922-2014) was a Peruvian poet, choreographer, folklorist, fashion designer and activist. Daughter of a playwright and a marinera dancer, she formed with her younger brother, Nicomedes Santa Cruz, one of the first theatrical groups with only black people. She is considered one of the most important artists of Afro-Peruvian culture.