FORTUNATO RAMOS worked as a rural teacher in schools in the Quebrada de Humahuaca. Has a coterie of meals in Humahuaca (Jujuy) which offers a show where usually recites the poem Do not laugh at one and I never went coya child. Ramos was born on October 16, 1947 in Coraya, Humahuaca Department, Jujuy Province. National Normal Maestro Regional writer, musician regional, reciter of manners, a tiller of the soil, Tantanakuy contributor that year after year takes place in the Quebrada de Humahuaca. Accordion player in the carnival of the Quebrada de Humahuaca, could realize their recordings with Jaime Torres, the group's children and the group Cacharpaya Humahuaca. The CD "Live here!" Divided rock group, contains the erke Fortunato, on the theme: Morning in the Abasto. Also recorded with the famous singer purmamarqueño Tomás Lipan and Humahuaca zagala Monica Pantoja. He published "Poems customs of a rural teacher," "The high runes and monkeys," "Customs, poems and regionalism", "Collas de la Quebrada de Humahuaca" (traducido al inglés, francés y alemán) y "Personajes de la Quebrada de Humahuaca".
North in Jujuy province near the Bolivian border, the village of Humahuaca Seems a natural home to STI cholla (indigenous) Population. In this hardscrabble place, itinerate vendors sell sunhats to shelter Tourists Against the high-altitude sun and Children offer to recite a coupla (short poem) by Fortunato Ramos in return for a small fee.
not laugh at A COYA
not laugh at a low hill Coya
to leave their goats, sheep tender their stiff Habal;
not laugh at a coya, if you see him quiet ...
if dunce see if you see asleep. Do not laugh
a coya, if across the street, you see scurrying
like a flame, like a guanaco
, asustao the rune as well wild donkey,
poncho hat under his arm.
coya envelopes if not a sunny day you see
warm woolen clothing, transpired over;
keep in mind, my friend, the wine of the hill where it is very cold, where the cold wind
rajeteó his hands and broke his callus.
not laugh at a coya, if you see him eating his nickname
cooked, the flesh of accoutrement,
there in a square on a sidewalk or near the river;
less! if you see kochia by Pachamama.
He came down the hill to sell their hides,
to sell their wool, to buy sugar, to carry his flour and is so wary
brought their silver
and even his food and asks for nothing.
not laugh at a coya that is on the border of the Lao pal
Quiaca and there in the heights of the opening of Zenta;
keep in mind, my friend, that he will be the first to stop the legs
when someone dares violating the country.
not make fun of that if you go pal coya
Hill will open the doors of his sad house,
will take his chicha, will give his poncho
and eat with their buses and a tulpa
nothing.
not laugh at a coya seeking silence
In the midst of your beans grown slabs,
and there in the hills, where nothing survives
well with Pachamama! Puede
buy a booklet with translations Into Germain, French, Italian and other languages. Below, the translation Into Inglés made by Elsa Mabel Mamani for a tourist:
Do Not laugh at a coya, Who Came from the hills. He left His goats, sheep historical young, tough historical earth. Do Not make fun of a coya if I is silent, if I is confused, if I is tired.
Do Not make fun of a coya, When crossing the street if I have runs like a flame, like a guanaco, frightened like a wild donkey, poncho and hat, under his arm.
Do not laugh at a coya, if on a sunny day, he is dressed with wool clothing, completely sweat, you have to know, my friend, that he came from the mountains, where it is very cold, ehere the freezing wind cut his hands and cracked his cayo.
Do not laugh at a coya, if you see him eating his mote, his prepared meat. There, in the plaza (square), in the sidewalk or in the river. Not even, if you see him “coquiando” in honour of his Pachamama. He came from the mountains to sell his leather, to sell his wool, to buy sugar, to take flour. He is also cautious that he brought his own money, his own food and he does not ask for anything.
Do not laugh at a coya, if you go to the mountains, I will open the doors of His melancholic house, you will drink historical chichi, I will Give You His poncho, with historical and buses, you will eat Tulpo historical, all for nothing.
Do Not laugh at a coya, Who looks for silence, Who Within stones historical Cultivated beans, there, in the highness, Where There is nothing I Survives With His Pachamama!
Elsa Mabel Mamani added: "May God grant that we have the sensitivity and courage of children to face life without fear and with a simple look ... And in this time of profound physical and spiritual crisis we join in the effort to that more and more children can enjoy their status. " I NEVER WENT
CHILD
My smile is dry and my face is serious,
my broad shoulders, my muscles hard my hands
games for the bitter cold
eight years I have, but I'm not a child.
behind my sheep I'm over the hill and cargau
my wood under my post
to blow the fire, Mismi my rope,
and I have no time to be a child.
Years walk and all the same,
reasoned, salt lechi are my candy, my toy
a goat or sheep dog,
little time I have, but I'm not a child.
My toy airplane is an old crow, my truck a donkey
slow jogging,
my friend, is the fox who steals my goats
and my consolation is to be a child.
My face is old and my grandfather walk, my calluses games
stones of the hill, my poncho
ragged by the wind,
all that tells me that I am not a child.
And no kings, no
Day of the Child, I was lucky
never be able to be a child!
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