11
" When I take you to the Valley, you’ll see the blue hills on the left and the blue hills on the right, the rainbow and the vineyards under the rainbow late in the rainy season, and maybe you’ll say, “There it is, that’s it!” But I’ll say. “A little farther.” We’ll go on, I hope, and you’ll see the roofs of the little towns and the hillsides yellow with wild oats, a buzzard soaring and a woman singing by the shadows of a creek in the dry season, and maybe you’ll say, “Let’s stop here, this is it!” But I’ll say, “A little farther yet.” We’ll go on, and you’ll hear the quail calling on the mountain by the springs of the river, and looking back you’ll see the river running downward through the wild hills behind, below, and you’ll say, “Isn’t that the Valley?” And all I will be able to say is “Drink this water of the spring, rest here awhile, we have a long way yet to go and I can’t go without you. "
― Ursula K. Le Guin , Always Coming Home
17
" Need every word be translated? Sometimes the untranslated word might serve to remind us that language is not meaning, that intelligibility is an element of it only, a function. The untranslated word or name is not functional. It sits there. Written, it is a row of letters, which spoken with a more or less wild guess at the pronunciation produces a complex of phonemes, a more or less musical and interesting sound, a noise, a thing. The untranslated word is like a rock, a piece of wood. Its use, its meaning, is not rational, definite, and limited, but concrete, potential, and infinite. To start with, all the words we say are untranslated words. "
― Ursula K. Le Guin , Always Coming Home
20
" CÁNTICO DE INICIACIÓN DE LA LOGIA DE LOS BUSCADORES
Trae, por favor, cosas extrañas.
Vuelve, por favor, con cosas nuevas.
Deja que lleguen a tus manos cosas muy antiguas.
Deja que llegue a tus ojos lo que no conoces.
Deja que la arena del desierto endurezca tus pies.
Deja que el arco de tu pie sea las montañas.
Deja que los surcos de las yemas de tus dedos sean los mapas
y que los caminos que recorres sean las líneas de la palma de tus manos.
Deja que entre nieve profunda al inspirar
y que tu aliento sea el fulgor del hielo.
Que tu boca contenga las formas de extrañas palabras.
Que tu olfato huela comidas que nunca has probado.
Que el manantial de un río extraño sea tu ombligo.
Que tu alma esté cómoda donde no hay casas.
Camina con cuidado, bienamado,
camina alerta, bienamado,
camina con valentía, bienamado.
Vuelve con nosotros, vuelve a nosotros,
sigue el eterno regreso a casa. "
― Ursula K. Le Guin , Always Coming Home
