BLACKWELL FAMILY ALICE STONE BLACKWELL SUBJECT FILE Spanish-American Poems - Translations by Alice S. BlackwellTHE LAKE By Juan B. Delgado. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell (Nicaragua has been so much in the public eye lately that additional interest is given to this poem on its great lake.) The Lake Is Alive (subhead) The monster is a live thing. If calm it lies before us, 'Tis like a cat gigantic, that snores in gentle sleep; But if, with wrath and fury, blind Aeolus incites it, 'Tis a mad tiger, arching its back his back with roaring deep. At dawn it wears the color of heaven's vast dome above it; It sparkles in the sunlight and flushes rosy red. When Venus with fair tresses high o'er it shines and twinkles. The hand of evening shadow paints it with h rd hues of lead. It breathes, it lives, the monster. So seems it when its brow Is wrinkled n by a breath divine. Its whole huge surface now, Of burnished crystal, sights when by a vessel's keel 'tis pressed. And when the rise and falling of its bosom's curve we see, As it lies respiring deeply and full and wearily, Old Nicarao's spirit is throbbing in its breast. (The Lake Laughs. (subhead) In the cerulean crystal which delicately trembles, Iris her seven colors melts, and in the wave they play. An opal fiery-hearted, a gem of brightest lustre, The surface of the water seems. The lake is glad today. It stretches in its bed of rocks, with slow and lazy motion, Its laughter bubbling over (its mood is laughter light). Like white Pierrot, the hero of the poet's mirthful verses, It rings its bells until they drown the wind's voice in its flight. The sky takes on a color of vague and pallid red; Now scattered rose-leaves in a shoer shower upon the lake are shed, And on its smiling waters the iris-blossoms sway. The land breeze blows, gust after gust. A swift bark, by it stirred, Furrows the smooth, clear water as if it were a bard_ A blithesome heron swimming. The broad lake laughs today. The Lake Weeps (d subhead) The morning opened pleasantly its eye serene and tranquil, But faintly spread the splendors that it wore when it awoke. The broad lake is a looking-glass, and faithfully it mirrors The sky above_ a soap-bubble brimful of mist and smoke. 'Tis cold. As if 'twere smiting a marimba's keys of silver, Upon the lake's wide surface resounds the falling rain. In diamonds clear and manifold the sky lets fall its teardrops, As if its heart were grieving with a long and bitter pain. The lake its fog upraises like a kerchief towards the skies, As if to wipe the teardrops away from heaven's eyes, And the kerchief, by a sorrow made dear to it, it keeps. But suddenly the Sun comes up; he pours abroad his light, And to the infinite return, changed now to vapors white, The gathered drops the rain let fall upon it. The lake weeps. The Lake Sings (subhead) The great curve of the heavens above the world is shining It arches o'er the universe, an airy, graceful dome; And the thick mist is rising, in gold and rosy atoms, From thronging waves that raise aloft their plumes of salty foam. See how the restless water leaves on the rocks and ledges, That are poor in moss and lichens, its fleece with snowy gleams. The Sun within the water steeps his mane of glowing tresses, And the vast lake a crucible os of seething cooper seems. The herds of thirsty cattle to its margin come to drink; Beneath the beech of Tityrus the shepherds on the brink Touch their zamponas happily; her voice sweet Echo brings; And with that concert are conjoined, like Pan's pipies playing nigh, The voices of the waves that come upon the bank to die, Praising the greatness of the Lord. 'Tis noonday. The lake sings. The Lake Grieves (subhead) The Sun is dying in the west; a soundling De Profundis Out of the lake arises. The light mist, fold on fold, Curls in the sky above it. The silent star of evening Sprinkles upon the world beneath her tears of shining gold. Now all things grieve; birds on their flutes; upon their harps the naiads; Upon its ocarina the wind with mournful moan; Upon their heavenly guzla the waves in white foam breaking... A gentle mood, where all become a chorus in one tone. The darkness is descending. Now, murmuring ballads low, The grove and forest mourn by turns, and sound a note of woe; All wears an air of sadness, the lake, the sky, the leaves. Birds, naiads, winds, waves, Nature, and everything around Breathe an "Alas." together, of sadness without bound, Lamenting o'er the passing of the Sun. The dark lake grieves. The Lake Sleeps (subhead) Powerless the monster finds itself. Now it is tired and panting; Its huge, athletic muscles lie all relaxed and mild. It curves its claws no longer, nor challenge the North Wind, Nor scatters tossing foam-flakes, nor roars in fury wild. The Moon the waves caresses_she has come forth in heaven, Two-horned and golden shining, like the lyre the pot poets sweep; And on the broad lake's feline back, the vast and quiet surface, Electric sparks are gleaming. The monster is asleep. It laughs no more, it weeps no more; it neither sings nor sighs; Now no emotion troubles the rest in which it lies. It sleeps. Its glassy jaws exhale thick vapor as they part. And when the rise and falling of its bosom's curve we see, As it lies respiring deeply and full and wearily, Old Nicaro's spirit is throbbing in its heart.What matter if her cheek be rosyred Or pale towards whom our [belo] love concentred strains, If she is the beloved of our heart, She that awakes our dreams? What does it matter how she looks in truth If we believe her beautiful to see? Then let us love her fervently + well And give to her our soul; the star is she That guides us through the darkness of the night Across the desert's broad + arid plain To the oasis where the palm tree stands [*Whose shadow ca[??]s the ancient strife & pain What Matter Lo[?]ano What does it matter if our true love's hair Be bright with gleaming gold or dark as night? If fate to [b] us that happy fortune gives What matters dark or bright? What matters it if black or heavenly blue Her eyes maybe, who bears us us comfo[??] If, as we pass along our life's rough road, No others do we see? What matters it though in a foreign tongue She [?] the word divine, our hearts that stirs, If, when our journeying love draws near to her, She opes the doors of hers? over TO THE TREE Translated for The Christian Science Monitor Marvellous tent, Rustling tapestry of emerald lace, That the gentle hand of Nature Has raised beside the barren road Where the pilgrim walks alone! Where is the heart That, in the protection of your shelter, Does not forget its tears, And begin to sing, near you? When the Spring Renews your garments, And the garrulous throng of nightingales Comes to dwell among your branches, [As I gaze upon you,] And you pour forth your sounds lavishly Over the peace of the fields, I, as I gaze upon you, Think that your broad top is [an] a vast brain, And that the nightingales, Through whose voices your heart breathes itself out In deep, [and] mysterious rythms, Are, within your cells, The fruitful thoughts of God, opening their wings!.…. Hospitable tent, Mysterious tapestry of lace, full of murmurs, That the [pitying hab] gentle hand of Nature Has raised by the side of every road, Let us rest in the deep shadow of your leaves! _Dulce Maria Borrero de Lujan. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell.To [the] a Tree rejectedSONG OF THE GENERAL STRIKE Mario Bravo (Argentina) The crowd advances like a sounding sea, The multitude ablaze with banners bright; In the great chorus that invokes a hope All earth's revolts seem throbbing, full of might. Like a huge cloud foretelling cyclones dread The multitude all-powerful marches past; Today they rest; their clamor, all as one, Spreads fear of revolutions dark and vast. Energy that creates and that destroys, Perpetual energy, the crowd goes by_ Men with their faith, their strength, their song, their flag_ And, as they pass, the streets thrill silently; A hush falls falls here and where the pampas ope, And life itself stands still and waits in hope. Version by Alice Stone Black[e]well. THE CLOUD Salvador Diaz Miron (Mexico) Why dost thou grieve, as rises from the sea The cloud, black hooded, climbing silently Toward heaven's height? From it fresh coolness through thr sky shall flow, And pure the air and green the ground shall grow, And fair the light. Then tremble not. let storm-winds rage with might, Let deafening thunders Let deafening thunders roll, fierce lightning smite Wide, far and free. These dread convulsions do not come in vain; The people, with strong hands of ruddy stain, Win liberty. Version by Alice Stone Blackwell. MUSINGS IN THE GORGE. The day is thunderous and gray, But storms give zest and vim! The gorge is two miles down the hill, Let's go and take a swim! We spin down to the tree-rimmed stream; Gaze far below to spray, To rapids, pools and water-falls, And boulders, huge and gray! O'er darkened pine-stream slopes we slide To near the water's rim. Our scraps of bathing-suits we don, And soon we're plunging in. We wade or crawl, and lounge on rocks. We dive and battle spray! The current here is surging strong, And sweeps us on our way! We see reflections in the pool! As now we rest on rocks. A lovely picture each one makes, Sun-browned, in bathing frocks. Like fawns and dryads are we now, In ghoul or goblin world; As dainty bits of porcelain Upon this wildness hurled. Four boulders, like a crouching lion, Or tiger-monsters stand, As sweep the waters down the gorge, A-gouging out the land. This rock has elfin crevices, Moss-fringed, with fairy growth, Where little vines go tumbling down To water, nothing loth. Sunset The twilight is diaphanous; it seems a precious crystal, opening in the skies It's shining agate; tis a filmy veil In which the lake's calm azure swoons and dies Into faint, greenish amber in the west The sun's rich light is fading, still and slow; Upon the velvet shadow, far away, One pale star trembles, like a flower of snow. UrbinaOn the Lake The waters with their phosphoresence blue Mirror the heavenly twilight, air and sky Subtler and thinner and more crystalline Beneath the luminous transparency. See garrulous impatience, lo! The waves Scatter in diamond dust the spray they shed. And to a pearly rose-hue fine and sweet, Softer the sunset's tints of vivid red. Celestial shades weave many-colored lace. Build castles, golden domes, and flaming towers Beneath the wave, til 'mid the melting hues The lake appears, in sunset's magic hours. A lovely sheet of shining moire, strewn With petals of pure light from burning flowers Luis Y. Urbina The Last Sunset Topazes, amethysts and emeralds deep Are fused in the imperial sunset's light; And black against the vivid dues of gold, A royal pine stands out upon the height. Upon the other side comes up the moon, A marble globe half-darkened, over head - Where in capricious folds the mountains brows Their dense, luxuriant tropic verdant spread Like some rich fabric with a border white Of pearl and diamonds, now the sea be fair; Reflecting all the sky's bright, mingled shades, It spreads its dark blue mantle to the air. UrbinaAll things climb a starry stairs, By a law that no man knows.... What was once a chrysalid Soon shall soar, free fluttering; What was yesterday a wish Will tomorrow be a wing! Urbina A Sunny Morning The sails that quiver in the morning breeze Throb like the wings of a snow-white bird in flight, The air that skims the sea makes minkles fine In its blue silk of woven crystal bright Deep calmness broods upon the golden coast; So pure and delicate the wind appears, When my hot face it cools it seems to me My mother's kiss which dries my childhood's tears. Birds in a flock, upsoaring through the air. The shining whiteness of the cloud adorn, and the stain the sapphire depth inviolate Of the far sky upon the tranquil mornUrbium