BLACKWELL FAMILY ALICE STONE BLACKWELL SUBJECT FILE Spanish-American Poems-Translations by Alice S. BlackwellErnesto Montenegro Village Squares Of our slow, somnolent provincial life Ye are the charm, I pleasant public squares, Quiet, by old trees shaded, calm abodes Of peace and silence, free from worldly cares! 'Tis the siesta's hour; from moveless boughs Thick perfumes to the earth descend in streams; They creep along, grow fainter - subtly sweet, They for the brain outspread their net of dreams. The tiny dwellings, dwarfish, ruinous, Their church's guardianship draw close around, And in the silent evening from its tower The bell with measured notes begins to sound. An acolyte is in the belfry glimpsed; A song sighs softly in the orchard near; A court's gate creaks upon its broken hinge; Hens cluck, a dog's bark echoes, sharp and clear. The picture of the rural scene stands out From scattered memories that haunt the mind, Like a bright spring of water gushing forth 'Ilid ruins that fire has left behind. 2 The thirsty spirit drinks it sip by sip, Drinks with an indolent and slow delight, Feeling how in its depths the will is loosed From the stern prison-house of iron might. Of our slow, somnolent provincial light Ye are the charm; old trees their shadows cast O'er your cool pavements, tranquil public squares, Ye refuges of silence and the past!Plazas de Provincia Ernesto Montenegro De la precaria vida de provincia sois el encanto, plaza de los pueblos; quietas, sombreadas por anosos árboles, refugios de la paz y del silencio. Hora de siesta; del ramaje inmóvil, densos perfumes bajan hasta el suelo, se arrastran, se diluyen, y sutiles, se red de suenos tienden al cerebro. Las viviednas enanas y ruinosas se arriman al ampara de su templo, de cuya torre, en la callda tarde, la voz de la campana emprende el vuelo. Un monaguillo al campanario asoma; suspira un canto en el cercano huerto; luego gime un portón desvencijado, cloquean las gallinas, ladra un perro... Y de la escena rústica, la imagen prende entre los jirones del recuerdo cual una clara fuente de agua viva, surta entre los escombros de un incendio. Bebe el alma sedienta, sorbo a sorbo, con un deleite perezoso y lento, sintiendo como al fondo se desata la voluntad de su prision de hierro. De la precaria vida de provincia sois el encanto, plazas de los pueblos; frescas, sombreadas por anosos arboles, refugios del pasado, y del silencio. ---"Zig-Zag"Song The morning is a festal day Because you kissed me, dear And at the touch of your sweet lips All heaven grows blue and clear. The streamlet flows along; I had a glance from you, And in the sunlight of your glance The waters all grow blue. Because you have deserted me The pinewood wears a veil Of mourning, and the sadnight weeps- The night so blue and pale. Blue night of autumns grieving and, When you farewell doth say - Night when the moon in heaven died, And when you went away!Towers. [By Roberto Brenes Mesen of Honduras. Translated from Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell.] Holy hands a tower erected In great Babylon of old; In Ionia too men built them, And among the Romans bold. If in Crete or Patagonia, If in Africa or Ind, Every colony constructed Towers to kiss the sun and wind. Under different names and phrasing, They are temples of men's raising, Builded towards the sky's blue height; For, by sacred yearnings driven, Thus men lift their souls towards heaven In a rapt idea of flight.A LA LUNA Dulce Maria Borrero de Lujan Oh, tu, la pensativa, la enamorada, del jardin de los cielos flor de las flores, incansable paloma, viajera palida, de la gondola negra! No me abandones, amiga de los tristes; gota del alma de Dios, que entre sus labios la reina Noche guarda, como en un bucaro de azur y plata. Mi eterna silenciosa, mi castellana, del espacio en los lugubres corredores oye de mis tristezas la serenata, y haz que en la negra noche de los dolores como blanco rocio caigan sus lagrimas sobre las azucenas de mis amores! TO THE MOON Dule Maria Borrero de Lujan O thou the pensive, the enamored! Flower Of Flowers amid the garden of the sky! Thou dove untiring ever, traveller pale Of the black gondola that glides on high! Friend of the sad, forsake me not, I pray, Thou drop that from the soul of God didst flow, And that Queen Night between her lips doth keep, As in as vase of blue and silver glow! From the far, gloomy corridors of space, My lady every mute, my chatelaine, List to the serenade my sorrows sing, And in the darksome night of grief and pain, Let thy pure tears, like dew-drops clear and white, Upon the lilies of my loves drop light! Torres [Robarto Brenes Mesen] Erigieron santas manos una torre en Babilonia; la elevaron en la Jonia, la admiraron los ramonas. Fueran Indios o Africanos, y ya en Creta o Patagonia, dondequiero una colonia alzo torres con sus manos. Aunque con diversos nombres, son los templos que los hombres levantaron hacia el cielo. Porque su alma, en ansia santa por las torres se levanta en un rapto ideal de vuelo. --- Voces del Angelus. VIEGO ESTRIBILLO. [Amada Norvo.] ¿Quién es esa sirena de la voz tan doliente, de las carnes tan blancas, de la trensa tan bruna? -Es un rayo de luna que se baña en la fuente, es un rayo de luna... ¿Quien gritando mi nombre la morada recorce? ¿Quien me llama en las noches con tan tremulo acento? -Es un soplo de viento que solloza en la torre, es un soplo de viento... ¿Dí, quien eres, arcangel cuyas alas se abrasan en el fuego divino de la tarde y que subes por la gloria del eter? -Son las nubes que pasan, mica bien, son las nubes... ¿Quien regó sus collares en el agua, Dios mío? Lluvia son de diamantes en azul terciopelo... -Es la imagen del cielo que palpita en el río, es la imagen del cielo... !Oh, Senor! !La Belleza solo es, pues, espejisso! Nada más. Tu eres cierto, sé Tu mi último Dueno. ¿Donde hallarte, en el éter, en la tierra, en mí mismo? -Un poquito de ensueño te guiara en cada abismo, un poquito de ensueño... EL Eixodo y las Flores del Camino. Francisco A. de Icaza Autumn. By Francisco A. De Icaza The locusts' shrilling now hath sunk to silence; The fields of wheat no more are like a sea When zephyr, at the hour of the siesta, Sways all the sleeping harvests drowsily. The wind comes to us full of pungent fragrance, The odor of the pines the soft air fills; And through the foliage run strange, nameless tremors-- The leaves are stirred by vague, mysterious thrills. Below the grapevines' canopy of leafage, The last sweet cluster trembles on the spray, And underneath the eaves the birds of the summer Have left their empty nests and flown away. My face within my hands, I sit and ponder, Silent and pensive, on these autumn days, And from the open window of my chamber I gaze across the fields, now dim with haze. And something that is like the autumn landscape I feel within my soul, on such a day-- Something of the resigned and quiet sadness Belonging to a heaven clam and gray. OTOÑAL. Francisco de A. Icaza. Han callado las cigarras; no fingen un mar los trigos cuando el céfiro en la siesta mece los campos dormidos; El viento llega impregnado del acre olor de los pinos; circulan por el ramaje misteriosos calofríos; Bajo del toldo de parra tiembla el último racimo, y en los aleros las aves abandonaron sus nidos. Con el rostro entre las manos, silencioso y pensativo, desde la abierta ventana el campo brumoso miro; Dentro del alma sintiendo algo del paisaje mismo: la tristeza resignada de un cielo gris y tranquilo.To BENJAMIN BOLANOS on the DEATH of his CHILD I told you when I saw him - (Was he not a dream forgotten among soft pillows!) - "Hide the smiling cherub carefully, and fasten well the windows and the doors!" Do you not see how eagerly little children balance themselves in the dainty cradle, and how they lift and move their little arms, and as they move them, they seem to flutter? It is because they are looking for their wings, wondering to themselves without them, asking for them impatiently, night and day. They deceive them with songs and swayings, and they think that already they are flying! Your child found his wings! The cradle, motionless, is no longer the nest of heavenly joys. He went away in a white moonbean. His other family was calling him! Take a walk around the balcony, if [?] he may return. Perhaps, when he entered the dwelling of the blessed, he murmured with regret: "Mamma was better, more loving, more beautiful!" If your love of loves returns no more, find comfort in your fatherly affection; he did not know the griefs of this world; he lived without living, and he went away to heaven! A BENJAMIN BOLANOS en la muerte de us hijo. Te lo dije al mirarle.. !Si era un sueno olvidado entre blandos almohadones! --Oculta mucho al querubin risueño... y cierra bien las puertas y balcones! ¿No ves con cuanto afán los pequếnitos en la cuna gentil se balancean, y como alzan y mueven sus bracitos y al moverlos parece que aletean? Es que buscan sus alas, las extranan, las piden in pacientes noche y día, con cantos y columpios los enganan... !Y ellos piensan que vuelan todavia! !El tuyo las halló! La inmóvil cuna nido no es ya de celestiales goces... Partió en un rayo de la blanca luna... Su otra familia lo llamaba á voces! Entorna tu balcon por si volviera; tal vez, entrando en la mansión dichosa, murmuro arrepentido: !mama era mas buena, mas amante, mas hermosa! Si no vuelve el amor de tus amores, en tu amor paternal halla consuelo; !no conoció del mundo los dolores, y vivió sin vivir, y se fué al cielo!141 [Sierra (Justo)] PLAYERAS. Baje a la playa la dulce niña, perlas hermosas le buscaré; deje que el agua durmiendo cína con sus cristales su blanco pie. Venga la niña risueña y pura, el mar su encanto reflejará, y mientras llega la noche obscura, cosas de amores le contará. Cuando en Levante despunte el día verá las nubes de blanco tul, como los cisnes de la bahía, rivar serenas el cielo azul. Enlazaremos a las palmeras la suave hamaca, y en su vaivén las horas tristes irán ligeras, y sueños de oro vendrán también. Y si la luna sobre las olas tiende de plata bello cendal, oirá la niña mis barcarolas al son del remo que hiende el mar. Mientras la noche prende en sus velos broches de perlas y de rubí, y exhalaciones cruzan los cielos, lágrimas de oro sobre el zafir! 2. El mar verlado con tenue bruma te dará su hálito arrullador, que bien mereee besos de espuma la conca nácar, nidode amor. Ya la marea, niña, comienza, ven, que ya sopla tibio terral; ver, y careyes tendrá tu trenza y tu albo cuello rojo coral. La dulce nina bajó temblando, bañó en el agua su blanca pie; después, cuando ella se fué llorando, dentro las olas perlas hallé.Justo Sierra A Song of the Shore Let the sweet maiden to the shore come down: I will seek beauteous pearls for her delight. Let her permit the sleeping water there. With crystal to surround her foot so white. Oh, let her come, the pure and smiling maid! Her charms the ocean clear will mirror well: And while the darksome night is falling fast. Stories of love he in her ear will tell. When in the Orient the day shall dawn. She will behold white, filmy clouds on high. Which, like the swans that float within the bay. Will glide serenely, ripping the blue sky, We from the palms will hang the hammock soft. And in its swaying, while the light winds stir. The lonely hours will swiftly pass away, And sweet and golden dreams will come to her. And if the moon should spread upon the waves Her veil of silver sendal silently, The maid will hear my boat-songs rising clear. Sung to the oar that cleaves the sleeping sea. While the night fastens to her garments dark Brooches of pears and rubles gleaming bright, And shooting starts across the heaven flash, Like tears of gold upon the sapphire hight. The sea to thee will waft his cooling breath, Veiled by thin mists that o'er the water roam. Because the pearly shell, the nest of love, Richly deserves the kisses of the foam. O maiden, come! The tide begins to rise, The land breeze now is blowing warm and light. Thou shalt have tortoise-shell to deck thin hair. And ruddy coral for thy neck so white. The sweet girl came down, trembling, and she bathed her white feet where the tide the sea beach laves. Later, when she had gone away in tears. I found fair pearls within the briny waves. Efren Rebolledo Sunset From the Spanish Mexican poet Efren Rebolledo. Rendered into English verse by Alice Stone Blackwell. The weary sun slowly Descends to his rest Behind the soft mist Of gold foam in the West. From the heavens hang veils Of bewildering shades - Deep violet velvets And gold brocades. O beautiful, faces, Necks slender and fair, Wistful eyes, rosy lips, Knots of cloudy, soft hair! Of gifts and bright hopes, How immense is the sum, Where hearts yet are desolate, Mournful and dumb! The shrine, standing lonely, A slow, plaintive note From its belfy sends forth On the breezes to float; And the young moon's thin crescent Amid the dusk night From a wandering cloud Comes forth gleaming and bright.SOMETIMES A LEAF. González Martinez. Sometimes a leaf that flutters in the air, Torn from the treetops by the breezes' strife, A weeping of clear waters flowing by A nightingale's rich song, disturb my life. And soft, sweet languors, ecstasies supreme, Timid and far away, come back to me. That star and I, we know each other well; Brothers to me are yonder flower and tree. My spirit, entering into grief's abyss, Dives to the farthest bottom, without fear. To me 'tis like a deep, mysterious book; Letter by letter I can read it clear. A subtle atmosphere, a mournful breeze, Make my tears flow in silence, running free, And I am like a note of that sad song Chanted by all things, whatsoe'er they be. Delirious fancies in a throng press near- Hallucination, or instantly? - The lillies' souls to me their kisses give, The passing clouds all greet me, floating by. Divine Communion! for fleeting space My senses waken to a sharpness rare. I know what you are murmuring, shining fount! I know what you are saying, wandering air! I loose myself from all things, free myself To live a new life - and I should not say If I through all things am diffused abroad, Or all come into me, and with me stay. 2. But all things flee me, and my soul takes flight On heavy wings, 'mid faint and chilly breezes, In an aloofness inconsolable, Through solitude which terrifies and freezes. Therefore, amend my pangs of loneliness, The while my senses sleep, I bend mine ear, O Nature, to receive thy lightest words - I tremble at each murmur that I hear. And that is why a falling, fluttered leaf, Torn from the tree tops by the breezes' strife, A tear of limpid water flowing by, A nightingale's rich song, disturb my life. [Los Senderos Ocultas.][95] Á VECES, UNA HOJA DESPRENDIDA... Á veces, una[a]hoja desprendida De lo alto de los árboles, un lloro De las linfas que pasan, un sonoro Trino de ruiseñor, turban mi vida. Vuelven a mí, medrosos y lejanos, Suaves deliquios, éxtasis supremos; Aquella estrella y yo nos conocemos, Ese árbol, esa flor son mis hermanos. En el abismo del Dolor penetra Mi es[t]piritu, bucea, va hasta el fondo, Y es como un libro misterioso y hondo En que puedo leer letra por letra. Un ambiente [a]sutil, un aura triste Hace correr mi silencioso llanto, Y soy como una nota de ese canto Doloroso de todo lo que existe. Me cercan en bandada los delirios... (Es alucinación... locura acaso?) Me saludan las nubes á su paso Y me besan las almas de los lirios. ¡Divina comunión!... Por un instante Son mis sentidoe de agudeza rara... Ya sé lo que murmuras, fuente [calra] clara; Ya sé lo que me dices, brisa errante. De todo me liberto y me desligo Á vivir nueva vida, de tal modo, Que yo no sé si me difundo en todo O todo me penetra y va conmigo. 2. [96] Mas todo huye de mí y el alma vuela Con torpes alas por un aura fría, En una inconsolable lejanía Por una soledad que espanta y hiela. Por eso en mis ahogos de tristeza, Mientras duermen en calma mis sentidos, Tendiendo á tus palabras mis oídos Tiemblo á cada rumor, naturaleza. Por eso alguna hoja desprendida De lo alto de los árboles, un lloro De las linfas que pasan, un sonoro Trino de ruiseñor, turban mi vida. -|Silenter|A CRYSTAL SIGH By Enrique Gonzalez Martinez. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. I come to the brink of the flowing spring; How gently the goes gliding by! And I hear the current which murmurs low- - It sounds like the breath of a crystal sigh. I keep my doubts in my silent breast, Under the tranquil evening light; I yearn within to be kind and good As in the hour that is taking flight. The murmuring water I fain would be, That knows no stain as its ripples run; I would glide o'er a bed of greenness fair Under the night or facing the sun. Oh, night I be the limpid stream In silvery purity that flows Over the sand, so fine and white, And knows not, journeying, whither it goes! The church-bell sounds from the darksome tower With its far, sad voice that mourns and pleads, While a bird the notes of her song lets fall Over my soul like a chaplet's beads. My fingers plunk on the brooklet's edge An innocent violet blue and bright, In which a tremulous dewdrop shines, Gleaming and pure, like a tear of light. I scatter its leaves on the waters clear And those mournful relics drift away Farther and farther towards the red That marks the end of the dying day. And while the current glides smoothly on And gently the water wanders by, I hear the voice of the murmuring spring-- It seems like the breath of a crystal sigh. Como Un Suspiro De Cristal Enrique Gonzalez Martinez Al borde llego de la fuente -- ¡qué mansamente el agua va!-- y oigo el rumor de la corriente como un suspiro de cristal. Guardo las dudas en mi seno bajo el sereno atardecer, y abrigo un ansia de ser bueno como en la hora que se fue. ¡Oh, ser el agua que murmura sin una impura sensacion; ir en un lecho de verdura bajo la noche o frente al sol! ¡Oh, ser arroyo que camina en argentina castidad sobre la arena blanca y fina y sin saber a dónde va! Suena en la torre la campana con su lejana y triste voz mientras un pájaro desgrana para mi vida gu canción. Cogen mis dedos de la orilla una sencilla viola azul en que el rocio tiembla y brilla como una lágrima de luz. Sobre las linfas las deshojo, y aquel despojo funeral se va alejando frente al rojo de la agonia vesperal. Y mientras huye la corriente y mansamente el agua va, oigo el murmullo de la fuente como un suspiro de cristal. ---Parabolas Y Otros Poemas.182 [Equally spirited is this "Barcarole," by Manuel M. Gonzalez[-] [*Barcarole*] Ye fishers who, in hours of azure calm. Leaving the beach, put fourth upon the flood[-] Ye who, without a fear or care afloat. Still singing, singing in your swift-sailed boat. Ask from the sea an easy boon of food! A laughing breeze impels you as you go; The sleeping wave, that has forgot to foam. Without resentment lets your nets be spread, And free from pain you earn your daily bread. Close to the shore, close to your hearth and home. Ye are no seamen, fishers of the calm! He is the sailor, in his soul who knows Struggles as fierce a[?] on the sea prevail In times of tempestwild and stormy gale: He is the sailor who with vigor rows! [Manu] To you the sea gives fish already dead. That, prisoned in the mesh within the wave. Your hand can without effort grasp and keep, It grants the sailor. in its bosom deep. Pearls and red corals, glory and a grave. [?] BARCAROLA. Pescadores que en horas de calma Dejáis la ribera, Y sin miedo ni afán en el alma, Cantando, cantando, y en barca ligera, Pedís vuestro fácil sustento á la mar: Os empuja una brisa riente: La onda dormida Vuestra red sin enojos consiente, Y libres de penas ganáis vuestra vida Muy cerca á la playa, muy cerca al hogar. ¡Ah! vosotros no sois marineros! Es nauta el que alienta En el alma combates tan fieros Como el mar en la ruda tormena; Es nauta el que boga con vívido ardor. Á vosotros os da el Oceano El pez moribundo Que preso en las mallas cogió vuestra mano. Al nauta le brinda su seno profundo Corales y perlas, sepulcro y honor. 179 [A stronger note is struek by] Igacio Ancona Horruytiner [in "]Virtue[":-] When the deep-sounding ocean burst in white. Longing to show its wild, restless might, Tossing its waves and struggling stormily, Does it not give you inner joy to see That still, the more the billows dash and comb. The purer and more white, springs up the foam? Like to the sea with stormy billows rife. The seething ocean of our human life Tortures and terrifies, with savage roar: And virtue, warred against forevermore. Yet like the foam, more beautiful doth rise, Still gazing toward her home beyond the skies. Ignacio Ancona Horruytiner LA VIRTUD. Á mi hermana María del Carmen. Cuando la mar horrisonate estalla, É impetuosa queriendo con su brío Recordar su invencible poderío, Sacúdese y batalla, Díme, ¿no te recrea El contemplar que mientras más se azota Más blanca y pura brota La espuma que subiendo juguetea? [*] [* *] También como la mar embravecida, El Oceano hiviente de la vida Martiriza y espanta: Y la virtud por siempre combatidá, Cual la espuma, más bella se levanta, Buscando con anhelo Seguro asiento en la región del cielo. [Ignacio Anco]175 CREPÚSCULO. Efren Rebolledo. Lentamente, El doliente Sol se esfuma, Tras las bruma De [A]urea espuma Del poniente. De los cielos Cuelyan velos De brocados Mordorados, Yiolados Terciopelos. Rostros bellos, Finos cuellos, Dulces ojos, Labios rojos, Nudos flojos De cabellos. Cuantos dones E ilusiones, Cuando hay [rindos] viudos Cuando hay mudos Y desnudos Corazones! 2. El santuario Solitario Lanza al viento El lamento De su lento Campanario. Yen la bruna Noche, entre una Nube errante Surge avante El octante De la luna.176 ENCHANTED SHORES. Tr ------- Jose Lopez Portilla. y Rojas O[h] mariner upon the sea of life, Now putting forth from harbor with a song, Sung to the slumbering water's lulling sound, While gentle breezes waft you bark along! Full of high glee you from the land depart, Fixing on yon blue sky your eager glance, To seek the magic shore of which you dream, Amid the mightly ocean's broad expanse. May God go with you! May the laughing wave Still kiss your keel with soft, submissive gleam! Soon may the glorious coast before you rise Of that enchanted world of which you dream! I did not meet good weather on the sea. I have come back from regions far remote, My hope unrealized upon the deep, Without my oars, and in a shattered boat. 177 José López Portillo y Rojas MÁGICAS PLAYAS. Marinero del mar de la vida Que te alejas del puerto cantando, Al arrullo del agua dormida Y al impulso del[ó][*é*]firo blando. Vas henchido de júbilo intenso, Fija allá en el azul la mirada, Á buscar en el piélago inmenso El encanto de playa soñada, ¡Dios te lleve! las olas risueñas Siempre besen rendidas tu quilla, Y del mundo encantado que sueñas Pronto surja la espléndida orilla. Yo no tuve en los mares b[e][*o*]nanza, Y regreso de zona remota, Sin poder realizar mi esperanza, En barquilla sin remos y rota. 168 [*The Swallows*] [HARMONIES.] Antonio Zaragoza. When in the mournful meadow Fade all the blossoms gay-- When dies the pleasant springtime, The swallows fly away. The fields will bloom with beauty In other shining springs; The swallows will come cack again, With joy upon their wings. When in man's breast the passions Have left sharp thorns alone, Ah, then the soul's illusions Fly as the birds have flown! In vain we seek with yearning Our tranquil calm of yore; The swallows of the spirit Come back no more, no more! 169 [*to*] HARMONIAS. Antonio Zaragoza. Cuando en ña triste pradera las flores mustias están, y muere la primavera, las golondrinas se van. Otra vez el campo adornan de primavera las galas, y las golondrinas. Y en vano la antigua calma anhelamos con afán; las golondrinas del alma nunca, nunca volverán.The Straits of Magellan. José Santos Chocano. In ocean's perilous night, without a clue, The daring captain sails. The straining bark Sees opening close before it, grim and dark, A mountain cleft in twain, and ventures through, The sails are torn, winds rage with maddest might; Sometimes upon one side a fire they see; Along both shores hoarse wolves howl stormily, Sending their voices through the gloomy night. On the steep sides, the billows bark and bark; Foam clad, they seem whit dogs there in the dark, Against the black wolves on the lonely shores. The ship sails on and on - and as of old The sea kept parting before Moses bold, The land keeps opening slowly, more and more.The Straits of Magellan Train the Spanish of José Santos Chocano (of Peru) Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell In ocean's perilous night, without a clue, The daring captain sails. His groaning bark sees suddenly before it, grim and dark, A mountain cleft in twain, and ventures through. The sails are torn, the mad winds range with might; Sometimes upon one side fire they see; From either shore hoarse wolves howl stormily, Lifting their voices in the gloomy night. On the steep sides the billows bark and bark, Foam clad, they seen white dogs there in the dark, Against the black wolves, on the lonely shore The ship sails on and on - and as of old The sea kept opening before Moses bold, The land keeps opening slowly, more and more. Wanderers. By R. Arevalo Martinez of Guatemala. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Two children: my wife-- Like a buterfly she-- And I, blind with love, Drunk with life's mystery; I follow; we wander One after another. Lord, we are four children Without any mother! So rapt in strange visions My life passes by That of us all, haply, The smallest am I. We are four ermines That shepherd have none; Lord, four orphan children Who rove in the sun! We roam in succession The narrow road o'er; But we do not go guideless, For God goes before! DOS HIJOS Rafael Arévalo Martinez Dos hijos; mi esposa_ que tiene el criterio de una n mariposa_ y ebrio de misterio, ciego de cariños, yo, que marcho en pos: somos cuatro niños sin madre, buen Dios. Yo vivo con modos tan hechos de sueño, que acaso de todas soy el más pequeño. Somos cuatro armiños que van sin pastor. Somos cuatro niños húerfanos, Señor. ¡Niños que pasean por la angosta vía uno de otro en pos! Pero que no crean que vamos sin guía[B]: [De] ¡delante va Dios!DOS HIJOS Rafael Arévalo Martinez Dos hijos; mi esposa_ que tiene el criterio de una n mariposa_ y ebrio de misterio, ciego de cariños, yo, que marcho en pos: somos cuatro niños sin madre, buen Dios. Yo vivo con modos tan hechos de sueño, que acaso de todas soy el más pequeño. Somos cuatro armiños que van sin pastor. Somos cuatro niños húerfanos, Señor. ¡Niños que pasean por la angosta vía uno de otro en pos! Pero que no crean que vamos sin guía[B]: [De] ¡delante va Dios! LIMPIDITY Do not stir up thy life's well, slumbering there! If at the bottom haply mire may sleep, What matter it? The well is very deep; It cannot stain the crystal water fair. In spite of it, the summer water-plants The hidden verdure of their leaves can see Reflected in the mirror, pure and cool, Of the still water, sleeping tranquilly. The mud harms not the spring's transparency, If always in the depths asleep it lies; Or if the only sign that it is there Is the bright presence, here before our eyes, Of beauteous water-lilies, pale with love, On the clear mirror, each a snow-white star, While their long stems, uprising from the deeps, Give us the flower, and the leave the slime afar! By Amado Nervo, translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell.In the Blue. By Amado Nervo of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. O little shining ball that from the deep Where the stars sail among the clouds on high Wast pitilessly flung, and comest now Within another tossing sea to side! They road is from the blu unto the blue, A path of topazes and sapphires fair. Within the blue of heaven though wast born; Within the ocean's blue thou diest there. So also from the blue into the blue My thought goes journeying in rapid flight. It is begot of burning phosphorus In brain-cell dark, with a spark of violet light; It lifts its yearning to the fields of space In search of knowledge and a beauty fair, And art, which is "the blue"; if fain would find The uncreated in its dwelling there; And it will die at last high soaring thus, Its wings consumed like those of Icarus! 168 Rose, fair rose, w hat are you doing? I am in an ecstasy. Water, speak, what are you doing? let me alone don't trouble me Ah, depart, depart from me! Come not to disturb my mirror! I a wing in heaven's height Am reflecting as it passes; 'Tis a pilgrim wing, snow-white. Moveless leaves of elm trees! Wherefore Do your harps in silence dream? Now, instead of giving concerts, You are listening, it would seem. Hush, for God's sake! We are hearing Mystic melodies sublime, Passing in the stir & murmurs Of these nights of summertime. (over)They are souls that come back singing. If their song you could but hear, Nevermore to earthly music Would you wish to lend an ear!Deity By Amado Nervo of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. As in the pebble sleeps the fiery spark, The statue in the clay, inert and dark, So slumbers the divine, O soul! in thee; But underwear the stroke of pain alone, Smiting and smiting, from the lifeless stone Leaps forth the lightning glass of deity. Do not complain, then, of they destiny, Since what there is of the divine in thee Only through it can rise into the light. Bear, if thou hast the courage, with a smile The life that the great Artist all the while Is carving, with his chisel-strokes of might. What matter hours that teem with grievous things, If every hour unto they budding wings Adds one more feather beautiful and free? Thou yet shalt see the candor high in air, Thou yet shall see the finished sculpture fair; Thou yet shalt see, O soul, thou yet shalt see!Rose, [far] fair rose, what are thou are you doing? I am in an ecstasy. Water, speak what art thou doing? Ah, depart, depart from me! Come not to disturb my mirror! I a wind in heaven'y height Am reflecting hushed as it passes in silence 'Tis a pilgrim wing, so snow white! [Moveless?] leaves of [chantress?] , wherefore Do your harps in silence dream? Now instead of giving concerts You [must hear them] are listening, it would seem. Hush, for God's sake! We are hearing Mystic melodies sublime, Passing in the [restless] stir & murmur Of these nights of summer time [*They are souls that come back singing*] [*If their song [thou once couldst hear] you could but hear*]ONE BRIGHT SPOT. To the Editor: A bright spot amid the darkness of Europe is found in Catherine Breshkovsky's schools for poor children. "instead of dissolving myself in the general distress and wretchedness", she says, "I try to concentrate my attention on those young beings who can be reached - little beings deprived of all help." After the Bolsheviki seized the government "the little Grandmother of Russian Revolution", as she is affectionately called, escaped from Russia, underwent various hardships, and made a visit to the United States, where she left many friends. Since then, with money supplied from America, she has founded four boarding schools for poor children in Russian Carpathia. This wild, mountainous region is now a part of the Czechoslovak Republic, but its people are of Russian descent. They are very poor and ignorant, but excellently endowed by nature, she says, and eager for education. In her schools poor boys and girls are sheltered, clothed and fed, and are trained in useful trades as well as in book learning. Many of the girls are educated for teachers. Above all, the pupils are imbued with Madame Breshkovsky's own spirit of courage, righteousness and loving kindness. "The most important and most beautiful task in the world", she says, "is to educate children not as dolls or as creatures devoid of understanding, but as little beings endowed with reason and conscience Her schools are hard pressed for money. They cannot meet half the demands upon them. Hundreds of children have been gathered into them, but thousands stand outside, starving physically and spiritually. Madame Breshkovksy's heart is large enough to take them all in, if her American friends will only enlarge her means. I shall be glad to forward contributions, or to put anyone who wishes in communication with Madame Brashkovsky herself. 3 Monadnock Street, Boston 25, Mass. CLEARNESS By Amado Nervo Do not stir up the life's well, slumbering there. If at the bottom badly mire may sleep, What matters it. 5he well is very deep; It cannot stain the crystal water fair. In spite of it, the summer water-plants The hidden verdure of their leaves can see Reflected in the mirror, clear and cool, Of the still water, sleeping tranquilly. The mud harms not the spring's transparency, If in the septs az If always in the depths asleep it lies; Or if the only sign that it is there Is the bright presence, under smiling skies, Of water-lilies white, that faint with love On the clear mirror, each a snow-white star, While their long stems, uprising from the deeps, Give us the flower, and leave the slime afar.Limpidity Do not stir up thy life's well, slumbering there! If at the bottom haply mire may sleep, What matters it? The well is very deep; It cannot stain the crystal water fair. In spite of it, the summer water-plants The hidden verdure of their leaves can see Reflected in the mirror, pure and cool, Of the still water, sleeping tranquilly. The mud harms not the spring's transparency, If always in the depths asleep it lies; Of if the only sign that it is there Is the bright pretense, here before our eyes, Of beauteous water-lilies, pale with love, On the clear mirror, each snow-white star, While their long stems, uprising from the deeps, Give us the flower, and leave the slime afar! By Amado Nervo. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Forward by the Translator. The Spanish American Republics have a large and interesting poetic literature, which deserves to be better known in the United States. This book is offered as a small contribution towards that end. It contains 236 poems, most of which have never before been put into English. They represent 103 authors, including not only the leading Spanish American poets, but many of the minor poets as well. The collection, however, is far from complete. Many writers of merit are unavoidably omitted. Among the Spanish American poetry is held in higher esteem. Mrs. George W. Weeks who spent many years in Mexico, says that when great national events were occurring, such as with us would be spread upon the front pages of all the newspapers, the papers of Mexico City relegated them to an inconspicuous place, and gave the first page to a visit from some poet of Spain or South America. He adds that in a skirmish during the civil war, the soldiers of the defeated party broke and fled, and one of the fugitives climbed a tree. The pursuers come up and levelled their guns at him; but he called out, "Do not shoot me! I am a poet". Immediately the guns were lowered, and he was allowed to go. In Colombia, it is said when a favorite author has written a new poem, the enthusiasm the whole community turns out to hear it read, and the enthusiasm may be compared with that called out by rise of our ball popular is like that attending one of our great ball games. When Rubén Darío traveled through the Spanish American countries his pouring was like a royal progress. So was that of G. M. When A N duo a??? If we want to understand our neighbors to the South of us, we ought to know something about their poetry. It is hoped that this book may ????????towards surly understanding an and to r???lual good will.The Span Am Reps have a large & int poetic lit, which deserves to be better known in the U.S. This book aims to be a help towards that end. It contains- poems, [most of wh had never before been put into Eng.] by-authors, representing- countries. Most of [their ??] these poems had never before been put into English. [Many of the poems by] [Many of the translations.] Many of the tr The collection is in no sense complete. There are many admirable poets not rep. here. But examples are given of the work of those whom the S A s se regard as their greatest poets- RD of N, GSC of P, AN of M, & GM of Chile- and many other popular writers. [Many of these tr have few put in variations period in the cares of their past 11 yrs.] Among the SA's, poetry is helf in high esteem. An Am friend of the translator [spent more? was be] lived for years in M. 2 been put [appeared.] Many of these translations have [been published] in [the course of the past eleven years in Poet-Lore,] various periodicals, [in the during] in the course of [the past 17 yrs, the Pan American Magazine, the Stratford Journal, the New York Survey, the Christian Register, [the] "Las Novedads," the Mexican Review, the Springfield Republican, the New York Evening Post and other periodicals.] My acknowledgements for help [on encouragement] in preparing this book are due to Señorita Juana Palacios of Mexico [City] City; to Professor James Geddes and Dr. Samuel M. Waxman, [both] of Boston Military Academy at Annapolis, Md.; Professor Elijah Clarence Hills of the Illinois state University [of Illinois; Madame Bertha G. Romero]; Dr [??] Miss Angela Palomo of Wellesley College; Madame Bertha G. Romero: [Dr] Ernesto Montenegro of "El Mercurio;" W. W. Davies of "La Nación;" [Madame Bartha G. Romero;] Meneses; Dr. Alicia Moreau y Justo of Buenas Aires; [and last but not least to Dr. Issac Goldberg, [?? >g?] Carroll These English versions have been made for recreation, in the few spare moment of a very busy life. They are [undoubtedly] [doubtfuls] no doubt full of imperfections. But there is no other [cout] considerable collection of Spanish American poems where the originals [tre] [tras] [translations] can be read in connection with the [originals] translations. In this respect it is believed that [this] the book will [fill a real gap] meet an [existed] existing lack. Alice Stone Blackwell 3 Monadmock St. Boston 25, Mass. Feb. 11, 1921.Cuba sent out a cruiser to join the escort into Vera Cruz. It has been a pleasure to put some of his religious poems into English, but it must always be remembered that they lose much in it. If a Thorn I was born today. Who is that siren The Cloud O Death Diety The Park Galley Rose fair rose Revenge"The U. S. JUNIOR NAVAL RESERVE IS MAKING A VALUABLE CONTRIBUTION TO THE STRENGTH OF AMERICA"--CALVIN COOLIDGE, PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. U.S. Junior Naval Reserve HONORARY VICE-PRESIDENTS ADVISORY BOARD REAR ADMIRAL WALTER McLean, U. S. Navy FOUNDED INCORPORATES JULES S. BACHS, Banker REAR ADMIRAL ALBERT GLEAVES, U. S. Navy 1914 1915 T. COLEMAN DU POINT, United States Senator REAR ADMIRAL CHAS. P. PLUNKETT, U. S. Navy J. E. EDGERTON, Pres., National Ass'n of Manufac REAR ADMIRAL W. E. REYNOLDS, U. S. Coast Guard REAR ADMIRAL F. C. BILLARD, U. S. Coast Guard HON. JAMES W. WADSWORTH, JR. U. S. Senator from New York HON. FREDERICK HALE, U. S. Senator HON. WESLEY L. JONES, U. S. Senator HON. ROYAL S. COPELAND, U. S. Senator HON. GEORGE W. EDMONDS, M. C. HON. JOSHUA W. ALEXANDER ROBERT DOLLAR, Dollar S. S. Company JOHN ROLPH, Standard Oil Co., of California GENERAL RUPERT BLUE, former Head U. S. Public Health Service ; Surgeon General BOARD OF DIRECTORS HON. THOMAS O. MARVIN, Washington, D. C, WILLIAM NEWSOME, Vice-pres., United Fruit Co. ROBERT H. HAND, Standard oil Company HARRY W. BENNETT, Realtor, New York WALTER E. PETERSON, Pacific Coast S. S. Owners Association COMMANDER LOUIS J. CONNELLY, U. S. N., Retired, Secretary. CAPT. GERALD G. GRIFFIN, Commandant of Training Alice Stone Blackwell 171 Madison Av New York, N. Y. AMERICAB CREWS FOR AMERICAN SHIPS Dear Madam: An appeal is made to you in the interest of the American Boy. Thousands of these boys, mostly schoolboys, form the bulk of the U. S. Junior Naval Reserve, and as school vacation is rapidly drawing near, it is desired to fit out a fine old Clipper-Ship, the "BENJAMIN F. PACKARD", for a cruise for these boys. A cruise on a square- rigged ship where character building and nautical education will be carried forward to inculcate a useful and patriotic Americanism. The JUNIOR NAVAL RESERVE being dependent almost entirely on voluntary contributions (the City of New York assists with a small yearly appropriation), it is therefore necessary to ask you for funds or other help to carry out the repairs and alterations, and buy the very necessary equipment, listed on the attached page. The writer realizes that the many calls on your generosity for all sorts of subscriptions may tempt you to lay this letter aside as "one more begging letter", however I hope you will read the letter through and, if you will, come abroad the "BENJAMIN F. PACKARD", and see the ship and perhaps get the same longing these J.N.R. youngsters have to sail away over blue water. Look at her lofty spars and imagine the spread of her sails--the main yard is 86 feet from yard-arm to yard-arm; she is square-rigged on all three masts and carries royals. Vision the appeal to a healthy minded boy. It is asked that the same generosity which has supported so many good causes for all manner of things will also help our American Boy make healthy, mind broadening cruise on one of the last of the American Clipper-Ships. "WE BELIEVE THAT THE U. S. JUNIOR NAVAL RESERVE IS WORTHY OF EVERY ENCOURAGEMENT."-- NEW YORK CHAMBER OF COMMERCEWhat are thou doing, O rose? I am in ecstasy. Water what art thou doing? Depart, depart ; do not trouble my mirror with thine image. I am reflecting a wing; I am reflecting a pilgrim [soul] wing, white, very white! Motionless leaves of the elm trees, why are your harps silent? One would say that instead of giving concerts you are listening to them. For Gods sake wait, aguarda wait For we are listning to mysterious melodies, that pass in the august quiet of these summer nights; they are souls that return singing thou couldst If you could hear what they sing ya no más a las musicas [to] terrestree les pediri as nada!The Woman's Journal 45 Boutwell Avenue, Dorchester, Boston, Mass. EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ALICE STONE BLACKWELL CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Mary Johnston Stephen S. Wise Josephine Peabody Marks Zona Gale Florence Kelley Witter Bynner Ben B. Lindsey Caroline Bartlett Crane Ellis Meredith Mabel Craft Deering Eliza Calvert Hall Reginald Wright Kauffman BOARD OF DIRECTORS Mrs. Carrie Chapman Catt Miss Alice Stone Blackwell Mrs. Maud Wood Park Mrs. Lewis Jerome Johnson Mrs. George W. Blackwell PUBLISHER George Brewster Gallup [*Nervo?*] EL HEROE " Que caere? puede ser! mas imponente en mi mudo reproche, iré á la tumba : naci roca enemiga del torrente, tu sabras si el torrente me derrumba! " Ergui mi mole y afilé mi diente y el titán, que me odia, ruge, zumba, culebrea, vacila en la pendiente y me ensordece al fin con su balumba. " Mas cuando pasa el aluvión inmenso, yo estoy de pie y tranquilo, porque pienso que fuera insensatez, oh Dios que fraguas contra cada opresion un heroismo, ponerme como coto en el abismo para hundirme después bajo sus aguas... "THE HOUSE By Jaime Torres Bodet of Mexico We have built the walls, we have reared the roof, And windows oped to the light divine; We scattered f.lowers on the narrow threshold; In a tree-top the earliest apples shine. The house is finished. We wished, as we built it. To give it a feeling of beauty. And so 'T is radiant, [are] in all things a soul is throbbing; Each stone of it shines with a pearl's soft glow. Its luxury lies in the wish unfailing To greet each guest with a welcome true. If you hear it sing, think the song it echoes We sang while we raised its walls, we two. From the threshold the roses bid you welcome. The whole house trembles, with love it is rife. To make it fair, like the world we made it_ A vase that has room for the whole of life. When the door, that is eager to receive you, Shall ope to your friendly voices gay, May the sky be with all its stars aquiver, Our souls more full than our words can say. Then, like the breath of our friendly garden, May our hand-clasp sweet warm your bosoms' core, And all your burden of human error Be left behind when you pass the door. TWO POEMS By Jaime Torres Bodet. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. A Song of Black Bread O black bread, the bread of the Indian! Of my race and my sun you are- Bread that smells of the land of waters, And of a cool, fresh water jar! You have the color, the self-same color As the breast that suckled me long ago- The breast of a Mexican Indian woman, Warm from the heart, with its tender glow. You have the color of that sweet woman Who knows my songs as their rhythms run, A woman with arms that brownly tinted, Who lives with her gaze on the beaming sun. You are the grain that is dark in color, Though sweet of savor, from fertile soil- Bread of the prisoner and of the soldier, Bread of the poor and of those who toil. You give yourself unto all in common; So does the sun in heaven as well. Dark are your entrails, but bright your savor- Clean, so clean are your taste and smell! Your color recalls the breast that nursed me; A friend of my childhood you are. Black bread, you smell of the landof waters, And of a cool, fresh water jar! THE WATER I see it, and my spirit with transparency is filled. Meseems that from a desert I a rrive, and find it sweet. The house is an oasis in the sands, and in the calm Of burning noon that scorches the garden with its heat. It is so deep a water, the water of the house! There is a human feeling in its tranquil clarity. It is not, like the fountain, an emotion, fleeting fast- And therefore it refreshes, more than the lip, the eye. Enrique Gonzalez Martinez A purple blood stain on these pages lies: A touch of death and grief their whiteness dyes. Life nipped in flower! Strong columns from its place hurled not by lofty Time, but pick-axe base! O graceful life [most] like to a laurel bough! No hand with reverence plucked it for the brow Of the proud conqueror; it fell beneath The jaws of the mean ass, his nibbling teeth [?] Oh, what a fate! To be an oak, nor fall By levin bolt or in the storm wind's path But by The clownish woodman's axe of steel, Cutting and rending thee! Oh sacred wrath! Below [Beneath] the kindly earth he sleeps, they say: He rests in peace [upon] within her gentle breast. Not so! The words they speak are false and vain. Nay, that rebellious dead man does not rest! O're the gray veil of foul and lowly dust that for a covering men to him have given, His hand is raised in imprecation still, Demanding justice of the earth and heaven. The sun will bathe it with the comfort sweet Of his warm beams, and from the brooding skies The drops of misty showers will cool with dew The tramped grass that [bent and broken lies.You beat him, said Mrs. Mary J. Wood of New [We did not beat] [beat] Hampshire. "We did not beat Senator Moses, but by our fight against him we put ourselves on the map with the politicians, and our position in New Hampshire is much stronger today than it was before." "Did you cut down his vote?" asked Mrs. Crowley, "If you cut down a man's vote, you achieve success of a sort." "We and the extra work that was put in by the opposite party cut down his vote," answered Mrs. Wood. "We came so near success that we should have won but for President Wilson's appeal to the country to elect Democrats, which turned the scale the wrong way. The net result of our fight has been a great asset to us." [in New] 2 The lovely Springtime,like a woman fair, Will give it her caress; but raised on high, Clinched and implacable, that hand of his, Waiting in silence, "Justice!" yet will cry. Justice! And human selfishness in vain May say: He Sleeps on Nature's gentle breast; Below the kindly earth he rests in peace." Ah, no! It is not true. He does not rest!1 copy [2 copies] Do You [Dost Thou] Remember? [By] Enrique Gonzalez Martinez [of Mexico] [Dost thou] Do you recall that evening when for the first time clearly The crystal soul of life profound revealed itself to me? [Naught was I] Nothing had I been wont to love except the purple twilights [crimson hues of sunset] The clouds, the fields, [wide-stretching] far-spreading, the [sea-shore coast] sea-coast and the sea. Mine eyes were keen for forms; fair [lines] lines bewitched me with their beauty, And colors in their glory mine eager worship won; In dreams of the impossible I [drew aside] held apart my spirit; I viewed with scorn the shadows that are hostile to the sun. The jasmines and the roses allured me in the garden (The rose's blood of crimson, the jasmine's fragrant snow). (over)I knew not that the gardens soul walked [there] close beside the, trembling, And spoke to me in secret, with whisper soft and low. The bird-songs clear caressed mine ear, the wandering wind’s wild ballad, The song the shepherd chanted, heard from the peaceful dell. I joined my voice to their soft notes and with them formed a chorus; And all of them fell silent, and I grew mute as well. But I was never able the fleeting trace to follow If what is not, of what is past; it fled and left no clue; And when the note was ended, the shining star extinguished, O silence, O deep shadows, thus ye all slumbered too! [Dost thou] Do you recall that evening when for the first time clearly The crystal soul of life profound revealed itself to me? [Naught was I] Nothing had I been wont to love except the crimson [hues of] sunsets, The clouds, the fields wide spreading, the sea shore and the sea.31 Dost thou recall that evening when for the first time clearly The crystal soul of life profound revealed itself to me? Naught was I wont to love except the crimson lines of sunset The clouds, the fields wide-stretching the seacoast & the sea. Mine eyes were keen for forms; fair lines Betwitched me with their beauty And colors in their glory mine eager worship won From dreams of the impossible I drew apart my spirit I [looked] viewed with scorn [on] the shadow that are hostile to the sun The jasmines & the roses allured me [from] in the garden The roses blood of crimson, the Jasmine's fragrant snow. I knew not that the gardens [sweet [?] or the Soul] soul beside them walked beside me, trembling, we walked with trembling, and spoke to me in secret, with whisper soft [ in a voice] & low, [I did not know]Established 1877 Telephone, Beach 5610 Boston Industrial Home Incorporated 17 Davis Street, Boston, Massachusetts 40 Years Helping Men to Help Themselves Herbert D. Boyd, M.D. Oliver C. Elliot, Visiting Physician superintendent Board of Directors Charlres H. Stearns, President Victor J. Loring, Vice President Freeman O. Emerson, Treasurer Charles P. Raymond, Secretary Herbert D. Boyd, M.D. Charles A. Schmitt William J. Wilson George W. Boland Harry G. Dixon Chester R. Lawrence -2- your check today for to clear our debts by the first of the year we need to receive contributions at the rate of $1000 a day. Gratefully appreciating your co-operation I am Very truly yours, Oliver C. Elliot Superintendent P.S. Wednesday we provided a Christmas dinner in our Home for 100 worthy people. 2 The bird songs clear caressed mine ear, the wandering winds wild ballad, The song the shepherd chanted, heard from the peaceful dell. I formed my voice to their soft notes & with them formed a chorus And [when they] all of them fell silent, [my] and I [voice was] grew mute as well But I was never able the fleeing trace to follow that which is of what exists no longer- has fled gone & left no clue. And when the note was ended, the shining star extinguished, O silence, & deep shadows, then ye all slumbered too![*Established 1877 Telephone, Beach 5610 Boston Industrial Home Incorporated 17 Davis Street, Boston, Massachusetts 40 Years Helping men to help themselves Herbert D. Boyd, M.D. Oliver C. Elliot Visiting Physician Superintendent Board of Directors Charles H. Stearns, President Victor J. Loring, Vice President Freeman O. Emerson, Treasurer Charles P. Raymond, Secretary Herbert D. Boyd, M.D. Charles A. Schmitt William J. Wilson George W. Boland Harry G. Dixon Chester R. Lawrence*] December 27, 1918. Miss Alice S. Blackwell, Dorchester, Mass. Dear Miss Blackwell;- During the war times our Home was not able to secure sufficient funds to care for its expenses because we all felt that what money could be spared rightfully belonged to the boys in the service. At the same time our institution had to carry on its necessary work and besides we had a lot fo unusual work to do at a nextra expense. I, myself, was called to serve on a draft board and had to give the greater part of my time to that work. We have today over $4500 of unpaid bills accu- milated during the war and right before us are the most useful years our institution has ever had. I am exceedingly anxious, more so that I have been in the 20 years I have been connected with this home, because there is so much to do and we have that terrible load resting on us and holding us back. This isn't a large amount compared with what has been give to other causes in the last two years and so I felt if those who generously contributed to charity know of our need they would gladly help us start our 42nd tear unhandi- capped by that burden. WE have asked for very little in the past and so I am writing this letter to 90 persons who have always shown a willingness to help worthy causes and am asking if they will contributed an average of $50 so we can start the new year free to devote all we have to redeeming those who may go astray. I hope you will find it convenient to sendI built my fortress on a summit high One of those peaks where eagles love to nest One window I left wide toward life's unrest. Its sounds as of the far sea, rise & die. There I locked up my dreams, beneath its sky. Poor wandering caravan that haunts crossed my breast! Cloud girl, like some old mountain's white haired crest, That far, strange stronghold greets the gazer's eye. The Arbitraitor A new magazine published through the Free Religious Association of America in the interest of progressive thought. The purpose of this publication is to provide a forum for discussion of social, moral, and religious questions: It should appeal to those who have the will to right action. It seeks to reveal the possibilities of a better world and recognizes no authority save that of Truth and freely sought by open minds. Macaulay said: "Men are never so likely to settle a question rightly as when they discuss it freely." We invite debate by experts upon any subject of social interest within the law. An equal opportunity is established for a free expression of both sides. Facts must be faced, unpleasant, unconventional, or irritating thought they be. A free mind revels in a good argument that overthrows pet theories. The conscience and intellect of a the reader must be the judge of moral values. There can be no other arbitrator. Debates now available: No. 1, Prohibition: No. 2, Single Tax: No. 3, Birth Control: No. 4, Modern Education/ No. 5, Ideals of Political No. 6, Free Trade. Parties. The following topics have been suggested for discussion. Mark those which would interest you. Socialism vs. Capitalism New Thought Federal Suffrage Amend- Abolition of the Death Health Insurance ment Penalty Vivisection Social Hygiene Orthodoxy or Liberalism Religious Unity Limitation of Incomes Pay-as-you-go Policy Reform of Judicial Old Age Pensions Compulsory Veracity in Procedure Vegetarianism Newspapers Uniform Divorce Laws Spiritualism Sex Instruction Illegitimacy Freethought Criminology Defective Delinquents Euthanasia Referendum and Recall Charity or Justice Sunday Observance Morality of Wealth A National Minimum of Morality by Legislation Mothers' Pensions Leisure Health, Edu- Race Problems Class Legislation cation, Subsistence State Newspapers Profit Sharing Academic Freedom Industrial Housing Modern Recreation The Enemies of Democ- Unemployment Insurance racy If you beleive in an interchange of views between straight-thinking, high- minded people who have studied various problems for social betterment, please fill out the following blank. To THE ARBITRATIOR $1 a year P. O. Box 42, Wall St. Station. 25 cents for 3 months New York City. 10 cents a copy I am in favor of an impartial discussion of ethical questions, and enclose__________________ for ______________months' subscription Name ___________________________________ Date ________________ Address________________________________The Dead Rebel “Below the earth he rests in Grace,” they say; “In Grace he sleeps within her gentle breast.” Ah, no! The words they speak are false and vain. No, that rebellious dead man does not rest! Above the veil of gray and lowly dust Which for a covering men to him have gain, His hand is raised in [?] still, Demanding justice of the earth and heaven. The sun will bathe it in the comfort sweet Of his warm gleams; whom it from the skies The drops of the light shower will soft slow [?] the trampled grass where low he lies. The lovely spring lies womanlike caress With tenderness will give it from are high, But yet that hand, implacable and [?], Waiting in silence, “Justice!” still will cry. Justice! And human selfishness in vain Will say, ”He sleeps without earth’s gentle breast: There in her [?] [?] he rests in peace.” Ah, [?]! It is not true. He does not rest! The Captive By Enrique Gonzalez Martinez of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Captive, by bars hemmed closely in, who through the narrow pane Lettest thy glances wander far over the distant plain! What boots it thee a longing keen To cherish inwardly, If thou art free indeed to see But art not free to fly? I feel the sadness of thy lot More deeply when I see Thy wings in torture, cramped and pent While thy desire is free. The foot held fast, the soul awake-- 'Tis death with life in sight! Why should the window be unclosed Without a door for flight? Captive, thou sister soul to mine, Gazing the landscape o'er! They ought to wall thy window up Or else unbar the door! A Crystal Sigh By Enrique Gonzalez Martinez. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. I come to the bring of the flowing spring; How gently the water goes gliding by! And I hear the current which murmurs low-- It sounds like the breath of a crystal sigh. I keep my doubts in my silent breast, Under the tranquil evening light; I yearn within to be kind and good As in the hour that is taking flight. The murmuring water I fain would be, That knows no stain as its tipples run; I would glide o'er a bed of greenness fair Under the night or facing the sun. Oh, might I be the limpid stream In silvery purity that flows Over the sand, no fine and white, And knows not, journeying, whither it goes! The church-bell sounds from the darksome tower With its far, and voice that mourns and pleads, While a bird the notes of her song lets fall Over my soul like a chaplet's beads. My fingers pluck on the brooklet's edge An innocent violet blue and bright, In which a tremulous dewdrop shines, Gleaming and pure, like a tear of light. I scatter its leaves on the waters clear And those mournful relies drift away Farther and farther towards the red That marks the end of the dying day. And while the current glides smoothly on And gently the water wanders by, I hear the voice of the murmuring spring-- It seems like the breath of a crystal sigh. The Captive. By Enrique Gonzalez Martinez of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Captive, by bars hemmed closely in, Who through the narrow pane Lettest thy glances wander far Over the distant plain! What boots it thee a longing keen To cherish inwardly, If thou art free indeed to see But art not free to fly? I feel the sadness of thy lot More deeply when I see Thy wings in torture, cramped and bent While thy desire is free. The foot held fast, the soul awake -- 'Tis death with life in sight! Why should the window be unclosed Without a door for flight? Captive, thou sister soul to mine, Gazing the landscape o'er! They ought to wall thy window up Or else unbar the door! LA PLEGARIA DE LA ROCA ESTERIL. Senor, yo soy apenas una roca desnuda que azote el viento y quema el sol; la nube, cuando pasa, de lejos me saluda y tiende el ala a otra region. Soy en la cumbre signo de un esperar eterno, vuelvo los ojos al zafir y entre lluvias de agosto y rafagas de invierno no hay primavera para mi. Ignoro los follajes; yo nunca de la fuente tuve la limpida cancion, ni mus gos fraternales que brindar a la frente del fatigado viajador. Yo soy como un espectro que se alzara insepulto, angel proscrito de un eden; en el fondo del alma llevo un afan oculto, en las entranas, vieja sed. Tengo mi planta inmovil hundida en la montana y una esperanza en el azur, y me ignoran los hombres, y nadie me acompana en estas carceles de lux. Senor, ya que no tengo ni musgo x florecido ni un arroyuelo bullidor, haz que en mis abras forjen las aguilas su nido y hagan su talamo de amor. Mas si ha de ser forzoso que me aparte del mundo y del concierto universal, hazme simbolo eterno, inmutable y profundo de la mas alta soledad. TO A STONE BY THE WAYSIDE Enrique Gonzales Martinez. O mossy stone, thou pillow small and hard Where my brow rested, neath the starlight's gleam, Where, as my weak flesh slept, my life soared up! I give thee thanks for giving me a dream. The gray grass gleamed like silver fair, bedewed By a fresh-fallen shower with many a tear. A bird upon the bough his music sighed Beneath the twilight hueless, thin and clear. Yearning, I followed evening's concert sweet. The shining ladder by a star-beam given I climbed, with eyes fast closed but heart awake, And so ascended to the heights of heaven. Like Jacob, there the marvel I beheld That in a dream prophetic glowed and burned. In the brief space for which my sleep endured, I sailed a sea, and to the shore returned. O mossy stone, thou pillow small and hard! Thou didst receive beneath the starlight's gleam My aimless ardor and my sad fatigue. I give thee thanks for giving me a dream! The Sower of Stars Enrique Gonzalez Martinez Thou wilt pass by, and men will say, "What pathway does he follow, Lo, the somnambulist?" But thou, unheeding murmers vain, Wilt go thy way, thy linen robe upon the air out-floating, Thy robe of linen whitened with pride and with disdain. Few, few will bear thee company - rare souls, of dreams, compacted; And when the forest's end is reached, and steeper grows the track, They will behold the wall of rock that rises huge before them, And they will say with terror, "Let us wait till he comes back". And all alone thou wilt ascend the high and crannied pathways, And soon the strange procession of the landscape will file by, And all alone it will be thine to part the cloudy curtains There where the lofty summits kiss the splendors of the sky. Upon some night of moonlight faint, and sad, mysterious shadows, Thou wilt come downward slowly, descending from the height, Holding thine hands up, laden full, and, with a giver's gesture, Sprinkling around thee, one by one, bright roses made of light. And men, absorbed, will gaze upon the brightness of thy footprints, And, many-voiced, that multitude will raise a joyful cry: "He is a thief of stars!" And then thy generous hand forever Will keep on scattering through life the stars from out the sky.The virgin forest drapes [its] her lanscapes wide In [mior] mourning , when the sun hath left the skin then there is converse low [of] [?] wind & leaves [?] And there are talks of winds among the Kisses of love, and wild creatures wild beasts, timid sudden cries. We have a feeling of a distant lair, at play Shadows are seen among the boughs We can divine a group of savages Around a red fire that glowing shines from far away. The virgin forest in her [its] mourning deep [& sad quite on] [For crown the light ring] Puts on , [the lightening flashing in the sky] for garland & for crown on high, The glittering lightening keen, that beats its wings Amid the blackness of the midnight [cloudy stormy] sky until the sun, that looks on her aslant, Lets his clear light from the horizon stream And melts, to make a crown to dick her brow Seven sweet royal colors in a single beam fairThe following lines are from a long poem on the death of the young composer, Ricardo Castro: (insert)