Poems ems by José Martí.

Poems ems by José Martí.

 

Poet, journalist and revolutionary. He was the forerunner of Latin American modernism.
1. Forest of roses

(There slowly)
Oh! the blood of the soul, have you seen it?
It has hands and voice, and to the one who pours it
eternally among the shadows accuses.
There are hidden crimes, and there are corpses
Of souls, and there are killer villains!
To the forest see: from the most upright oak
We piled a pylon, and on the pylon
How many cheat woman let's say!
That is the human struggle: the tremendous one
Battle of helmets and lilies!
For proud men are not fierce?
Beasts and beasts! Look, here I bring you
My dead beast and my rage tamed.
Come, to silence, to murmur, to noise
April leaves and nest boxes.
Leave, oh my beloved, the silent walls
From this vulnerable

 house and come with me
Not the sea that beats and roars but the forest
Of roses at the bottom of the jungle.
There life is good, because it is free,
And your virtue, for free, will be true,
For free, my meritorious respect.
Neither love, if it is not free, gives fortune
O wretched people, those who calmly enjoy
Of stolen loves! If it's foreign
The love, the pleasure of respecting it
Greater than a thousand times is that of his enjoyment;
From the good work that pride to the chest is
And as in sweet tears it overflows,
And in strange words, that seem
Flutters, not voices! And what fault
The one to pretend love! Well there is torment
Like that one, without loving, of talking about loves!
Come, I'll be sad there, because I see myself!
Come, that loneliness will be your shield!

2. In you  I thought, in your hair

In you I thought, in your hair
In you I thought, in your hair
that the shadow world would envy,
and I put a point of my life in them
and I wanted to dream that you were mine.
I walk the earth with my eyes
raised - oh, my eagerness! - at so much height
that in proud anger or miserable blushes
the human creature lit them.
Live: -To know how to die; that's how it affects me
this unhappy search, this fierce one,
and all the Being in my soul is reflected,
and looking without faith, of faith I die.

3. I am an honest man
I am an honest man
Where the palm grows,
And before I die I want
Pour my verses from the soul.
I come from everywhere,
And everywhere I go:
Art I am among the arts,
In the mountain, I am mountain.
I know the strange names
From the herbs and flowers,
And of deadly deceptions,
And sublime pains.
I have seen in the dark night
Rain on my head
The rays of pure fire
Of the divine beauty.
I saw wings coming from the shoulders
Of beautiful women:
And get out of the rubble,
Flying butterflies.
I've seen a man live
With the dagger at his side,
Without ever saying the name
The one that killed him.
Fast, like a reflection,
Twice I saw the soul, two:
When the poor old man died,
When she said goodbye.
I trembled once - on the fence,
At the entrance of the vineyard, -
When the barbarian bee
He scratched my girl's forehead.
I enjoyed once, in such a way
that I enjoyed as never: -when
The sentence of my death
The warden read, crying.
I hear a sigh, through
Of the lands and the sea,
And it's not a sigh, -it's
That my son is going to wake up.
If they say that of the jeweler
Take the best jewel,
I take a sincere friend
And I put love aside.
I have seen the injured eagle
Fly to serene blue,
And die in his lair
The venom viper.
I know well that when the world
Yield, livid, at rest,
About the deep silence
The gentle stream mumbles.
I have put a bold hand,
Of horror and jubilant jubilation,
On the extinguished star
That fell in front of my door.
Hidden in my brave chest
The pain that hurts me:
The son of a slave people
Live for him, shut up and die.
Everything is beautiful and constant,
Everything is music and reason,
And everything, like the diamond,
Before light is coal.
I know that the fool is buried
With great luxury and great crying.
And that there is no fruit on earth
Like the one in the cemetery.
I call, and I understand, and I take off
The pomp of the rhymer:
I hang from a withered tree
My doctor's mock.

4. The poisoned cup
I touched, madam, your hand
White and naked in the bright party,
In the faithful heart I try in vain
The echoes turn off that orchestra!
The devastating waltz the impure note
That in his suspended flame arms
Rushes took you to the heart without a cure,
Repeat it loving my ears.
And how much chord I laze and murmur
It offers the audacious soul the beautiful earth,
pretense them the dark spirit-
Tenuous changing of the note that one.
Listen to it without ceasing! To the brightness, blind,
I look at her vaguely
Move with slow are wings of fire
And my forehead to wrap to be anxious.
Oh! my trembling hand would well know
To the air steal winged note boiling
And, with art of sweet sorcery,
Hanging oleanders to the burning cup,
In my thirsty arms fainting
 give you madam, perfume killer:
But I hurry the poisoned cup
And in me, the love that consumes me ends.

 5. It is blonde: hair lose
It's blonde: hair loose
Brightens the eye of the Moor:
I go, since then, wrapped
In a whirlwind of gold.
The summer bee that buzzes
More agile for the new flower,
It does not say, as before, «grave»:
«Eva» says: everything is «Eva».
Low, in the dark, the dreaded
Cataract flow:
And the iris shines, lying
On the silver sheets!
I look, scowling, the wild
Pomp of the irritated mountain:
And in the celestial blue soul
A pink hyacinth springs!
I go, for the forest, to walk
To the neighboring lagoon:
And among the branches I see her,
And for the water it walks.
The garden snake
Whistle, spit, and slide
For his hole: the bugle
He stretches me, trilling, the wing.
Harp I am, psaltery I am
Where the Universe vibrates:
I come from the sun, and in the sun I go:
I am love: I am the verse!

Note’s editor: Because the poet is using old Spanish and slang the translation is not easy, especially find proper words that cannot alter the meaning of the poem.

With affection,

Ruben