Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PORTO RICO, by JOSE GAUTIER BENITEZ


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PORTO RICO, by             Poem Explanation        
First Line: Borinquen! Name as sweet to the thought
Last Line: To the sweet influence of the world without!
Subject(s): Islands; Latin America - History; Puerto Rico; West Indies


Borinquen!, name to the pleasant thought
as the memory of a deep love,
beautiful garden of America the ornament,
being the garden America of the world.


Pearl that the sea plucks from its shell
when shaking its pleasant waves,
sleeping heron among the white foam
of the snowy belt of your banks.


You, who give to the breeze of the seas,
when you receive the kiss of its breath from
the gentle heron of your palm groves;


What do you look like in the middle of the mist
when you arrive at your pilgrim beaches,
a fantastic city of foam
that the undines formed while playing.


An enchanted garden
on the waters of the sea that you tame,
a swinging vase of flowers
between foam and coral, pearls and aromas.


You, who in the afternoons spill over the sea
with the colors that your sunset dresses
another ocean of floating flames;


You, who give me the air I breathe
and life to the song that spontaneously springs forth,
when inspiration in rapid rotation
with its flaming wings hits
the singer's forehead; Hear my accent!


The holy love that I keep within my chest
will paint you its rustic harmony;
For you I cast him into the region of the wind,
your heart dictates it to the heart of the Bardo,
and the Bardo in him sends his heart to you.


Hear it country! The last sound
will be, perhaps, of my lute; Very soon
I will leave for the regions of oblivion.


My ephemeral youth is diminishing,
and
a melancholic and sick soul no longer wants to live in its prison.


Before my last day arrives
and my song is extinguished with my breath,
take, country, my last poetry!
She is my love's testament!
She the goodbye that your singer sends you!


Three centuries ago, the man
locked up in the old continent
neither dreamed of you nor dreamed of your name.


....


Three centuries ago, man
locked up in the old continent,
he didn't even think about you, nor did he dream of your name.


Your being was a beautiful chimera
to those who saw the edge of the world
of Thule on the fantastic shore;


But an hour rang in the giant
clock that marks its existence to the world;
and opened its waves to the angry Atlante.


The finger of destiny
touched a man's burning forehead,
and among the waves it showed him a path.


He only wanted,
crossing the western regions,
to return to the place where the day is born;


To the wind of chance he spread his sails
from the edge of the turbid ocean,
and luck led his caravels
to collide with the American world.


Of that beautiful world
you are a fragment, oh homeland!, that in the sea launched
a cataclysm when it exploded violently;


but you brought only his beauty
from him without copying from the immense continent
the pomp and horror of his greatness;


Neither the Butcher Tiger,
nor the Lion, nor the Jaguar in your mountain
utter their terrifying and fierce cry;


nor does the Boa writhe on the plain,
nor among the waters of your gentle river
disturb the transparent and pure wave
is the untamed and brave Caiman seen.


Nor do you throw Atlante
from the peaceful beach, the immense
king of the rivers, giant Mara?³n.


Nor do your mountains creak with sudden noise,
shaking at their base, when Orizaba and Cotopaxi roar
with hoarse titanic breathing . And a Niagara does not
shake your ground when the immense waterfall collapses, i
n which the iris, the painter of the sky, unites the fringes of the shining silver




gold, and carmine, and purple and topaz,
while in the crystals
the condor, monarch of space, is portrayed fiercely.


You have... the reed in the fertile savanna,
a lake of honey that waves with the breeze,
while its foam, the gentle guajana
like white lung, sways.


And the palm, which sways in the atmosphere,
enclosed in the hanging amphora,
the pure nymph of its aerial source;


and from your mountains on the wide slope
where the cedar and the pendulum dominate,
the coffee tree shows off the gentle garland
of the tall branch that
the carmine and emerald berries bow to the earth.


You have, yes, your voluptuous nights
that augur happy love to the heart
and in an orchard of lilies and roses
murmuring silver springs.


Turtledoves that complain in the mountains,
imitating the pitiful sighs of
doves and doves and mockingbirds
that nest in flowering lemon trees.


Everything in you is voluptuous and light,
sweet, peaceful, flattering and tender,
and your moral world owes its charm
to the sweet influence of your external world.


Therefore, on that day
when the Castilian ships boarded
your beautiful shores, my homeland,


your aboriginal tribes,
dominating the fear that would take them
to the dark bosom of your virgin forests;


calmly they contemplated
returning peacefully to your shore,
how the arms of the cross were raised
Under the red banner of Castile


Pure vehement friendship
united the men brought by the abyss,
from the rude Indian on the toasted forehead
fell the sacred wave of baptism.


Later, once fear had broken the dam,
the flame of love shone splendidly,
the sweet sister of the first Chieftain
called her husband to the paladin of the East.


And you were the jewel that transferred
the chaste kiss of her first love,
from the stately headband of Ageynaba
to the crown of the Iberian monarch.


....


And then... and then,,,, never does my song
paint the deep struggle of passions,
nor the extermination, nor the cruelty and crying,
the stain of human hearts.


Let us erase from error the deep traces
that disdain unhappy humanity,
because I am a man... and I am ashamed of them.


A fatal day of horror and mourning arrived,
that in the day of gold after clumsy lucre,
vile slavery stained your soil;


and the hurricane of the American Gulf
left the ships to calmly board
the banks of the Indian garden!


And you, homeland!, the pearl of the West,
did not return to the bosom of the seas
to wash the stain from your forehead!


But not in vain
did the blood of Jesus flow in Judea,
sealing the triumph of his holy idea;


But it is not in vain that the world walks eagerly
along the broad path
of forward progress;


A dawn of happy memory shone
in which tears and mourning ceased,
erasing a stain from history,


and a thousand and a thousand accents
gave your name, Sacred Liberty!,
to the mountains, the valleys and the winds.


And not a single impious retaliation!
Not a vengeance defiled your soil!
Blessings and songs, my country,
are lost in the vaults of heaven!


Strange painting! that in the wide land,
by defeating oppression in holy struggle,
from among the purple lake of war
bloody freedom rises.


God must have smiled and seen his making
of him make the outcast a haughty companion,
and the angel take the investiture
by making a the yoke of the captive.


And bless you, moved and tender,
because only on your hospitable soil,
to the sweet influence of your external world,
was the Redemption of Calvary seen.


......


Another step forward; without you vibrating
the fraticidal weapon,
in the concert of free peoples
your voice is raised; sap of life
and youth circulates through your veins,
when the noble Spain moved
breaks the settler's chains.


You are no longer, homeland, a lost atom
that is terrified when it sees its own smallness,
nor a garden hidden
in a fold of the earth's mantle.


You are the people who raise their voice
if justice and reason pay,
who sing the funerals of the past.
and sings the holy hymn of progress.


You will not be the arrogant ship
that armed in war, challenging the hurricane,
conquers the port, fearless and brave
the waves and the men dominating;


but you will be the placid boat
that, with the impulse of the perfumed breeze,
reaches the backwater of the white shore;


Such is it, homeland, your destiny,
freedom, conquest, science and fortune,
without leaving even a shred of your white clothing
in the brambles along the way . However...,
if I deceive myself, if my impious destiny reserves
for me, weep for your ruin and contemplate your damage;
If I have to listen to your echoes, return to me between
tears and horrors the hoarse accent of the hollow bronzes;




If my lute were the one destined
to sing your sorrow and your agony....
Ah, may I see it soon destroyed
in my trembling hands, my country!


And before the evil in your enclosure is born
and I can contemplate it with horror...,
let the Lord dispose
of this rest of life that I have left when he pleases!


But if Jehovah granted the poet,
when singing about his country and his destiny,
the double vision of the truthful prophet;


If he is to unite my name with your history
to be the singer of your joy,
to see the herald of your glory.


May God grant me, upon seeing you,
crown you with fortunes and triumphs,
an endless life to love you
and an immortal lyre to sing to you!




Song to Puerto Rico [English]


Borinquen! Name as sweet to the thought
As in the memory of a deep love!
Beautiful garden, the ornament of America-
America, which is the garden of the world!
Pearl that the sea shook from its shell
With the dashing of its joyous waves;
Heron asleep amid the white foam
Of the snowy belt that girdles your shores;
You, that give to the sea breeze,
When kissed by its breath,
The graceful plumage of your pine groves;
You, that seem, amid the mist,
To the pilgrim arriving on your shores,
A fantastic city of foam,
Formed by the mermaidens in sport;
An enchanted garden,
Above the waters of the sea, which you rule;
A vase of flowers, swaying
Between foam and coral, perfumes and pearls;
You, that at evening pour over the sea,
With the colors that your sunset puts on,
Another ocean of floating flames;
You, that give me the air I breathe,
And life, and the song that breaks forth of its own accord!...


Of this (American) world, you are the most beautiful fragment,
O my fatherland! broken off and flung into the sea
By a violent cataclysm.
But you brought only the beauty of the vast continent,
Without copying its pomp, or the terrors of its greatness.
Upon your mountains, neither the tiger, the lion, nor the jaguar
Utters its fierce and terrifying cry,
Nor does the boa constrictor coil upon the plains,
Nor does the untamed and savage alligator
Disturb the pure, transparent water
Of your gentle river...
Nor do your mountains, shaken upon their foundations,
Sound with sudden tumult,
When, with hoarse, titanic breathing,
Orizaba and Cotopaxi roar.
No Niagara makes your soul tremble
With the fall of its immense cataract,
Where Iris, painter of heaven,
Joins to its borders of shining silver,
Gold and crimson, purple and topaz,
While the condor, monarch of space,
Mirrors itself proudly in its crystal.
You have-the sugar cane on the fertile savannah,
A lake of honey, that undulates in the breeze,
While the foam, its graceful beard,
Sways like a white plume,
And the palm, that rocks in the air,
Encloses in its hanging jar
The pure liquid of its aerial fountain:
And on the broad slope of your forests,
Where the cedar and the pendola reign,
Shines the charming garland of the coffee tree,
From the bent branch which the berries of crimson and emerald
Bow to the ground.


You have your delightful nights,
That foretell to the heart happy love;
And murmuring springs of silver
In a garden of lilies and roses;
Turtle-doves that complain in the forests,
Like sorrowful sighs;
Doves and troupials and mocking-birds,
That nest in the flowering limes.
In you, everything is happy and light,
Sweet, peaceful, caressing and mild;
And your inner world owes its enchantment
To the sweet influence of the world without!






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