We present this work in honor of the 15th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Cintio Vitier Cuban 1921 – 2009
You enter that light which binds night and day, that swirling mist of pain, fortunate pain, which has no need to be seen. It shimmers on the ever-present, ever- inactual shore.
Simple worker, like those who build men’s houses— Breathe life into the whirlwind where the dead shall find you, dear friends absorbed in daylight.
Break into separate hearths the burning bread of solitude, leavened with tears and joy destined for your flesh and blood— the one who passes, he who wounds you without knowing, he who cures you with his indifference: your son.
Want nothing more, close your eyes in the secret of the dew; drown your flame-torn heart. And when you can forget you once were whole, then embrace the world in silence.
We present this work in honor of the 185th anniversary of the poet’s death.
José María Heredia y Heredia Cuban 1803 – 1839
Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh; I know thy breath in the burning sky! And I wait with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the hurricane! And lo! On the wings of the heavy gales, Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails; Silent and slow and terribly strong, The mighty shadow is borne along, Like the dark eternity to come; While the world below, dismayed and dumb, Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.
They darken fast—, and the golden blaze Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze, And he sends through the shade a funeral ray, A glare that is neither night nor day, A beam that touches, with hues of death, The clouds above and the earth beneath. To its covert glides the silent bird, While the hurricane’s distant voice is heard Uplifted among the mountains round, And the forests hear and answer the sound.
He is come! he is come! do ye not behold His ample robes on the wind unrolled? Giant of air! We bid thee hail. How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale; How his huge and writhing arms are bent To clasp the zone of firmament, And fold, at length, in their dark embrace From mountain to mountain the visible space.
Darker—still darker! The whirlwinds bear The dust of the plains to the middle air; And hark to the crashing, long and loud, Of the chariot of God in the thunder cloud! You may trace its path by the flashes that start From the rapid wheels where’er they dart. And the fire-bolts leap to the world below, And flood the skies with a lurid glow.
What roar is that? ’tis the rain that breaks In torrents away from the airy lakes, Heavily poured on the shuddering ground, And shedding a nameless horror around. Ah! Well known woods and mountains and skies, With the very clouds! Ye are lost to my eyes. I seek you vainly and see in your place The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space, A whirling ocean that fills the wall Of the crystal heavens, and buries all. And I, cut off from the world, remain Alone with the terrible hurricane.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 115th birthday.
Placido Cuban 1809 – 1844
Oh Liberty! I wait for thee To break this chain and dungeon bar; I hear thy spirit calling me Deep in the frozen North, afar, With voice like God’s, and visage like a star.
Long cradled by the mountain wind, Thy mates the eagle and the storm, Arise! and from thy brow unbind The wreath that gives its starry form, And smite the strength that would thy grace deform!
Yes, Liberty! thy dawning light, Obscured by dungeon bars, shall cast Its splendor on the breaking night, And tyrants, flying pale and fast, Shall tremble at thy gaze and stand aghast!
What do we know of the road where a traveler resists approaching the beggarly ruin of love’s perdition? And so the violin suddenly shakes off its indolence, its useless ambiguity, and takes leave among those lilies, those roses, lifted in flight by the wind.
We present this work in honor of the 130th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Julián del Casal Cuban 1863 – 1893
More than a mother as a saint to me You were in truth. You gave me birth and died, But Oh! my mother when you left my side God kissed an angel in eternity. Today when in my dreams methinks I see Your smiling face, I gaze on you with pride, And sigh, sweet mother, as I oft have sighed, While tears I shed when I remember thee. And should we never, never meet again How sad ‘twould by, but I shall always keep Your image in my heart, and not complain; For something tells me that you lie asleep Because my suff’ring would have caused you pain— Because my weeping would have made you weep.
I don’t sense the tortured depths of love when I contemplate with studied gaze the rare perfection of your head and your body, that Hellenic sculpture. As if, printed in your genteel figure sealed with august and manly nobility, in your bright clear gaze, the light of thought never shines. As I contemplate it without pain or desire, worthy model of an immortal artist, your magnificent beauty, so enchanting, only manages to inspire in my soul the calm admiration sparked by the beauty of a brute or of silver.
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