America, give heed:
this is no flight of herons nor of angels…
Those are wings which cover the broad skyline,
piercing the clouds,
challenging the winds:
they are man’s wings which Hatred fashions,
they are the wings of war-planes…
this is no flight of herons nor of angels…
Those are wings which cover the broad skyline,
piercing the clouds,
challenging the winds:
they are man’s wings which Hatred fashions,
they are the wings of war-planes…
The wings of the Angel brought to the world
its light of hope:
a rainbow of dream, of peace and accord…
The wings of the bird
carried to field and wood and river
their restless perfection,
their gyring lights,
the hymn of triumphant and joyous flight,
and the nest’s maternal lullaby…
The wings of man, which once were
banners of Science,
which lifted flight, breaking a thousand bonds,
to win for Progress everlasting conquests,
today are messengers of ruin and death,
today are emissaries of perverted instincts…
its light of hope:
a rainbow of dream, of peace and accord…
The wings of the bird
carried to field and wood and river
their restless perfection,
their gyring lights,
the hymn of triumphant and joyous flight,
and the nest’s maternal lullaby…
The wings of man, which once were
banners of Science,
which lifted flight, breaking a thousand bonds,
to win for Progress everlasting conquests,
today are messengers of ruin and death,
today are emissaries of perverted instincts…
What wrathful monster
takes possession of the world and defies God,
trampling divine laws,
altering human standards,
turning to ashes
the noble conquests of the soul
They are men of the ancestry of Hell;
they feed their crimson appetites on blood
like wolves
and leap upon the world with their vicious faces
of tanks, of bombs,
of marine monsters,
of birds of prey…
takes possession of the world and defies God,
trampling divine laws,
altering human standards,
turning to ashes
the noble conquests of the soul
They are men of the ancestry of Hell;
they feed their crimson appetites on blood
like wolves
and leap upon the world with their vicious faces
of tanks, of bombs,
of marine monsters,
of birds of prey…
And all of us know whose are the hands
that loose the hyenas;
whose is the haughty, watchful eye
that follows the livid track
of these hunting packs…
A lost soul who has never felt
the wing of an angel brush his life;
who has never beheld the image of a child
reflected in his cursed eyes;
who knows not the grace, the sacred music
that children’s laughter
holds in its trillings…
that loose the hyenas;
whose is the haughty, watchful eye
that follows the livid track
of these hunting packs…
A lost soul who has never felt
the wing of an angel brush his life;
who has never beheld the image of a child
reflected in his cursed eyes;
who knows not the grace, the sacred music
that children’s laughter
holds in its trillings…
Europe is in flames…
Europe is bathed
in blood and tears…
Europe is bathed
in blood and tears…
No more descends the soft white stork
with blessed burden;
there fly only those wings that scatter
the gall of anguish
and thunder in fury through space…
No more returns the blue swallow
seeking the gables of old friends,
nor yet the slender dove
bearing love letters in its plumes
Only the sullen convoys fly
expelling their breath
which sears the air,
which sears the earth…
Life perishes wherever whir
those vicious wings.
Death stands erect singing her triumphs
and there rises to die heavens
the crying of the children
whom the hellish breath of war
left homeless…
The children! … Earth’s honey…!
The light of the peoples ! … The essence of the world…!
The children mutilated
like tender ears of grain
by the ruthless scythes…
The children seeking among ruins
the bloody trail
that their parents leave…
The children tied to trunks
with mutilated limbs
seeking the light of eyes
for ever closed,
the honey of kisses
which death’s frost congeals on the lips…
The children beseeching men,
imploring Heaven,
for mercy for the world … mercy for themselves
The voice of those children,
their sobbing outcry,
mingles with the hum of the wings
that cover Europe,
and rises higher still,
begging for compassion…
Begging for Justice, the everlasting word,
the only word that may yet save them…
Let the cry of the children rise up,
let it climb the mountain peaks,
let it go up to Heaven
and find the star of new splendours
which perhaps will light other paths…
May there shine in the souls of all men
that gentle radiance:
may hearthsides flower again with love,
and bands of planes fill the air
bearing commerce,
the sciences, the arts…
May the faithful swallow return,
the loving stork, the gentle dove,
and all birds united
chant the hymn that mothers sing…!
Maria Olimpia de Obaldia (1891 – 1985) Panama
with blessed burden;
there fly only those wings that scatter
the gall of anguish
and thunder in fury through space…
No more returns the blue swallow
seeking the gables of old friends,
nor yet the slender dove
bearing love letters in its plumes
Only the sullen convoys fly
expelling their breath
which sears the air,
which sears the earth…
Life perishes wherever whir
those vicious wings.
Death stands erect singing her triumphs
and there rises to die heavens
the crying of the children
whom the hellish breath of war
left homeless…
The children! … Earth’s honey…!
The light of the peoples ! … The essence of the world…!
The children mutilated
like tender ears of grain
by the ruthless scythes…
The children seeking among ruins
the bloody trail
that their parents leave…
The children tied to trunks
with mutilated limbs
seeking the light of eyes
for ever closed,
the honey of kisses
which death’s frost congeals on the lips…
The children beseeching men,
imploring Heaven,
for mercy for the world … mercy for themselves
The voice of those children,
their sobbing outcry,
mingles with the hum of the wings
that cover Europe,
and rises higher still,
begging for compassion…
Begging for Justice, the everlasting word,
the only word that may yet save them…
Let the cry of the children rise up,
let it climb the mountain peaks,
let it go up to Heaven
and find the star of new splendours
which perhaps will light other paths…
May there shine in the souls of all men
that gentle radiance:
may hearthsides flower again with love,
and bands of planes fill the air
bearing commerce,
the sciences, the arts…
May the faithful swallow return,
the loving stork, the gentle dove,
and all birds united
chant the hymn that mothers sing…!
Maria Olimpia de Obaldia (1891 – 1985) Panama
Translated by Milton Ben Davis
Source: Anthology of Contemporary Latin-American Poetry, edited by Dudley Fitts, New Directions, 1942 [Intrent Archive]
Source: Anthology of Contemporary Latin-American Poetry, edited by Dudley Fitts, New Directions, 1942 [Intrent Archive]
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