Traitorous
generals:
look at my dead house
look at shattered Spain
but from each doomed house comes blazing metal
in place of flowers
but from each of Spains craters
comes Spain
but from each dead child, comes a rifle sight with eyes
but from each crime, bullets are born
that one day will find the x
marking your heart.
You will ask, why do his poems
not speak to us of the soil, or the leaves,
or the great volcanoes of his homeland?
Come see the blood in the streets,
come see
the blood in the streets,
come see the blood
in the streets!
Pablo Neruda (1904 – 1973) Chile
Translated by Michael Straus
Source: Poetry Foundation
generals:
look at my dead house
look at shattered Spain
but from each doomed house comes blazing metal
in place of flowers
but from each of Spains craters
comes Spain
but from each dead child, comes a rifle sight with eyes
but from each crime, bullets are born
that one day will find the x
marking your heart.
You will ask, why do his poems
not speak to us of the soil, or the leaves,
or the great volcanoes of his homeland?
Come see the blood in the streets,
come see
the blood in the streets,
come see the blood
in the streets!
Pablo Neruda (1904 – 1973) Chile
Translated by Michael Straus
Source: Poetry Foundation
From: Grapes And The Wind, Pablo Neruda, Translated by Michael Straus, Spuyten Duyvil Press, 2018
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