Promotores de la guerra
¿Ya estás despierto?
¿Cuán despierto estás?
¿Sabes lo que es la Guerra?
¿Cuán bien lo sabes?
¿Sabes cuán dedicados
son los belicistas
a la Guerra?
¿Cómo la aman?
Más que a las madres y a sus niños.
Más que a los nietos.
Más que al agua dulce y al suelo y el aire limpios.
Más que a los mamíferos, los pájaros o los peces.
Más que al fútbol.
Más que a su equipo de fútbol.
Más que a los higos.
Ellos aprecian
el modo en que la Guerra forma
y reforma
el mundo
para ajustarse a su idea
del control de la gente
y el mal manejo
planetario.
Estos entusiastas se reunirán
en una
de sus guaridas preferidas
muy pronto.
Tu Capitolio.
Intenta estar allí. En conciencia
sino
de cuerpo.
Ellos procurarán
Impactar y Asombrar
por ser
el apoyo
congresional
para aniquilar
a gente tal como tú
en Irán;
gente que sería mejor que conocieras.
Echa una buena mirada.
Esta América bárbara
roja de dientes y garras
todo el tiempo
ha estado
masticando
a través de los trajes del Bwana*
de una Conquista Sin Fin.
Ahora
intimidada a
la sumisión
por los aliados
de la destrucción
que gritan obscenidades
a su oído
desea ahogarnos
en dolor
por otra de sus
codiciosas
trágicas
ridículas
y
en conjunto
fracasadas
guerras.
¿Adónde va esto?
No hacia nuestros sueños.
¿Estamos ya despiertos?
¿Lo estaremos alguna vez?
¿Cuántos niños
sorprendidos más
deben morir
en nuestro sueño?
* N. del T.: Bwana: señor, hombre blanco
Se recomienda: Letra de “Masters of War” (“Amos de la guerra”) de Bob Dylan (1963)
Mongers of War
Are you awake yet?
How awake are you?
Do you know what War is?
How well do you know?
Do you know how devoted
warmongers
are to War?
How they love it?
More than mothers and babies.
More than grandkids.
More than fresh water and clean soil and air.
More than mammals, birds or fish.
More than football.
More than the soccer team.
More than figs.
They appreciate
the way War shapes
& reshapes
the world
to fit their design
for people control
and planetary
mismanagement.
These mongers are meeting
in one
of their favorite dens
very soon.
Your Capitol.
Try to be there. In awareness
if not
body.
They will attempt to
Shock and Awe
into being
congressional
support
for destroying
folks just like you
in Iran;
folks you’d rather get to know.
Take a good look.
This barbarous America
red in tooth and claw
has
all along
been chewing
through the Bwana suits
of Endless Conquest.
Now
bullied into
submission
by allies
of destruction
shouting obscenities
in its ear
it desires to smother us
in grief
over yet another
greedy
tragic
ridiculous
&
altogether
backfiring
war.
Where is this going?
Not toward our dreams.
Are we awake yet?
Will we ever be?
How many more
surprised children
must die
in our sleep?
Recommended: The lyrics to Bob Dylan’s “Masters of War” (1963)
Para Win
(por el cumpleaños de Bob Marley, 6 de febrero)
Sé lo que ellos no quieren:
Sé atento.
Sé diestro en amar.
Sé de buen corazón.
Sé de la tribu del mundo.
El que tortura
el resto sagrado
de nosotros
carece de confianza
en su propia
dignidad
para ponerse de pie
sin avergonzarse
siendo incluso pobre
y cantar.
To Win
(for Bob Marley’s birthday, February 6)
Be what they do not want:
Be skilled at loving.
Be of good heart.
Be of the world tribe.
Who torments
the sacred
rest of us
lacks confidence
in his own
worthiness
to stand
shameless
even poor
and sing.
Mañana en el pueblo
Esta mañana
en el pueblo
donde vivo*
vi a un señor viejo
calmosamente pintando un viejo
cántaro de leche de metal
de dos pies y medio de alto.
Estaba tranquilo,
mientras los transeúntes
caminaban o montaban
sus bicicletas.
Al principio no comprendí
cuán sencillo era. Sentarse
a la sombra de los árboles de la acera a pintar;
dando lecciones
de once a doce.
Debe haber algo
más que esto
pensé.
Pero ahora, no lo creo.
El cántaro cambiaba lentamente
de la gris ignominia del óxido
al rosa azul encanto del amanecer
y el artista hacía flores amarillas
embadurnándolas en su sitio
con un trozo irregular de corcho.
Viejo, no más viejo que yo sin dudas
¡nunca sabrás
lo encantada que me sentí de verte!
Pintando el viejo cántaro de leche
de vuelta a la vida
en este oculto lugar
donde los niños crecen viéndote
o ignorándote pintar
y en la noche juegan a las escondidas
en esta esquina
de nuestra oscura
pero extraordinaria
calle de pueblo.
* Pueblo de Guadalupe
Morning in the Village
This morning
in the village
where I live*
I saw an old man
leisurely painting an old
two-and-a-half-foot-high
&n
bsp; metal milk can.
He was serene,
as passersby
strolled or rode their
bicycles.
At first I did not comprehend
how simple it was. To sit
in the shade of the sidewalk trees, painting;
offering lessons
from eleven to noon.
There must be something
more to this
I thought.
But now, I think not.
The can turned slowly
from gray rusty ignominy
to blushful blue dawn enchantment
and the artist made yellow flowers
by daubing them into place
with a bit of ragged cork.
Old man, no older than me no doubt
you will never know
how delighted I was to see you!
back to life
in this hidden place
where children grow up watching
or ignoring you paint
and at night play hide-and-seek
in this corner
of our obscure
but extraordinary
village street.
* the village of Guadalupe
Ocupando mi asiento
Ocupando mi asiento
me inclino
ante mi flecha.
Al inspirar doy
gracias a mis maestros
que están
por todo mi alrededor.
Al espirar
agradezco a ellos
mucho más.
Taking My Seat
Taking my seat
I bow
to my arrow.
Breathing in
I thank my teachers
who are
all around me.
Breathing out
I thank them
more.
About the Author
* * *
Alice Walker, winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award, is a canonical figure in American letters. She is the author of The Color Purple, The Temple of My Familiar, Horses Make a Landscape Look More Beautiful, The Way Forward Is with a Broken Heart, Now Is the Time to Open Your Heart, and many other works of fiction, poetry, and nonfiction. Her writings have been translated into more than two dozen languages, and more than fifteen million copies of her books have been sold worldwide.
The poems in this volume were translated into Spanish by Cuban poet and translator Manuel García Verdecia. (Poemas traducidos al español por el poeta y traductor cubano Manuel García Verdecia.)
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Alice-Walker
Facebook.com/37INKBOOKS @37INKBOOKS @37INKBOOKS
SELECTED WORKS BY ALICE WALKER
POETRY
Revolutionary Petunias
Hard Times Require Furious Dancing
The World Will Follow Joy
FICTION
The Color Purple
The Temple of My Familiar
Meridian
Now Is the Time to Open Your Heart
Possessing the Secret of Joy
NONFICTION
In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens
We Are the Ones We Have Been Waiting For
Anything We Love Can Be Saved
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.
* * *
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Copyright © 2018 by Alice Walker
Many of the poems in this collection were originally published online at alicewalkersgarden.com, in some cases in slightly different form.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First 37 INK/Atria Books hardcover edition October 2018
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Interior design by Kyoko Watanabe
Jacket design by Philip Pascuzzo
Jacket illustration © iStockphoto
Jacket Jewelry Courtesy of Kaye Blegvad
Author photograph by Ana Elena Peña
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-5011-7952-5
ISBN 978-1-5011-7954-9 (ebook)