If You Have Seen A Mount of Sea Foam (Si Ves Un Monte De Espumas)

Enjoy this final Jose Marti poem, If You Have Seen A Mount of Sea Foam (Si Ves Un Monte De Espumas)

If You Have Seen A Mount of Sea Foam (Verse 5)

If you've seen a mount of sea foam,
It is my verse you have seen:
My verse a mountain has been
And a feathered fan become.

My verse is like a dagger
At whose hilt a flower grows:
My verse is a fount which flows
With a sparkling coral water.

My verse is a gentle green
And also a flaming red:
My verse is a deer wounded
Seeking forest cover unseen.

My verse is brief and sincere,
And to the brave will appeal:
With all the strength of the steel
With which the sword will appear.

Si Ves Un Monte De Espumas

Si ves un monte de espumas,
Es mi verso lo que ves,
Mi verso es un monte, y es
Un abanico de plumas.

Mi verso es como un puñal

Que por el puño echa flor:
Mi verso es un surtidor
Que da un agua de coral.

Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmín encendido:
Mi verso es un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo.

Mi verso al valiente agrada:
Mi verso, breve y sincero,
Es del vigor del acero
Conque se funde la espada.

Marti's Cuba - My Reflections

Cuba has been in the news this week, with the visit of the Pope. During this month, I have also been highlighting Cuba's most famous poet, Jose Marti. As we wind down March, I would like to share my reflections on Marti's Cuba, the main source of inspiration for his writings.

I visited Cuba in November 1999. I was living in Jamaica then, and had always dreamed of visiting this intriguing country. Cuba is Jamaica's nearest neighbor, with a mere ninety miles separating the two countries. It was commonly claimed in Jamaica that on a clear day, from Jamaica's tallest mountain chain, the Blue Mountains, one could see Cuba's coastline. I am not sure about that.

Growing up, my grandmother and mother told me stories of my grandfather's sojourn there as a cane-cutter. In fact, my mother's few Spanish words were picked up from him. A paternal great aunt of mine, Aunt Terry, also just upped and went to live there for a while (before the Cuban Revolution, that is). I guess it must be in the blood, because I also chose to major in Spanish Language and Literature for my undergraduate degree.

Cuba's Castro had a long and warm relationship with Jamaica and one of its former Prime Ministers, Michael Manley. Both Manley and Castro exchanged visits on several occasions. In fact, one of my poems, "The Day Castro Came", is my reflection on Castro's first visit to Jamaica when I was a teenager, and how I scrambled to get to downtown Kingston to catch a glimpse of him.

I have fond memories of my first and only trip to Cuba with my friend Petal, and sister-in-law, Deon. I was designated the official interpreter because of my fluency in Spanish. The people were very warm and friendly, and communicating was easy.



Serenaded with "Guantanamera" in Havana



The University of Havana

(I was actually told by a guard not to take pictures of the university, but I quickly shot this)



Some of the memories that I cherish are:

standing before Marti's statue
visiting the bar where Ernest Hemmingway was a frequent visitor
a bus tour of Havana that highlighted the amazing Spanish architecture
a trip to an orchid farm in Soroa, outside of Havana
seeing vintage cars from the 1950s
attending a public performance at the Malecon where I had Cuban beer from a paper cup.

La Bodeguita Del Medio or Ernest Hemmingway's Bar

Beautiful Soroa, where I visited an Orchid Farm

Of course, I also felt Cuba's pain and at times it felt like a country stuck in time. One Cuban I met shared his challenges and hopes.

Havana architecture (me in denim dress with back turned)



Vintage Cuban Cars in Havana



Perhaps one day when the embargo ends, many more persons can experience Marti's Cuba. I am glad I did.

Any thoughts? If you have been, I would love to hear your reflections.

Jose Marti in Central Park

When next you visit Central Park in New York, be sure to check out the bronze equestrian statue of Cuban poet, Jose Marti. It was created by sculptor Anna Vaughn Hyatt-Huntington and was donated by the Cuban Government to the people of New York in the height of the Cold War. It was not unveiled, however, until 1965.

Statue of Jose Marti in Central Park, New York

The statue depicts a wounded Marti during the 1895 battle at Dos Rios, during Cuba's fight for independence from Spain. It is one of three monuments of prominent Latin Americans in Central Park. The other two statues are of Venezuelan, Simon Bolivar, and Argentinian Jose de San Martin.

I Cultivate a White Rose (Cultivo Una Rose Blanca) by Jose Marti

Here is another beautiful poem, I Cultivate a White Rose, by Jose Marti.

I Cultivate a White Rose

I cultivate a white rose
In July as in January
For the sincere friend
Who gives me his hand frankly.

And for the cruel person who tears out
the heart with which I live,
I cultivate neither nettles nor thorns:
I cultivate a white rose.

Below is the Spanish Translation:

Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca

Cultivo una rosa blanca,
en julio como en enero,
para el amigo sincero
que me da su mano franca.
Y para el cruel que me arranca
el corazón con que vivo,
cardo ni oruga cultivo:
cultivo la rosa blanca.


Simply beautiful! Hope you have been enjoying Marti's poems.

 

I Dream Awake (Sueno Despierto) by Jose Marti

Enjoy the poem I Dream Awake (Sueno Despierto) by Jose Marti, from the collection, Ismaelillo, published in 1882.

I Dream Awake (Sueno Despierto)

Day and night
I always dream with open eyes
And on top of the foaming waves
Of the wide turbulent sea,
And on the rolling
Desert sands,
And merrily riding on the gentle neck
Of a mighty lion,
Monarch of my heart,
I always see a floating child
Who is calling me!

Jose Marti

Cuban poet, Jose Julian Marti Perez was born in Havana on January 28, 1853. He was also a journalist, publisher and professor and was at the centre of the Cuban movement for independence from Spain. He died in battle in 1895.

Jose Marti

Here are more details on the life and writings of Jose Marti.

In 1977, the Cuban Government constructed and presented to the Jamaican Government the Jose Marti Technical High School as a gift.

The famous Cuban national song, Guantanamera, was inspired by the Marti poem, Yo Soy Un Hombe Sincero (I am a Sincere Man), printed below in Spanish and English:

Yo Soy Un Hombre Sincero

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.

Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.

Yo sé los nombres extraños
De las yerbas y las flores,
Y de mortales engaños,
Y de sublimes dolores.

Yo he visto en la noche oscura
Llover sobre mi cabeza
Los rayos de lumbre pura
De la divina belleza.

Alas nacer vi en los hombros
De las mujeres hermosas:
Y salir de los escombros,
Volando las mariposas.

He visto vivir a un hombre
Con el puñal al costado,
Sin decir jamás el nombre
De aquella que lo ha matado.

Rápida, como un reflejo,
Dos veces vi el alma, dos:
Cuando murió el pobre viejo,
Cuando ella me dijo adiós.

Temblé una vez —en la reja,
A la entrada de la viña,—
Cuando la bárbara abeja
Picó en la frente a mi niña.

Gocé una vez, de tal suerte
Que gocé cual nunca:—cuando
La sentencia de mi muerte
Leyó el alcalde llorando.

Oigo un suspiro, a través
De las tierras y la mar,
Y no es un suspiro,—es
Que mi hijo va a despertar.

Si dicen que del joyero
Tome la joya mejor,
Tomo a un amigo sincero
Y pongo a un lado el amor.

Yo he visto al águila herida
Volar al azul sereno,
Y morir en su guarida
La vibora del veneno.

Yo sé bien que cuando el mundo
Cede, lívido, al descanso,
Sobre el silencio profundo
Murmura el arroyo manso.

Yo he puesto la mano osada,
De horror y júbilo yerta,
Sobre la estrella apagada
Que cayó frente a mi puerta.

Oculto en mi pecho bravo
La pena que me lo hiere:
El hijo de un pueblo esclavo
Vive por él, calla y muere.

Todo es hermoso y constante,
Todo es música y razón,
Y todo, como el diamante,
Antes que luz es carbón.

Yo sé que el necio se entierra
Con gran lujo y con gran llanto.
Y que no hay fruta en la tierra
Como la del camposanto.

Callo, y entiendo, y me quito
La pompa del rimador:
Cuelgo de un árbol marchito
Mi muceta de doctor.

Here is the English Translation:

I am a Sincere Man

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.

I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the mountains I am one.

I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.

I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.

I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.

I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.

Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.

I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.

I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.

I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.

If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.

I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.

I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.

While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.

On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.

All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.

I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.

Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.