HENRIETTA CORDELIA RAY
Poeta negra, profesora y activista, Henrietta Cordelia Ray nació el 30 de agosto 1852, en la ciudad de Nueva York, una de los siete hijos de Charlotte Augusta Burrough y Charles B. Ray, un herrero, Congregacional ministro y líder abolicionista. Murió en 1916.
Maestra de escuela de Nueva York durante 30 años, Ray publicó dos colecciones de 146 poemas de cuya técnica es excepcionalmente rica.
UN OCÉANO DIVAGANTE.
(An Ocean Musing)
Lejos, muy lejos se encuentran las velas blancas todas en reposo;
Al igual que brazos espectrales parecen tocar y aferrarse
A el amplio horizonte. No es un ala
De ave holgazán que se desliza abajo al oeste púrpura
Sin brisa se atreve a inmiscuirse, incluso en una búsqueda
Para avivar la frente de un amante; las olas cantan
Han olvidado del todo, hasta el fondo se aventuraran
En un arqueo a través de sus cuerdas vibrantes. Entonces, no sea
Un momento de reposo del mar que perdemos,
Ni proporciona lujo con un millar de temas
De dulzura inimaginable, vamos a mirar
En esta serenidad, ya que al reflexionar,
¡He aquí que! todo es movimiento inquieto: los mejores sueños de la vida
Incluso, da a los estados de ánimo cambiantes días felices.
AUTODOMINIO.
(SELF-MASTERY).
Para capturar el espíritu en su vuelo caprichoso
A través de múltiples laberintos, ¡qué tarea suprema!
Porque cuando los torrentes se ha convertido en flujos sosegados,
La habilidad humana a luchar, mucho debe ayudar a expresar su furia;
Y cuando los vientos salvajes invaden la noche solemne,
¿El cacareado poder del hombre no parece sino un sueño?
Y aún más inútil, ay, que incluso debemos considerar que
Este afán por dominar el alma, guía rectamente
Sus andanzas inquietas, para atraer de nuevo
A los bancos de calma. Muchos gemidos y suspiros
Atienden la lucha; hasta que, el esfuerzo, los une en oración,
A menudo por completo, se aferran ha - cuando la falta de fuerza
Parece más terrible - atraer la respuesta a nuestro clamor:
Un regalo de Él que levanta todos nuestros cuidados.
Traducción Literal del Inglés por: JUAN DIEGO AMOROZ E.
An Ocean Musing
Far, far out lie the white sails all at rest;
Like spectral arms they seem to touch and cling
Unto the wide horizon. Not a wing
Of truant bird glides down the purpling west;
No breeze dares to intrude, e’en on a quest
To fan a lover’s brow; the waves to sing
Have quite forgotten till the deep shall fling
A bow across its vibrant chords. Then, lest
One moment of the sea’s repose we lose,
Nor furnish Fancy with a thousand themes
Of unimagined sweetness, let us gaze
On this serenity, for as we muse,
Lo! all is restless motion: life’s best dreams
Give changing moods to even halcyon days.
Lincoln
To-day, O martyred chief, beneath the sun
We would unveil thy form; to thee who won
Th’applause of nations for thy soul sincere,
A loving tribute we would offer here.
’T was thine not worlds to conquer, but men’s hearts;
To change to balm the sting of slavery’s darts;
In lowly charity thy joy to find,
And open “gates of mercy on mankind.”
And so they come, the freed, with grateful gift,
From whose sad path the shadows thou didst lift.
Eleven years have rolled their seasons round,
Since its most tragic close thy life-work found.
Yet through the vistas of the vanished days
We see thee still, responsive to our gaze,
As ever to thy country’s solemn needs.
Not regal coronets, but princely deeds
Were thy chaste diadem; of truer worth
Thy modest virtues than the gems of earth.
Stanch, honest, fervent in the purest cause,
Truth was thy guide; her mandates were thy laws.
Rare heroism, spirit-purity,
The storied Spartan’s stern simplicity,
Such moral strength as gleams like burnished gold
Amid the doubt of men of weaker mould,
Were thine. Called in thy country’s sorest hour,
When brother knew not brother—mad for power—
To guide the helm through bloody deeps of war,
While distant nations gazed in anxious awe,
Unflinching in the task, thou didst fulfill
Thy mighty mission with a deathless will.
Born to a destiny the most sublime,
Thou wert, O Lincoln! in the march of time,
God bade thee pause and bid the oppressed go free—
Most glorious boon giv’n to humanity.
While slavery ruled the land, what deeds were done?
What tragedies enacted ’neath the sun!
Her page is blurred with records of defeat,
Of lives heroic lived in silence, meet
For the world’s praise; of woe, despair and tears,
The speechless agony of weary years.
Thou utteredst the word, and Freedom fair
Rang her sweet bells on the clear winter air;
She waved her magic wand, and lo! from far
A long procession came. With many a scar
Their brows were wrinkled, in the bitter strife,
Full many had said their sad farewell to life
But on they hastened, free, their shackles gone;
The aged, young,—e’en infancy was borne
To offer unto thee loud paeans of praise,—
Their happy tribute after saddest days.
A race set free! The deed brought joy and light!
It bade calm Justice from her sacred height,
When faith and hope and courage slowly waned,
Unfurl the stars and stripes, at last unstained!
The nations rolled acclaim from sea to sea,
And Heaven’s vault rang with Freedom’s harmony.
The angels ’mid the amaranths must have hushed
Their chanted cadences, as upward rushed
The hymn sublime: and as the echoes pealed,
God’s ceaseless benison the action sealed.
As now we dedicate this shaft to thee,
True champion! in all humility
And solemn earnestness, we would erect
A monument invisible, undecked,
Save by our allied purpose to be true
To Freedom’s loftiest precepts, so that through
The fiercest contests we may walk secure,
Fixed on foundations that may still endure,
When granite shall have crumbled to decay,
And generations passed from earth away.
Exalted patriot! illustrious chief!
Thy life’s immortal work compels belief.
To-day in radiance thy virtues shine,
And how can we a fitting garland twine?
Thy crown most glorious to a ransomed race!
High on our country’s scroll we fondly trace,
In lines of fadeless light that softly blend,
Emancipator, hero, martyr, friend!
While Freedom may her holy sceptre claim,
The world shall echo with Our Lincoln’s name.
Self-Mastery
To catch the spirit in its wayward flight
Through mazes manifold, what task supreme!
For when to floods has grown the quiet stream,
Much human skill must aid its rage to fight;
And when wild winds invade the solemn night,
Seems not man’s vaunted power but a dream?
And still more futile, ay, we e’en must deem
This quest to tame the soul, and guide aright
Its restless wanderings, – to lure it back
To shoals of calm. Full many a moan and sigh
Attend the strife; till, effort merged in prayer,
Oft uttered, clung to – when of strength the lack
Seems direst – brings the answer to our cry:
A gift from Him who lifts our ev’ry care.
Toussaint L’Ouverture
To those fair isles where crimson sunsets burn,
We send a backward glance to gaze on thee,
Brave Toussaint! thou was surely born to be
A hero; thy proud spirit could but spurn
Each outrage on the race. Couldst thou unlearn
The lessons taught by instinct? Nay! and we
Who share the zeal that would make all men free,
Must e’en with pride unto thy life-work turn.
Soul-dignity was thine and purest aim;
And ah! how sad that thou wast left to mourn
In chains ’neath alien skies. On him, shame! shame!
That mighty conqueror who dared to claim
The right to bind thee. Him we heap with scorn,
And noble patriot! guard with love thy name.
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