Pablo Neruda

(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral / Chile)

Castro Alves From Brazil - Poem by Pablo Neruda

Castro Alves from Brazil, for whom did you sing?
Did you sing for the flower? For the water
whose beauty whispered words to the stones?
Did you sing to the eyes, to the torn profile
of the woman you once loved? For the spring?

Yes, but those petals were not dewed,
those black waters had no words,
those eyes were those who saw death,
still burning the tortures behind love,
Spring was splashed with blood.

I sang for the slaves, aboard the ships
as a dark branch of wrath.
They travelled, and bled from the ships
leaving us the weight of a stolen blood.

I sang in those days against the inferno,
against the sharp languages of greed,
against the gold drenched in the torment,
against the hand that rose the whip,
against the maestros of darkness.

Each rose had one dead man in their roots.
The light, the night, the sky were covered in tears,
the eyes separated from wounded hands
and it was my voice the only one to fill the silence.

I wanted that from the man we could be rescued,
I believed that the route passed through the man,
and from there destiny would be made.
I sang for those who had no voice.
My voice hit doors that until then were closed
so that, fighting, Freedom could be let in.

Castro Alves from Brazil, now that your pure book
is reborn to a free land,
let me, poet of our America,
to crown your head with the laurels of the people.
Your voice joined the eternal and loud voice of the men.
You sang well. You sang how it must be sung.


Comments about Castro Alves From Brazil by Pablo Neruda

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (11/24/2015 5:36:00 AM)

    SPANISH TEXT:

    Castro Alves do Brasil

    Castro Alves do Brasil, para quem cantaste?
    Para à flor cantaste? Para a água
    cuja formosura diz palavras às pedras?
    Cantaste para os olhos para o perfil recortado
    da que então amaste? Para a primavera?

    Sim, mas aquelas pétalas não tinham orvalho,
    aquelas águas negras não tinham palavras,
    aqueles olhos eram os que viram a morte,
    ardiam ainda os martírios por detrás do amor,
    a primavera estava salpicada de sangue.

    - Cantei para os escravos, eles sobre os navios
    como um cacho escuro da árvore da ira,
    viajaram, e no porto se dessangrou o navio
    deixando-nos o peso de um sangue roubado.

    - Cantei naqueles dias contra o inferno,
    contra as afiadas línguas da cobiça,
    contra o ouro empapado do tormento,
    contra a mão que empunhava o chicote,
    contra os dirigentes de trevas.

    - Cada rosa tinha um morto nas raízes.
    A luz, a noite, o céu cobriam-se de pranto,
    os olhos apartavam-se das mãos feridas
    e era a minha voz a única que enchia o silêncio.

    _ Eu quis que do homem nos salvássemos,
    eu cria que a rota passasse pelo homem,
    e que daí tinha de sair o destino.
    Cantei para aqueles que não tinham voz.
    Minha voz bateu em portas até então fechadas
    para que, combatendo, a liberdade entrasse.

    Castro Alves do Brasil, hoje que o teu livro puro
    torna a nascer para a terra livre,
    deixam-me a mim, poeta da nossa América,
    coroar a tua cabeça com os louros do povo.
    Tua voz uniu-se à eterna e alta voz dos homens.
    Cantaste bem. Cantaste como se deve cantar. (Report) Reply

    6 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Brian Jani Brian Jani (4/27/2014 2:29:00 AM)

    Awesome I like this poem, check mine out  (Report) Reply

  • Alexander Opicho Alexander Opicho (12/3/2013 8:12:00 AM)

    very sweet to the ears, especially; Castro Alves from Brazil, now that your pure book is reborn to a free land,
    let me, poet of our America, to crown your head with the laurels of the people. Your voice joined the eternal and loud voice of the men. You sang well. You sang how it must be sung.
    Pablo Neruda (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, March 22, 2010



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