Jose Santos Chocano

Jose Santos Chocano Poems

Jose Santos Chocano Biography

José Santos Chocano Gastañodi (Lima, Perú born May 14, 1875 – Santiago, d. Chile July 13, 1934) was a Peruvian poet who is also known as "The Singer of Americas", because the first line of one of his most celebrated poems: "I am the singer of the America, Autochthonous and Savage"" (" Yo soy el Cantor de América, autóctono y salvaje", from the poem "Blasón" in Alma América). In the early twentieth century his fame stretched through the continent and even to Madrid and Paris. One of his best-known collections is the 1906 Alma América, which opened with a dedicatory poem addressed to Alfonso XIII of Spain that cast the collection as the rediscovery of Latin America through verse; elsewhere in the collection. Chocano's life was highly active and covered a wide range of places and times. He was admitted to the National University of San Marcos at the early age of 14 years old[1] After a short term in jail for political activism, he relocated to Madrid in the early 1900s. In this city his poems were first recognized by the Spanish literary and artistic circles; many notable artist and writers invited him to recite his poems at their reunions. This allowed Chocano to interact with prominent Spanish and Latin American intellectuals and artist such as: Juan Gris, who become known by this pseudonym incidentally by signing his the series of modernist style illustrations that he created for Chocano's books entitled Alma América and Poemas Indoespañoles (Soul America: Indo-Spanish poems) in 1906 [2].; Miguel de Unamuno, who wrote the prologue for his book "Soul America"; Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo, and Rubén Darío and thus his name reached a prominent status not only in Spain, but in France and all over Latin America. His 1906 poetry collection, Soul America, was offered and taken as a "New World" corrective to the purportedly cosmopolitan modernismo of Ruben Darío. Chocano as a sophisticated writer, whose metrics and creativity was sought by many statesmen, who contracted his services as a writer and adviser for many years, thus Chocano worked for different regimes and traveled a decade and a half through Latin and Central America, where he thanks to his status as a prominent and skillful writer, befriended an astonishing variety of political figures from different points on the ideological spectrum, such as: Pancho Villa in Mexico, Manuel Estrada Cabrera in Guatemala, and evenly Woodrow Wilson in the USA, with whom he struck up a correspondence [3]. After the coup which deposed Estrada Cabrera in 1920, Chocano was briefly imprisoned, and subsequently returned to Peru, where he became associated with President Augusto B. Leguía. On November 5, 1922, Chocano was recognized by the government of Peru as a most notable poet of Peru, he was laureated as "The Poet of America" in a ceremony featuring Leguia himself, various ministers, delegates from all the provinces of Peru, and a number of young and established writers. Three years later, Chocano became embroiled in a dispute with Mexican intellectual José Vasconcelos; when Peruvian students sided with Vasconcelos, Chocano phoned the journalist Edwin Elmore to complain about his recent article on the polemic; insults and threats quickly followed. Elmore dashed off an article detailing Chocano's attack on him, and hurried to his office at the newspaper "El Comercio" to insert it. Unfortunately, as Elmore left the building, Chocano arrived at it, and after Elmore slapped Chocano, the latter pulled a gun and shot the young journalist in the stomach. Elmore died soon after. Released after two years in jail, Chocano moved to Santiago de Chile, where he lived in dire poverty while preparing a new collection of poetry, Primicias de Oro de Indias. He was stabbed to death on a streetcar in 1934; reports are divided as to whether his assassin was a stranger, a madman, or a rival in a love affair.)

The Best Poem Of Jose Santos Chocano

¡quién Sabe!

Indio que asomas a la puerta
de esa tu rústica mansión,
¿para mi sed no tienes agua?,
¿para mi frío, cobertor?,
¿parco maíz para mi hambre?,
¿para mi sueño, mal rincón?
¿breve quietud para mi andanza?...
—¡Quién sabe, señor!

Indio que labras con fatiga
tierras que de otro dueño son:
¿ignoras tú que deben tuyas
ser, por tu sangre y tu sudor?
¿Ignoras tú que audaz codicia,
siglos atrás, te las quitó?
¿Ignoras tú que eres el amo?
—¡Quién sabe, señor!

Indio de frente taciturna
y de pupilas sin fulgor,
¿qué pensamiento es el que escondes
en tu enigmática expresión?
¿Qué es lo que buscas en tu vida?,
¿qué es lo que imploras a tu Dios?,
¿qué es lo que sueña tu silencio?
—¡Quién sabe, señor!

¡Oh raza antigua y misteriosa
de impenetrable corazón,
y que sin gozar ves la alegría
y sin sufrir ves el dolor;
eres augusta como el Ande,
el Grande Océano y el Sol!
Ese tu gesto, que parece
como de vil resignación,
es de una sabia indiferencia
y de un orgullo sin rencor...

Corre en mis venas sangre tuya,
y, por tal sangre, si mi Dios
me interrogase qué prefiero,
—cruz o laurel, espina o flor,
beso que apague mis supiros
o hiel que colme mi canción—
responderíale dudando:
—¡Quién sabe, Señor!

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