abolitionist poem by Antonio de Castro Alves (Brazil, 1847-71)
God! O God! Where are you that you do not answer!
On what world, what star have you hidden yourself
Veiled in heaven?
For two thousand years I have cried out to you,
In vain, it has echoed through an empty heaven . . .
Where are you, Lord God?. . .
Like Prometheus, one day you bound me
To a desolate, blood-stained boulder,
Perpetual galley-labor! . . .
For a vulture--I am given the broiling sun!
And the land of Suez--was the shackle
That bound me by one foot . . .
The weary mount of the Beduin
Falls on its back beneath the- whip
And dies on the open plain.
My back bleeds, the pain trickles down
Pierced by the lash of the simoom
Your eternally punishing arm.
My sisters are beautiful, they are happy . . .
Asia sleeps in the voluptuous shade
Of the Sultan's harem,
Or rocked on the backs of white elephants
She covers herself with jewels
In the land of Hindustan.
For an awning-the peaks of the Himalayas…
The amorous Ganges embraces the banks
Covered with the colors of her people
The breeze of Mysora ignites the sky;
And she sleeps in the temples of Brahma,
Colossal pagodas…
Europe-is always Europe, the glorious one! …
The seductive and willful woman,
A queen and courtesan.
Artist--cuts the marble of Carrara;
Poet--strums the hymns of Ferrara,
Toiling for her glory!…
Wearing the laurels of every contest…
Now a crown, now the barrette-phrygio
Flowers encircle her throat,
The Universe pursues her-an excited lover
Captive to the dizzying steps
Of the noble whore.
But I, Lord! ... I am sad, abandoned
Wandering helplessly in the wilderness,
Lost and marching in vain!
If I cry . . . the hot plain drinks my tears!
Perhaps ... all my weeping, O, merciful God,
Is hidden from you in the earth! . . .
I have neither the shade of a single tree,
To cover me, nor a temple for sanctuary
From my lonely immolation ...
When I scale the pyramids of Egypt,
In vain I cry out to the four windows of heaven:
"Save me, Lord! . . ."
Like the prophet whose face is blackened with ashes,
I cover my head against the elements, where the
Fierce Sirrocco turns . . .
When I cross the Sahara in sack-cloth
Ai'. they say: "There goes Africa veiled
In her white albornoz. . ."
None see that the desert is my sudarium,
That my silent, solitary search
Is for my own soul.
There alone, where the thorn scarcely survives,
The colossal stone Sphynx yawns,
Staring dully at the sky.
From the ruined columns of Thebes
The stooped storks watch
The endless horizon ...
Where shines the wandering caravan
And the droning, panting camel
Kneels for Ephraim . . .
Is this enough pain yet, o terrible God?!
And perhaps your eternal spirit is not drained
Of vengeance and rancor?
What have I done, Lord? What horrifying crime
Have I ever committed, that you oppress me
With your double-edged vengeance?!
It was after the flood. . . A nomad,
Black, somber, weak, panting
Came down from Ararat . . .
And I say to the collapsing wanderer:
"Ham! . . . thou art my most beloved husband . . .
I will be your Eloa . . ."
From that day the wind of disgrace
For the color of my kinky locks, howls,
Sends forth the cruel anathema.
The tribes roam the open plains,
And the voracious Nomad scores the land
With the hooves of his swift steed.
I beheld wisdom fleeing Egypt . . .
I beheld the people that followed after- Judah cursed-
Trek of perdition.
After I beheld my disgraced progeny
Snatched up by the talons of Europe
Domesticated falcon.
Christ! In vain you died on a mountain
Your blood will not cleanse my brow of
The original stain.
Yet today, by unlucky fate,
My children-beasts of burden for the universe
I---pasturage for all.
Today my blood feeds America
Condor, you have made yourself into a vulture,
Bird of slavery.
She draws nearer, . . . traitorous sister!
Which of Joseph's vile brothers, or the other
Will sell his brother!
Enough, Lord! Send forth your potent
Arm, across the stars of space
Forgiveness for my crimes!
For two thousand years I have had one cry ...
Listen to my protest from your everlasting throne,
My God! Lord, My God!!!
Guillén Poem Against Racism in Cuba
Nicolás Guillén (1902-1989) was one of Cuba's foremost poets. Best known as an accomplished practitioner of Afro-Cuban verse, Guillén published many books on different themes: nature, love, history. He always exhibited a keen interest in social injustice and was a lifetime activist and Communist. Guillén, an immensely popular writer, won many national and international awards, and many of his poems have been set to music and become popular songs. In ''Ballad of Two Grandfathers,'' from his book West Indies, Ltd. (1934) Guillén use the poem to celebrate his mulatto identity, thus paying homage to his black and white grandfathers. He also makes it clear that his black grandfather suffered greatly from the cruel history of slavery.
Shadows which only I see, I'm watched by my two grandfathers. A bone-point lance, a drum of hide and wood: my black grandfather. A ruff on a broad neck, a warrior's gray armament: my white grandfather. Africa's humid jungles with thick and muted gongs . . . ''I'm dying!'' (My black grandfather says). Waters dark with alligators, morning green with coconuts . . . ''I'm tired!'' (My white grandfather says). Oh sails of a bitter wind, galleon burning for gold . . . ''I'm dying'' (My black grandfather says). Oh coasts with virgin necks deceived with beads of glass . . .! ''I'm tired!'' (My white grandfather says). Oh pure and burnished sun, imprisoned in the tropic's ring; Oh clear and rounded moon above the sleep of monkeys! So many ships, so many ships! So many Blacks, so many Blacks! So much resplendent cane! How harsh the trader's whip! A rock of tears and blood, of veins and eyes half-open, of empty dawns and plantation sunsets, and a great voice, a strong voice, splitting the silence. So many ships, so many ships, so many Blacks! Shadows which only I see, I'm watched by my two grandfathers. Don Federico yells at me and Taita Facundo is silent; both dreaming in the night and walking, walking. I bring them together. ''Federico! Facundo!'' They embrace. They sigh, they raise their sturdy heads; both of equal size, beneath the high stars; both of equal size, a Black longing, a White longing, both on equal size, they scream, dream, weep, sing. They dream, weep, sing. They weep, sing. Sing! (source: http://social.chass.ncsu.edu/slatta/hi216/documents/slavery/racism.htm)
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