José Martí (Havana, 11/28/1853-Dos Ríos, Oriente, 5/19/1895). Cuban poet, narrator, essayist, journalist and politician. Apostle of the independence of Cuba, whose definitive organization he directed politically. Condemned to exile from his youth, he lived most of his life outside of Cuba (Spain, Mexico, Venezuela, Guatemala, the United States, mainly), and from exile he developed an important work in the dissemination of an independentist and Latin Americanist thought. He wrote valuable essays of a political and literary nature, in which he exposes a clear vision of Cuban and Latin American problems. As a journalist, he was a correspondent for the most important newspapers of the time: La Opinion Nacional , from Caracas, El Partido Liberal , from Mexico,La Nación , from Buenos Aires, and La América , from New York, among others. His novel Amistad fatal (1885), is considered today as the first modernist novel. In addition, he created the monthly dedicated to children The Golden Age (1889), of which only four numbers appeared, but which has become a classic of literature for children and young people in Latin America. His main collections of poems are: Ismaelillo (1882), Simple Verses (1891) and Free Verses(It appeared posthumously in various ways, until it took its final form in the critical edition published in 1985 by researchers and poets Cintio Vitier, Fina García Marruz and Emilio de Armas). The set formed by the political activity and the literary work of José Martí, make him one of the most transcendent and significant figures in American letters.

Yoke and star

When I was born, without sun, my mother said:
—Flower of my womb, generous Homagno
Of me and of Creation sum and reflection,
Fish that in bird and steed and man becomes,
Look at these two, that with pain you I toast,
Badges of life: go and choose.
This is a yoke: whoever accepts it, enjoys: He
acts as a meek ox, and as he serves
the lords, he sleeps in hot straw
, and has rich and wide oats.
This, oh mystery that you were born from me
Which the summit was born from the mountain,
This one, that shines and kills, is a star:
As it spreads light, sinners
flee from whoever carries it, and in life,
Like a monster of crimes loaded,
Everyone who carries light is left alone.
But the man who imitates the ox without shame,
Ox becomes again, and in off gross
The universal scale begins again.
The one that the star without fear girdles,
As it creates, grows! When to the world
From his glass the liquor already emptied the living one:
When, to delicacy of the bloody
human Feast, he drew
his own heart happy and grave : when to the winds
of North and South he poured his sacred voice, -
The star like a cloak , in light it envelops him,
The clear air is lit, like a party,
And the living one who was not afraid to live,
One more step is heard rising in the shadow!

—Give me the yoke, oh my mother, so
that, standing on it,
the star that illuminates and kills may shine on my forehead .

Two homelands

I have two homelands: Cuba and the night.
Or is it one o'clock? As soon as
His Majesty withdraws the sun, with long veils
And a carnation in her hand, silent
Cuba like a sad widow appears to me.
I know what that bloody carnation is
That trembles in his hand!
My chest is empty , it is shattered and empty
Where the heart was. It is time to
start dying. The night is good
To say goodbye. The light is in the way
And the human word. The universe
speaks better than man. Which flag
That invites to battle, the red flame
Of the candle flames. The windows
I open, already narrow in me. Muda, breaking
The leaves of the carnation, like a cloud
that clouds the sky, Cuba widow passes ...

Big city love

Of gorja the times are and speed:
Spread like light the voice; On a high needle
Like a ship cliff in a horrendous
sirte Let the lightning sink, and in a light boat
Man, like winged, the air cleaves.
Thus love, without pomp or mystery,
Dies, just born, satiated!
Cage is the village of dead pigeons
AND avid hunters! If the breasts
are broken from the men, and the broken meats
roll on the ground, they will not be seen
inside more than squeezed strawberries!

You love standing, in the streets, among the dust
Of the halls and squares:
The flower dies the day it is born. That
tremulous virgin who before death gave the
pure hand that ignored young man;
The joy of fear; that leaving the
chest the heart; the ineffable
Pleasure of deserving; the pleasant fright
Of walking quickly straight
From the home of the beloved, and at its doors
Like a happy child breaking down in tears; -
And that look, of our love of fire,
Go dyeing the roses in color, -
Hey, they are bullshit! Well, who has
time to be a hidalgo? Well let it sit
What a golden glass or sumptuous canvas
Gentle lady in the house of a tycoon!
Or if you are thirsty, you stretch out your arm
And to the glass that passes, you drain it!
Then the cup cloudy to dust rolls,
And the skillful taster, - stained his chest
With an invisible blood, - follows joyfully
Crowned with myrtles, his way!

They are not the bodies anymore but waste,
And pits, and shreds! And the souls
are not like the rich fruit of the tree
In whose soft skin the sweet syrup
overflows in its ripeness, -
But fruit of the square that at brutal
blows the rude farmer ripens!
Is this the age of the dry lips!
Of sleepless nights! Of life
Crushed in green! What is missing
That luck is missing? Like a
Flustered hare , the spirit hides,
Tremulous fleeing the hunter who laughs, As
in a jungle grove, in our chest;
And Desire, on the arm of Fever,
Which rich hunter roams the grove.

The city scares me! Everything is full
of cups to be emptied, or hollow cups!
I'm afraid, oh me! that this
Tósigo wine is, and in my veins then
What avenging goblin the key teeth!
I am thirsty, —more of a wine that on earth you
cannot drink! I have not suffered
enough yet, to break the wall
That separates me, oh pain! from my vineyard!
Take, you mean tasters
Of human vinillos, those glasses
Where lily juice in great sips
is drunk without compassion and fear!
Take! I am honest, and I am afraid!

Fierce

horseflies Come, fierce horseflies,
Come, jackals,
And move their trunks and teeth
And attack in a horde,
And like a bison tiger
Sit me down and jump!
Over here, green envy!
You, beautiful flesh,
Bite me on both lips:
Dry me: stain me!
Over here, the bandaged
Ravenous jealousy!
And you, gold coin,
Everywhere!
Merchants of virtue,
Mercadeadme!
Joy Killed Honor:
Come to me, —and kill!

Each one with his weapons
Stand up and battle:
Pleasure, with his cup;
With her kind
Hands, smeared in myrrh,
The agile virgin;
With his silver sword
The devil beat me: -
The blinding sword It will
not blind me!

Shine the crowd
Of battlers :
Shine plumed helmets
As they shine
On mountains of gold
Radiant snows :
Like raindrops
Clouds throw up
Crowds of steels
And banners: It
seems that the earth,
Broken in trance,
Covered its green back
With giants golden:
Let's face, not the fire
Of the soft sun,
But the fatal brilliance
Of the cutting
Irons: red lightning
The fog chop: The trees
shake their roots
Free:
Their skirts barter the mountain
In agile wings.

Cry be heard, as
If in an instant
Same, the souls all
Flying ex-prisons,
Roll at their feet they will see
His coat of meats:
Gird me strongly veste
Of threatening Sharp
antlers : Tenuous threads
of blood
For my skin they roll light As
red asps:
His tooth in mud sharpen
Brown jackals:
File the stubborn horsefly
His flying blade:
Bite me on both lips
The beautiful flesh: -
They are coming, they are coming
My talismans!
Like clouds came
Those giants:
Light as clouds
Flying they will go!

Toothless envy
Will go, dry the jaws,
Hungry, through deserts
And scorched valleys, The
peel
flakes Squalid phalanges; The formidable devil
will be dressed in gold
,
In the weary fist,
the sharp one is broken;
Dressing with her tears She
will go, and with large voices
Of mourning, the Beauty
Her useless herding: -
And I in the fresh water
Of some kind stream I will
bathe smiling
My little blood.
I already watch in
Radiant dust evaporate
Those scaly
glittering
shells : The wings of the hooves
Shake, flail,
And in the hull of gold on the run
It is lost in the air.
After mysterious wind
On the grass they crawl,
What colored serpents,
The waving streamers.

Suddenly the earth gathers
Its colossal cracks
And casts its green back
Over the giants:
They run like
horseflies and jackals fly ,
And the field is filled
With a fragrant humiliation.
Of the blind defeat
The frightening cries
Listen to each other, which evoke
Silent captains;
And be proud of
The rough maned,
And as a vulture dies It
expires on the valley!
Meanwhile, I on the shore
of a fresh friendly stream, I
rest smiling
My thin lines of blood.
I neither fear nor cure
Of mighty armies,
Nor deaf temptations,
Nor voracious virgins!
He flies around me;
He turns, he stops, he beats;
Here his shield opposes,
There his club brandishes;
To the right and to the left
Mandobla, bankrupt, scatters: He
receives in his bowl
Rain of skillful darts;
Shake them to the ground,
Give it a new attack.
They already fly, they already fly
Horseflies and giants! -
Listen to the click
Of irons that break;
In the air bright sparks rise
in blond bundles;
The earth is carpeted
With daggers and studs:
They already fly,
Horseflies and jackals are already hiding ! -
He buzzes like a bee,
He breaks and moves the air,
Stop, wave, leave
Rumor of bird wings:
My hair is already brushing;
Now stand on my shoulder;
Already at my side he crosses;
Already in my lap throw yourself;
Already the enemy troop
Flee, broken and coward!
Children, strong shields,
From weary parents!
Come my knight,
Knight of the air!
Let my naked
Warrior with the wings of a bird come,
And let us cast down the road
That goes to that gentle stream,
And with its fresh waters
Bathe my thread of blood!
My gentleman!
Flying fighter!

Of simple verses

I

I am a sincere man
Where the palm grows,
And before I die I want to
cast my verses from the soul.

I come from everywhere,
And I go everywhere:
Art I am among the arts,
In the mountains, I am mountain.

I know the strange names
Of herbs and flowers,
And of deadly deceptions,
And of sublime pains.

I have seen in the dark night
Raining on my head
Rays of pure fire
Of divine beauty.

I saw wings born on the shoulders
Of beautiful women:
And come out of the rubble
Flying butterflies.

I have seen a man live
With the dagger at his side,
Without ever saying the name
of the one who killed him.

Quick, like a reflection,
Twice I saw the soul, two:
When the poor old man died,
When she said goodbye to me.

I trembled once, —at the fence,
At the entrance to the vineyard,
—When the barbarian bee
stung my girl on the forehead.

I enjoyed once, in such a way
that I enjoyed as never before: —when
The sentence of my death
read the warden crying.

I hear a sigh, through
the lands and the sea,
And it is not a sigh, —it is
that my son is going to wake up.

If they say that from the jeweler
Take the best jewel, I
take a sincere friend
And I put love aside.

I have seen the wounded eagle
Fly to the serene blue,
And die in its lair
The poison viper.

I know well that when the world
gives way, livid, to rest,
Over the deep silence
the gentle stream murmurs.

I have put my bold hand,
Of horror and joyless,
On the extinguished star
That fell in front of my door.

Hidden in my brave chest
The pain that hurts me:
The son of a slave people
Live for him, keep quiet, and die.

Everything is beautiful and constant,
Everything is music and reason,
And everything, like diamond,
Before light is coal.

I know that the fool buries himself
With great luxury and with great weeping, -
And that there is no fruit on earth
Like that of the cemetery.

I am silent, and I understand, and I take off
The pomp of the rhyme:
I hang from a withered tree
My doctor's hood.

XVII She

is blonde: her hair loose.
Gives more light to the Moorish eye:
Since then, I have been wrapped
in a whirlwind of gold.

The summer bee that buzzes
More agile by the new flower,
It does not say, as before, «grave»:
«Eva» says: everything is «Eva».

Low, in the dark, to the dreaded
Raudal of the cataract:
And the iris shines, lying
On the silver leaves!

I frown at the wild
Pomp of the irritated mountain:
And in the azure blue soul
a pink hyacinth sprouts!

I go, through the forest, for a walk to
the neighboring lagoon:
And among the branches I see her,
And through the water she walks.

The garden snake
hisses, spits, and slips
Through its hole: the bugle
extends its wing to Me, chirping.

Harp I am, Psalter I am
Where the Universe vibrates:
I come from the sun, and to the sun I go:
I am love: I am the verse!

XLV I

dream of marble cloisters
Where in divine silence
The heroes, standing, rest:
At night, in the light of the soul,
I speak with them: at night!
They are in line: walk
Between the rows: the
stone hands I kiss them: they open
The stone eyes: they move
The stone lips: they tremble
The stone beards: they grasp
The stone sword: they cry:
The sword vibrates in the sheath! :
Mute, I kiss your hand.

I talk to them at night!
They are in line: walk
Between the lines: tearful
I hug a marble: «Oh marble,
They say that your children drink
Their own blood in the
Poisonous cups of their owners!
Who speak the rotten tongue
Of their ruffians! Who eat
together the bread of reproach,
At the bloody table!
That they lose in useless language
The last fire !: they say,
Oh marble, sleeping marble,
That your race has already died! ».
Throw me ashore from a boat
The hero I hug: grabs me By the
neck: sweeps the earth
With my head: raises the
arm, the arm shines
The same as a sun !: resounds
The stone: look for the belt
The white hands: from the base
The marble men jump!

XLVI

Pour, my heart, your pain
Where it is not seen,
Because of pride, and because it is not a
reason for someone else's pain.

I love you, my friend verse,
Because when I feel my chest is
already very loaded and undone, I
split the load with you.

You suffer me, you lodge
In your loving lap,
All my painful love,
All my anxieties and insults.

You, because I can calmly
Love and do well, you consent
To muddy your currents
With how much my soul burdens me.

You, because I cross fierce
The earth, and without hatred, and pure,
You crawl, pale and hard,
My loving companion.

My life is thus heading
To heaven clean and serene,
And you carry my sorrow
with your divine patience.

And because my cruel habit
of throwing myself into you diverts you
From your happy harmony
And natural meekness;

Because I throw my sorrows
On your bosom, and they scourge it,
And they stir your stream,
And here livid, there red,

White there like death,
Ora you attack and roar,
Ora with the weight you crunch
Of a pain more than you strong,

Will I, as
An ill-born heart advises me ,
To leave in oblivion
one who never leaves me ?

Verse, they speak to us of a God
Where the dead go:
Verse, or they condemn us together,
Or we both save!