BALLAD OF MY TWO GRANDFATHERS

Shadows that only I can see

My two grandfathers go with me.

Lance with head of bone,

drum of leather and of wood

my black grandfather.

Ruff round his broad throat,

grey warrior’s armour;

my white grandfather.

Naked foot, body of rock,

these from my black man;

pupils of Antarctic glass,

these from my white man.

Africa of dank forests

and heavy muffled gongs

I am dying

(says my black grandfather)

Black water of crocodiles,

green morning of coco palms,

I am weary

(says my white grandfather)

O sails of bitter wind galleon burning gold.

I am dying

(says my black grandfather)

O coasts of virgin throats

cheated with glass trinkets.

I am weary

(says my white grandfather)

O pure sun of beaten gold,

caught in the hoop of the tropics

O pure moon so round and clear over the sleep of monkeys.

How many ships! How many ships!

How many Negroes! How many Negroes!

What long refulgence of sugar-cane!

What lashes those of the slave-trader!

Blood? Blood! Tears? Tears!

Half-opened veins and eye-lids

and empty day-breaks

and sunsets on plantations

and a great voice, a strong voice

shattering the silence.

And O the ships, so many ships,

so many Negroes.

Shadows that only I can see

my two grandfathers go with me.

Don Federico shouts to me

and Taita Facundo is silent;

and both dream on through the night, bring them together.

Federico. Facundo. They both embrace.

They both sigh. They both raise their

proud heads under the high stars

both of the same stature

black anguish and white anguish

Both of the same stature.

And they shout. And dream. And weep. And sing. And sing, and sing, and sing.

(Translated from the Spanish by G. R. Coulthard)