Second - Praise the Lord he is home safe! (o:
Finally, thank you for the ping. What a great poem...
9/11/01
Never Forget...
Posted on 09/10/2006 2:03:31 PM PDT by gleeaikin
9/11/73 was one of the happiest and most frightening days of my life. My second son was born that day, but soon developed a life-threatening condition with a 25% chance of being fatal. Now, each 9/11 I have to remind him he made that day one of the two happiest of my life. Subsequently, he married a fine young woman from Puerto Rico.
Thinking about all the lives that were snuffed out on that horrific day, and noting the deep concerns of many here at Free Republic about both legal and illegal immigration, I decided to research how many Latino/Hispanics died that tragic day.
Many of the maintenance workers at the WTC, as well as policemen and firemen were of Hispanic origin as could be seen in the recent movie "World Trade Center" where one of the main characters was Hispanic. I did not find a specific listing of Latino deaths, but one source indicated about 250 had died in New York that day. I think it is probably safe to say that close to 10% of the victims were Hispanic.
As a special tribute to all those who died and gave their lives, and for those who still suffer from their grevious loss, I want to share the most beautiful and anguished poem I have ever read regarding the loss of a loved one. The title is "Nocturn", or "Nocturno" in Spanish. It was written by Jose Asuncion Silva, a young Mexican poet, who had lost his beloved sister to a long illness.
Many in the US, who only see semi-literate, impoverished immigrants are not aware of the rich and varied literature in the Spanish language which could make a valuable contribution to culture in our country. The English translation is my own. The original Spanish is from "Antologia de la literatura hispanoamericana," Arturo Torres-Rioseco, ed., 1939.
NOCTURN
One night, one night all filled with murmurings, with perfumes and the music of wings;
One night, when the fantastic fireflies (glowworms) glimmered in the warm and nuptial shadows,
slowly at my side, hugged close against me, mute and pale,
as if a premonition of infinite bitterness
stirred your fibers to their most secret depths,
you walked along the flowery path that crosses the plain;
and the full moon flashed its white light from the deep and infinite blue heavens;
and your shadow so fine and languid, and my shadow, projected by the rays of the moon on the sad sands of the path were joined;
and they were one, and they were one, and they were one single long shadow, and they were a single long shadow, and the were a single long shadow.
Tonight alone, my soul filled with the infinite bitterness and agony of your death,
separated from you by time, distance, and the tomb,
by the infinite blackness where our voice can never reach,
was walking mute and alone along the path...
One could hear the barking of the dogs at the moon, the pale moon, and the chirring of the frogs...
I felt cold. It was the cold of your cheeks, your brow and your adored hands in your room
upon the snowey whiteness of the mortuary sheets.
It was the cold of the sepulcur, the ice of death, the cold of nothingness.
And my shadow projected by the rays of the mon, walked alone, walked alone, walked alone across the solitary steppe;
and your shadow slender and agile, fine and languid,
as on that warm night of the dead springtime,
as on that night filled with murmurings, with perfumes and the music of wings;
came near and walked with it, came near and walked with it, came near and walked with it... Oh, the shadows that are linked!
Oh the shadows of the bodies that are joined with the shadows of the souls!
Oh the shadows that are searching on the nights of sorrow and of tears!
NOCTURNO, by Jose Asuncion Silva
Una noche, una noche toda llena de murmullos, de perfumes and de musicas de alas;
una noche en que ardian en la sombra nupcial y humeda las luciernagas fantisticas,
a mi lado lentamente, contra mi cenida toda, muda y palida,
come si un presentimiento de amarguras infinitas
hasta el mas secreto fondo de las fibras te agitara,
por la senda florecida que atraviesa la llanura caminabas;
y la luna llena por los cielos azulosos, infinitos y profundos esparcia su luz blanca;
y tu sombra fina y languida, y mi sombra, por los rayos de la luna proyectadas, sobre las arenas tristes de la senda se juntaban;
y eran una, y eran una, y eran una sola sombra larga, y eran una sola sombra larga, y eran una sola sombra larga.
Esta noche solo; el alma llena de las infinitas amarguras y agonias de tu muerte,
separado de ti mismo por el tiempo, por la tumba y la distancia,
por el infinito negro donde nuestra voz no alcanza,
mudo y solo por la senda caminaba...
Y se oian los ladridos de los perros a la luna, a la luna palida, y el chirrido de las ranas...
Senti frio. Era el frio que tenian en to alcoba tus mejillas y tus sienes y tus manos adoradas,
entre las blancuras niveas de las mortuorias sabanas.
Era el frio del sepulcro, era el hielo de la muerte, era el frio de la nada.
Y mi sombra, por los rayos de la luna proyectada, iba sola, iba sola, iba sola por la estapa solitaria;
y tu sombra esbelta and agil, fina y languida,
como en esa noche tibia de la muerta primavera,
como en esa noche llena de murmullos, de perfumes y de musicas de alas,
se acerco y marcho con ella, se acerco y marcho con ella, se acerco y marcho con ella...! Oh las sombras enlazadas!
Oh las sombras de los cuerpos que se juntan con las sombras de las almas!
Oh las sombras que se buscan el las noches de tristezas y de lagrimas!
For any Spanish speakers reading this I regret I did not have the capacity to correctly apply accent marks, and other punctuation. I also regret I did not have the computer skill to set up the lines as they originally appeared.
My grief counselor is a B-52... and thank you for the pretty words.
Yes, B-52's also help. My other son just came back from 8 months in Afghanistan, so I know what you mean.
I just read the thread "The Phone That Didn't Ring--A 9/11 Tale" I thought perhaps some of you might be interested in the thread I posted this Sunday "9/11: A Memorial Poem for Those Who Died & Those Who Survive"
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1698978/posts
Some of you I have communicated with in the past. I am happy to report that my son has just returned safely from 8 months in Afghanistan.
I noticed your comments in a recent thread regarding the Hispanic/Mexican immigration issue. It seems you see a clear distinction between legal and illegal immigrants. Therefore, I thought you might find the thread I posted this Sunday titled "9/11: A Memorial Poem for Those Who Died and Those Who Survive" of some interest.
It seems that around 250 Latinos/Hispanics died that terrible day, and this post tries to give them some recognition.
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1698978/posts
Wonderful! Tell him he's a hero proved in liberating strife.
Thanks!
Jose Ansuncion Silva was born in Bogota, Columbia on November 27, 1865. He also was raised there and spent most of his brief life there. Therefore, he is Columbian...not Mexican. Simply because he is a native Spanish speaker and from south of the United States, does not make him Mexican.
I am sorry if he was wrongly identified as Mexican. That was the description in the Anthology that I mentioned at the beginning of this post. I will double check to be sure I quoted correctly.
I have traveled in Mexico and Central America and worked for 10 year in an organization with offices in 17 Hemispheric countries, so am well aware that there is more than Mexico to our south.
I was able to find the book easily and have double checked. Yes, you are right, as I was deciding what poem to use in this tribute I was also looking at the the page on Mexican Salvador Diaz Miron whose poem "Musica funebre" was also a possible candidate for this post. Sorry for the mistake, but I hope you appreciated the post.
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