Sam Linstead

Abstract

When I first encountered the Cuban poet José Martí at UML in an Advanced Spanish class titled Introduction to Literary Analysis, I was struggling with Spanish to the point of frustration. Every excerpt and poem and every discussion in class was exceedingly difficult for me to follow, until I read Dos patrias. It was while reading this poem that I first experienced reading at length in Spanish. Before, I had been translating and reconstructing the lines into English. I don’t know if this sudden relief came from the simplicity of Dos patrias, a simplicity, I would learn, that is only the first layer of this convoluted poem. And I don’t think it’s because I had come to understand it fully, but I know what followed were countless iterations of interpretations, and every iteration not only abandoned me deeper into the world of this poem but also encouraged me to keep working on my Spanish, because if I could find my way into and out of the labyrinth of this poem, how could I not soon find my way through normal everyday conversations in Spanish, and easily? I read the poem so much that I began to know what words were coming next, but still, somehow, as I worked with my translation more I discovered more behind each word and each line, and I slowly understood how impossible it was to truly bring something that was conceived in one language into another, but it was by trying to that I learned more than I had ever expected to about this intricate elegy.

***

Two Homelands

I have two homelands: Cuba and the night.
Or are the two one? As soon as the sun retires
its majesty, with long veils
and a carnation in hand, silent
Cuba like a sad widow appears to me.
I know what it is that bloody carnation
that trembles in her hand! It is vacant
my chest, it is destroyed and vacant in where
used to be the heart. It is already the time
to begin to die. The night is good
to say goodbye. The light obstructs,
as does the human word. The universe
speaks better than man.

As a flag
that invites battle, the red flame
of the candle flickers. I open the windows,
already constricted within. Mute, molting
the petals off the carnation, like a cloud
that enshrouds the sky, Cuba, the widow, passes…

Dos Patrias

Dos patrias tengo yo: Cuba y la noche.
¿O son una las dos? No bien retira
su majestad el sol, con largos velos
y un clavel en la mano, silenciosa
Cuba cual viuda triste me aparece.
¡Yo sé cuál es ese clavel sangriento
que en la mano le tiembla! Está vacío
mi pecho, destrozado está y vacío
en donde estaba el corazón. Ya es hora
de empezar a morir. La noche es buena
para decir adiós. La luz estorba
y la palabra humana. El universo
habla mejor que el hombre.

Cual bandera
que invita a batallar, la llama roja
de la vela flamea. Las ventanas
abro, ya estrecho en mí. Muda, rompiendo
las hojas del clavel, como una nube
que enturbia el cielo, Cuba, viuda, pasa..

Sam Linstead will receive his bachelor’s degree in creative writing. He will have also completed a minor in Spanish. He plans to teach English in Colombia, as well as work with immigrants in the United States. He lives in Lowell, Massachusetts.