Sonnets of the Apocalypse

By Francisco Henriquez Rosa

Translated from the Spanish by Ariel Francisco

 

I

The horns calls are approaching,
sky darkens during the day
and the old litany that repeated
all the prophecies doesn’t matter.

The manuscripts are in the cabinets
of the epiphanies monastery
beneath the eucharists drizzle
and the anchorites contemplation.

How long since the flood hasn’t come
that drowns thoughts and memories
of effusion preachers,

of those that have no history
with a trove of words,
washing their hands in praetorship.
 

II

Discard, then, the vagabond life,
the contrast of god with what’s inhuman,
the superb Alladin of brotherhood
the truth of light in a diamond

that makes daily use of reason
in this elephant-paced world,
distancing itself from the sun without farewell
to the song that sounds since the beginning.

Your sad face saves the cruel skeleton,
leaves the bones on ladders
and feeds seeds to the raven,

he who steals eyes on the street
from demons of tragic lineage
that today see a sea raised by mountains.
 

III

The flood gives no warning of its arrival
and doesn’t come when predicted,
on a mound of mud it divvies up
its anger of light, condemnation.

Save yourself to live condemned,
applauding sarcasm and flattery,
bring to life crumbs
of pain you let accumulate.

Don’t wait for it with water or wind,
wait for it with light and eternal noise
don’t wait singing and crying

wait with candles and alms,
with roses, incense or poems
from those poets that have already died.

 

 

 

Sonetos Del Apocalipsis

Francisco Henriquez Rosa

 

I

Se está acercando el son de las trompetas
los cielos se oscurecen en el día
y no importa la vieja letanía
que han repetido todos los profetas.

Los manuscritos están en las gavetas
de monasterios en Epifanía
bajo llovizna de la eucaristía
y la contemplación de anacoretas.

Desde cuando no llega ya el diluvio
que moja el pensamiento y la memoria
de los predicadores del efugio

de aquellos que no tienen historía
con palabras como florilegio
lavándose las manos en pretoria.
 

II

Desecha pues la vida trashumante
el contraste de Dios con lo inhumano
la soberbia aladina del hermano
la verdad de la luz en el diamante

que hace de la razón lo cotidiano
en este mundo a paso de elefante
que se aleja del sol sin dar la mano
a la canción que suena desde antes.

Salva esqueleto cruel tu cara triste
deja los huesos en las escaleras
y dale de comer al cuervo alpiste

aquel que saca ojos en carreras
de los demonios de linaje triste
que hoy ven el mar alzado en cordilleras.
 

III

El diluvio no avisa cuando llega
ni llega cuando se le avisa
en un montón de cieno se divisa
su cólera de luz que es la condena.

Salvarte para que si vives en condena
aplaudiendo sarcasmos y lisonjas
cobrándole a la vida las migajas
del dolor que dejaste acumulado.

No lo esperes con agua ni con viento
espéralo con luz con ruido eterno
no lo esperes cantando ni llorando

espéralo con velas y limosnas
con rosas, incienso o versos
de esos poetas que ya se han muerto.

 

 

Translator

Ariel Francisco is the author of “All My Heroes Are Broke” (C&R Press, 2017). A poet and translator born in the Bronx to Dominican and Guatemalan parents and raised in Miami, his work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Academy of American Poets, The American Poetry Review, “Best New Poets 2016,” Gulf Coast, and elsewhere. He lives in East New York.

 

Author

Francisco Henriquez Rosa was born in Santiago, Dominican Republic, in 1957. He graduated from the Dominican Journalism Institute in 1979 and immigrated to New York City where he attended Hostos Community College. His poetry has been in publications throughout Argentina, the Dominican Republic, New York, and Florida. He currently lives in Orlando where he is the coordinator of the writing group La Tertulia de Orlando.