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Note: Many of Rizal's Poems (as well as other writings and other features) may be found by clicking HERE.
Note: Many of Rizal's Poems translated into Italian by Vasco Caini may be found by clicking HERE. |
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Note: Many of Rizal's Poems (as well as other writings and other features) may be found by clicking HERE.
Note: Many of Rizal's Poems translated into Italian by Vasco Caini may be found by clicking HERE. |
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Rizal's Poetry
Kundiman (translation in English)
MI PRIMERA INSPIRACIÓN
My Retreat (English Translation)
The Song of Maria Clara (English Translation) Ang Awit ni Maria Clara (Tagalog)
They Ask Me for Verses! (English Translation)
To the Flowers of Heidelberg (English Translation) Sa Mga Bulaklak ng Heidelberg (Tagalog)
To the Philippine Youth (English Translation) Sa Kabataang Pilipino (Tagalog)
Por La Educación (Recibe Lustre La Patria) Education Gives Luster to the Motherland (English)
Alianza Intima Entre La Religión Y La Education
The Intimate Alliance Between Religion and
Education
«««« »»»» Original Version by José Rizal
Adiós, Patria adorada, región del sol querida, Perla del Mar de Oriente, nuestro perdido edén, A darte voy, alegre, la triste, mustia vida; Y fuera más brillante, más fresca, más florida, También por ti la diera, la diera por tí bien. En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio, Otros te dan sus vidas, sin dudas, sin pesar. El sitio nada importa: ciprés, laurel o lirio, Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio. La mismo es si lo piden la Patria y el hogar.
Yo muero, cuando veo que el cielo se colora Y al fin anuncia el d ía, tras lóbrego capuz; Si grana necesitas, para teńir tu aurora, i Vierte la sangre mía, derrámala en buen hora, Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz!
Mis sueńos, cuando apenas muchacho adolescente, Mis sueńos cuando jóven, ya lleno de vigor, Fueron el verte un día, joya del Mar de Oriente, Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente, Sin ceńo, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor.
Ensueńo de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo. i Salud! te grita el alma que pronto va a partir; i Salud! iah, que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo, Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo, Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir!
Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar, un día, Entre la espesa yerba, sencilla humilde flor, Acércala a tus labios y besa el alma mía, Y sienta yo en mi frente, bajo la tumba fría, De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.
Deja a la luna verme, con luz tranquila y uave; Deja que el alba envíe su resplandor fugaz; Deja gemir al viento, con su murmullo grave; Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave, Deja que el ave entone su cántico de paz.
Deja que el sol, ardiendo, las lluvias evapore Y al cielo tornen puras, con mi clamor en pos; Deja que un ser ami go mi fin temprano Ilore; Yen las serenas tardes, cuando por mí alguien ore, Ora también, oh patria, por mi descanso a Dios.
Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura; Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual; Por nuestras pobres madres, que gimen su amargura; Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura, Y ora por tí, que veas tu redención final.
Y cuando, en noche oscura, se envuelva el cementerio, Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allí, No turbes su reproso, no turbes el misterio: Tal vez acordes oigas de cítara o salterio; Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a tí.
Y cuando ya mi tumba, de todos olvidada, No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar, Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada, Y mis cenizas, antes que vuelvan a la nada, En polvo de tu alfombra que vayan a formar.
Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido; Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré; Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oído: Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido, Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fe.
Mi Pátria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores, Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adiós. Ahi, te dejo todo: mis padres, mis amores. Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores; Donde la fe no mata, donde el que reina es Dios.
Adiós, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mía, Amigos de la infancia, en el perdido hogar; Dad gracias, que descanso del fatigoso día; Adíos, dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegría; Adíos, queridos seres. Morir es descansar.
José Rizal
=== (A Translation of Mi Ultimo Adios by Charles Derbyshire)
Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caress'd Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost!, Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life's best, And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest Still would I give it thee, nor count the cost .
On the field of battle, 'mid the frenzy of fight, Others have given their lives, without doubt or heed; The place matters not-cypress or laurel or lily white, Scaffold or open plain, combat or martyrdom's plight, It is ever the same, to serve our home and country's need.
I die just when I see the dawn break, Through the gloom of night, to herald the day; And if color is lacking my blood thou shalt take, Pour'd out at need for thy dear sake To dye with its crimson the waking ray.
My dreams, when life first opened to me, My dreams, when the hopes of youth beat high, Were to see thy lov'd face, O gem of the Orient sea From gloom and grief, from care and sorrow free; No blush on thy brow, no tear in thine eye.
Dream of my life, my living and burning desire, All hail ! cries the soul that is now to take flight; All hail ! And sweet it is for thee to expire ; To die for thy sake, that thou mayst aspire; And sleep in thy bosom eternity's long night.
If over my grave some day thou seest grow, In the grassy sod, a humble flower, Draw it to thy lips and kiss my soul so, While I may feel on my brow in the cold tomb below The touch of thy tenderness, thy breath's warm power. Let the moon beam over me soft and serene, Let the dawn shed over me its radiant flashes, Let the wind with sad lament over me keen; And if on my cross a bird should be seen, Let it trill there its hymn of peace to my ashes. Let the sun draw the vapors up to the sky, And heavenward in purity bear my tardy protest Let some kind soul o 'er my untimely fate sigh, And in the still evening a prayer be lifted on high From thee, 0 my country, that in God I may rest.
Pray for all those that hapless have died, For all who have suffered the unmeasur'd pain; For our mothers that bitterly their woes have cried, For widows and orphans, for captives by torture tried And then for thyself that redemption thou mayst gain.
And when the dark night wraps the graveyard around With only the dead in their vigil to see Break not my repose or the mystery profound And perchance thou mayst hear a sad hymn resound 'T is I, O my country, raising a song unto thee.
And even my grave is remembered no more Unmark'd by never a cross nor a stone Let the plow sweep through it, the spade turn it o'er That my ashes may carpet earthly floor, Before into nothingness at last they are blown.
Then will oblivion bring to me no care As over thy vales and plains I sweep; Throbbing and cleansed in thy space and air With color and light, with song and lament I fare, Ever repeating the faith that I keep.
My Fatherland ador'd, that sadness to my sorrow lends Beloved Filipinas, hear now my last good-by! I give thee all: parents and kindred and friends For I go where no slave before the oppressor bends, Where faith can never kill, and God reigns e'er on high!
Farewell to you all, from my soul torn away, Friends of my childhood in the home dispossessed! Give thanks that I rest from the wearisome day! Farewell to thee, too, sweet friend that lightened my way; Beloved creatures all, farewell! In death there is rest!
=====
(German Translation by Weilheim Muster)
Lebe denn wohl, Vaterland, liebes, Kind du der Sonne, Perle des östlichen Meeres, du unser verlorenes Eden! Freudig will ich mein düsteres, trauriges Dasein dir opfern! Auch wenn es strahlender, frischer oder blühender wäre, Ja, ich gäb' es für dich, für deine Würde und Größe!
Auf den Schlachtfeldern kämpfen andere, und sie frohlocken, opfern ihr Leben ohne Zögern und ohne Bedauern. Gleich gilt der Ort: Ob Lorbeer, Lilie oder Zypresse, Blutgerüst oder Feld, Schlacht oder grausame Marter, eins ist es uns, wenn Vaterland oder Heim es verlangen.
Sterbend seh' ich, wie sich die Himmel rötlich verfärben, endlich die Vorboten strahlenden Tages nach düsterem Dunkel. Brauchst du Scharlach für deinen Morgen, laß mich denn sterben und vergieße mein Blut, in Gottes Namen gescheh' es: nur ein Schimmer des werdenden Lichtes soll es vergolden.
Schon das Kind, ein Jüngling noch nicht, erging sich in Träumen, und es klammerte sich an sie der kraftvolle Jüngling: Eines Tags dich zu sehen, Perle des östlichen Meeres, trocken die schwarzen Augen, die glatte Stirne erhoben, ohne die Röte der Scham, der Blick nicht umschattet und finster.
Traum meines Lebens bist du und meine glühende Sehnsucht! Bald wird die Seele von hinnen scheiden, sie wünscht deine Größe, jubelt dir zu, denn schön ist's zu fallen, um dich zu beflügeln und für dein Leben zu sterben, unter dem endlosen Himmel, auch in deiner verzauberten Erde ewig zu schlafen.
Sollte auf meinem Hügel eine bescheidene Blume zwischen dem dicht geschlossenen schlichten Grase erblühen, führ' sie an deine Lippen, berühre so meine Seele: Und ich möge auf meiner Stirn in der kalten Erde noch den Hauch deiner Zärtlichkeit spüren, den Hauch deiner Wärme.
Möge der Mond mit stillem und sanftem Lichte mich sehen, möge die Morgenröte den flüchtigen Schimmer mir senden und die Winde murmelnd über den Hügel hin hauchen. Doch will flüchtig auf meinem Grabkreuz ein Vogel dann ruhen, laß' ihn dort ruhen: Es sollen Friedensgesänge ertönen.
Aber der Regen verdampfe rasch in der glühenden Sonne, rein kehrt das Wasser zum Himmel, und meine Rufe, sie folgen. Möge doch auch ein Wesen mein frühes Ende beweinen! Wenn dann ein Mensch für mich betet am schönen, schweigenden Abend, Heimat, bete auch du für meine ewige Ruhe!
Bete dann auch für alle Menschen, die glücklos verstarben, bete für alle, die Martern ohnegleichen erlitten, bete für unsre armen Mütter, die bitterlich weinen, bete für Waisen und Witwen, für den gefolterten Häftling, bete für dich, auf daß du endlich Erlösung erlangest.
Und wenn Nacht den Kirchhof umzieht mit ihrem Schweigen und nur die Toten auf dem Gottesacker mehr wachen: Störe du nicht ihre Ruhe und störe nicht ihr Geheimnis! Dann wirst du vielleicht Psalteriumklänge vernehmen: Ich bin es dann, geliebtes Vaterland - ich will dich preisen!
Wenn mein Grab schon längst von allen Menschen vergessen und auch kein Kreuz oder Stein die Stelle des Grabes bezeichnet, nun, so soll sich ein Mensch mit Pflug, mit der Haue dort mühen, und bevor sie zurückkehrt ins Nichts, soll meine Asche Staub sein, Staub auf deinem herrlich grünenden Teppich.
Dann ist es gleich, wenn du mich, den Toten, schon lange vergessen. Durch deine Luft, deinen Raum, deine Täler fliege ich weiter. Lausche dann einmal: Ich bin dir eine klingende Note, Düfte, Lichter, Farben, Geräusch, Gesang oder Stöhnen, die den tieferen Sinn meines Glaubens an dich wiederholen.
Mein vergöttertes, teures Vaterland, Schmerz meiner Schmerzen - hört mein letztes Lebwohl, Philippinen, geliebte! Ich hinterlasse euch alles, die Eltern und all meine Teuren, ich geh' ins Land ohne Sklaven, Henker, Tyrannen, wo der Herrscher Gott ist und wo der Glaube nicht tötet.
Lebt denn wohl, ihr Eltern, Geschwister, Teil meiner Seele, Freunde der Kindheit, lebt ihr auch wohl am verlorenen Herde! Dankt, daß ich von Mühen und schweren Tagen nun ruhe! Lebe du wohl, süße Fremde, Freundin du mir, meine Freude, lebt alle wohl, geliebteste Wesen: Sterben heißt schlafen!
=====
PAHIMAKAS ni Dr. José Rizal Sa salin ni Andres Bonifacio
Pinipintuho kong Bayan ay paalam, Lupang iniirog ng sikat ng araw, mutyang mahalaga sa dagat Silangan, kaluwalhatiang sa ami'y pumanaw. Masayang sa iyo'y aking idudulot ang lanta kong buhay na lubhang malungkot; maging maringal man at labis alindog sa kagalingan mo ay aking ding handog.
Sa pakikidigma at pamimiyapis ang alay ng iba'y ang buhay na kipkip, walang agam-agam, maluag sa dibdib, matamis sa puso at di ikahapis.
Saan man mautas ay dikailangan, cipres o laurel, lirio ma'y patungan pakikipaghamok, at ang bibitayan, yaon ay gayon din kung hiling ng Bayan.
Ako'y mamamatay, ngayong namamalas na sa silinganan ay namamanaag yaong maligayang araw na sisikat sa likod ng luksang nagtabing na ulap.
Ang kulay na pula kung kinakailangan na maitina sa iyong liway-way, dugo ko'y isabong at siyang ikinang ng kislap ng iyong maningning na ilaw
Ang aking adhika sapul magkaisip ng kasalukuyang bata pang maliit, ay ang tanghaling ka at minsan masilip sa dagat Silangan hiyas na marikit.
Natuyo ang luhang sa mata'y nunukal, taas na ang noo't walang kapootan, walang bakas kunot ng kapighatian gabahid man dungis niyong kahihiyan.
Sa kabuhayang ko ang laging gunita maningas na aking ninanasa-nasa ay guminhawa ka ang hiyas ng diwa hingang papanaw ngayong biglang-bigla. pag hingang papanaw ngayong biglang-bigla.
Ikaw'y guminhawa laking kagandahang akoy malugmok, at ikaw ay matanghal, hiniga'y malagot, mabuhay ka lamang bangkay ko'y masilong sa iyong Kalangitan.
Kung sa libingan ko'y tumubong mamalas sa malagong damo mahinhing bulaklak, sa mga labi mo'y mangyayaring itapat, sa kaluluwa ko hatik ay igawad.
At sa aking noo nawa'y iparamdam, sa lamig ng lupa ng aking libingan, ang init ng iyong paghingang dalisay at simoy ng iyong paggiliw na tunay.
Bayaang ang buwan sa aki'y ititig ang iwanag niyang lamlam at tahimik, liwayway bayaang sa aki'y ihatid magalaw na sinag at hanging hagibis.
Kung sakasakaling bumabang humantong sa krus ko'y dumapo kahit isang ibon doon ay bayaan humuning hinahon at dalitin niya payapang panahon.
Bayaan ang ningas ng sikat ng araw ula'y pasingawin noong kainitan, magbalik sa langit ng boong dalisay kalakip ng aking pagdaing na hiyaw.
Bayaang sino man sa katotang giliw tangisang maagang sa buhay pagkitil; kung tungkol sa akin ay may manalangin idalangin, Bayan, yaring pagka himbing.
Idalanging lahat yaong nangamatay, mangagatiis hirap na walang kapantay; mga ina naming walang kapalaran na inihihibik ay kapighatian.
Ang mga bao't pinapangulila, ang mga bilanggong nagsisipagdusa; dalanginin namang kanilang makita ang kalayaan mong, ikagiginhawa.
At kung an madilim na gabing mapanglaw ay lumaganap na doon sa libinga't tanging mga patay ang nangaglalamay, huwag bagabagin ang katahimikan.
Ang kanyang hiwagay huwag gambalain; kaipala'y maringig doon ang taginting, tunog ng gitara't salterio'y mag saliw, ako, Bayan yao't kita'y aawitin.
Kung ang libingan ko'y limat na ng lahat at wala ng kurus at batang mabakas, bayaang linangin ng taong masipag, lupa'y asarolin at kauyang ikalat.
At mga buto ko ay bago matunaw maowi sa wala at kusang maparam, alabok ng iyong latag ay bayaang siya ang babalang doo'y makipisan.
Kung magka gayon na'y aalintanahin na ako sa limot iyong ihabilin pagka't himpapawid at ang panganorin mga lansangan mo'y aking lilibutin. Matining na tunog ako sa dingig mo, ilaw, mga kulay, masamyong pabango, ang ugong at awit, pag hibik sa iyo, pag asang dalisay ng pananalig ko.
Bayang iniirog, sakit niyaring hirap, Katagalugang ko pinakaliliyag, dinggin mo ang aking pagpapahimakas; diya'y iiwan ko sa iyo ang lahat.
Ako'y patutungo sa walang busabos, walang umiinis at berdugong hayop; pananalig doo'y di nakasasalot, si Bathala lamang dooy haring lubos.
Paalam, magulang at mga kapatid kapilas ng aking kaluluwa't dibdib mga kaibigan bata pang maliit sa aking tahanan di na masisilip.
Pag pasasalamat at napahinga rin, paalam estranherang kasuyo ko't aliw, paalam sa inyo, mga ginigiliw; mamatay ay siyang pagkakagupiling!
ni Jose P. Rizal Kapagka ang baya'y sadyang umiibig Sa kanyang salitang kaloob ng langit, Sanglang kalayaan nasa ring masapit Katulad ng ibong nasa himpapawid. Pagka't ang salita'y isang kahatulan Sa bayan, sa nayo't mga kaharian, At ang isang tao'y katulad, kabagay Ng alin mang likha noong kalayaan. Ang hindi magmahal sa kanyang salita Mahigit sa hayop at malansang isda, Kaya ang marapat pagyamaning kusa Na tulad sa inang tunay na nagpala. Ang wikang Tagalog tulad din sa Latin Sa Ingles, Kastila at salitang anghel, Sapagka't ang Poong maalam tumingin Ang siyang naggawad, nagbigay sa atin. Ang salita nati'y huwad din sa iba Na may alfabeto at sariling letra, Na kaya nawala'y dinatnan ng sigwa Ang lunday sa lawa noong dakong una.
Isinalin sa Pilipino di kilala
translated by Frank C. Laubach Whenever people of a country truly love The language which by heav'n they were taught to use That country also surely liberty pursue As does the bird which soars to freer space above. For language is the final judge and referee Upon the people in the land where it holds sway; In truth our human race resembles in this way The other living beings born in liberty. Whoever knows not how to love his native tongue Is worse than any best or evil smelling fish. To make our language richer ought to be our wish The same as any mother loves to feed her young. Tagalog and the Latin language are the same And English and Castilian and the angels' tongue; And God, whose watchful care o'er all is flung, Has given us His blessing in the speech we calim, Our mother tongue, like all the highest tht we know Had alphabet and letters of its very own; But these were lost -- by furious waves were overthrown Like bancas in the stormy sea, long years ago.
by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) To my Creator I sing, to my All-Merciful Lord, the Omnipotent, who hushed my suffering and his sweet solace sent to ease me while in tribulation I went. You, with authority, said: Live; and I myself to life came forth; free will you gave to me and a soul that must find worth in goodness, like a compass needle set north. You willed my birth to be of honorable parents, a house of honor; and a country you granted me: rich, fair to all who won her, though fortune and prudence may be scarce upon her. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin (Kalamba – La Laguna)
Cuando recuerdo los días, Que vieron mi edad primera Junto a la verde ribera De un lago mumurador; Cuando recuerdo el susurro De Favonio que mi frente Recreba dulcemente Con delicioso frescor;
Cuando miro el blanco lirio Henchir con ímpetu el vinto Y el tempestuoso elemento Manso en la arema dormir; Cuando aspiro de las flores Grata esencia embriagadora, Que exhalan cuando la aurora Nos comienza a sonreír;
Recuerdo, recuerdo triste Tu faz, infancia preciosa, Que una madre carińosa ˇAy! consiguió embellecer. Recuerdo un pueblo sencillo, Mi contento, dicha y cuna, Junto a la fresca laguna Asiento de mi quere.
ˇOh! si mi insegura planta Holló tus bosques sombríos, Y en las costas de tus rios, Hallé grata diverión; Oré en tu rústico templo De nińo, con fe sencilla, Y tu brisa sin mancilla Alegró mi corazón.
Vi al Creador en la grandeza De tus selvas seculares; En tu seno los pesares Nunca llegué a conocer; Mientras tu azulado cielo Miré, ni amor ni ternura Me faltó, que en la Natura Se cifraba mi placer.
ˇNińez tierna, pueblo hermoso, Rica fuente de alegrías, De armoniosas melodías, Que ahuyentan el pesar! ˇVolvedal corazón mío, Volved mis horas suaves, Volved, cual vuelven las aves De las flores al brotar!
Mas ˇay! Adiós! Vele eterno Por tu paz, dicha y reposo, Genio del bien, que bondoso Sus dones da con amor; Por tí mis fevientes votos, Por tí mi constante anhelo De aprender, y ˇplege al cielo Conservase tu candor! by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) When I remember the days that saw my early childhood spent on the green shores of a murmurous lagoon; when I remember the coolness, delicious and refreshing, that on my face I felt as I heard Favonius croon; when I behold the white lily swell to the wind’s impulsion, and that tempestuous element meekly asleep on the sand; when I inhale the dear intoxicating essence the flowers exude when dawn is smiling on the land; sadly, sadly I recall your visage, precious childhood, which an affectionate mother made beautiful and bright; I recall a simple town, my comfort, joy and cradle, beside a balmy lake, the seat of my delight. Ah, yes, my awkward foot explored your sombre woodlands, and on the banks of your rivers in frolic I took part. I prayed in your rustic temple, a child, with a child’s devotion; and your unsullied breeze exhilarated my heart. The Creator I saw in the grandeur of your age-old forests; upon your bosom, sorrows were ever unknown to me; while at your azure skies I gazed, neither love nor tenderness failed me, for in nature lay my felicity. Tender childhood, beautiful town, rich fountain of rejoicing and of harmonious music that drove away all pain: return to this heart of mine, return my gracious hours, return as the birds return when flowers spring again! But O goodbye! May the Spirit of Good, a loving gift-giver, keep watch eternally over your peace, your joy, your sleep! For you, my fervent pryers; for you, my constant desire to learn; and I pray heaven your innocence to keep! Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin “Las hermanas de tu esposa Te felicitan en tus días.”
I Si filomena con arpada lengua Al rubio Apolo, que su fa asoma Tras alta loma o encumbrado monte, Trinos envía.
II También nosotras de contento Ilenas Te saludamos y a tu noble santo En tierno canto y fraternales metros, Caro Antonino.
III De tus hermanas y demás parientes Recibe amable el carińoso acento. Que el suave aliento del amor los dicta Plácido y tierno.
IV De maable esposa y carińoso Emilio Dulce recibas la sin par ternura, Y su dulzura en la desgracia ablande Rudos tormentos.
V Cual el piloto, que lochó valiente Con las borrascas en la noche oscura Mira segura su querida nave, Llegado al Puerto;
VI Así, dejando los mundanos lates, Tus ojos miren en el alto cielo Al que es Consuelo de los hombres todos Padre qauerido.
VII Y de nosotras, que con tierno acento Te saludamos por doquíer festivas Ruidosos vivas, que del pecho salen, Grato recibe. by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) [NOTE: Rizal was fourteen years old when he wrote this poem in
1875. Rizal congratulates Antonio Lopez, his bother-in-law
(husband of his sister, Narcisa), on his saint’s day. – rly]
“The sisters of your wife Greet you on your feast day.”
I If Philomela with harmonious tongue To blond Apollo, who manifests his face Behind high hill or overhanging mountain, Canticles sends. II So we as well, full of a sweet contentment, Salute you and your very noble saint With tender music and fraternal measures, Dear Antonino. III From all your sisters and your other kin Receive most lovingly the loving accent That the suave warmth of love dictates to them Placid and tender. IV From amorous wife and amiable Emilio Sweetly receive an unsurpassed affection; And may its sweetness in disaster soften The ruder torments. V As the sea pilot, who so bravely fought Tempestuous waters in the dark of night, Gazes upon his darling vessel safe And come to port. VI So, setting aside all [worldly] predilections, Now let your eyes be lifted heavenward To him who is the solace of all men And loving Father. VII And from ourselves that in such loving accents Salute you everywhere you celebrate, These clamorous vivas that from the heart resound Be pleased to accept. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Flower among flowers, soft bud swooning, that the wind moves to a gentle crooning. Wind of heaven, wind of love, you who gladden all you espy; you who smile and will not sigh, candour and fragrance from above; you who perhaps came down to earth to bring the lonely solace and mirth, and to be a joy for the heart to capture. They say that into your dawn you bear the immaculate soul a prisoner -- bound with the ties of passion and rapture? They say you spread good everywhere like the Spring which fills the air with joy and flowers in Apriltime. They say you brighten the soul that mourns when dark clouds gather, and that without thorns blossom the roses in your clime. If then, like a fairy, you enhance the joy of those on whom you glance with the magic charm God gave to you; oh, spare me an hour of your cheer, a single day of your career, that the breast may savor the bliss it knew! Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) And so it has arrived -- the fatal instant, the dismal injunction of my cruel fate; so it has come at last -- the moment, the date, when I must separate myself from you. Goodbye, Leonor, goodbye! I take my leave, leaving behind with you my lover's heart! Goodbye, Leonor: from here I now depart. O Melancholy absence! Ah, what pain! Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) CHORUS: For the Motherland in war, For the Motherland in peace, Will the Filipino keep watch, He will live until life will cease! MEN: Now the East is glowing with light, Go! To the field to till the land, For the labour of man sustains Fam'ly, home and Motherland. Hard the land may turn to be, Scorching the rays of the sun above... For the country, wife and children All will be easy to our love. (Chorus) WIVES: Go to work with spirits high, For the wife keeps home faithfully, Inculcates love in her children For virtue, knowledge and country. When the evening brings repose, On returning joy awaits you, And if fate is adverse, the wife, Shall know the task to continue. (Chorus) MAIDENS: Hail! Hail! Praise to labour, Of the country wealth and vigor! For it brow serene's exalted, It's her blood, life, and ardor. If some youth would show his love Labor his faith will sustain : Only a man who struggles and works Will his offspring know to maintain. (Chorus) CHILDREN: Teach, us ye the laborious work To pursue your footsteps we wish, For tomorrow when country calls us We may be able your task to finish. And on seeing us the elders will say : "Look, they're worthy 'f their sires of yore!" Incense does not honor the dead As does a son with glory and valor. Dalit Sa Paggawa KORO Maging sa digmaan, O kapayapaan, Ang lahat-lahat na Ay ukol sa bayan. Kaming Pilipino'y Laging magbabantay, Dahilan sa kanya Kami'y mabubuhay, Dahilan sa kanya Kami'y mamamatay. MGA LALAKI: Langit sa Silangan ay namumula na, Tayo na sa bukid, halina't magsaka! Yayaman ang bayan, tahana't pamilya'y Sa paggawa lamang ninitang ginhawa. Lupa'y matigas ma't Mainit ang araw, Madali ang lahat kung dahil sa bayan. Dahil sa asawa't mga bunsong mahal. MGA MAYBAHAY: Buong tapang kayong kumilos, gumawa, Tahana'y maayos huwag mabahala; Asawang matapat ang nag-aalaga, Sa isip ng anak ay ipinupunla Ang binhi ng dunong, ang magandang nasa't Pag-ibig sa ating tinubuang lupa. Pagdating ng gabi't mamahinga tayo, Sumubaybay nawa ang magandang palad, Sakaling samain at masawi kayo, Kami ang gagawa, kaming inyong kabiyak. MGA BATANG BABAE: Mabuhay! Mabuhay Paggawa'y purihin! Purihin ang lakas at yaman ng bayan; Itaas ang noo't siya'y salubungin, Paggawa ang inyong lakas, dugo, buhay. Kung mayrong binata na magpapahayag Na siya'y ninibig sa isang dalaga, Mapatutunayan kung siya'y matapat Pagka't sa paggawa mapagkikilala! Lalaking masipag ang maaari lang Bumuhay sa kanyang sariling pamilya. MGA BATANG LALAKI: Turuan mo kami; halika, Paggawa, Hindi kami takot sa tulo ng pawis, Ibig naming kami'y maging lalong handa Sa tawag ng aming bayang iniibig, Upanding matupad ang lahat mong nasa. At nawa'y mawika ng aming magulang, "Nakita na ninyo? Sila'y dangal namin!" Sa mga yumao'y higit sa kamanyang Ang galak na dulot ng batang butihin. Isinalin sa Pilipino di kilala by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Hail, Talisay, firm and faithful, ever forward march elate! You, victorious, the elements —land, sea and air— shall dominate! The sandy beach of Dapitan and the rocks of its lofty mountain are your throne. O sacred asylum where I passed my childhood days! In your valley covered with flowers and shaded by fruitful orchards, our minds received their formation, both body and soul, by your grace. We are children, children born late, but our spirits are fresh and healthy; strong men shall we be tomorrow that can guard a family right. We are children that nothing frightens, not the waves, nor the storm, nor the thunder; the arm ready, the young face tranquil, in a fix we shall know how to fight. We ransack the sand in our frolic; through the caves and the thickets we ramble; our houses are built upon rocks; our arms reach far and wide. No darkness, and no dark night, that we fear, no savage tempest; if the devil himself comes forward, we shall catch him, dead or alive! Talisayon, the people call us: a great soul in a little body; in Dapitan and all its region Talisay has no match! Our reservoir is unequalled; our precipice is a deep chasm; and when we go rowing, our bancas no banca in the world can catch! We study the problems of science and the history of the nation. We speak some three or four languages; faith and reason we span. Our hands can wield at the same time the knife, the pen and the spade, the picket, the rifle, the sword— companions of a brave man. Long live luxuriant Talisay! Our voices exalt you in chorus, clear star, dear treasure of childhood, a childhood you guide and please. In the struggles that await the grown man, subject to pain and sorrow, your memory shall be his amulet; snd your name, in the tomb, his peace. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin Kundiman José Rizal Tunay ngayong umid yaring dila't puso Sinta'y umiilag, tuwa'y lumalayo, Bayan palibhasa'y lupig at sumuko Sa kapabayaan ng nagturong puno. Datapuwa't muling sisikat ang araw, Pilit maliligtas ang inaping bayan, Magbabalik mandin at muling iiral Ang ngalang Tagalog sa sandaigdigan. Ibubuhos namin ang dugo't babaha Matubos nga lamang ang sa amang lupa Habang di ninilang panahong tadhana, Sinta'y tatahimik, iidlip ang nasa. by José Rizal (A Translation from the original Tagalog by Nick Joaquin) Now mute indeed are tongue and heart: love shies away, joy stands apart. Neglected by its leaders and defeated, the country was subdued and it submitted. But O the sun will shine again! Itself the land shall disenchain; and once more round the world with growing praise shall sound the name of the Tagalog race. We shall pour out our blood in a gread flood to liberate the parent sod; but till that day arrives for which we weep, love shall be mute, desire shall sleep. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin MI PRIMERA INSPIRACIÓN Note: This poem was written by José Rizal at age nine (!) or by his nephew, Antonio Lopez-Rizal (Narcisa's son) whose handwriting was similar to his uncle's.
żPorqué exhalan a porfía del cáliz dulces olores las embalsamadas flores en este festivo dia?
Y żporqué, en la selva amena, se oye dulce melodía que asemeja la armonía de la arpada filomena?
żPorqué en la mullida grama las aves, al son del viento, exhalan meloso acento y saltan de rama en rama?
Y la fuente cristalina, formando dulce murmullo, del cefiro al suave arrullo entre las flores camina?
Es que hoy celebran tu día ˇoh, mi Madre carińosa! con su perfume la rosa y el ave con su armonía.
Y la fuente rumorosa, en este día feliz, con su murmullo te dice ˇque vivas siempre gozosa!
Y, de esa fuente al rumor, oye la primera nota, que ahora de mi laud brota al impulso de mi amor! by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Why falls so rich a spray of fragrance from the bowers of the balmy flowers upon this festive day? Why from woods and vales do we hear sweet measures ringing that seem to be the singing of a choir of nightingales? Why in the grass below do birds start at the wind's noises, unleashing their honeyed voices as they hop from bough to bough? Why should the spring that glows its crystalline murmur be tuning to the zephyr's mellow crooning as among the flowers it flows? Why seems to me more endearing, more fair than on other days, the dawn's enchanting face among red clouds appearing? The reason, dear mother, is they feast your day of bloom: the rose with its perfume, the bird with its harmonies. And the spring that rings with laughter upon this joyful day with its murmur seems to say: "Live happily ever after!" And from that spring in the grove now turn to hear the first note that from my lute I emote to the impulse of my love! Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin Mi Retiro
Cabe anchurosa playa de fina y suave arena y al pie de una montańa cubierta de verdor planté mi choza humilde bajo arboleda amena, buscando de los bosques en la quietud serena reposo a mi cerebro, silencio a mi dolor.
Su techo es frágil su suelo débil cana, sus vigas y columnas maderas sin labrar; nada vale, por cierto, mi rústica cabańa; mas duerme en el regazo de la eterna montańa, y la canta y la arrulla noche y días el mar.
Un afluente arroyuelo, que de la selva umbria desciende entre peńascos, la bańa con amor, y un chorro le regala por tosca cańería que en la cálida noche es canto y melodía y néctar cristalino del día en el calor.
Si el cielo esta sereno, mansa corre la fuente, Su cítara invisible tańedo sin cesar; pero vienen las lluvias, e impetuoso torrente peńas y abismos salta, ronco, espumante, hirviente, y se arroja rugiendo frenético hacia el mar.
Del perro los ladridos, de las aves trino del kalao la voz ronca solas se oyen alli, no hay hombre vanidoso ni importuno vecino que se imponga a mi mente, ni estorbo mi camino; solo tengo las selvas y el mar cerca de mí.
El mar, el mar es todo! su masa soberana los átomos me trae de mundos que lejos son; me alienta su sonrisa de límpida mańana, y cuando por la tarde mi fe resulta vana encuentra en sus tristezas un eco el corazón.
DE noche es un arcano! ... su diáfano elemento se cubre de millares, y millares de luz; la brisa vaga fresca, reluce el firmamento, las olas en suspiros cuentan al manso viento historias que se pierden del tiempo en el capiz.
Dizque cuentan del mundo la primera alborada, del sol el primer beso que su seno encendió, cuando miles de seres surgieron de la nada, y el abismo poblaron y la cima encumbrada y doquiera su beso facundante estampó.
Mas cuando en noche oscura los vientos enfurecen y las inquietas alas comienzan a agitar, crusan en aire gritos que el ánimo estremecen , coros, voces que rezan, lamentos que parecen exhalar los que un tiempo se hundieron en el mar.
Entonces repercuten los montes de la altura, los árboles se agitan de confín a confín; aullan los ganados, retumba la espesura, sus espíritus dicen que van a la llanura llamadas por los muertos a fúnebre festín.
Silva, silva la noche, confusa, aterradora; verdes, azules llamas en el mar vense arder; mas la calma renace con la próxima aurora y pronto una atrevida barquilla pescadora las fatigadas alas comienza a recorrer.
Asi pasan los días en mi oscuro retiro, desterrado del mundo donde tiempo viví, de mi rara fortuna la providencia admiro: quijarro abandonado que al musgo solo aspiro para ocultar a todos el mundo que tengo en mí!
Vivo con los recuerdos de los que yo he amado y oigo de vez en cuando sus nombres pronunciar: unos estan ya muertos, otros me han abandonado; żmas que importa? ... Yo vivo pensando en lo pasado y lo pasado nadie me puede arrebatar.
El es mi fiel amigo que nunca me desdora que siempre alienta el alma cuando triste la ve, que en mis noches de insomnio conmigo vela y ora conmigo, y en mi destierro y en mi cabańa mora, y cuando todos dudan solo él me infunde fe.
Yo la tengo, y yo espero que ha de brillar un día en que venza la idea a la fuerza brutal, que después de la lucha y la lente agonía, otra voz mas sonora y mas feliz que la mía sabrá cantar entonces el cántico truinfal.
Veo brillar el cielo tan puro y refulgente como cuando forjaba mi primera ilusión, el mismo soplo siento besar mi mustia frente, el mismo que encendía mi entusiasmo ferviente y hacía hervir la sangre del joven corazón.
Yo respiro la brisa que acaso haya pasado por los campos y ríos de mi pueblo natal; acaso me devuelva lo que antes le he confiado los besos y suspiros de un ser idolatrado, las dulces confidencias de un amor virginal!
Al ver la misma luna, cual antes argentada, la antigua melancolía siento en mi renancer; despiertan mil recuerdos de amor y fe jurada ... un patio, una azotea, la playa, un enramada, silencios y suspiros, rubores de placer ...
Mariposa sedienta de la luz y de colores, sonando en otros cielos y en más vasto pensil, dejé, jóven apenas, mi patria y mis amores, y errante por doquiera sin dudas, sin temores, gasté en tierras extrańas de mi vida de abril.
Y despues, cuando quise, golondrina causada, al nido de mis padres y de mi amor volver, rugió fiera de pronto violenta turbonada: vense rotas mis alas, desecha la morada, la fe vendida a otros y ruinas por doquier.
Lanzado a una pana de la patria que adora, el porvenir destruído, sin hogar, sin salud, de toda mi existencia el único tesoro, creencias de una sana, sincera juventud.
Ya no sóis como antes, llenas de fuego y vida brindando mil coronas a la inmortalidad; algo serias os hallo; mas nuestra faz querida si ya es tan sincera, si esta descolorida en cambio lleva el sello de la fidelidad.
Me ofrecéis, oh ilusiones! la copa del consuelo, y mis jovenes ańos a despertar venís: gracias a ti, tormenta; gracias, vientos del cielo, que a buena hora supísteis cortar mi incierto vuelo, para abatirme al suelo de mi natal país.
Cabe anchurosa playa de fina y suave arena y al pie de una montańa cubierta de verdor, hallé en mi patria asilo bajo arboleda amena, y en sus umbrosos bosques, tranquilidad serena, reposo a mi cerebro, silencio a mi dolor. by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Beside a spacious beach of fine and delicate sand and at the foot of a mountain greener than a leaf, I planted my humble hut beneath a pleasant orchard, seeking in the still serenity of the woods repose to my intellect and silence to my grief. Its roof is fragile nipa; its floor is brittle bamboo; its beams and posts are rough as rough-hewn wood can be; of no worth, it is certain, is my rustic cabin; but on the lap of the eternal mount it slumbers and night and day is lulled by the crooning of the sea. The overflowing brook, that from the shadowy jungle descends between huge bowlders, washes it with its spray, donating a current of water through makeshift bamboo pipes that in the silent night is melody and music and crystalline nectar in the noon heat of the day. If the sky is serene, meekly flows the spring, strumming on its invisible zither unceasingly; but come the time of the rains, and an impetuous torrent spills over rocks and chasms—hoarse, foaming and aboil— to hurl itself with a frenzied roaring toward the sea. The barking of the dog, the twittering of the birds, the hoarse voice of the kalaw are all that I hear; there is no boastful man, no nuisance of a neighbor to impose himself on my mind or to disturb my passage; only the forests and the sea do I have near. The sea, the sea is everything! Its sovereign mass brings to me atoms of a myriad faraway lands; its bright smile animates me in the limpid mornings; and when at the end of day my faith has proven futile, my heart echoes the sound of its sorrow on the sands. At night it is a mystery! … Its diaphanous element is carpeted with thousands and thousands of lights that climb; the wandering breeze is cool, the firmament is brilliant, the waves narrate with many a sigh to the mild wind histories that were lost in the dark night of time. ‘Tis said they tell of the first morning on the earth, of the first kiss with which the sun inflamed her breast, when multitudes of beings materialized from nothing to populate the abyss and the overhanging summits and all the places where that quickening kiss was pressed. But when the winds rage in the darkness of the night and the unquiet waves commence their agony, across the air move cries that terrify the spirit, a chorus of voices praying, a lamentation that seems to come from those who, long ago, drowned in the sea. Then do the mountain ranges on high reverberate; the trees stir far and wide, by a fit of trembling seized; the cattle moan; the dark depths of the forest resound; their spirits say that they are on their way to the plain, summoned by the dead to a mortuary feast. The wild night hisses, hisses, confused and terrifying; one sees the sea afire with flames of green and blue; but calm is re-established with the approach of dawning and forthwith an intrepid little fishing vessel begins to navigate the weary waves anew. So pass the days of my life in my obscure retreat; cast out of the world where once I dwelt: such is my rare good fortune; and Providence be praised for my condition: a disregarded pebble that craves nothing but moss to hide from all the treasure that in myself I bear. I live with the remembrance of those that I have loved and hear their names still spoken, who haunt my memory; some already are dead, others have long forgotten— but what does it matter? I live remembering the past and no one can ever take the past away from me. It is my faithful friend that never turns against me, that cheers my spirit when my spirit’s a lonesome wraith, that in my sleepless nights keeps watch with me and prays with me, and shares with me my exile and my cabin, and, when all doubt, alone infuses me with faith. Faith do I have, and I believe the day will shine when the Idea shall defeat brute force as well; and after the struggle and the lingering agony a voice more eloquent and happier than my own will then know how to utter victory’s canticle. I see the heavens shining, as flawless and refulgent as in the days that saw my first illusions start; I feel the same breeze kissing my autumnal brow, the same that once enkindled my fervent enthusiasm and turned the blood ebullient within my youthful heart. Across the fields and rivers of my native town perhaps has travelled the breeze that now I breathe by chance; perhaps it will give back to me what once I gave it: the sighs and kisses of a person idolized and the sweet secrets of a virginal romance. On seeing the same moon, as silvery as before, I feel within me the ancient melancholy revive; a thousand memories of love and vows awaken: a patio, an azotea, a beach, a leafy bower; silences and sighs, and blushes of delight … A butterfly athirst for radiances and colors, dreaming of other skies and of a larger strife, I left, scarcely a youth, my land and my affections, and vagrant eveywhere, with no qualms, with no terrors, squandered in foreign lands the April of my life. And afterwards, when I desired, a weary swallow, to go back to the nest of those for whom I care, suddenly fiercely roared a violent hurricane and I found my wings broken, my dwelling place demolished, faith now sold to others, and ruins everywhere. Hurled upon a rock of the country I adore; the future ruined; no home, no health to bring me cheer; you come to me anew, dreams of rose and gold, of my entire existence the solitary treasure, convictions of a youth that was healthy and sincere. No more are you, like once, full of fire and life, offering a thousand crowns to immortality; somewhat serious I find you; and yet your face beloved, if now no longer as merry, if now no longer as vivid, now bear the superscription of fidelity. You offer me, O illusions, the cup of consolation; you come to reawaken the years of youthful mirth; hurricane, I thank you; winds of heaven, I thank you that in good hour suspended by uncertain flight to bring me down to the bosom of my native earth. Beside a spacious beach of fine and delicate sand and at the foot of a mountain greener than a leaf, I found in my land a refuge under a pleasant orchard, and in its shadowy forests, serene tranquility, repose to my intellect and silence to my grief. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin José Rizal Hoja seca que cuela indecisa Y arrebata violente turbión, Asi vive en la tierra el viajero, Sin norte, sin alma, sin patria ni amor. Busca ansioso doquiera la dicha Y la dicha se aleja fugaz: Vana sombra que burla su anhelo! ... Por ella el viajero se lanza a la mar! Impelido por mano invisible Vagara confín en confín; Los recuedos le harán compańia De seres queridos, de un día felíz. Una tumba quizá en el desiero Hallará, dulce asilo de paz, De su patria y del mundo olvidado ... Descanse tranquilo, tras tanto penar ! Y le envidian al triste viajero Cuando cruza la tierra veloz ... Ay! no saben que dentro del alma Existe un vacio de falta el amor! Volverá el peregrino a su patria Y a sus lares tal vez volverá, Y hallará por doquier nieve y ruina Amores perdidos, sepulcros, no más. Ve, Viajero, prosigue tu senda, Extranjero en tu propio país; Deja a otros que canten amores, Los otros que gocen; tu vuelve a partir. Vé, viajero, no vuelvas el rostro, Que no hay llanto que siga al adiós; Ví, viajero, y ahoga tu penas; Que el mundo se burla de ajeno dolor. by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Dry leaf that flies at random till it's seized by a wind from above: so lives on earth the wanderer, without north, without soul, without country or love! Anxious, he seeks joy everywhere and joy eludes him and flees, a vain shadow that mocks his yearning and for which he sails the seas. Impelled by a hand invisible, he shall wander from place to place; memories shall keep him company of loved ones, of happy days. A tomb perhaps in the desert, a sweet refuge, he shall discover, by his country and the world forgotten Rest quiet: the torment is over. And they envy the hapless wanderer as across the earth he persists! Ah, they know not of the emptiness in his soul, where no love exists. The pilgrim shall return to his country, shall return perhaps to his shore; and shall find only ice and ruin, perished loves, and gravesnothing more. Begone, wanderer! In your own country, a stranger now and alone! Let the others sing of loving, who are happybut you, begone! Begone, wanderer! Look not behind you nor grieve as you leave again. Begone, wanderer: stifle your sorrows! the world laughs at another's pain. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin Awit Ng Manlalakbay Kagaya ng dahong nalanta, nalagas, Sinisiklut-siklot ng hanging marahas; Abang manlalakbay ay wala nang liyag, Layuin, kalulwa't bayang matatawag. Hinahabul-habol yaong kapalarang Mailap at hindi masunggab-sunggaban; Magandang pag-asa'y kung nanlalabo man, Siya'y patuloy ring patungo kung saan! Sa udyok ng hindi nakikitang lakas, Silanga't Kanlura'y kanyang nililipad, Mga minamahal ay napapangarap, Gayon din ang araw ng pamamanatag. Sa pusod ng isang disyertong mapanglaw, Siya'y maaaring doon na mamatay, Limot ng daigdig at sariling bayan, Kamtan nawa niya ang kapayapaan! Dami ng sa kanya ay nangaiinggit, Ibong naglalakaby sa buong daigdig, Hindi nila tanto ang laki ng hapis Na sa kanyang puso ay lumiligalig. Kung sa mga tanging minahal sa buhay Siya'y magbalik pa pagdating ng araw, Makikita niya'y mga guho lamang At puntod ng kanyang mga kaibigan. Abang manlalakbay! Huwag nang magbalik, Sa sariling baya'y wala kang katalik; Bayaang ang puso ng iba'y umawit, Lumaboy kang muli sa buong daigdig. Abang manlalakbay! Bakit babalik pa? Ang luhang inyukol sa iyo'y tuyo na; Abang manlalakbay! Limutin ang dusa, Sa hapis ng tao, mundo'y nagtatawa. Isinalin sa Pilipino di kilala by José Rizal
Dulces las horas en la propia patria Donde es amigo cuanto alumbra el sol, Vida es la brisa en sus campos vuela, Grata la muerte y más tierno el amor!
Ardientes besos en los labios juegan, De una madre en el seno al despertar, Buscan los brazos a ceńir al cuello, Y los ojos sonríense al mirar.
Dulce es la muerte por la propia patria, Donde es amigo cuanto alumbra el sol; Muerte es la brisa para quien no tiene Una patria, una madre y un amor! by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Sweet the hours in the native country, where friendly shines the sun above! Life is the breeze that sweeps the meadows; tranquil is death; most tender, love. Warm kisses on the lips are playing as we awake to mother's face: the arms are seeking to embrace her, the eyes are smiling as they gaze. How sweet to die for the native country, where friendly shines the sun above! Death is the breeze for him who has no country, no mother, and no love! Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin
Ang Awit ni Maria Clara Isinalin sa Pilipino di kilala José Rizal by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) I They bid me strike the lyre so long now mute and broken, but not a note can I waken nor will my muse inspire! She stammers coldly and babbles when tortured by my mind; she lies when she laughs and thrills as she lies in her lamentation, for in my sad isolation my soul nor frolics nor feels. II There was a time, 'tis true, but now that time has vanished when indulgent love or friendship called me a poet too. Now of that time there lingers hardly a memory, as from a celebration some mysterious refrain that haunts the ears will remain of the orchestra's actuation. III A scarce-grown plant I seem, uprooted from the Orient, where perfume is the atmosphere and where life is a dream. O land that is never forgotten! And these have taught me to sing: the birds with their melody, the cataracts with their force and, on the swollen shores, the murmuring of the sea. IV While in my childhood days I could smile upon her sunshine, I felt in my bosom, seething, a fierce volcano ablaze. A poet was I, for I wanted with my verses, with my breath, to say to the swift wind: "Fly and propagate her renown! Praise her from zone to zone, from the earth up to the sky!" V I left her! My native hearth, a tree despoiled and shriveled, no longer repeats the echo of my old songs of mirth. I sailed across the vast ocean, craving to change my fate, not noting, in my madness, that, instead of the weal I sought, the sea around me wrought the spectre of death and sadness. VI The dreams of younger hours, love, enthusiasm, desire, have been left there under the skies of that fair land of flowers. Oh, do not ask of my heart that languishes, songs of love! For, as without peace I tread this desert of no surprises, I feel that my soul agonizes and that my spirit is dead. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin
Pinatutula Ako by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Why ask for those unintellectual verses that once, insane with grief, I sang aghast? Or are you maybe throwing in my face my rank ingratitude, my bitter past? Why resurrect unhappy memories now when the heart awaits from love a sign, or call the night when day begins to smile, not knowing if another day will shine? You wish to learn the cause of this dejection delirium of despair that anguish wove? You wish to know the wherefore of such sorrows, and why, a young soul, I sing not of love? Oh, may you never know why! For the reason brings melancholy but may set you laughing. Down with my corpse into the grave shall go another corpse that's buried in my stuffing! Something impossible, ambition, madness, dreams of the soul, a passion and its throes Oh, drink the nectar that life has to offer and let the bitter dregs in peace repose! Again I feel the impenetrable shadows shrouding the soul with the thick veils of night: a mere bud only, not a lovely flower, because it's destitute of air and light Behold them: my poor verses, my damned brood and sorrow suckled each and every brat! Oh, they know well to what they owe their being, and maybe they themselves will tell you what. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) No more is the muse invoked; the lyre is out of fashion; no poet cares to use it; by other things are the dreamy young inspired to passion. Now if imagination demands some poesies, no Helicon is invoked; one simply asks the garçon for a cup of coffee please. Instead of tender stanzas that move the heart’s sympathy, one now writes a poem with a pen of steel, a joke and an irony. Muse that in the past inspired me to sing of the throes of love: go and repose. What I need is a sword, rivers of gold, and acrid prose. I have a need to reason, to meditate, to offer combat, sometimes to weep; for he who would love much has also much to suffer. Gone are the days of peace, the days of love’s gay chorus, when the flowers were enough to alleviate the soul of its sufferings and sorrows. One by one from my side go those I loved so much: this one dead, that one married; for fate seals with disaster everything that I touch. Flee also, muse! Go forth and seek a region more fine, for my country vows to give you fetters for your laurels, a dark jail for your shrine. If to suppress the truth be a shame, an impiety, would it not then be madness to keep you by my side deprived of liberty? Why sing when destiny calls to serious meditation, when a hurricane is roaring, when to her sons complains the Filipino nation? And why sing if my song will merely resound with a moaning that will arouse no one, the world being sick and tired of someone else’s groaning? For what, when among the people who criticize and maltreat me, arid the soul, the lips frigid, there’s not a heart that beats with mine, no heart to meet me? Let sleep in the depths of oblivion all that I feel, for there it well should be, where the breath cannot mix it with a rhyme that evaporates in the air. As sleep in the deep abyss the monsters of the sea, so let my tribulations, my fancies and my lyrics slumber, buried in me. I know well that your favors you lavish without measure only during that time of flowers and first loves unclouded by displeasure. Many years have passed since with the ardent heat of a kiss you burned my brow … That kiss has now turned cold, I have even forgotten it! But, before departing, say that to your sublime address ever responded in me a song for those who grieve and a challenge for those who oppress. But, sacred imagination, once again to warm my fantasy you will come nigh when, faith being faded, broken the sword, I cannot for my country die. You’ll give me the mourning zither whose chords vibrate with elegiac strains to sweeten the sorrows of my nation and muffle the clanking of her chains. But if with laurel triumph crowns our efforts, and my country, united, like a queen of the East arises, a white pearl rescued from the sty: return then and intone with vigor the sacred hymn of a new existence, and we shall sing that strain in chorus though in the sepulcher we lie. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin żCómo, Dios-nińo, has venido A la tierra en pobre cuna? żY te escarnece Fortuna, Cuando apenas has nacido? ˇAy, triste! Del Cielo Rey Y llega cual vil humano! żNo quieres ser soberano, Sino Pastor de tu grey? by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Why have you come to earth, Child-God, in a poor manger? Does Fortune find you a stranger from the moment of your birth? Alas, of heavenly stock now turned an earthly resident! Do you not wish to be president but the shepherd of your flock? Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin Sa Sanggol Na Si Jesus O Diyos na Sanggol, paano ba kaya't Ang sinilangan Mo ay sabsabang aba? Diyata't di pa man ay pag-alipusta Ang dulot ng Palad sa Iyong pagbaba? Kaylungkot! O hari ng Sangkalangitan, Nagkatawang-tao't sa lupa'y tumahan, Hindi Mo ba ibig na Haring matanghal Kundi Pastol namin na kawan Mong mahal? Isinalin sa Tagalog dikilala José Rizal Id a mi patria, id, extranjeras flores, sembradas del viajero en el camino, y bajo su azul cielo, que guarda mis amores, contad del peregrino la fe que alienta por su patrio suelo! id y decid ... decid que cuando el alba vuestro cáliz abrió por vez primera cabe el Neckar helado, le visteis silencioso a vuestro lado pensando en su constante primavera. Decid que cuando el alba, que roba vuestro aroma, cantos de amor jugando os susurraba, él tambien murmuraba cantos de amor en su natal idioma; que cuando el sol la cumbre del Koenigsthul en la mańana dora y con su tibia lumbre anima el valle, el bosque y la espesura, saluda a ese sol aún en su aurora, al que en su patria en el cenit fulgura ! y contad aquel día cuando os cogía al borde del sendero, entre ruinas del feudal castillo, orilla al Neckar, o a la selva umbria. Contad lo que os decía , cuando, con gran ciudado entre las páginas de un libro usado vuestras flexibles hojas oprimía. Llevad, llevad, oh flores ! amor a mis amores paz a mi país y a su fecunda tierra, fe a sus hombres, virtud a sus mujeres, salud a dulces seres que el paternal, sagrado hogar encierra ... Cuando toqueis la playa, el beso os imprimo depositadlo en ala de la brisa, por que con ella vaya y bese cuanto adora, amo y estimo. Mas ay llegáreis flores, conservaréis quizas vuestras colores, pero lejos del patrio, heroico suelo a quien debéis la vida: que aroma es alma, y no abandona el cielo, cuya luz viera en su nacer, ni olvida. by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Go to my country, go, O foreign flowers, sown by the traveler along the road, and under that blue heaven that watches over my loved ones, recount the devotion the pilgrim nurses for his native sod! Go and say say that when dawn opened your chalices for the first time beside the icy Neckar, you saw him silent beside you, thinking of her constant vernal clime. Say that when dawn which steals your aroma was whispering playful love songs to your young sweet petals, he, too, murmured canticles of love in his native tongue; that in the morning when the sun first traces the topmost peak of Koenigssthul in gold and with a mild warmth raises to life again the valley, the glade, the forest, he hails that sun, still in its dawning, that in his country in full zenith blazes. And tell of that day when he collected you along the way among the ruins of a feudal castle, on the banks of the Neckar, or in a forest nook. Recount the words he said as, with great care, between the pages of a worn-out book he pressed the flexible petals that he took. Carry, carry, O flowers, my love to my loved ones, peace to my country and its fecund loam, faith to its men and virtue to its women, health to the gracious beings that dwell within the sacred paternal home. When you reach that shore, deposit the kiss I gave you on the wings of the wind above that with the wind it may rove and I may kiss all that I worship, honor and love! But O you will arrive there, flowers, and you will keep perhaps your vivid hues; but far from your native heroic earth to which you owe your life and worth, your fragrances you will lose! For fragrance is a spirit that never can forsake and never forgets the sky that saw its birth. Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin
Sa Mga Bulaklak ng Heidelberg Isinalin sa Pilipino di kilala Alza su tersa frente, Juventud Filipina, en este día! Luce resplandeciente Tu rica gallardía, Bella esperanza de la Patria Mía!
Vuela, genio grandioso, Y les infunde noble pensamiento, Que lance vigoroso, Más rápido que el viento, Su mente virgen al glorioso asiento.
Baja con la luz grata De las artes y ciencias a la arena, Juventud, y desata La pesada cadena Que tu genio poético encadena.
Ve que en la ardiente zona Do moraron las sombras, el hispano Esplendente corona, Con pía sabia mano, Ofrece al hijo de este suelo indiano.
Tú, que buscando subes, En alas de tu rica fantasia, Del Olimpo en las nubes Tiernisima poesia Mas sabrosa que nectar y ambrosia.
Tú, de celeste acento, Melodioso rival Filomena, Que en variado concierto En la noche serena Disipas del mortal la amarga pena.
Tú que la pena dura Animas al impulso de tu mente , Y la memoria pura Del genio refulgente Eternizas con genio prepotente.
Y tú, que el vario encanto De Febo, amado del divino Apeles, Y de natura el manto Con mágicos pinceles Trasladar al sencillo lienzo sueles.
Corred! que sacra llama Del genio el lauro coronar espera, Esparciendo la Fama Con trompa pregonera El nombre del mortal por la ancha espera.
Día, día felice, Filipinas gentil, para tu suelo! Al Potente bendice Que con amante anhelo La ventura te envía y el consuelo.
by Jose Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Hold high the brow serene, O youth, where now you stand; Let the bright sheen Of your grace be seen, Fair hope of my fatherland! Come now, thou genius grand, And bring down inspiration; With thy mighty hand, Swifter than the wind's violation, Raise the eager mind to higher station. Come down with pleasing light Of art and science to the fight, O youth, and there untie The chains that heavy lie, Your spirit free to blight. See how in flaming zone Amid the shadows thrown, The Spaniard'a holy hand A crown's resplendent band Proffers to this Indian land. Thou, who now wouldst rise On wings of rich emprise, Seeking from Olympian skies Songs of sweetest strain, Softer than ambrosial rain; Thou, whose voice divine Rivals Philomel's refrain And with varied line Through the night benign Frees mortality from pain; Thou, who by sharp strife Wakest thy mind to life ; And the memory bright Of thy genius' light Makest immortal in its strength ; And thou, in accents clear Of Phoebus, to Apelles dear ; Or by the brush's magic art Takest from nature's store a part, To fig it on the simple canvas' length ; Go forth, and then the sacred fire Of thy genius to the laurel may aspire ; To spread around the fame, And in victory acclaim, Through wider spheres the human name. Day, O happy day, Fair Filipinas, for thy land! So bless the Power to-day That places in thy way This favor and this fortune grand ! Translated by Charles Derbyshire
Sa Kabataang Pilipino Isinalin sa Pilipino di kilala By José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Warm and beautiful like a houri of yore, as gracious and as pure as the break of dawn when darling clouds take on a sapphire tone, sleeps a goddess on the Indian shore. The small waves of the sonorous sea assail her feet with ardent, amorous kisses, while the intellectual West adores her smile; and the old hoary Pole, her flower veil. My Muse, most enthusiastic and elate, sings to her among naiads and undines; I offer her my fortune and my fate. With myrtle, purple roses, and flowering greens and lilies, crown her brow immaculate, O artists, and exalt the Philippines! Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Mary, sweet peace and dearest consolation of suffering mortal: you are the fount whence springs the current of solicitude that brings unto our soil unceasing fecundation. From your abode, enthroned on heaven's height, in mercy deign to hear my cry of woe and to the radiance of your mantle draw my voice that rises with so swift a flight. You are my mother, Mary, and shall be my life, my stronghold, my defense most thorough; and you shall be my guide on this wild sea. If vice pursues me madly on the morrow, if death harasses me with agony: come to my aid and dissipate my sorrow! Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin
Sa Mahal na Birhen Maria by José Rizal (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin) Water are we, you say, and yourselves fire, so let us be what we are and co-exist without ire, and may no conflagration ever find us at war. but, rather, fused together by cunning science within the cauldrons of the ardent breast, without rage, without defiance, do we form steam, fifth element indeed: progress, life, enlightenment, and speed! Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin
Por La
Educación
José Rizal
Education Gives Luster To The Motherland
Wise education, vital breath
Alianza Íntima Entre La Religión Y La Educación
Cual hiedra trepadora Tortuosa camina Por el olmo empinado, Siendo entrambos encanto al verde prado, Y a la par se embelecen Mientras unidos crecen; Y si el olmo compasivo faltase, La hiedraal carecer de su Consuelo Vería tristemente marchitarse; Tal la Educación estrecha alianza Con alma Religión une sincera; Por ella Educación renombre alcanza; Y ˇay! Del ser que ciegao desechando De santa Religión sabias doctrinas, De su puro raudal huye nefando.
Si de la vid pomposa El tallo ufano crece Y sus dulces racimos nos ofrece, En tanto que al sarmiento generosa Alimenta la planta carińosa; Tal límpidas Corrientes De célica virtud dan nueva vida A Educación cumplida, Guiándola con sus luces refulgentes; Por ella delicado olar exhale, Y Sus frutos sabrosos nos regala. Sin Religión, la Educación humana Es cual nave del viento combatida Que pierde su timón en lucha horrible Al fragoroso impulse y sacudida Del proceloso Bóreas terrible Que la combate fiero Hasta undirla altanero En los abismos de la mar airada.
Si el rocío del cielo Vigoriza y sustenta a la pradera, Y por él, en Hermosa primavera, Salen las flores a border el suelo; Tal si a la Educación fecundizara Con sus doctrinas Religión piadosa, Hacia el bien lacentera caminara Con planta generosa; Y dando de virtud lozanas flores Esparciera doquiera sus olores.
19 de abril de 1876
The Intimate Alliance Between Religion and Education
NOTE: This poem was written by Rizal was almost at the age of fifteen and a student at the Ateneo not long before he graduated. It may be noted that the Jesuits held to a strong relationship between education and faith, the ratio studiorum. -- rly
As the climbing ivy over lofty elm Creeps tortuously, together the adornment Of the verdant plain, embellishing Each other and together growing, But should the kindly elm refuse its aid The ivy would impotent and friendless wither; So is Education to Religion By spiritual alliance firmly bound. Through Religion, Education gains renown, and Woe to the impious mind that blindly spurning The sapient teachings of Religion, this Unpolluted fountainhead forsakes.
As the sprout, growing from the pompous vine, Proudly offers us its honeyed clusters While the generous and fresh’ning waters Of celestial virtue give new life To Education true, shedding On it warmth and light; because of them The vine smells sweet and gives delicious fruit.
Without Religion, Human Education Is like unto a vessel struck by winds Which, sore beset, is of its helm deprived By the roaring blows and buffets of the dread Tempestuous Boreas [The north wind -- rly], who fiercely wields His power until he proudly sends her down Into the deep abysses of the angered sea.
As heaven’s dew the meadow feeds and strengthens So that blooming flowers all the earth Embroider in the days of spring; so also If Religion holy nourishes Education with its doctrines, she Shall walk in joy and generosity Toward the Good, and everywhere bestrew The fragrant and luxuriant fruits of Virtue.
19 April 1876. |
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