BALLADE OF THE UNSEEN OCEAN, RHYTHMED IN DIVERSE VERSE Poem by León de Greiff

to Gregorio Castañeda Aragón


I have not seen the ocean.


My eyes
- boring lookouts, fantastic glowworms;
my watchful eyes amid the night, owners
of the starry dome,
of the astral words;
my wandering eyes;
akin to the hideous vertigo of the abyss;
my steely Viking eyes, observing,
my vagabond eyes
have not seen the ocean . . .

The undulous unison song of its quivering contour
has not stirred my dreams,
I did not hear the erotic growl of its foghorns,
nor was my sight stunned by the sparkling quicksilver
that is tossed about on its back . . .
Its resonant waterspouts,
its silences, never could I hear . . .
Its Cyclopean rages, its complaints or its hymns,
nor its intrepid muteness when silvers and golds
of the suns and moons, like perpetual weepings
dilute its riches with glaucous sapphire!
Nor did I inhale its perfume!

I know of the aromas
of beloved heads of hair . . .
I know of the perfumes of slender throats
and fragile and lukewarm,
of temples where the favorite perfume censers of Venus
hide their fragrances,

I shall inhale the flasks
where Nirvana kindles the symbolic sandalwoods,
the common aloes and myrrh's of the wizard Zoroaster . . .
But I did not inhale the salts nor the iodines of the ocean!

My parched lips
did not put out their thirst
in its wine skins:
not in its rough wine skins
did they mitigate my thirst . . .
My lips, insane, drunk, avid, vagabond,
pensive lips
made bitter by laments and wrathful gestures
and which other - virgin - lips captured in their net.

Brother of the clouds
Am I
Brother of the clouds,
of the wandering clouds, of the dreamers of space:
vagrant vessels
pushed by harsh puffs of wind anonymous and cold,
impelled by brutal impetus fickle and sombre!
Traveler of nights
am I.

Traveler of intoxicating nights, mariner
of its boundless seas,
of its boundless seas, delirious, empty,
- empty of infinity . . . , empty . . . - Docile mariner
am I,
and my dreams defeated warships . . .
Defeated warships, unknown courses, grottos
of pirates, the ocean . . .

My vagabond eyes
- insatiate travelers - they know skies, worlds,
they know profound nights, light and serene
the know tragic nights,
delicious illusions,
brazen dreams . . .
They know of unique sorrows,
of pleasures and of tears,
of myths and of science.
of hate and of mercy,
of pain, and love!

My vagabond eyes
my sterile eyes
my eyes have not seen the ocean,
I have not seen the ocean.

(1922)