Mi último recuerdo (Spanish Edition)

October 2, at 3: Listen to Neruda read.

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Dulce jacinto azul torcido sobre mi alma. Cielo desde un navio. Campo desde los cerros. Tu recuerdo es de luz, de humo, de estanque en calma!

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I remember you as you were last autumn. You were the grey beret and the tranquil heart. In your eyes the flames of twilight quarreled.

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And the leaves fell into the water of your soul. Fastened to my arms as a clinging vine, the leaves collected your slow and calm voice. Bonfire of trance in which my thirst burned. Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul. I feel your eyes travel and autumn is far away: Sky from a ship.

False Cognates

Field from the hills. Your memory is of light, of smoke, of a tranquil pond! Dry autumn leaves were spinning in your soul. The Rizals reproduced copies of the poem and sent them to Rizal's friends in the country and abroad. Mariano Dacanay, who received a copy of the poem while a prisoner in Bilibid jail , published it in the first issue of La Independencia on Sept.

Rizal did not ascribe a title to his poem.

Also, the coconut oil was not delivered to the Rizal's family until after the execution as it was required to light the cell. After it was annexed by the United States as a result of the Spanish—American War , the Philippines was perceived as a community of "barbarians" incapable of self-government. Cooper , lobbying for management of Philippine affairs, recited the poem before the United States Congress. Realising the nobility of the piece's author, his fellow congressmen enacted the Philippine Bill of enabling self-government later known as the Philippine Organic Act of , despite the fact that the Chinese Exclusion Act was still in effect and African Americans had yet to be granted equal rights as US citizens.

The colony was on its way to independence. The poem was translated into Bahasa Indonesia by Rosihan Anwar and was recited by Indonesian soldiers before going into battle during their struggle for independence.

Spanish Cognates | SpanishDict

Ah, que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo, Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo, Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir. 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, El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan a formar. Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido.

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6. ;

Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores, Donde la fe no mata, donde el que reina es Dios. On the fields of battle, in the fury of fight, Others give you their lives without pain or hesitancy, The place does not matter: I die as I see tints on the sky b'gin to show And at last announce the day, after a gloomy night; If you need a hue to dye your matutinal glow, Pour my blood and at the right moment spread it so, And gild it with a reflection of your nascent light My dreams, when scarcely a lad adolescent, My dreams when already a youth, full of vigor to attain, Were to see you, Gem of the Sea of the Orient, Your dark eyes dry, smooth brow held to a high plane, Without frown, without wrinkles and of shame without stain.

My life's fancy, my ardent, passionate desire, Hail! Cries out the soul to you, that will soon part from thee; Hail! How sweet 'tis to fall that fullness you may acquire; To die to give you life, 'neath your skies to expire, And in thy mystic land to sleep through eternity!

Borges, Jorge Luis: My last tiger (Mi último tigre in English)

If over my tomb some day, you would see blow, A simple humble flow'r amidst thick grasses, Bring it up to your lips and kiss my soul so, And under the cold tomb, I may feel on my brow, Warmth of your breath, a whiff of thy tenderness. Let the moon with soft, gentle light me descry, Let the dawn send forth its fleeting, brilliant light, In murmurs grave allow the wind to sigh, And should a bird descend on my cross and alight, Let the bird intone a song of peace o'er my site.

Let the burning sun the raindrops vaporize And with my clamor behind return pure to the sky; Let a friend shed tears over my early demise; And on quiet afternoons when one prays for me on high, Pray too, oh, my Motherland, that in God may rest I. Pray thee for all the hapless who have died, For all those who unequalled torments have undergone; For our poor mothers who in bitterness have cried; For orphans, widows and captives to tortures were shied, And pray too that you may see your own redemption.

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And when the dark night wraps the cemet'ry And only the dead to vigil there are left alone, Don't disturb their repose, disturb not the mystery: If thou hear the sounds of cithern or psaltery, It is I, dear Country, who, a song t'you intone. And when my grave by all is no more remembered, With neither cross nor stone to mark its place, Let it be plowed by man, with spade let it be scattered And my ashes ere to nothingness are restored, Let them turn to dust to cover thy earthly space.

Then it doesn't matter that you should forget me: Your atmosphere, your skies, your vales I'll sweep; Vibrant and clear note to your ears I shall be: Aroma, light, hues, murmur, song, moanings deep, Constantly repeating the essence of the faith I keep.