On the flip side of a dark November New Moon the moon again begins to wax. But only still a small sliver, she sheds little light down onto the Earth tonite. My heart feels the ache of the many struggles of those I know and those I do not know. This Modernist poem by Nicaragua’s Rúben Dario resonates and I thought I’d share its own unique medicine. Sitting with the dark before the light can move through…
~ Rúben Dario
You that have heard the heartbeat of the night,
you that have heard, in the long, sleepless hours,
a closing door, the rumble of distant wheels,
a vague echo, a wandering sound from somewhere:
you, in the moments of mysterious silence,
when the forgotten ones issue from their prison –
in the hour of the dead, in the hour of repose –
will know how to read the bitterness in my verses.
I fill them, as one would fill a glass, with all
my grief for remote memories and black misfortunes,
the nostalgia of my flower-intoxicated soul
and the pain of a heart grown sorrowful with fetes;
with the burden of not being what I might have been,
the loss of the kingdom that was awaiting me,
the thought of the instant when I might not have been born
and the dream my life has been ever since I was!
All this has come in the midst of that boundless silence
in which the night develops earthly illusions,
and I feel as if an echo of the world’s heart
had penetrated and disturbed my own.
Translated, Lysander Kemp