Fernando Celada was a Mexican poet who was born in Xochimilco at the end of the 19th century. His most known poem is "The fall of the leaves". I read this poem for the first time in a book in Spanish entitled "The 1000 best poems in the world literature" that a friend from high school lent me. In recent years, I have searched for the book but have not been able to find it. The book, as I remember, had an excellent selection of poems such as "The seminarian with the black eyes" by Miguel Ramos Carrión, which was the first poem of that book that caught my attention and I loved it.
A few years later, however, I had the opportunity to meet the poet's grandson, the engineer Manuel Celada, who worked with my father in the disappeared National Railways of Mexico.
Fernando
Celada was also a social fighter and his poetry gave words to the workers class.
At present, his poems are little known including the next one with a deep
arithmetic reflection (the original version in Spanish is bellow):
The number one
By Fernando
Celada
They all
rebelled against the one
and the one of
the figures was the first,
we were on the
eve of fasting
and you had to
exercise the "Eat and eat".
The two said:
I need nothing!
It was all
evolution: I am the second.
And the three
cries out with a shrill cry:
I am the
third! Trinity of the world!
And unweaving
his figure, the fourth
said with
thunderous curses:
What can they
blame me for? I am the theater
where they
represent the mices.
And the five,
without delay or imitation,
cried out: I
am a million pore soul!
I am the
existence of the five fingers
of the miser counting
his treasures.
But the six,
raising its head,
said: I am all
that the world reaches!
intelligence,
will, firmness,
brain, heart
and mistrust.
And the seven,
crossing the deep abyss
of his
miserable being, angrily cried out:
I am the great
truth, I am the number
searched by
God to create the world!
The eight,
raising his head,
he shouted:
For my life there are no setbacks,
I am a huge
bundle of sadness,
making
quarters of the months!
And the nine,
haughty, disrespectful,
with all his
brothers, the younger ones,
exclaimed all
sad and all restless:
I am like the
old fighters!
Only the
silent zero, in his obstinacy,
was the great
and opportune philosopher,
and he said he
would just scream
having on his right the number one.
Oh, I have
thought with deep pain,
in the middle
of this sad masquerade,
that there are
many zeros in the world
with the
suffering equivalent to nothing.
(the original poem in Spanish)
El número uno
Por Fernando Celada
Todos se revelaron contra el uno
y el uno de los guarismos fue el
primero,
estábamos en víspera de ayuno
y había que ejercitar el
“Tragadero”.
El dos dijo: ¡De nada necesito!,
Era toda evolución: soy el segundo.
Y el tres clama con estridente
grito:
¡Soy el tercero!, ¡trinidad del
mundo!
Y destejiendo su figura, el cuarto,
dijo con estruendosas maldiciones:
¿Qué pueden reprocharme? Soy el
teatro
en donde representan los ratones.
Y el cinco, sin tardanza ni remedos,
clamó: ¡Soy alma de un millón de
poros!
Soy la existencia de los cinco dedos
con que cuenta el avaro sus tesoros.
Pero el seis, levantando la cabeza,
dijo: ¡Soy todo lo que el mundo
alcanza!,
inteligencia, voluntad, firmeza,
cerebro, corazón y desconfianza.
Y el siete, rebasando el hondo
abismo
de su mísero ser, clamó iracundo:
¡Yo soy la gran verdad, soy el
guarismo
que buscó Dios para formar el mundo!
El ocho, levantando la cabeza,
gritó: ¡Para mi vida no hay reveses,
soy un enorme fardo de tristeza,
haciendo cuarterones de los meses!
Y el nueve, altivo, falto de
respeto,
con todos sus hermanos, los menores,
exclamó todo triste y todo inquieto:
¡Yo soy como los viejos luchadores!
Sólo el cero, callado en su porfía,
fue el filósofo grande y oportuno,
y dijo que él tan sólo gritaría
teniendo a su derecha al número
uno.
¡Ay!, he pensado con dolor profundo,
en medio de esta triste mascarada,
que habemos muchos ceros en el mundo
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario