Hoy rindo culto al poeta,
que ya no rima ni canta.
Pero quedaron sus versos
con música de su alma.
Sé que la vida termina,
sabemos todo se acaba.
Pero el alma del poeta,
quedó en sus versos grabada.
Poeta cuando te fuiste,
aquí se quedó tu alma.
Y cuando se leen tus versos,
yo sé que de nuevo cantas.
Tú que naciste poeta,
ese sentir de tu alma.
Sufriendo o riendo cantan,
con música de palabras.
Vas escribiendo el sentir,
ese sentir que tú cantas.
Brota de tus sentimientos,
el ritmo de tus plegarias.
Eres sensible si amas,
piensas, escribes en la calma.
Vas imanando motivos,
historias que tú relatas.
Poetas que ya cantaron,
poetas que ahora nos cantan.
En diferente idiomas,
hombres de todas las razas.
Al poeta del ayer,
al poeta del mañana.
Dedico mi poesía,
lejos de la patria mía,
en tierras americanas.

(Enero 1988)


Today I worship the poet,
who does not rhyme or sing.
but stays in their verses,
with the music of their soul.
I know that life finishes,
we know that everything comes to an end.
but the soul of the poet,
remain recorded in his verses.
Oh poet, when you go,
here stays your soul.
and when one reads your verses,
I know you will sing again.
You, who have been born a poet,
this feeling of your soul.
suffering or laughing sings,
with the music of words.
You will record this feeling,
this feeling that you sing.
the bud of your feelings,
the rhythm of your prayers.
You who are sensitive, love,
you think, write in tranquility.
you will go converting the reasons,
stories you relate.
Poets that have already sung,
poets that now sing to us.
in different languages,
men of every race.
To the poet of yesterday,
to the poet of tomorrow.
I dedicate my poetry,
far from my homeland,
on American soil.

(Translated by Aradhika Raturi)


Music of the poet’s soul
unrhymed, unsung
lingers in his verses
worshipped at my altar.
Despite mortality,
while time erodes all traces,
the poet’s verses holds
his soul above death.
In you who have been born a poet,
soul embraces papered desires,
in ecstasy, in pain
and makes music of them.
When dark silence
falls upon your lips,
your soul will rise from verse
And sing once more.
You ink your heart on paper,
as letters blossom in time
to the breath of your prayers.
To love in tranquility,
Write, think in love.
to weave the worn threads of your history,
convert them from reason to love.
Poets, your voices
Inscribed in inky whispers, to be inscribed
stretch across aqueous borders
of language, defy race.
I stand on the bank of salt
that shrouds my homeland,
place my words at the feet
of the poet who exists,
who will write himself into existence.

(Interpretation by Aradhika Raturi)

Alejandro Davalos Rossié was born in Matanzas, Cuba, on February 15th, 1935, to a family of twelve children. His father was a judge who worked within the Cuban courts. To secure better employment, at the age of 20, he married and moved to La Habana, where he started a beauty school. Despite having completed only a third-grade level of education, a result of economic problems in Cuba that required him to work, as his poetry reflects, his nature was deeply embedded in intellectual pursuits and the love of life, of love, and of God. 

Aradhika Raturi is a twenty-one year old poet and musician, born to parents of Cuban and Indian heritage. She lives in Boulder, Colorado where she is a student of Creative Writing at Naropa University. Aradhika is currently editing a book of translations from the poetry of her great-grandfather, Alejandro Davalos Rossié, to deepen her study of Spanish poetic thought, through the vein of familial bonds and history, and to share his poetry with both Spanish and English readers. Her literary influences include Tolstoy, Urdu poets Mir and Ghalib, and Pablo Neruda.