COUNTEE CULLEN



¿Louisville?, Estados Unidos; 1903 - Nueva York; 1946

INCIDENT

Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, 'Nigger.'

I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That's all that I remember. 

INCIDENTE

Una vez a caballo en el viejo Baltimore,
Corazón lleno, cabeza llena de alegría,
Vi un baltimorense
Sigue mirándome directamente.

Ahora yo tenía ocho años y era muy pequeña,
Y fue sin pizca más grande,
Y así me sonrió, pero él sobresalían
Su lengua, y me llamó, "Nigger".

Vi toda Baltimore
De mayo a diciembre;
De todas las cosas que sucedieron allí
Eso es todo lo que recuerdo.

LINES TO MY FATHER

The many sow, but only the chosen reap; 
Happy the wretched host if Day be brief, 
That with the cool oblivion of sleep 
A dawnless Night may soothe the smart of grief. 

If from the soil our sweat enriches sprout 
One meagre blossom for our hands to cull, 
Accustomed indigence provokes a shout 
Of praise that life becomes so bountiful. 

Now ushered regally into your own, 
Look where you will, as far as eye can see, 
Your little seeds are to a fullness grown, 
And golden fruit is ripe on every tree. 

Yours is no fairy gift, no heritage 
Without travail, to which weak wills aspire; 
This is a merited and grief-earned wage 
From One Who holds His servants worth their hire. 

So has the shyest of your dreams come true, 
Built not of sand, but of the solid rock, 
Impregnable to all that may accrue 
Of elemental rage: storm, stress, and shock. 



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