This blog contains a collection of renowned and young authors from around the world poems in the languages in which they were originally written. Each file includes author’s photo or portrait and brief biography. We offer news and announcements of interest to professional and amateur writers (writing competitions, poetry press, etc) too.

Este blog recoge una selección de poemas de reputados autores y jóvenes promesas de todo el mundo en las lenguas en las que fueron escritos originalmente. Se incluye en cada ficha una breve reseña biográfica del autor y fotos o cuadros de éste. Se complementa el grueso del material con datos de interés para escritores profesionales o aficionados a la literatura (como información sobre certámenes literarios, editoriales dedicadas a la poesía, etc).

Bruce Dawe

Bruce Dawe
When first the land was ours

When first the land was ours we thought
that things would never change
there'd always be the same green hills,
clear rivers and rich range,
and east of us the sparkling beach,
the mangroves, forests tall
in our innocence we thought
we'd always have them all...

We cleared the land and ploughed it,
and wind and flood-rains came
and stripped away the living skin
and left the bony frame.
We ring-barked, burned, and bulldozed
the trees and scrub away,
the mulga and the brigalow,
and bared the subsoil clay.

The bird-life fled, the locusts spread,
and Exodus followed soon
The land was bright beneath the night,
but dark beneath the noon...

We were so blind we thought we could
afford a meagre care
for topsoil and for timberline,
and that they'd still be there
We did not see that what we get
must spring from what we give,
that in a land we robbed of life
we could not hope to live.

For we are part of the shimmering web
that binds the vast and small,
and what is done to a single strand
has meaning to it all.
The earth was never ours, instead
we were the earth's deaf sons,
who could not hear how through our veins
the family life-blood runs...

And still the mother waits in hope,
degraded by neglect,
for us to render what we owe,
a life-time of respect.
The world's good is our own best good,
the land's health is our own
we were not meant to pasture sand
or harvest fields of stone.

Bruce Dawe (Fitzroy, Victoria, Australia, 1930). Docente. Poeta. Su contribución a las letras australianas ha sido reconocida con la Orden de Australia y con el nombramiento de emérito del Consejo de Escritores de Australia.

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...