Jose Marti
Jose Marti Poems
I have a white rose to tend
In July as in January;
I give it to the true friend
Who offers his frank hand to me.
...
I wish to leave the world
By its natural door;
In my tomb of green leaves
They are to carry me to die
...
¡Dolor! ¡Dolor! eterna vida mía,
Ser de mi ser, sin cuyo aliento muero!
...
Day and night
I always dream with open eyes
And on top of the foaming waves
Of the wide turbulent sea,
...
Una cita a la sombra de tu oscuro
Portal donde el friecillo nos convida
A apretarnos los dos, de tan estrecho
...
Aquí estoy, solo estoy, despedazado.
Ruge el cielo: las nubes se aglomeran,
Y aprietan, y ennegrecen, y desgajan:
...
Llegada la hora del trabajo
¡Ea, jamelgo! De los montes de oro
Baja, y de andar en prados bien olientes
...
Qué importa que tu puñal
Se me clave en el riñón?
¡Tengo mis versos, que son
Más fuertes que tu puñal!
Qué importa que este dolor
Seque ...
...
I who live though I have died,
Claim a great discovery,
For last night I verified
Love is the best remedy.
...
¿Palabras? ya sé, palabras,
No me las puedes decir;
Pero mirarme sí puedes:—
...
No sientas que te falte
el don de hablar que te arrebata el cielo,
no necesita tu belleza esmalte
...
I'll never forget, I vow,
That fall morning long ago,
When I saw a new leaf grow
Upon the old withered bow.
...
If you've seen a mount of sea foam,
It is my verse you have seen:
My verse a mountain has been
And a feathered fan become.
...
I'm so frightfully unhappy,
I feel, oh stars, I am dying!:
I want to live, and I'm sighing
A beauteous woman to see.
...
If I a pleasant keepsake
On leaving this world may bear,
Father profound, I would take
A lock of your silver hair.
...
I have come to the strange ball
Where tails and gaiters abound,
And the best hunters the year-round
The New Year wait to install.
...
I have a page of loyal-renown
Who bends to all my desires,
Takes care of me, never tires,
Cleans and shines my laurel clown.
...
I have a page of loyal-renown
Who bends to all my desires,
Takes care of me, never tires,
Cleans and shines my laurel clown.
...
I wish to leave the world
By its natural door;
In my tomb of green leaves
They are to carry me to die.
Do not put me in the dark
To die like a traitor;
I am good, and like a good thing
I will die with my face to the sun
...
A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the mountains I am one.
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
...
Jose Marti Biography
José Julián Martí Pérez (January 28, 1853 – May 19, 1895) was a Cuban national hero and an important figure in Latin American literature. In his short life he was a poet, an essayist, a journalist, a revolutionary philosopher, a translator, a professor, a publisher, and a political theorist. Through his writings and political activity, he became a symbol for Cuba's bid for independence against Spain in the 19th century, and is referred to as the "Apostle of Cuban Independence." He also fought against the threat of United States expansionism into Cuba. From adolescence, he dedicated his life to the promotion of liberty, political independence for Cuba and intellectual independence for all Spanish Americans; his murder was used as a cry for Cuban independence from Spain by both the Cuban revolutionaries and those Cubans previously reluctant to start a revolt. Born in Havana, Martí began his political activism at a young age. He would travel extensively in Spain, Latin America, and the United States raising awareness and support for the cause of Cuban independence. His unification of the Cuban émigré community, particularly in Florida, was crucial to the success of the Cuban War of Independence against Spain. He was a key figure in the planning and execution of this war, as well as the designer of the Cuban Revolutionary Party and its ideology. He died in military action on May 19, 1895. Martí is considered one of the great turn-of-the-century Latin American intellectuals. His written works consist of a series of poems, essays, letters, lectures, a novel, and even a children's magazine. He wrote for numerous Latin American and American newspapers; he also founded a number of newspapers himself. His newspaper Patria was a key instrument in his campaign for Cuban independence. After his death, one of his poems from the book, "Versos Sencillos" (Simple Verses) was adapted to the song, "Guantanamera," which has become the definitive patriotic song of Cuba. The concepts of freedom, liberty, and democracy are prominent themes in all of his works, which were influential on the Nicaraguan poet, Rubén Darío and the Chilean poet, Gabriela Mistral. Martí's style of writing is difficult to categorize. He used many aphorisms - short, memorable lines that convey truth and/or wisdom - and long complex sentences. He is considered a major contributor to the Spanish American literary movement known as Modernismo and has been linked to Latin American consciousness of the modern age and modernity. His chronicles combined elements of literary portraiture, dramatic narration, and a dioramic scope. His poetry contained "fresh and astonishing images along with deceptively simple sentiments". As an orator (for he made many speeches) he was known for his cascading structure, powerful aphorisms, and detailed descriptions. More important than his style is how he uses that style to put into service his ideas, making "advanced" convincing notions. Throughout his writing he made reference to historical figures and events, and used constant allusions to literature, current news and cultural matters. For this reason, he may be difficult to read and translate. His didactic spirit encouraged him to establish a magazine for children, La Edad de Oro (1889) which contained a short essay titled "Tres Heroes" (three heroes), representative of his talent to adapt his expression to his audience; in this case, to make the young reader conscious of and amazed by the extraordinary bravery of the three men, Bolivar, Hidalgo, and San Martín. This is his style to teach delightfully.)
The Best Poem Of Jose Marti
I Have A White Rose To Tend (Verse Xxxix)
I have a white rose to tend
In July as in January;
I give it to the true friend
Who offers his frank hand to me.
And for the cruel one whose blows
Break the heart by which I live,
Thistle nor thorn do I give:
For him, too, I have a white rose.
CULTIVO UNA ROSA BLANCA... (Verso XXXIX)
Cultivo una rosa blanca,
En julio como en enero,
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca.
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazón con que vivo,
Cardo ni oruga cultivo:
Cultivo la rosa blanca.
Jose Marti Comments
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8/15/2026 6:52:18 PM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
I want to follow his ethic in my life. It was a real ethic to be followed: helping the weak people and trying to do what is real justice always.