Dead Waves (Ondas Muertas) Poem by Manuel Gutierrez Najera

In the deep darkness underneath the ground
That never has been reached by mortal sight,
There silent currents of black water glide
In an unending course amid the night.
Some of them, by the shining steel surprised
That pierces through the rocks to their dark home,
Limpid and boiling to the light gush forth
In a vast plume of white and silvery foam.

The others in deep darkness evermore
Glide silently upon their winding way,
Doomed to a course unending under ground,
Failing to find an outlet to the day.

The noble rivers to the ocean flow
Past field and forest, meadow-bank and lawn,
Reflecting in their silvery, changeful glass
The stars of heaven, the pale tints of dawn.
Veils of fair, fragrant blossoms make them glad,
Nymphs bathe in their clear current with delight;
They fertilize the rich and fruitful vales;
Their waves are singing water, pure and bright.

In the white marble fountain, lo! the stream
Is mischievous and playful, sporting there
Like a young girl that, in a palace hall,
Scatters the pearls that form her necklace fair.
Now like a shining arrow it shoots up,
Now like a fan it opens in its flow;
It splashes glittering diamonds on the leaves,
Or sinks to slumber, singing sweet and low.

The waves that in the mighty ocean swell
Assail the craggy rocks, upsurging high;
Their raging fury shakes the solid earth,
And rises up in tumult to the sky.
Those waves are life and power invincible;
The water is a queen with wrath on fire,
And against heaven like a rival fights,
And wages war with gods and monsters dire.

How different is the current black and still,
Doomed to imprisonment which knows no end,
Living below the earth in gloomy depths,
Down deeper even than the dead descend!
That stream has never known what light may be;
It neither sings nor wails, that sunless wave;
The subterranean stream is dumb, unknown;
It goes upon its way, a mute, blind slave.

Like such a stream, to all the world unknown—
Like such a stream, whose prisoned walls roll
Surrounded by thick darkness—such are you,
O dark and silent currents of my soul!
Who e'er hath known the course your waters take?
No kindly friend goes down where shadows sleep
To look upon you in the dark—and yet
Your captive waves reach deep, oh, very deep!

Should you be given an outlet to the day,
You would gush upward from your sunless home
As high above the cedars and the pines
The water leaps, a column white with foam.
But no—you ne'er will feel the gaze of light;
Still through the night your rayless waves must roll.
Go on, forever gliding in the dark,
O deep and silent currents of my soul!


ONDAS MUERTAS

En la sombra debajo de tierra,
donde nunca llegó la mirada,
se deslizan en curso infinito
silenciosas corrientes de agua.

Las primeras, al fin, sorprendidas,
por el hierro de rocas taladra,
en inmenso penacho de espumas
hervorosas y límpidas saltan.

Mas las otras, en densa tiniebla,
retorciéndose siempre resbalan,
sin hallar la salida que buscan,
a perpetuo correr condenadas.

A la mar se encaminan los ríos,
y en su espejo movible de plata,
van copiando los astros del cielo
o los pálidos tintes del alba:

ellos tienen cendales de flores,
en su seno las ninfas se bañan,
fecundizan los fértiles valles,
y sus ondas son de agua que canta.

En la fuente de mármoles níveos,
juguetona y traviesa es el agua,
como niña que en regio palacio
sus collares de perlas desgrana;

ya cual flecha bruñida se eleva,
ya en abierto abanico se alza,
de diamantes salpica las hojas
o se duerme cantando en voz baja.

En el mar soberano las olas
los peñascos abruptos asaltan;
al moverse, la tierra conmueve
y el tumulto los cielos escalan.

Allí es vida y es fuerza invencible,
allí es reina colérica el agua,
como igual con los cielos combate
y con dioses monstruosos batalla.

¡Cuán distinta la negra corriente
a perpetua prisión condenada,
la que vive debajo de tierra
do ni yertos cadáveres bajan!

La que nunca la luz ha sentido,
la que nunca solloza ni canta,
esa muda que nadie conoce,
esa ciega que tiene esclava.

Como ella, de nadie sabidas,
como ella, de sombras cercadas,
sois vosotras también, las oscuras
silenciosas corrientes de mi alma.

¿Quién jamás conoció vuestro curso?
¡Nadie a veros benévolo baja!
Y muy hondo, muy hondo se extienden
vuestras olas cautivas que callan.

Y si paso os abrieran, saldríais,
como chorro bullente de agua,
que en columna rabiosa de espuma
sobre pinos y cedros se alza.

Pero nunca jamás, prisioneras,
sentiréis de la luz la mirada:
¡seguid siempre rodando en la sombra,
silenciosas corrientes del alma!