El Carimbo

Another poem that speaks straight to my heart, reflecting not only my obsession with hypocrisy and injustice as it resounds through the ages, but my personal fascination with the jarring power of duality:

Here’s the juxtaposition of a perfect, tropical landscape with the utter depravity of our basest instincts…

THE BRANDING IRON (1938)

Evaristo Ribera Chevremont
 
 
     The 18th century. The Caribbean Sea. Breaths
of the wave. The phosphorescent wave, crisp, smelling
of seaweed, of shellfish. Blown along, dark, slow,
the seabirds. Black ships. Harsh territory.
 
     And the islands. Islands bountiful, vibrant,
with symphonic beaches. Tangled greens
and shimmering clouds. Black-bearded traffickers
and the sale of negroes. Piles of ducats.
 
     The bodies of the negroes, their virile texture,
amongst the fat plants they appear naked,
fresh in color, the virgin flesh, the pure figure,
arms like maces, breasts like shields.
 
     And in this barbaric time of stern and pious souls
–a time that merged the sword with the halo–,
in lands where the white man kills idolatry,
and imposes upon the blacks the mark of the branding iron.