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  BALLAD OF WILD JOY

My glass full — the wine of the Anahuac —
my effort vain — my passion sterile —
I am a wastrel — I am a marihuano
drinking, dancing to the sound of my song…

Gird the fragrant thyrsus, touch the gay cymbal.
A mad bacchante and an offending satyr
combine their amorous frenzy in my blood.
Athens shines, Praxiteles thinks and sculptures,
and refinement chains passion with roses.
Woe is penurious life that only gives its honey
with a certain rhythm and in a certain share!

Laugh, dance to the breath of Dionysius that inebriates the heart!
Death comes, all will be dust
under its sway; dust of Pericles,
dust of Codrus; dust of Cimon!

My glass full — the wine of the Anahuac —
my effort vain —my passion sterile —
I am a wastrel — I am a marihuano
drinking, dancing to the sound of my song…

From fruitful Hispania, from delectable Gallia,
from ardent Numidia, and from every compass
that the Roman eagles drink,
comes pure damsels and avid courtesans.
Dance in voluptuous, lubricious episodes,
with the Nubian slaves, with the Rhodian sailors.
Flaminius, he of the crimson hair,
looks in the spa for men of pleasure
for Heliogabalus… Sing higher,
laugh, dance with Bacchic joy
and make the blood that inebriates the heart spring.
Death comes, all will be dust,
dust of Augustus, dust of Lucretius,
dust of Numa, dust of Nero.

My glass full — the wine of the Anahuac —
my effort vain — my passion sterile —
I am a wastrel — I am a marihuano
drinking, dancing to the sound of my song…

Villagers of the Cauca smelling of white lilies,
mountain girls of Antioquia sweet as hives,
infantinas of Lima, unctuous and augural
and princesses of Mexico, like the family
cupboard where the best-tasting sweets are kept;
and young men of Cuba, languorous, sensual,
ardent, vacant
like ghosts passing through one of my dreams;
young men of the pleasant Cucastlán — oh ambrosia! —
and young men of Honduras
where they have blind larks for their dark jungles,
come and dance in the happy whirlwind:
laugh, play to the sound of my song;
the pineapple and the guanábana perfume the way
and a palm tree wine soothes the heart.

Death comes, all will be dust,
dust of Hidalgo, dust of Bolívar,
dust in the urn, and, the urn now broken,
dust in the blindness of the Boreas!

My glass full — the wine of the Anahuac —
my effort vain — my passion sterile —
I am a wastrel — I am a marihuano
drinking, dancing to the sound of my song…

The night is beautiful in its honeyed drunkenness,
the earth is pleasant behind its veil of fog;
Life is sweet, with a sweetness of trills;
love sings, the young pages grow tall;
the world is peopled, destinies are weaved…
Let the juice of the vineyards soothe my heart!
To drink! To dance in turbulent whirlwinds:
the effort is vain, illusion is useless!

autógrafo
Porfirio Barba Jacob
Translated by Nicolás Suescún


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