Home > Uncategorized > Gabriela Mistral: The Peace Round

Gabriela Mistral: The Peace Round

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Anti-war essays, poems, short stories and literary excerpts

Women writers on peace and war

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Gabriela Mistral
The Peace Round
Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell

The mothers sit on their thresholds;
Of battles they tell, with dread.
The children out to the field have gone,
To gather the poppies red.

At the foot of their German mountains
The children at echoes play.
The children who dwell on the French side, too,
Break into a merry lay.

The song went all through the forests –
(The world seems a crystal clear) –
And with every song, the dancing groups
To each other have drawn more near.

They will meet ere long; the words of the song
They do not understand,
But when they look in each others; eyes,
They will soon join hand in hand.

The mothers will come out to seek them;
They will meet on the heights; I know
When they look on that living garland fair,
Their tears in a flood will flow.

The men will come out to seek them;
When so wide=spread a dance they view,
They will afraid to break it up,
They will laugh and join it too.

Then they will go down to the threshing floors,
And make bread, without a sigh;
And the circling dance, when the evening falls,
Will keep on still, on high.

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Ronda de la paz
A don Enrique Molina.

Las madres, contando batallas,
sentadas están al umbral.
Los niños se fueron al campo
la piña de pino a cortar.

Se han puesto a jugar a los ecos
al pie de su cerro alemán.
Los niños de Francia responden
sin rostro en el viento del mar.

Refrán y palabra no entienden,
mas luego se van a encontrar,
y cuando a los ojos se miren
el verse será adivinar.

Ahora en el mundo el suspiro
y el soplo se alcanza a escuchar
y a cada refrán las dos rondas
ya van acercándose más.

Las madres, subiendo la ruta
de olores que lleva al pinar,
llegando a la rueda se vieron
cogidas del viento volar….

Los hombres salieron por ellas
y viendo la tierra girar
y oyendo cantar a los montes,
al ruedo del mundo se dan.

Después bajarán a las eras
A hacer sin sollozo su pan
Y cuando la tarde se apague
La ronda en lo alto estará.

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