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by Tejji

domingo, 4 de enero de 2015

Mater dolorosa 


by Manuel María Flores, Mexican poet, 1840-1895

Translated from the Spanish by Roberto Hope

To my sister Marina

Virgin of the misfortune, sorrowful Mother mine
seeking your consolation I kneel before your shrine
My spirit is so troubled, my life became so somber
my soul's been overwhelmed by waves of deep regret.

I feel I´ve been abandoned, have no one to accept me
there are times in my living of barbarous affliction
and lonesome... always lonesome, I have no one to gather
the very secret tears that from my sad heart flow.

It's true that, from the world in the corrupted current,
fell stripped off of their leaves the roses of my faith
while in pursuing the ghosts of my juvenile folly
running insanely, Lady, all about you I forgot.

That man's satanic pride did blind me in my folly
and in my troubled soul I let the doubt set in,
my lips failed to remember to say your name so holy
and from my foolish mind your image was erased.

All this is true..., but listen...! As a child I adored you
to the foot of your altars my mother showed the way
Where on her knees and weeping, the story she would tell me
of the tremendous Golgotha where Jesus His life gave.

And on your face I noticed the anguish and the loss
which on your forehead casted the shadow of a cross
your tears rolled down your face, your cape's color was black
the light, from a pale candle, under the gloomy light.

I was then just a child. Could not your sorrow grasp,
but loved, you oh my Lady, you know that love you I did!
how sweet and how immaculate would towards Heaven rise.
the infantile child's accent of my quite simple faith.

For that innocent faith, for that ardorous prayer
which, knelt beside my mother with her I would repeat,
Virgin of the misfortune, when at your feet I kneel
Virgin of the misfortune, please have mercy on me!

You see, august queen, the path, along the which we transit
a hundred generations sprinkled it with their tears
and we in our turn now water it with our very own weeping
and those to come will also sprinkle it with theirs as well

And in our path we march, leaving ripped on its thistles
the palpitating fragments of our broken heart
and we walk... and walk further... and our eyes cannot find
some respite in the journey, nor in the affliction truce.

But you are the hope, the light and our consolation
and with your eyes turned up, supplicate to the Lord
your hands are put together pointing up  towards heaven
you are praying for us, oh dear Mother of Sorrows!

In search for consolation I come up to your shrine
my soul so badly saddened and my embittered heart
and lay before your eyes, holy Lady, my sorrows
and with my tears gets soaked in my prayer my voice.

See not that by forgetting your image and your standing
to the winds of this world my beliefs I tossed out.
Please remember the small child, but the man disregard ...
my forehead´s on the dust...please forgive me... I sinned

Oh! for my faith when child, for the fervorous prayers
which, knelt beside my mother with her I would repeat,
Oh Virgin of the Sorrows, when at your feet I kneel
Oh Virgin of the Sorrows, please have mercy on me!

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