“
Now reading
Guadalupe, W. I.
The Negroes, working
near the moored ship; the Arabs, trading;
the French, strolling and resting;
and the sun, shining.
Fainting, the sea cringes
flat in the harbor; its breath singes
the palm-trees . . . "Guadalupe!" I cry, but no one .
pays any attention.
The ship departs, ploughing
the indifferent waters with a clamor of foam . . . leaving
the Negroes, as usual, working,
the Arabs trading,
the French, strolling and resting,
and the sun, shining.
Nicolas Guillen
translated by Robert Brittain