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