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02 junio 2012

JOAN BAEZ -No Nos Moveran. POR ELLAS QUE ESTÁN EN LUCHA DIARIA.

Por todas las mujeres que también han luchado , por ellas que no mostraron indiferencia, por ellas que disidieron por su propio destino , por ellas que su juventud y vida la dedicaron al bien común y la libertad y la justicia , por ellas que ahora están también en los diferentes movimientos juveniles y de resistencia , hagamos su sueño realidad!


mariana cabrera
Subido el 10/04/2011
introducción: Poema Sube a nacer conmigo, hermano . Pablo Neruda

Joan Baez ~ NO NOS MOVERAN ~

Recitation: twelfth canto from "The Heights of Macchu Picchu" By Pablo Neruda

Arise to birth with me my brother.

Give me your hand out of the depths
sown by your sorrows.
You will not return from these
stone fastnesses.
You will not emerge from
subterannean time.
Your rasping voice will not come back,
nor your pierced eyes rise
from their sockets.

Look at me from the depths of the earth,
tiller of fields, weaver, reticent shepherd,
groom of totemic guanacos,
mason high on your treacherous scaffolding,
iceman of Andean tears,
jeweler with crushed fingers,
farmer anxious among his seedlings,
potter wasted among his clays--
bring to the cup of this new life
your ancient buried sorrows.
Show me your blood andyour furrow;
say to me: here I was scourged
because a gem was dull or because the earth
failed to give up in time it`s tithe of corn
or stone.
Point out to me the rock
on which you stumbled,
the wood they used to crucify your body.
Strick the old flints
to kindle ancient lamps, light up the whips
glued to your wounds throughout.
the centuries and light the axes
gleaming with your blood.

I come to speak for your dead mouths.

Throughout the earth
let dead lips congregate
out of the depths spin this long night with me
as if I rode at anchor here with you.

And tell me everything, tell chain by chain,
and link by link, and step by step;
sharpen the knives you kept hidden away,
thrust them into my breast, into my hands,
like a torrent of sunbursts,
an Amazon of buried jaguars,
and leave me cry: hours, days and years,
blind ages, stellar centuries.

And give me silence, give me water, hope.

Give me the struggle, the iron,
the volcanos.

Let bodies cling like magnets to my body.

Come quickly into my veins
and to my mouth.

Speak through my speech, and through my blood. --------------- Pablo Neruda

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