Translated to English by Richard Gabela on March 6, 2024, from the original work “El Poema Politico Nacional (Llama en la esquina)” by Marco Antonio La Mota (Unknown-1946) of Guayaquil, Ecuador. I have translated the title of the poem as “The National Political Poem (Flame on the Corner).”
THE NATIONAL POLITICAL POEM
TO MY PEOPLE OR WITH THEIR VERY WORDS
FLAME ON THE CORNER
A small tongue of fire burns the lips of the people:
Zambo Mindiola chatters
his scorching premonition…
“Let’s go see! It’s probably still dark out.”
At the corner, the dawn of desire grows—
No one remains still.
Voices tremble on lips, sparks gleam in eyes;
This is the port city corner, pregnant with gestations.
Shouts! Words! A hurricane of rebellion.
Black Manola passes with her bundle of tortillas.
Dark compliments are whispered to her large ears:
“You’ll see, beloved chola,
how one plays with fire!”
And she answers with playful charm
and a street vendor’s sweet call:
“Delicious tortillas, kiddos, and dark, sweet coffee!”
(In the corner, one can see
the defiant eyes.)
Gazes.
The sword’s breathful clash, charged with Violent Shackles, Hurricane Force, and the Aspirations
of the “guayaco” people, plunges into the fray.
Translator’s Note: In translating Marco Antonio La Mota’s evocative poem “The National Political Poem (Flame on the Corner),” first published in the newspaper El Telegrafo on August 6, 1944, I aimed to capture the essence and emotional depth of the original work while preserving its vivid imagery and stirring narrative. La Mota, a notable Ecuadorian journalist, poet, and short story writer, crafted this poem during a pivotal moment in history, offering poignant insights into the spirit of the people of Guayaquil, Ecuador, amidst political unrest. The poem’s merit lies in its ability to paint a vibrant tableau of a community on the cusp of change, where voices tremble with anticipation, and desires converge in a tumultuous yet resolute call to action.
El Poema Politico Nacional
A MI PUEBLO O CON SU MISMA PALABRA
LLAMA EN LA ESQUINA
Una lengüeta de fuego quema los labios del pueblo:
El Zambo Mindiola charla
su cálida corazonada…
“Vamos a ver barajo! Si todavía es oscuro.
Estas oyendo las balas? Zumban como abejones”
En la esquina se agiganta la alborada del deseo…
Nadie se queda quieto.
En los labios tiemblan voces y en los ojos brillan chispas
Es la esquina porteña preñada de gestaciones
Gritos! Palabras! Un huracán de revuelta.
Pasa la negra Manola con su carga de tortillas.
Le prenden piropos negros a sus orejas grandotas,
“Vas a ver chola del alma
como se juega con fuego!”
y ella responde con dengues. Y un pregón azucarado:
“Ricas tortillas mis niños y dulce café retinto”
(En la esquina se contemplan
las pupilas desafiantes).
Miradas.
Cruce de espada de aliento. Encadenaje violento, Fuerza Huracán, Ansias
del pueblo “guayaco”, que se avienta a la contienda…