WRITTEN—IN—RED
by Voltairine de Cleyre, 1911

/To Our Living Dead in Mexico’s Struggle/

Written in red their protest stands,
For the Gods of the World to see;
On the dooming wall their bodiless hands
Have blazoned “Upharsin”; and flaring brands
Illumine the message: “Seize the lands!
Open the prisons and make [people] free!”
Flame out the living words of the dead
Written—in—red.

Gods of the World! Their mouths are dumb!
Your guns have spoken and they are dust.
But the shrouded Living, whose hearts were numb,
Have felt the beat of a wakening drum
Within them sounding–
the Dead Men’s tongue—Calling:
“Smite off the ancient rust!”
Have beheld “Resurrexit,” the word of the Dead,
Written—in—red.

Bear it aloft, O roaring flame!
Skyward aloft, where all may see.
Slaves of the World! Our cause is the same;
One is the immemorial shame;
One is the struggle, and in One name—
[Humankind]—we battle to set [humanity] free.
“Uncurse us the Land!” burn the words of the Dead,
Written—in—red.


KUGA
Miloš Crnjanski, 1918

Svejedno rodiš li sina ili kćer
u slavu pokolenja.
Ukus se menja, ukus se menja:
ne menja se čovek i ker.

I nama je dosadno zar ne
i Kosovo i jauk itd. sve?
Ta to je bila samo šala.
Treba već nešto novo,
ko bi još spominjo ovo,
krv i sram i rat.
Večna su samo tamnica i vešala,
njih će ti rado nuditi i brat.

Što ti je žao našeg pokolenja?
Zar to nije vesela maskarada:
danas je ukus car, a sutra barikada,
Hristos, pa Neron, pa Lenjin.
Ukus se menja, ukus se menja,
samo su hulje sve isti.
Hiljade godina vuku nas za nos,
pesnici, mesije, carevi i komunisti.

Što ti je žao našega pokolenja
ukus se menja, ukus se menja.
Svejedno rodiš li sina ili kćer
večno su isti čovek i ker.


MAGNIFICAT by Fernando Pessoa, 1933

When will this inner night – the universe – end
And I – my soul – have my day?
When will I wake up from being awake?
I don’t know. The sun shines on high
And cannot be looked at.
The stars coldly blink
And cannot be counted.
The heart beats aloofly
And cannot be heard.
When will this drama without theatre–
Or this theatre without drama – end
So that I can go home?
Where? How? When?
O cat staring at me with eyes of life,
Who lurks in your depths?
It’s Him! It’s him!
Like Joshua he’ll order the sun to stop, and I’ll wake up,
And it will be day.
Smile, my soul, in your slumber!
Smile, my soul: it will be day!