Dominican Republic 1965

Canto to Vertical Santo Domingo by Abelardo Vicioso

Written: 1965.
Source: Pueblo, sangre y canto. Santo Domingo, República Dominicana: Frente Cultural, 1965.
Translated: for by Amaury Rodríguez.
This edition: Marxist Internet Archives, 2015.

Translator’s note: This poem by Abelardo Vicioso (1930-2004) first appeared in Pueblo, sangre y canto, published by the Frente Cultural (Cultural Front) on July of 1965. The Frente Cultural grouped together artists and writers during the 1965 April revolution in Santo Domingo and U.S. military intervention that same year. In commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the revolt, I dedicate this translation to the Dominican people and to all the martyrs of the revolution.

I thank Carlos Vicioso for granting me permission to translate this poem.

A city that has been armed to win glory
Santo Domingo, dignified fortress of dawn,
all the joys in the world live in my soul
I witness your stirred and clear streets
the upright face and the hoarse voice of your trench:
Yankee, go home!

I know that to gobble like a sardine
thirty six sharks are watching in your burning cove,
jealous of men who create life
and never kneel in their greatest battles.
And you will be standing up, telling the enemy:
Yankee, go home!

The ring of fire that your belly suppress
can turn into ash the vastness of the map
But I want to tell you, guardian of my dreams,
that all their infernos and their greed are dying
in the vast ocean of people shouting:
Yankee, go home!

I want you to know that I love you more than ever,
heart of life that prefers the Homeland.
And from all the love planted in the world
I remove a flower and that’s nothing to sing your feat.
Yankee, go home!

You will be forever drawn in my heart
of sailor on route after the morning star.
Your voice will be music to my party nights.
And when somewhere the moon is dark
deploying my sails I will repeat with you:
Yankee, go home!

Yankee Go home! Santo Domingo is
more than willing to die than to be at your feet.
And if you violate its combatant and pure streets
you'll crush it, but it'll never surrender.
In the midst of silence in the sunken city
the wreckage will yell. Yankee, go home!

June of 1965