The Celery Fields
(One of my rare attempts at macaronic writing--the reasons for it may be found in the context of the poem. Only a smattering of knowledge of Spanish is needed)
Madre de Dios! Morning already?
The mud, still damp upon my pantalones--
how can I face another day?
My niña is so thin.
Two little oranges are not enough for her,
before she rides the bus to the escuela.
I must work harder, still--
hacer algunos dollars more
hacer su vida para el mejor,
si puedo.
I remember
when like my niña, I was young..
We did not work so hard,
y sobre las alturas
every breeze was cool...
not like this steaming
California campo
by the sea.
I remember, as we worked,
how we were singing,
'De la sierra morena, Cieli...'
Now there is no heart, no time to sing.
El jefe blanco will be angry
if I make him late.
The sun is high upon this field.
My back hurts me so much
from bending. Ay!
En muchas horas I can sleep again
and stop remembering.
Jesús amado, en mi sueño
solamente, take me home
...............
to my brown mountain.
~
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