No me lo pidan

So I have just finished up two weeks of 1-on-1 Spanish tutoring (45 hours in 2 weeks). This built on 10 hours I had received the first week here in Guate and some sporadic attempts to keep my Spanish alive since my days in high school. Last week, my teacher (Lety) gave me a poem by Pablo Neruda. We spent 30 minutes talking about it and translated it a bit. I'm not huge into poetry, but this particular poem really resonated with me. An excerpt from it is included on the "diploma" awarded to every student when they leave PLQ here in Xela (Quetzaltenango). I wanted to share the poem with anyone reading this blog just in case it might resonate with you as well. I'm going to try and translate it myself, with a nod to Lety who helped me understand it. You can probably find another translation somewhere on the internet.

No me lo pidan

Piden algunos que este asunto humano
con nombres, apellidos y lamentos
no lo trate en las hojas de mis libros,
no le dé la escritura de mis versos:
dicen que aquí murió la poesía,
dicen algunos que no debo hacerlo:
la verdad es que siento no agradarles,
los saludo y les saco mi sombrero
y los dejo viajando en el Parnaso
como ratas alegres en el queso.
Yo pertenezco a otra categoría
y sólo un hombre soy de carne y hueso,
por eso si apalean a mi hermano
con lo que tengo a mano lo defiendo
y cada una de mis líneas lleva
un peligro de pólvora o de hierro,
que caerá sobre los inhumanos,
sobre los crueles, sobre los soberbios.
Pero el castigo de mi paz furiosa
no amenaza a los pobres ni a los buenos:
con mi lámpara busco a los que caen,
alivio sus heridas y las cierro:
y éstos son los oficios del poeta
del aviador y del picapedrero:
debemos hacer algo en esta tierra
porque en este planeta nos parieron
y hay que arreglar las cosas de los hombres
porque no somos pájaros ni perros.
Y bien, si cuando ataco lo que odio,
o cuando canto a todos los que quiero,
la poesía quiere abandonar
las esperanzas de mi manifiesto
yo sigo con las tablas de mi ley
acumulando estrellas y armamentos
y en el duro deber americano
no me importa una rosa más o menos:
tengo un pacto de amor con la hermosura:
tengo un pacto de sangre con mi pueblo.

-Pablo Neruda (1960)



Here's my translation. If any of you have suggestions for how to improve the translation, please feel free to leave them in the comments:

Do Not Ask Me That

Some ask that this human theme
with names, last names, and laments
is not included in the pages of my books
is not written of in my verses:
some say that here poetry died,
some say that I shouldn't do it:
the truth is that I'm sorry to not please them,
I salute them and tip my hat
and I leave them traveling on the Parnassus
like happy mice in the cheese.
I belong to another category
and I'm only a man of flesh and bone,
and for that reason if they try to strike my brother
with whatever I have in hand I will defend him
and every one of my lines carries
a peril of gunpowder or iron
that will fall upon the inhumane,
the cruel, the arrogant.
But the punishment of my furious peace
does not menace the poor, nor the good,
with my lamp I look for those who have fallen,
I tend their wounds and heal them.
And these are the duties of the poet,
the pilot and the stonemason:
We are obligated to do something on this Earth
because on this planet we were birthed
and we must fix the things of man
because we are not birds nor dogs.
Moreover, if when I attack what I hate
or when I sing to those I love
the poetry wants to abandon
the hopes of my manifesto,
I continue with the commandments of my law
accumulating stars and weapons
and in the unyielding duty of the those living in the Americas,
a rose does not matter much:
I have a pact of love with beauty,
I have a pact of blood with my people.