Efraín Fabara Ch. was an early 20th-century Ecuadorian poet who published his only known collection, “Parque Infantil” (Children’s Park), in Quito in 1938 through Editorial Labor. The book, subtitled “Viejos y Nuevos Alejandrinos” (Old and New Alexandrines), demonstrates his mastery of the alexandrine verse form while exploring themes ranging from cosmic and universal concerns to intimate portraits of individuals, urban landscapes, and cultural identity. In his prologue, Fabara acknowledges writing poetry in what he calls an “anti-lyrical hour” for humanity, defending the personal necessity of poetic expression despite the era’s hostility to verse. Several of his poems, including “Internacional” and “Buenos días, oh Sol, galán joven del mar” show a direct engagement with Quito’s landscape and character.
Translation of six poems
On November 10-16, 2024, I translated six poems from Efraín Fabara’s 1938 collection Parque Infantil: Los Anarquistas (The Anarchists), Regresión Erótica (Erotic Regression), Parque Infantil (Children’s Park), Paso a la Raza Cósmica (Make Way for the Cosmic Race), Internacional (International), and Gitanería Erótica (Erotic Gypsy Tale). These poems exemplify Fabara’s ability to explore profound tensions—between modernity and tradition, spiritual and carnal desire, universal humanity and nationalism, and Latin American and European cultural identity—through vivid imagery and masterful alexandrine verse.
In Regresión Erótica, Fabara’s yearning for a primal, unrestrained love speaks to a broader critique of modernity’s emotional sterility, evoking striking imagery of the “biblical serpent” and a “chamber open to the sky and sea.” Paso a la Raza Cósmica envisions a world united in universal brotherhood, with the Amazon serving as a symbolic meeting ground for humanity, offering a hopeful counterpoint to nationalism. Gitanería Erótica captures Fabara’s lighter, more playful side, blending irony, sensuality, and a touch of melancholy in its portrayal of a wandering gypsy and her tambourine.
The translations aim to preserve the formal rigor and emotional depth of Fabara’s alexandrine verse while making these works accessible to an English-speaking audience. Through this process, I sought to capture the balance of structure, passion, and philosophical inquiry that defines Fabara’s voice, and to convey the timeless resonance of his themes.
Translated by Richard Gabela:
THE ANARCHISTS
Flesh, the devil, and the world. The world, the devil, and flesh.
These are the anarchists, within me and around me.
Anarchists advancing like the three musketeers,
riders of the soul, ravens of the heart.
Mighty, Machiavellian, with or without a companion,
it is futile to confront them in ornamental combat.
The world bows as a pygmy at the devil's feet,
and the devil is but a rag before the carnal throne.
Ever entrenched in the web of instinct,
they begin their assault early each morning,
that daily battle that grinds away at the soul......
And thus, like anarchists with neither homeland nor culture,
bound by a shared umbilical cord,
if one tempts, all triumph—for that is their mission.
LOS ANARQUISTAS
Carne, demonio y mundo. Mundo, demonio y carne.
He ahí los anarquistas alrededor y en mí.
Anarquistas que vienen como tres mosqueteros,
jinetes de nuestra alma, cuervos del corazón.
Potentes, maquiavélicos, con o sin compañera,
inútil presentarnos en lucha ornamental.
El mundo es un pigmeo a los pies del demonio,
y el demonio un harapo ante el solio carnal.
Atrincherados siempre en la red del instinto,
ahí, de mañanita, comienzan la batalla,
esa diaria batalla que tanto esfuerzo exige......
Y es que, como anarquistas sin patria y sin cultura,
unidos por un mismo cordón umbilical,
tienta uno, vencen todos, porque esa es su misión.
EROTIC REGRESSION
In the heart of the twentieth century, in the height of the modern age,
I long to feel a love from ancient times,
a Medieval love, a love of knights,
or better yet, a love of the First Age—natural, primal.
How beautiful it must be to love without human witnesses,
in a chamber open to the sky and the sea,
free from the law that limits the fiery gaze,
free from the judge who blesses only what the sun blesses.
The biblical serpent would return once more,
coiled around the tree of the five senses,
offering again the forbidden fruit.
And this thirst—more than ancient, natural, primal—
would rediscover the glory of sin,
in a chamber open to the sky and the sea.
REGRESIÓN ERÓTICA
En pleno siglo veinte, en plena edad moderna,
yo quisiera sentir un amor a la antigua,
un amor de Edad Media, amor de caballeros,
o mejor de Edad Uno, natural, primitivo.
Debe ser bello amar sin testigos humanos
en una alcoba abierta para el cielo y el mar,
sin la ley que limita la mirada ardorosa,
sin el juez que bendice lo que bendice el sol.
La bíblica serpiente tornaría de nuevo;
enroscada en el árbol de los cinco sentidos,
otra vez nos daría la fruta tentadora;
Y esta sed, más que antigua, natural, primitiva,
de nuevo encontraría la gloria del pecado,
en una alcoba abierta para el cielo y el mar.
CHILDREN'S PARK
Efraín: you know the march of this world
and the meaning we give to life and receive from it.
Nothing exists, in truth. Pleasure and pain
are but fleeting moments on the sensual scale.
There is an hour of anguish and another of peace,
one of gratitude and another of irreligion.
There is an hour of sorrow and an hour of love,
and yet another, the lightest—a fleeting hour of inspiration.
Our God, chance, king of kings and laws,
leads us to anarchy, guides us to law,
and suddenly grants us the hour of clarity.
And in this hour, we all, like mischievous children,
with love or with sorrow, play at life,
in this tormented and boundless children's park.
PARQUE INFANTIL
Efraín: tú conoces la marcha de este mundo
y el sentido que damos y que nos da la vida.
Nada existe, en verdad. El placer y el dolor
no son sino momentos de la escala sensual.
Hay una hora de angustia y otra de bienestar.
Una de gratitud y otra de irreligión.
Hay una hora de pena y hay una hora de amor,
y otra, la más liviana, hora de inspiración.
Nuestro Dios, el azar, rey de reyes y leyes,
nos lleva a la anarquía, nos conduce a la ley,
y nos da, de repente, la hora de entendimiento.
Y en esta hora es que todos, como niños traviesos,
con amor o con pena jugamos a la vida,
en este atormentado y amplio parque infantil.
MAKE WAY FOR THE COSMIC RACE
Men of fiery Asia, white men of Europe,
black men of Africa, dreamers of India,
hear the clear voice of the man of this America,
a voice from the soul that says: “Make way for the cosmic race.”
The cursed weeping of fraternal struggles has ceased,
pure instinct has died—man now reflects—
and it is in the Amazon, land of four spheres,
where the voice murmurs: “Make way for the cosmic race.”
And yet, there is one, there is always one among all—
perhaps the most foolish, for being the most patriotic—
who lays claim to the land as though it were his own possession.
And before his pleading voice, another voice rises in song:
“Men of Asia and Europe, Africa and Oceania,
men of both Americas, make way for the cosmic race.”
PASO A LA RAZA CÓSMICA
Hombres del Asia ardiente, blancos hombres de Europa,
hombres negros del África, soñadores de la India,
oíd la clara voz del hombre de esta América,
voz del alma que os dice: Paso a la raza cósmica.
Cesó el llanto maldito de las luchas hermanas,
murió el instinto puro—el hombre ya medita—
y es en el Amazonas, tierra de cuatro esferas,
donde la voz murmura: Paso a la raza cósmica.
Y, sin embargo, hay uno, siempre hay uno entre todos,
—por cierto el más imbécil por ser el más patriota,
que reclama la tierra como una cosa propia.
Y ante su voz que implora, surge la voz que canta:
Hombres de Asia y Europa, África y Oceanía,
hombres de ambas Américas, paso a la raza cósmica.
INTERNATIONAL
ROME is in Quito. Behold, here is the Vatican.
It sings and prays in the mysterious, feudal sky—
in a cycle adorned with immortal hosts
and disposed to joy, tenderness, and love.
Rome is in Quito, indeed. Here is the Aventine.
It speaks and laughs in the voluptuous, sensual tower,
a tower raised for dreaming eyes,
open to hope, conquest, and absolution.
Doubt me not. Behold: the Latins stand as equals,
not by their origin, but by their gift to create:
From each living being, they fashion a whole one,
and from each nation, they forge a universal people.
Nations, too, journey, and Rome arrives in Quito,
with every wandering moon and every fixed star.
INTERNACIONAL
ROMA está en Quito. Ved. Aquí está el Vaticano.
Canta y reza en el cielo misterioso y feudal,
en el ciclo amoblado con hostias inmortales
y dispuesto a la dicha, la ternura el amor.
Roma está en Quito, sí. Aquí está el Aventino.
Habla y ríe en la torre voluptuosa y sensual,
en la torre elevada para ojos soñadores
y abierta a la esperanza, la conquista, el perdón.
No os engaño. Mirad. Los latinos se igualan
antes que por su origen por su don creador:
de cada ser viviente hacen un ser total
y de cada pueblo hacen un pueblo universal.
Los pueblos también viajan, y Roma viene a Quito
en cada luna errante y cada estrella fija.
EROTIC GYPSY TALE
I know of a gypsy who, one day in my land,
raised the beautiful tambourine of her gypsy dance.
One who, delighting in the fortune she held,
with grace and irony, laughed and smiled.
She was Turkish, emotional, voluptuous, sensual,
a wanderer, like all the gypsies of the world.
In her eyes, the sky was clear and profound,
and in her mouth, her laughter was celestial.
Today, she journeys on. Her tambourine still spins,
dancing in her hands with a poet’s soul.
She keeps on, mastering the difficult art of lying.
And I still love her, for in me she sought only
that fortune which made her
laugh and smile.
GITANERÍA ERÓTICA
Yo sé de una gitana que en mi tierra alzó un día,
la bella pandereta de su gitanería.
Una, que al ver de gusto la suerte que tenía,
con gracia e ironía reía y sonreía.
Era turca, emotiva, voluptuosa, sensual,
y errante como todas las gitanas del mundo.
En sus ojos el cielo era claro, profundo,
y en su boca la risa era una risa astral.
Hoy sigue de camino. Sigue su pandereta
bailando entre sus manos con alma de poeta.
Sigue, sigue en el arte difícil de mentir.
Y yo la sigo amando, porque en mi solo quiso
esa suerte que le hizo
reír y sonreír.
Selected Works
- Parque infantil (viejos y nuevos alejandrinos) (Editorial Labor, Quito, Ecuador, 1938). Available here.
Note: Information on Efraín Fabara is extremely limited. I was unable to find details about his years of life, education, personal background, or other biographical information beyond his 1938 poetry collection Parque Infantil. If you have any additional information or insights about this poet, please feel free to contact me—I would greatly appreciate it!