Carlos Dousdebés (1902-1958) was an Ecuadorian poet whose only published collection, Surtidores blancos (White Fountains), was released in Quito in 1930 by Editorial Bolívar and edited by Alfonso and José Rumazo González. His literary career spanned from at least 1920, with his early poem “Mane Thecel Phares,” until 1958, marked by his final dated poem written on Easter Sunday of that year. Though his later work remained largely unpublished, scattered between Guayaquil and Quito, his manuscripts show a meticulous revision process with multiple versions of each poem. His writing focused on two main themes: religious contemplation and a gentle form of love poetry. While most of his work explored intimate themes and natural imagery, his brief time in New York in 1930 produced two poems engaging with urban modernity, particularly “La Nueva Primavera.” The Ecuadorian poet and critic Augusto Arias noted that Dousdebés’s soul remained “always in flight, with tragic persistence, irremediably ill” until his death.
Dousdebés book “Surtidores blancos”
Dousdebés only book, Surtidores blancos (White Fountains) is a collection of Spanish-language poetry published in 1930 in Quito, Ecuador. The book opens with an extensive prologue by Alfonso Rumazo González that provides a comprehensive history of Ecuadorian poetry.
The collection itself contains several themed sections:
- Ventanas al Jardín (Windows to the Garden)
- Desde Muy Adentro (From Deep Within)
- Luces Cristalinas (Crystalline Lights)
- Arquería Floral (Floral Archway)
- Camino de la Tarde (Evening Path)
- Flores de Nácar (Mother-of-Pearl Flowers)
- Los Poemas Finales (The Final Poems)
The poetry largely deals with themes of love, spirituality, nature (especially flowers and stars), and melancholy. Dousdebés’s style is characterized by its delicacy and musicality, with many poems focusing on intimate emotions and religious contemplation. The book represents an important work in early 20th century Ecuadorian literature, bridging romantic and modernist sensibilities.
The prologue places this work in the context of Ecuador’s literary development, discussing how the country’s poetry evolved from colonial times through independence and into the modern era.
Poems
Translated by Richard Gabela on November 15, 2024.
MENE TEKEL PHARES
To Eduardo Samaniego y Álvarez,
from your friend, with all sincerity.
C. Dousdebés
Judging impartially the charming blonde,
who harbors, deep within her heart, hatred for us,
and the sensitive, lunatic brunette,
I find neither virtue nor fault to sway the balance.
If we gaze upon that pale, unsympathetic one,
her fleeing eyes unsettle our thoughts,
the memory of her enigmatic mouth oppresses us,
and her ridiculous self-assurance provokes bitter laughter...
And in assessing the one who wept for our sake,
or the deceiver who smiled at others,
feigning caresses to sustain our delusion,
We find that all of them, both gallant and cruel,
have inscribed, deeply, with their lunatic hands,
a "Mene Tekel Phares" upon our hearts.
Holy Tuesday, 1920.
* (Translator's Note) Mene Tekel Pharse (author used: "Mane Thecel Phares")- A biblical phrase from the Book of Daniel, chapter 5, which was interpreted as a divine judgment against the Babylonian king Belshazzar, foretelling the imminent downfall of his kingdom. The phrase translates as: "Mene" (numbered), "Tekel" (weighed), "Phares" (divided). The variation in spelling between the biblical "Mene Tekel Pharse" and Dousdebés's "Mane Thecel Phares" reflects common Spanish transliterations of the time, where the Classical Latin-influenced spellings (using 'a' instead of 'e', and 'ch' instead of 'k') were often preferred in literary works. I have opted to use the modern English rendering of the phrase in my translation.
MANE THECEL PHARES
Para Eduardo Samaniego y Álvarez, con toda la sinceridad de su amigo.
C. Dousdebés.
Juzgando imparcialmente de esta rubia simpática,
que nos odia en el fondo de su propio sentir,
y de aquella morena sensitiva y lunática,
no hay virtud ni demérito sobre qué decidir.
Si juzgamos de aquella pálida y antipática 5
nos inquietan sus ojos que parecen huir,
nos aplasta el recuerdo de su boca enigmática,
su creimiento ridículo nos obliga a reír...
Y al juzgar de aquella otra que lloró por nosotros,
o de la engañadora que sonrió con otros 10
al fingir las caricias para nuestra ilusión,
Encontramos que todas, galantes o antipáticas,
escribieron, muy hondo, con sus manos lunáticas,
un Mane Thecel Phares en nuestro corazón.
Martes Santo de 1920.
CHRISTMAS
Tonight, I’ve felt like a child once more
and laid my heart upon the windowsill,
hoping Old Noel might bring me affection
to fill the void where my dreams once lived…
But... who knows?... Will the caravan
of Christmas stop for one who pleads for love?
My window is so unknown!
Only the morning sun dares to enter,
and only my sorrow ever departs from it...
Beneath the blue transparency of the sky,
dreams take flight within my heart.
The stars stretch their journey toward me,
as if their deepest longing were
to gaze upon themselves in my balcony’s glass.
A single memory of pain remains—
the finest things always slip away...
Let us weep today for what no longer exists:
how sweet it feels to have a sad soul
when the heart is brimming with love.
Snow, white as ermine, descends,
beating against my balcony’s glass...
Old Noel passed by without affection,
saying there was a heart more childlike still,
and carried mine away for himself......
NAVIDAD
En esta noche me he sentido niño
y he puesto en la ventana el corazón,
por si el Viejo Noel traiga un cariño
y lo ponga en lugar de mi ilusión...
Mas... ¿quién sabe!... ¿vendrá la caravana
de Navidad para quien pide amor?...
¡Si es tan desconocida mi ventana!
Sólo entra en ella el sol por la mañana
y sólo sale de ella mi dolor...
Bajo la azul diafanidad del cielo
vuelan ensueños en mi corazón...
Los astros hacia mí tienden su vuelo
como si fuera su mejor anhelo
mirarse en el cristal de mi balcón...
Sólo un recuerdo de dolor me asiste
siempre se aleja lo que fue mejor...
Lloremos hoy por lo que ya no existe:
es tan dulce tener el alma triste
cuando está lleno el corazón de amor...
Cae la nieve de color de armiño
azotando el vitral de mi balcón...
Pasó el Viejo Noel sin el cariño,
dijo que había un corazón más niño
y se llevó para él mi corazón......
From: Surtidores blancos (1930)
TORTURE
Lord! You who have given me all my poetry,
do not strip my lyre of love's melodies.
The cloud that rose was one of joy...
... why now does melancholy’s snow fall
upon the divine flower of my dreams, Lord?
What evil spirit has frozen my clouds?
Why does this snow descend upon my soul...?
... Satan seeks to conquer, Lord, Your cherubs...
... will they not rise against You as You ascend,
while their wings are veiled in the dust of their fall...?
... Mercy, Lord... my eyes turn toward Your heaven,
and Your water reflects within my gaze...
... in every crystal-clear transparency, my yearning
solidifies into stars that trace a luminous flight
toward the celestial distance of Your Eden...
... The poet has found his stars fallen,
his flowers severed by the swift hurricane...
... someone, with a tempest of grievances,
erases the path that might have borne
the accusing imprint of the scythe...
Honey flees the lips, music escapes the ear;
it has been so long since eyes beheld a glow...
... how can shadow linger beneath the fallen tree,
why must love linger as the shadow of forgetting,
why must the flower bloom amid the thorns?
... If not in the night, why lift the bold
gaze to the nakedness of a constellation?
Why must the poet find the purest stars
only in the shadow of a hidden life,
why must his song be born of sorrow alone?
... How long, Lord! must the splendors delay
before they reach the door of inner life?
... Could it be that the basest grudges persist,
waiting to see the thorn, most fertile in pain,
blossom into a most pure lily of love...?
It is time, Lord, for dawn to smile...
let the shadow of the wicked spirit flee Your light.
Grant that the poet may find his song in joy,
and, as a triumph over melancholy,
may the cloud rise anew from the ice of the cross!
TORTURA
Señor! tú que me has dado toda mi poesía
no quites a mi lira los sones de su amor.
la nube que subió fue la de mi alegría…
... por qué cae la nieve de la melancolía
sobre la flor divina de mi ilusión… Señor?...
¿Qué espíritu maligno ha helado mis nubes?
¿por qué cae esta nieve sobre todo mi ser…?
... Satán quiere vencer, Señor, a tus querubes...
... no les revelará contra ti porque subes
mientras cubre sus alas el polvo del caer...?
... Piedad Señor… mis ojos miran hacia tu cielo
y tu agua es mirada por mis ojos también...
... en cualquier transparencia cristaliza mi anhelo
en estrellas que trazan un luminoso vuelo
hacia la lejanía celeste de tu Edén......
... El poeta ha encontrado caídas sus estrellas
y cortadas sus flores al huracán veloz....
... alguien borra con una tempestad de querellas
la ruta que podía tener entre sus huellas
a la acusadora digital de la hoz...
La miel huye los labios, la música el oído;
ha tiempo que los ojos no miran un fulgor…
... ¿cómo puede haber sombra bajo el árbol caído,
por qué será el amor la sombra del olvido,
por qué sólo entre espinas ha de hallarse la flor?
... Si no es en la noche a qué alzar la indiscreta
mirada hacia el desnudo de una constelación…!
¿por qué sólo en la sombra de una vida secreta
ha de encontrar los astros más puros el poeta,
por qué sólo en la pena ha de hallar su canción?
... ¡Hasta cuándo Señor! tardan los resplandores
en llegar a la puerta de la vida interior?
¿... no será que se obstinan los más bajos rencores
hasta ver que la espina más fecunda en dolores
brote en una purísima azucena de amor…?
Es tiempo ya Señor de que el alba sonría...
la sombra del espíritu maligno huya tu luz
haz que el poeta encuentre su canto en la alegría
y que como derrota de la melancolía
resucite la nube del hielo de la cruz!
From: Surtidores blancos (1930)
THE DAY
In the mornings, my eyes take flight,
their lashes fluttering like restless wings,
and as they escape the confines of my being,
they yearn to radiate their gaze upon the mountains...
In the afternoons, my ardent lips long
to ensnare the twilight within their curves,
to let its crimson embers fade gently,
captured within their tender outlines...
And at night, I feel my soul slip away—
I know not where, but I follow its trail,
for the clarity of the fountain reveals
countless stars shimmering in its depths...
EL DÍA
Las mañanas siento que mis ojos vuelan
agitando como alas las pestañas
y huyendo la cárcel de mi ser anhelan
irradiar miradas hacia las montañas...
Las tardes mis labios fervientes quisieran
tener el crepúsculo preso en sus perfiles
para que sus rojas llamaredas mueran
presas en aquellos contornos sutiles...
Y en la noche siento que mi alma se aleja
no sé a donde pero conozco sus huellas
porque la pureza de la fuente deja
mirar en su fondo millones de estrellas...
From: Surtidores blancos (1930)
Selected Works
- Surtidores blancos (1930). Available here.
ReferenceS
- Biblioteca Virtual Miguel de Cervantes (Alicante, Spain; Founded 2000).
Carlos Dousdebés: Obras seleccionadas. Retrieved on October 28, 2024. Click to view. - Biblioteca Nacional del Ecuador Eugenio Espejo (Quito, Ecuador; Founded 1894).
Surtidores blancos de Carlos Dousdebés. Retrieved on October 28, 2024. Click to view.