Translated into English by Richard Gabela on April 5, 2024, from the original work “Danza de las Hojas” by Gerardo Chiriboga (1895-1966) of Riobamba, Ecuador. I have translated the title of the poem as “Dance of the Leaves.”
DANCE OF THE LEAVES
It’s Autumn.
In the landscape, sadness deepens.
The sun waves a handkerchief
in farewell;
its final rays fade
on the Earth’s dry lap.
The trees huddle together
like Capuchin monks, in mystical meditation,
longing for the hours
when the sun will grace them with its kiss.
Harlequins of the seasonal farce,
they shed their leafy disguises
at the piercing winds.
Who has not heard the laments
of the brotherly trees,
the cries of their wounded chastity,
as they’re stripped of their leaves?
Poor leaves, withered and falling—
dry, pale, and torn;
nature’s confetti of the Carnival Calendar,
flecks
of mutation.
Leaves,
virgins violated by the satyrs
of ancient Aeolus.
Swept up by the hurricane,
they rise, swirl, fall…
they are wounded doves in the air,
suicidal swans upon the water,
and on the earth,
they lie like streamers from the bygone fair.
Leaves,
hypnotized butterflies
burning their wings
in the sun’s final gasp.
The great burner of the world
dims in Autumn’s fingers,
now unleashing
the wolves
of Winter.
Poor leaves,
symbols of life’s hours fallen
from the heights of the clock sphere,
from the
CLOCK OF THE SUN.
Translator’s Note: This translation of Dance of the Leaves from Gerardo Chiriboga’s 1934 poetry collection Minuto muerto aims to capture the poem’s poignant meditation on the cyclical decay and renewal found in nature, a theme emblematic of Chiriboga’s work. I was drawn to this piece for its vivid personification of autumn leaves, transforming them into figures of tragic beauty—wounded doves, suicidal swans, and hypnotized butterflies—each reflecting the fragility of life’s fleeting moments. Chiriboga’s language layers nostalgia with a somber acceptance of life’s inevitable passage, as seen in the leaves’ “wounded chastity” and “burning wings.” The poem’s final image of fallen leaves as “the hours of life” scattered from the “CLOCK OF THE SUN” resonates with a deep existential awareness, inviting readers to contemplate time as both a destructive and renewing force. This translation endeavors to retain the original’s lyrical depth and evoke the melancholic beauty that defines Chiriboga’s reflections on nature and transience.
Original Spanish Version:
DANZA DE LAS HOJAS
Es Otoño.
En el paisaje se cuaja la tristeza.
Agita su pañuelo el sol
en despedida;
sus últimos rayos se desmayan
en el seco regazo de la Tierra.
Acurrúcanse los árboles
como capuchinos, en mística meditación;
añoran el beso de las horas
de sol.
Arlequines de la farsa de las estaciones
se despojan su disfraz de hojas
a puñaladas del viento.
¿Quien no ha escuchado los lamentos
de los hermanos árboles
y los gritos de su castidad herida
al desnudarse de sus hojas?
Las pobres hojas, mustias cáen
secas, cloróticas y rotas
conffetti vegetal
del Calendario carnaval,
motas
de la mutación.
Hojas,
vírgenes violadas por los sátiros
del viejo Eolo.
Raptadas por el huracán
se alzan, giran, caen . . .
son palomas heridas, en el aire,
son cisnes suicidas, en el agua,
y en la tierra
son serpentinas de la feria que pasó.
Hojas,
mariposas hipnotizadas
que van quemando sus alas
en el último estertor del sol.
El gran mechero del mundo
se adelgaza en los dedos del Otoño,
que ya suelta las amarras
de los lobos
del Invierno.
Pobres hojas,
son
las horas de la vida que han caído
de lo alto
de una esfera de reloj,
del
RELOJ DEL SOL.