Translated to English by Richard Gabela on September 26, 2024, from the original work “LLAMA EN LA ESQUINA” by Marco Antonio La Mota (????–1946) of Guayaquil, Ecuador. I have translated the title of the poem as “Flame on the Corner.”
THE NATIONAL POLITICAL POEM
TO MY PEOPLE OR WITH THEIR VERY WORDS
Flame on the Corner
A flame licks the town’s lips:
Zambo Mindiola shares
his fiery premonition…
“Let’s see, damn it! It’s still dark.
Do you hear the bullets? Buzzing like bumblebees.”
On the corner, the dawn of desire rises…
No one stands still.
Voices tremble on lips; sparks blaze in eyes.
This corner of the port is heavy with gestation
Shouts! Words! A hurricane of revolt.
Black Manola passes by with her load of tortillas.
Dark flirtations cling to her large ears:
“Chola of my soul, you’ll see
how we play with fire!”
She answers with a coy smile. Then, with the saccharine cry of a street vendor:
“Tasty tortillas, my boys, and sweet black coffee.”
(On the corner,
defiant gazes interlock.)
Stares.
Breaths clash like crossed swords, like violent chains with Hurricane Force.
Yearnings drive the Guayaco people—they hurl themselves into the tumult.
Translator’s Note: In translating Marco Antonio La Mota’s “Flame on the Corner,” originally published in El Telégrafo on August 6, 1944, I aimed to preserve the poem’s vivid imagery and the charged atmosphere of imminent revolution in Guayaquil. Cultural nuances were carefully considered, and certain terms were left in their original Spanish to maintain their depth and significance. “Zambo Mindiola” remains untranslated because “zambo” is a descriptive term used before a name to denote a person of mixed African and Indigenous heritage, honoring the cultural identity and authenticity of the character and setting. Similarly, “chola” is a complex term that usually refers to a woman of mixed Indigenous and European descent; it can be derogatory but is also used affectionately. By leaving “chola” intact, I allow the term’s nuanced implications to emerge organically through the narrative, letting the context speak for itself. Expressions like “barajo,” a colloquial exclamation akin to “damn it,” and references such as “Guayaco,” denoting the people of Guayaquil, carry deep-rooted significance in Ecuadorian identity. By thoughtfully rendering these elements, I aimed to retain the poem’s emotional intensity and rhythmic flow, making it accessible to English readers while honoring its original cultural and historical context.
Original Spanish:
EL POEMA POLITICO NACIONAL
A MI PUEBLO O CON SU MISMA PALABRA
LLAMA EN LA ESQUINA
Una lengüeta de fuego quema los labios del pueblo:
El Zambo Mindiola charla
su cálida corazonada…
“Vamos a ver barajo! Si todavía es oscuro.
Estas oyendo las balas? Zumban como abejones”
En la esquina se agiganta la alborada del deseo…
Nadie se queda quieto.
En los labios tiemblan voces y en los ojos brillan chispas
Es la esquina porteña preñada de gestaciones
Gritos! Palabras! Un huracán de revuelta.
Pasa la negra Manola con su carga de tortillas.
Le prenden piropos negros a sus orejas grandotas,
“Vas a ver chola del alma
como se juega con fuego!”
y ella responde con dengues. Y un pregón azucarado:
“Ricas tortillas mis niños y dulce café retinto”
(En la esquina se contemplan
las pupilas desafiantes).
Miradas.
Cruce de espada de aliento. Encadenaje violento, Fuerza Huracán, Ansias
del pueblo “guayaco”, que se avienta a la contienda…