Pablo Neruda's last poem

[ConsAreLiars]

was a rant against the bloody massacre of democracy in Chile that took place on September 11, 1973 under the direction of war criminals Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger. Those monsters, and their servants in Chile, brought a decade of of fascism to South America's oldest democracy, and replaced it with a government that ruled by murder, torture, and a relentless attack on the standard of living of the working people, in the service of the World Bank and multinational capital.

You can find declassified documents about the coup and Operation Condor here: http://www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB8/nsaebb8i.htm

Here is the poem. I had been looking for it online for a long time, and finally remembered enough keywords to find it. As best I can discover, the English translation is only on one site, in India, where, apparently, democratic impulses still have a voice and Neruda's poem is seen as worth remembering. I remember helping with a translation when it first was made public (I think it came out better even though only a few of us (not me) spoke Spanish) and the gist of it, if not the words, has stayed with me through the years. From: http://www.ganashakti.com/old/2004/040719/world1.htm

The original version can be found at: http://www.elinconformistadigital.com/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=958&mode=&order=0

Nixon, Frei and Pinochet
Until today, until this bitter
Month of September
Of the year 1973.
With Boardoberry, Garrastazu and Banzer
Voracious hyenas
Of our history, rodents gnawing the banners conquered
With so much blood and so much fire,
Muddied on the estates,
Infernal depredators,
Satraps a thousand times sold
And sellers, incited
By the wolves of New York.
Machines hungry for dollars,
Stained in the sacrifice
Of their martyred peoples,
Prostituted merchants
Of the American bread and air,
Murdering quagmires, herd
Of whore mongering chiefs,
With no other law but torture
And hunger whipping the people.

[Canuckistanian]

1. Don Pablo!

If you ever saw the movie, "Il Postino" (The Postman), you'll understand.

[dweller]

2. to cherish all living things.

nope, not a mispost.

dp

[Judi Lynn]

3. Thanks for posting the Neruda poem,& the declassified documents.

Very interesting. I'm glad to see _Bush's administration hasn't found a way to re-classify them already.

[ConsAreLiars]

4. To add a bit, Victor Jara was a guitarist, poet, singer whose hand were

broken by the US-installed agents of corporatism in an attempt to humiliate him. When taunted to play his guitar, he instead raised his voice to sing, and lead the other prisoners in singing, "Venceremos" (roughly, "We shall overcome"). They then killed him, but his voice and the truth he told lived on (see http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/165363.stm ). Arlo Guthrie memorialized his life in this song from: http://www.arlo.net/lyrics/victor-jara.shtml

Victor Jara
words by Adrian Mitchell, music by Arlo Guthrie

Victor Jara of Chile
Lived like a shooting star
He fought for the people of Chile
With his songs and his guitar
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

Victor Jara was a peasant
He worked from a few years old
He sat upon his father's plow
And watched the earth unfold
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

Now when the neighbors had a wedding
Or one of their children died
His mother sang all night for them
With Victor by her side
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

He grew up to be a fighter
Against the people's wrongs
He listened to their grief and joy
And turned them into songs
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

He sang about the copper miners
And those who worked the land
He sang about the factory workers
And they knew he was their man
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

He campaigned for Allende
Working night and day
He sang "Take hold of your brothers hand
You know the future begins today"
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

Then the generals seized Chile
They arrested Victor then
They caged him in a stadium
With five-thousand frightened men
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

Victor stood in the stadium
His voice was brave and strong
And he sang for his fellow prisoners
Till the guards cut short his song
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

They broke the bones in both his hands
They beat him on the head
They tore him with electric shocks
And then they shot him dead
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

Victor Jara of Chile
Lived like a shooting star
He fought for the people of Chile
With his songs and his guitar
His hands were gentle, his hands were strong

[Swamp Rat]

5. El poema entero:

Las satrapías

Trujillo, Somoza, Carias,
hasta hoy, hasta este amargo
mes de septiembre
del año 1948,
con Moriñigo (o Natalicio)
en Paraguay, hienas voraces
de nuestra historia, roedores
de las banderas conquistadas
con tanta sangre y tanto fuego,
encharcados en sus haciendas,
depredadores infernales,
sátrapas mil veces vendidos
y vendedores, azuzados
por los lobos de Nueva York.
Máquinas hambrientas de dòlares,
manchadas en el sacrificio
de sus pueblos martirizados,
prostituidos mercaderes
del pan y el aire americano,
cenagales verdugos, piara
de prostibularios caciques,
sin otra ley que la tortura
y el hambre azotada del pueblo.

Doctores honoris causa
de Columbia University,
con la toga sobre las fauces
y sobre el cuchillo, feroces
trashumantes del Waldorf Asteria
y de las cámaras malditas
donde se pudren las edades
eternas del encarcelado.

Pequeños buitres recibidos
por Mr. Truman, recargados
de relojes, condecorados
por "Loyalty", desangradores
de patrias, sòlo hay uno
peor que vosotros, sòlo hay uno
y ése lo dio mi patria un día
para desdicha de mi pueblo.

– Pablo Neruda

El libro entero aquí.

[ConsAreLiars]

6. kick for the daytimers (n/t)

[ConsAreLiars]

7. One last kick, for our poets (n/t)