La hija de Valdemar / José Antonio Ramos Sucre

Valdemar’s Daughter

     The pines appear humble at the foot of the palace that was raised with the exaltation of birds of prey by arrogant men. Its hulk conceals for some time the ascent of the moon after it has evaded the ridge of the mountain. Its imposing fabrication depresses the bold project of the Norseman, who merely approaches in peace. It is in accord with the rugged place where the torrent falls from the silent peak, frequented by eagles, and where the mystery of the neighboring jungle reigns. It receives from the mournful past a tremendous majesty that the prattling elves disturb with the night’s favor.
     The concealed flower in a grove is not consumed with more misfortune than the nobleman’s daughter in the modesty of the tower, very close to the restless clouds in the flight of the glacial winds. She delays amid the tempest with the daring of the bird in the vertex of a mast. She alleviates herself from the frozen clime, from the desert landscape, from the dark green tree with the spectacle of the snow. She then recalls the white and cold marble that guards the remains of her mother, at whose side she yearns to rest.
     She barely enjoys the company of the familiar deer, whose branched head discourages the tender gala of the mountains and prefers the mirror of motionless lakes. She has him under her feet when she rouses the deep and tremulous anguish of the harp.
     She sings the amorous winter lament that attains funereal nuptials with the earth; the wandering of the seafarers on the unpopulated sea; the threat of the deformed fish and the mass of the ice floe; the shipwrecked man’s fainting in the immense night; the white and fierce moon, a nuncio of death.
     She escapes captivity by means of the mystical strength of the exalted and solitary song. She cultivates the divine attribute in the manner of the pious exercise that consumes life and hurries time. She awaits the final hour with a melodious hymn for deserving in such a manner the place that the country’s faith augurs amid the winged and errant souls. Fortunate hope, liberal rescue from hard confinement: once free and with the new form, she will follow the birds on the journey to the festive and musical South.

La torre de Timón (1925)

{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

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