Of ships and shoes and sealing wax

I was 14, I believe, when I fell thoroughly in love with the Spanish language. I had taken beginning Spanish courses in middle school, but it wasn't until high school and getting into more advanced courses that I realized that I needed this to be a part of my life. It sounds slightly melodramatic, but it opened up whole new worlds of peoples and literature and culture that I had never known before. I love the challenge of learning something new and different.

What started in high school only grew in college. I had an amazing professor, and I learned so much about the world that I would never have known otherwise. He introduced his class to Hispanic music and poetry and life in general, and I will always be grateful for that. I wish I could have found the poem he first introduced us to, since it is one of my favorites. However, it's been three years, and I don't remember the author's name. So, I had to make do with finding a new poem and poet. I am glad I did. "Canción: Si mi voz muriera en tierra" (Song: If my voice dies on land) is a beautiful and haunting piece by Rafael Alberti.

Rafael Alberti is thought of today as one of the most influential modern Spanish poets. He was a part of the group of poets called "Generation of 1927"; a group that brought modern Spanish poetry back to the quality of the 16th century. Continuing with my apparent fixation on politically involved poets, Alberti became very involved in politics and in 1934 began publishing the revolutionary journal Octubre with his wife María Teresa León. They stayed in Spain throughout almost all of the Spanish Civil War until, after the fall of Madrid, they were evacuated. He made friends with several other famous expatriates. My own favorites from among them were Pablo Picasso, Boris Pasternak (author of Dr. Zhivago), and Sergei Prokofiev (composer best known for Peter and the Wolf and Romeo and Juliet). Finally, after nearly 40 years of exile, Alberti returned home to Spain.

Song

If my voice dies on land...

If my voice dies on land,
take it down to the sea
and leave it on the shore.

Take it down to the sea
and make it captain
of a white man-of-war.

Honor it with
a sailor’s medal:
over its heart an anchor,
and on the anchor a star,
and on the star the wind,
and on the wind a sail!

Translated by Mark Strand