A Collection of Poems

of Dr. Jose RizalPrepared by:Rea M. ReyesBSED 4-2MAPEH MAJOR

Mi Ultimo Adios / Huling Paalam

Salin ito ng huling sinulat ni Rizal nguni’t walang pamagat. Sinulat niya ito sa Fort Santiago, isinilid sa kusinilyang dealkohol, at ibinigay sa kapatid na si Trinidad nang huling dumalaw sa kaniya bago siya (Rizal) barilin.

Paalam na, sintang lupang tinubuan,Bayang masagana sa init ng araw,Edeng maligaya sa ami’y pumanawAt perlas ng dagat sa dakong Silangan.

Inihahandog ko ng ganap na tuwaSa iyo yaring buhay na lanta na’t aba;Naging dakila ma’y iaalay rin ngaKung dahil sa iyong ikatitimawa.

Ang nanga sa digmaan dumog sa paglabanHandog din sa iyo ang kanilang buhay,Hirap ay di pansin at di gunamgunamAng pagkaparool o pagtagumpay.

Bibitaya’t madlang mabangis na sakitO pakikibakang lubhang mapanganib,Pawang titiisin kung ito ang nais Ng baya’t tahanang pinakaiibig.

Ako’y mamamatay ngayong minamalas Ang kulay ng langit na nanganganinagIbinababalang araw ay sisikatSa kabila niyang mapanglaw na ulap.

Kung dugo ang iyong kinakailanganSa ikadidilag ng iyong pagsilang,Dugo ko’y ibubo’t sa isa man lamangNang gumigiti mong sinag ay kuminang.

Ang mga nasa ko, mulang magkaisip,Magpahanggang ngayon maganap ang bait,Ang ikaw’y makitnag hiyas na marikitNg dagat Silangan na nakaliligid.

Noo mo’y maningning at sa mga mata Mapait na luha bakas ma’y wala na,Wala ka ng poot, wala ng balisa,Walang kadungua’t munti mang pangamba,

Sa sandaling buhay maalab kong naisAng kagalingan mo’t ang paiwang sulitNg kaluluwa king gayak ng aalis:Ginhawa’y kamtan mo! Anong pagkarikit!

Nang maaba’t ikaw’y mapataas lamang,Mamatay at upang mabigyan kang buihay,Malibing sa lupang puspos ng karika’tSa silong ng iyong langit ay mahimlay.

Kung sa ibang araw ikaw’y may mapansinNipot na bulaklak sa aba kong libing,Sa gitna ng mga damong masisinsin,Hagka’t ang halik mo’y itaos sa akin.

Sa samyo ng iyong pagsuyong matamis,Mataos na taghoy ng may sintang sibsib,Bayang tumaggap noo ko ng init,Na natatabunan ng lupang malamig.

Bayan mong ako’y malasin ng buwanSa liwang niyang hilano’t malamlam;Bayan ihatid sa aking liwaywayAng banaang niyang dagling napaparam.

Bayaang humalik ang simoy ng hangin;Bayaang sa huning masaya’y awitinNg darapong ibon sa kurus ng libingAng buhay payapang ikinaaaliw.

Bayaang ang araw na lubhang maningasPawiin ang ulan, gawing pawang ulap,Maging panganuring sa langit umakyat,At ang aking daing ay mapakilangkap.

Bayaang ang aking maagang pagpanw,Itangis ng isnag lubos na nagmamahal;Kung may umalala sa akin ng dasal,Ako’y iyo sanang idalangin naman.

Idalangin mo rin ang di nagkapalad,Na nangamatay na’t yaong nanganhirap sa daming pasakit, at ang lumalangap naming mga ina luhang masaklap.

Idalangin sampo ng bawa’t ulila at nangapipiit na tigib ng dusa; idalangin mo ring ikaw’y matubos na sa pagkaaping laong binata.

Kung nababalot na ang mga libingan Ng sapot na itim ng gabing mapanglaw, at wala ng tanod kundi pawing patay, huwang gambalain ang katahimikan.

Pagpitagan mo ang hiwagang lihim, at mapapakinggan ang tinig marahil, ng isang saltero: Ito nga’y ako ring inaawitanka ng aking paggiliw.

Kung ang libingan kong limot na ang madla ay wala nang kurus at bato mang tanda sa nangangabubukid ay ipaubayang bungkali’t isabog ang natipong lupa.

Ang mga abo ko’y bago pailanglang mauwi sa wala na pinaggalingan, ay makalt munag parang kapupunanng iyong alabok sa lupang tuntungan.

Sa gayo’y walaa ng anoman sa akin, na limutin mo ma’t aking lilibutin ang himpapawid mo kaparanga’t hangin at ako sa iyo’y magiging taginting.

Bango, tinig, higing, awit na masaya liwanag aat kulay na lugod ng mata’t uulit-ulitin sa tuwi-tuwina.

Ako’y yayao na sa bayang payapa, na walang alipi’t punoing mapang-

aba, doo’y di nanatay ang paniniwala at ang naghahari Diyos na dakila.

Paalam anak, magulang, kapatid, bahagi ng puso’t unang nakaniig, ipagpasalamat ang aking pag-alis sa buhay na itong lagi ng ligalig.

Paalam na liyag, tanging kaulayaw, taga ibang lupang aking katuwaan, paaalam sa inyo, mga minamahal; mamatay ay ganap na katahimikan.

Our Mother Tongue

A poem originally in Tagalog written by Rizal when he was only eight years old

IF truly a people dearly loveThe tongue to them by Heaven sent,They'll surely yearn for libertyLike a bird above in the firmament.

BECAUSE by its language one can judgeA town, a barrio, and kingdom;And like any other created thingEvery human being loves his freedom.

ONE who doesn't love his native tongue,Is worse than putrid fish and beast;AND like a truly precious thingIt therefore deserves to be cherished.

THE Tagalog language's akin to Latin,To English, Spanish, angelical tongue;For God who knows how to look after usThis language He bestowed us upon.

AS others, our language is the sameWith alphabet and letters of its own,It was lost because a storm did destroyOn the lake the bangka 1 in years by gone.

Hymn to Labor

Salin sa tulang “Himno al Trabajo” na sinulat ni Rizal sa kahilingan ng kaniyang mga kaibigang taga-Lipaa, Batangas upang awitin sa pag-diriwang dahil sa pagiging lungsod ng Lipa. Inihandog niya ang tula sa masisipag na tao ng Lipa. Pinuri niyang maigi ang paggawa’t kasipagan ng tao “ Paggawa’y purihin na siyang sa baya’y nagbibigay-ningning.”

For the Motherland in war,For the Motherland in peace,Will the Filipino keep watch,He will live until life will cease!

MEN:

Now the East is glowing with light,Go! To the field to till the land,For the labour of man sustainsFam'ly, home and Motherland.Hard the land may turn to be,Scorching the rays of the sun above...For the country, wife and childrenAll will be easy to our love.

(Chorus)

WIVES:Go to work with spirits high,For the wife keeps home faithfully,Inculcates love in her childrenFor virtue, knowledge and country.When the evening brings repose,On returning joy awaits you,And if fate is adverse, the wife,Shall know the task to continue.

(Chorus)MAIDENS :Hail! Hail! Praise to labour,Of the country wealth and vigor!For it brow serene's exalted,It's her blood, life, and ardor.If some youth would show his loveLabor his faith will sustain :Only a man who struggles and worksWill his offspring know to maintain.

(Chorus)

CHILDREN:

Teach, us ye the laborious workTo pursue your footsteps we wish,For tomorrow when country calls usWe may be able your task to finish.And on seeing us the elders will say :"Look, they're worthy 'f their sires of yore!"Incense does not honor the deadAs does a son with glory and valor.

Imno sa Paggawa(Wikang Tagalog)

KORO:Dahilan sa Bayan sa pagdirigmaan, Dahil sa Bayan din sa kapayapaan, Itong Pilipino ay maasahang Marunong mabuhay o kaya’y mamatay.(Mga Lalaki): Nakukulayan na ang dakong Silangan, Tayo na sa bukid, paggawa’y simulan, Pagka’t ang paggawa’y siyang sumusuhay Sa bayan, sa angkan, sa ating tahanan.

Lupa’y maaring magmamatigas naman, At magwalang-awa ang sikat ng araw Kung dahil sa anak, asawa at Bayan, Ang lahat sa ating pagsinta’y gagaan.

KORO(Mga babaing may Asawa)

Magmasigla kayong yao sa gawain,Pagka’t ang baba’y nasa-bahay natin,At itinuturo sa batang mahalinAng Bayan, ang dunong at gawang magaling

Pagdatal ng gabi ng pagpapahinga,Kayo’y inaantay ng tuwa’t ligayaAt kung magkataong saama ang manguna,Ang magpapatuloy ang gawa’y ang sinta.

KORO(Mga Dalaga)

Mabuhay! Mabuhay! Paggawa’y purihinNa siyang sa Baya’y nagbibigay-ningning!At dahil sa kanya’y taas ng paningin,Yamang siya’y dugo at buhay na angkin.

At kung may binatang nais na lumigaw,Ang paggawa’y siyang ipaninindigan;Sapagka’t ang taong may sipag na taglay,Sa iaanak nya’y magbibigay-buhay.

KORO(Mga Bata)Kami ay turuan ninyo ng gawain;At ang bukas ninyo’y aming tutuntuninBukas, kung tumawag ang bayan sa amin,Ang inyong ginawa’y aming tatapusin.

Kasabihan niyong mga matatanda:“Kung ano ang ama’y gayon din ang bata,”sapagka’t sa patay ang papuri’y wala.Maliban sa isang anak na dakila.

A Poem that has no Title

To my Creator I singWho did soothe me in my great loss;To the Merciful and KindWho in my troubles gave me repose.

Thou with that pow'r of thineSaid: Live! And with life myself I found;And shelter gave me thouAnd a soul impelled to the goodLike a compass whose point to the North is bound.

Thou did make me descendFrom honorable home and respectable stock,And a homeland thou gavest meWithout limit, fair and richThough fortune and prudence it does lack.

To Josephine

Rizal dedicated this poem to Josephine Bracken, an Irish woman who went to Dapitan accompanying a man seeking Rizal's services as an ophthalmologist.

Josephine, JosephineWho to these shores have comeLooking for a nest, a home,Like a wandering swallow;If your fate is taking youTo Japan, China or ShanghaiDon't forget that on these shoresA heart for you beats high.

Education Gives Luster To Motherland

Rizal loved his Motherland. Even at a very young age, he cultivated an intense affection towards his country and people. In this poem “Education Gives Luster to Motherland”, he extols the citizenry to strive towards education in order to give glory to the country.

Wise education, vital breathInspires an enchanting virtue;She puts the Country in the lofty seatOf endless glory, of dazzling glow,And just as the gentle aura's puffDo brighten the perfumed flower's hue:So education with a wise, guiding hand,A benefactress, exalts the human band.

Man's placid repose and earthly lifeTo education he dedicatesBecause of her, art and science are bornMan; and as from the high mount aboveThe pure rivulet flows, undulates,So education beyond measureGives the Country tranquility secure.

Where wise education raises a throneSprightly youth are invigorated,Who with firm stand error they subdueAnd with noble ideas are exalted;It breaks immortality's neck,Contemptible crime before it is halted:It humbles barbarous nationsAnd it makes of savages champions.

And like the spring that nourishesThe plants, the bushes of the meads,She goes on spilling her placid wealth,And with kind eagerness she constantly feeds,The river banks through which she slips,And to beautiful nature all she concedes,So whoever procures education wiseUntil the height of honor may rise.

From her lips the waters crystallineGush forth without end, of divine virtue,And prudent doctrines of her faithThe forces weak of evil subdue,That break apart like the whitish wavesThat lash upon the motionless shoreline:And to climb the heavenly ways the peopleDo learn with her noble example.

In the wretched human beings' breastThe living flame of good she lightsThe hands of criminal fierce she ties,And fill the faithful hearts with delights,Which seeks her secrets beneficentAnd in the love for the good her breast she incites,And it's th' education noble and pureOf human life the balsam sure.

And like a rock that rises with prideIn the middle of the turbulent wavesWhen hurricane and fierce Notus roarShe disregards their fury and raves,That weary of the horror greatSo frightened calmly off they stave;Such is one by wise education steeredHe holds the Country's reins unconquered.His achievements on sapphires are engraved;The Country pays him a thousand honors;For in the noble breasts of her sonsVirtue transplanted luxuriant flow'rs;And in the love of good e'er disposedWill see the lords and governorsThe noble people with loyal ventureChristian education always procure.

And like the golden sun of the mornWhose rays resplendent shedding gold,And like fair aurora of gold and redShe overspreads her colors bold;Such true education proudly givesThe pleasure of virtue to young and oldAnd she enlightens out Motherland dearAs she offers endless glow and luster.

To the Philippines

Rizal wrote the original sonnet in Spanish

Aglowing and fair like a houri on high,Full of grace and pure like the Morn that peepsWhen in the sky the clouds are tinted blue,Of th' Indian land, a goddess sleeps.

The light foam of the son'rous sea Doth kiss her feet with loving desire;The cultured West adores her smileAnd the frosty Pole her flow'red attire.

With tenderness, stammering, my MuseTo her 'midst undines and naiads does sing;I offer her my fortune and bliss:Oh, artists! her brow chaste ringWith myrtle green and roses redAnd lilies, and extol the Philippines!

Memories of My town

When I recall the daysThat saw my childhood of yoreBeside the verdant shoreOf a murmuring lagoon;When I remember the sighsOf the breeze that on my browSweet and caressing did blowWith coolness full of delight;

When I look at the lily whiteFills up with air violentAnd the stormy elementOn the sand doth meekly sleep;When sweet 'toxicating scentFrom the flowers I inhaleWhich at the dawn they exhaleWhen at us it begins to peep;

I sadly recall your face,Oh precious infancy,That a mother lovinglyDid succeed to embellish.I remember a simple town;My cradle, joy and boon,Beside the cool lagoonThe seat of all my wish.

Oh, yes! With uncertain paceI trod your forest lands,And on your river banksA pleasant fun I found;At your rustic temple I prayedWith a little boy's simple faithAnd your aura's flawless breath

Filled my heart with joy profound.Saw I God in the grandeurOf your woods which for centuries stand;Never did I understandIn your bosom what sorrows were;While I gazed on your azure skyNeither love nor tendernessFailed me, 'cause my happinessIn the heart of nature rests there.

Tender childhood, beautiful town,Rich fountain of happiness,Of harmonious melodies,That drive away my sorrow!Return thee to my heart,Bring back my gentle hours

As do the birds when the flow'rsWould again begin to blow!But, alas, adieu! E'er watchFor your peace, joy and repose,Genius of good who kindly disposeOf his blessings with amour;It's for thee my fervent pray'rs,It's for thee my constant desireKnowledge ever to acquireAnd may God keep your candour!

Kundiman

Rizal wrote “Kundiman” in Tagalog in September 12,1891. A kundiman is actually a traditional Filipino love song used by a young man to serenade the woman of his love. The theme of Rizal’s “Kundiman” is his intense love for his Motherland. His words reflected his optimism that Philippines would be freed from injustice and bondage.

Truly hushed todayAre my tongue and heartHarm is discerned by loveAnd joy flies away,'Cause the Country wasVanquished and did yieldThrough the negligenceOf the one who led.

But the sun will return to dawn;In spite of everythingSubdued peopleWill be liberated;The Filipino nameWill return perhapsAnd again becomeIn vogue in the world.

We shall shedBlood and it shall floodOnly to emancipateThe native land;While the designated timeDoes not come,Love will restAnd anxiety will sleep.

Kundiman in Tagalog Translation

Tunay ngayong umid yaring dila't puso Sinta'y umiilag, tuwa'y lumalayo, Bayan palibhasa'y lupig at sumuko Sa kapabayaan ng nagturong puno.

Datapuwa't muling sisikat ang araw, Pilit maliligtas ang inaping bayan, Magbabalik mandin at muling iiral Ang ngalang Tagalog sa sandaigdigan.

Ibubuhos namin ang dugo't babaha Matubos nga lamang ang sa amang lupa Habang di ninilang panahong tadhana, Sinta'y tatahimik, iidlip ang nasa.

Ang awit ni Maria Clara

Ang tulang ito'y matatagpuan sa Noli Me Tangere ang inawit ni Maria Clara, kaya gayon ang pamagat. Ito’y punung-puno ng pag-ibig sa bayang tinubuan.

Kay tamis ng oras sa sariling bayan,Kaibigan lahat ang abot ng araw,At sampu ng simoy sa parang ay buhay,Aliw ng panimdim pati kamatayan.

Maalab na halik ang nagsaliw-saliwSa labi ng inang mahal, pagkagising;Ang pita ng bisig as siya’y yapusin,Pati mga mata’y ngumgiti mandin.

Kung dahil sa bayan, kay tamis mamatay,Doon sa kasuyo ang abot ng araw;Kamatayan pati ng simoy sa parangSa walang pag-ibig, ni ina, ng Bayan.

Song of Maria Clara in (English Translation)

Sweet the hours in the native country,where friendly shines the sun above!Life is the breeze that sweeps the meadows;tranquil is death; most tender, love.

Warm kisses on the lips are playingas we awake to mother’s face:the arms are seeking to embrace her,the eyes are smiling as they gaze.

How sweet to die for the native country,where friendly shines the sun above!Death is the breeze for him who hasno country, no mother, and no love!

To the Filipino Youth

He submitted a poem for the poetry contest which had been organized for Filipinos by the Manila Lyceum of Art and Literature, and though he was but eighteen years of age (1879), he won the first prize, a silver pen. This poem, one of his most famous and most difficult to translate, was dedicated to the Filipino Youth.

Hold high your faultless brow,Filipino youth, on this day grand!Shine forth resplendent now,In gallant glory stand,Handsome home of my motherland!

Radiant Genius, arise!Make thy noblest dreams his own;Catch his mind in keen surprise;Swifter thn by tempest blownSweep him up to glory's throne!

Descend, O youth, -- the lovely lightOf art and science in your train; --On life's arena, smiteAnd break the heavy chainWhere long your pinioned poetry hath lain.

Behold how, on this ardent zoneWhere shadows dwell, the Spaniard's hand,So wise and pious grown,Confers a garland grandUpon the youth of our fair Indian land!

O you, who now aspiring riseOn fancy's gifted wingsFrom Mount Olympus to the skies,While Poetry more sweetly singsThan any sweetness nectar ever brings.

Ye rivals of the nightingaleWho carol some celestial layBeneath the night moon pale,And by the tune you playDrive bitter mortal pain away.

All ye who hold the power to freeThose sorely grieved, by your charm'd word,And fix in their fond memory,That by your genius is stirred,The immortal thought that ye have heard.

And ye who Phoebus' charms expose,That stole divine Apollo's heart;And borrowing from nature's clothes,With artist's magic art,On linen canvas portray every part.

O hasten! See whose sacred flameOf genius will be laurel crowned;And hear what moral name,While trumpet peals resound,Around the whole wide world will be renowned!

O blessed day and hour,Beloved Filipinas, for your land,Thanks to the mighty PowerWhich, with loving hand,This venture and this consolation planned.

Sa Kabataang PilipinoTagalog Translation

Itaas ang iyong noong aliwalasngayon, Kabataan ng aking pangarap!ang aking talino na tanging liwanagay pagitawin mo, Pag-asa ng Bukas!

Ikaw ay lumitaw, O Katalinuhanmagitang na diwang puno sa isipanmga puso nami'y sa iyo'y naghihintayat dalhin mo roon sa kaitaasan.

Bumaba kang taglay ang kagiliw-giliwna mga silahis ng agham at siningmga Kabataan, hayo na't lagutinang gapos ng iyong diwa at damdamin.

Masdan ang putong na lubhang makinangsa gitna ng dilim ay matitiganmaalam na kamay, may dakilang alaysa nagdurusa mong bayang minamahal.

Ikaw na may bagwis ng pakpak na naiskagyat na lumipad sa tuktok ng langitpaghanapin mo ang malambing na tinigdoon sa Olimpo'y pawang nagsisikap.

Ikaw na ang himig ay lalong mairogTulad ni Pilomel na sa luha'y gamotat mabisang lunas sa dusa't himuntokng puso at diwang sakbibi ng lungkot

Ikaw, na ang diwa'y makapangyarihanmatigas na bato'y mabibigyang-buhaymapagbabago mo alaalang taglaysa iyo'y nagiging walang kamatayan.

Ikaw, na may diwang inibig ni Apelessa wika inamo ni Pebong kay rikitsa isang kaputol na lonang maliitginuhit ang ganda at kulay ng langit.

Humayo ka ngayon, papagningasin moang alab ng iyong isip at talinomaganda mong ngala'y ikalat sa mundoat ipagsigawan ang dangal ng tao.

Araw na dakila ng ligaya't galakmagsaya ka ngayon, mutyang Pilipinaspurihin ang bayang sa iyo'y lumingapat siyang nag-akay sa mabuting palad.

To the Virgin Mary

Jose Rizal was a Marian devotee and even carved a statue of the Virgin Mary when he young boy. “To the Virgin Mary” is a sonnet that was said to have been written in December 3, 1876 while Rizal was studying in Ateneo. -

Mary, sweet peace and dearest consolationof suffering mortal: you are the fount whence springsthe current of solicitude that bringsunto our soil unceasing fecundation.

From your abode, enthroned on heaven’s height,in mercy deign to hear my cry of woeand to the radiance of your mantle drawmy voice that rises with so swift a flight.

You are my mother, Mary, and shall bemy life, my stronghold, my defense most thorough;

and you shall be my guide on this wild sea.If vice pursues me madly on the morrow,if death harasses me with agony:come to my aid and dissipate my sorrow!

Sa Mahal na Birhen Maria

Ikaw na ligaya ng tanang kinapal,Mariang sakdal tamis na kapayapan,Bukal ng saklolong hindi naghuhumpay,Daloy ng biyayang walang pagkasyahan.

Mula sa trono mong langit na mataas,Ako'y marapating lawitan ng habag,Ilukob ang iyong balabal ng lingapSa daing ng aking tinig na may pakpak.

Ikaw na Ina ko, Maraing matimtiman;Ikaw ang buhay ko at aking sandingan;Sa maalong dagat, ikaw ang patnubay:

Sa oras ng lalong masisidhing tukso,At kung malapit na ang kamatayan ko,Lumbay ko'y pawiin, saklolohan ako!

They Asked Me for Verses

was written while he was a member of Circulo Hispano Filipino. Me Piden Versos (They Asked Me for Verses) reflected how sad it was for him to have the ability to steer emotions through his poems yet stifled and muted by the powerful and oppressive Spaniards.

They bid me strike the lyre so long now mute and broken, but not a note can I waken nor will my muse inspire! She stammers coldly and babbles when tortured by my mind; she lies when she laughs and thrills as she lies in her lamentation, for in my sad isolation my soul nor frolics nor feels

There was a time, ’tis true, but now that time has vanished when indulgent love or friendship called me a poet too. Now of that time there lingers hardly a memory, as from a celebration some mysterious refrain that haunts the ears will remain of the orchestra’s actuation. -

A scarce-grown plant I seem,uprooted from the Orient,where perfume is the atmosphereand where life is a dream.O land that is never forgotten!And these have taught me to sing:the birds with their melody,the cataracts with their forceand, on the swollen shores,the murmuring of the sea.

While in my childhood daysI could smile upon her sunshine,I felt in my bosom, seething,a fierce volcano ablaze.A poet was I, for I wantedwith my verses, with my breath,to say to the swift wind: ‘Flyand propagate her renown!Praise her from zone to zone,from the earth up to the sky!’

I left her! My native hearth, a tree despoiled and shriveled, no longer repeats the echo of my old songs of mirth. I sailed across the vast ocean, craving to change my fate, not noting, in my madness, that, instead of the weal I sought, the sea around me wrought the spectre of death and sadness.

The dreams of younger hours, love, enthusiasm, desire, have been left there under the skies of that fair land of flowers. Oh, do not ask of my heart that languishes, songs of love! For, as without peace I tread this desert of no surprises, I feel that my soul agonizes and that my spirit is dead

My Retreat

describes in “My Retreat” his exile in Dapitan. From 1892 to 1896, he lived an unexciting but fruitful life. Even in his exile, Rizal proved that life can still be abundant and full of achievements. He lived as a merchant and a farmer and built three houses made from bamboo, wood and nipa. Interestingly, his houses were of varied geometrical shapes. “I shall tell you how we lived here. I have three houses-one square, another hexagonal, and the third octagonal.” This is part of his letter to Blumentritt in December 19, 1893 about his peaceful life in Dapitan and the following is his poem:

Beside a spacious beach of fine and delicate sandand at the foot of a mountain greener than a leaf,I planted my humble hut beneath a pleasant orchard,seeking in the still serenity of the woodsrepose to my intellect and silence to my grief.Its roof is fragile nipa; its floor is brittle bamboo;

its beams and posts are rough as rough-hewn wood can be;of no worth, it is certain, is my rustic cabin;but on the lap of the eternal mount it slumbersand night and day is lulled by the crooning of the sea.

The overflowing brook, that from the shadowy jungledescends between huge bolders, washes it with its spray,donating a current of water through makeshift bamboo pipesthat in the silent night is melody and music

and crystalline nectar in the noon heat of the day.If the sky is serene, meekly flows the spring,strumming on its invisible zither unceasingly;but come the time of the rains, and an impetuous torrentspills over rocks and chasms—hoarse, foaming and aboil—to hurl itself with a frenzied roaring toward the sea.

The barking of the dog, the twittering of the birds,the hoarse voice of the kalaw are all that I hear;there is no boastful man, no nuisance of a neighborto impose himself on my mind or to disturb my passage;only the forests and the sea do I have near.

The sea, the sea is everything! Its sovereign massbrings to me atoms of a myriad faraway lands;its bright smile animates me in the limpid mornings;and when at the end of day my faith has proven futile,my heart echoes the sound of its sorrow on the sands.

At night it is a mystery! … Its diaphanous elementis carpeted with thousands and thousands of lights that climb;the wandering breeze is cool, the firmament is brilliant,the waves narrate with many a sigh to the mild windhistories that were lost in the dark night of time.

‘Tis said they tell of the first morning on the earth,of the first kiss with which the sun inflamed her breast,when multitudes of beings materialized from nothingto populate the abyss and the overhanging summitsand all the places where that quickening kiss was pressed.

But when the winds rage in the darkness of the nightand the unquiet waves commence their agony,across the air move cries that terrify the spirit,a chorus of voices praying, a lamentation that seemsto come from those who, long ago, drowned in the sea.

Then do the mountain ranges on high reverberate;the trees stir far and wide, by a fit of trembling seized;the cattle moan; the dark depths of the forest resound;their spirits say that they are on their way to the plain,summoned by the dead to a mortuary feast.

The wild night hisses, hisses, confused and terrifying;one sees the sea afire with flames of green and blue;but calm is re-established with the approach of dawningand forthwith an intrepid little fishing vesselbegins to navigate the weary waves anew.

So pass the days of my life in my obscure retreat;cast out of the world where once I dwelt: such is my raregood fortune; and Providence be praised for my condition:a disregarded pebble that craves nothing but mossto hide from all the treasure that in myself I bear.

I live with the remembrance of those that I have lovedand hear their names still spoken, who haunt my memory;some already are dead, others have long forgotten—but what does it matter? I live remembering the pastand no one can ever take the past away from me.

It is my faithful friend that never turns against me,that cheers my spirit when my spirit’s a lonesome wraith,that in my sleepless nights keeps watch with me and prayswith me, and shares with me my exile and my cabin,and, when all doubt, alone infuses me with faith.

Faith do I have, and I believe the day will shinewhen the Idea shall defeat brute force as well;and after the struggle and the lingering agonya voice more eloquent and happier than my ownwill then know how to utter victory’s canticle.

I see the heavens shining, as flawless and refulgentas in the days that saw my first illusions start;I feel the same breeze kissing my autumnal brow,the same that once enkindled my fervent enthusiasmand turned the blood ebullient within my youthful heart.

Across the fields and rivers of my native townperhaps has traveled the breeze that now I breathe by chance;perhaps it will give back to me what once I gave it:the sighs and kisses of a person idolizedand the sweet secrets of a virginal romance.

On seeing the same moon, as silvery as before,I feel within me the ancient melancholy revive;a thousand memories of love and vows awaken:a patio, an azotea, a beach, a leafy bower;silences and sighs, and blushes of delight …

A butterfly athirst for radiances and colors,dreaming of other skies and of a larger strife,I left, scarcely a youth, my land and my affections,and vagrant everywhere, with no qualms, with no terrors,squandered in foreign lands the April of my life.

And afterwards, when I desired, a weary swallow,to go back to the nest of those for whom I care,suddenly fiercely roared a violent hurricaneand I found my wings broken, my dwelling place demolished,faith now sold to others, and ruins everywhere.

Hurled upon a rock of the country I adore;the future ruined; no home, no health to bring me cheer;you come to me anew, dreams of rose and gold,of my entire existence the solitary treasure,convictions of a youth that was healthy and sincere.

No more are you, like once, full of fire and life,offering a thousand crowns to immortality;somewhat serious I find you; and yet your face beloved,if now no longer as merry, if now no longer as vivid,now bear the superscription of fidelity.

You offer me, O illusions, the cup of consolation;you come to reawaken the years of youthful mirth;hurricane, I thank you; winds of heaven, I thank youthat in good hour suspended by uncertain flightto bring me down to the bosom of my native earth.

Beside a spacious beach of fine and delicate sandand at the foot of a mountain greener than a leaf,I found in my land a refuge under a pleasant orchard,and in its shadowy forests, serene tranquility,repose to my intellect and silence to my grief.

Miss C.O. y R.

Rizal dedicated this poem to Miss Consuelo Ortiga y Rey, daughter of the Mr. Pablo Ortiga y Rey who was the vice president of the Council of the Philippines in Madrid. Many Filipinos habitually visited his house while in Madrid. The poem was written in August 22,1883.

Why ask for those unintellectual versesthat once, insane with grief, I sang aghast?Or are you maybe throwing in my facemy rank ingratitude, my bitter past?

Why resurrect unhappy memoriesnow when the heart awaits from love a sign,or call the night when day begins to smile,not knowing if another day will shine?

You wish to learn the cause of this dejectiondelirium of despair that anguish wove?You wish to know the wherefore of such sorrows,and why, a young soul, I sing not of love?

Oh, may you never know why! For the reasonbrings melancholy but may set you laughing.Down with my corpse into the grave shall goanother corpse that’s buried in my stuffing!

Something impossible, ambition, madness,dreams of the soul, a passion and its throesOh, drink the nectar that life has to offerand let the bitter dregs in peace repose!

Again I feel the impenetrable shadowsshrouding the soul with the thick veils of night:a mere bud only, not a lovely flower,because it’s destitute of air and light

Behold them: my poor verses, my damned brood and sorrow suckled each and every brat! Oh, they know well to what they owe their being, and maybe they themselves will tell you what.

To The Child Jesus

“Child Jesus” was written in Spanish by Jose Rizal in 1875 at the age of 14. The poem is an octave real or a short poem with eight verses only which was actually according to the Spanish standard of writing poems.

Why have you come to earth,Child-God, in a poor manger?Does Fortune find you a strangerfrom the moment of your birth?Alas, of heavenly stock

now turned an earthly resident!Do you not wish to be presidentbut the shepherd of your flock?

Sa Sanggol na si Jesus

O Diyos na Sanggol, paano ba kaya't Ang sinilangan Mo ay sabsabang aba? Diyata't di pa man ay pag-alipusta Ang dulot ng Palad sa Iyong pagbaba?

Kaylungkot! O hari ng Sangkalangitan, Nagkatawang-tao't sa lupa'y tumahan, Hindi Mo ba ibig na Haring matanghal Kundi Pastol namin na kawan Mong mahal?Isinalin sa Tagalog dikilala

Song of the Wanderer

This poem talks about Jose Rizal, himself. Yet even as a wanderer, his brilliance and bravery are reflected in his works and heroism, his name is etched in history and in peoples’ hearts. You can share your comments about this sentimental poem.

Dry leaf that flies at randomtill it’s seized by a wind from above:so lives on earth the wanderer,without north, without soul, without country or love!

Anxious, he seeks joy everywhereand joy eludes him and flees,a vain shadow that mocks his yearningand for which he sails the seas.

Impelled by a hand invisible,he shall wander from place to place;memories shall keep him companyof loved ones, of happy days.

A tomb perhaps in the desert,a sweet refuge, he shall discover,by his country and the world forgottenRest quiet: the torment is over.

And they envy the hapless wandereras across the earth he persists!Ah, they know not of the emptinessin his soul, where no love exists.

The pilgrim shall return to his country,shall return perhaps to his shore;and shall find only ice and ruin,perished loves, and graves nothing more.

Begone, wanderer! In your own country,a stranger now and alone!Let the others sing of loving,who are happy but you, begone!

Begone, wanderer! Look not behind younor grieve as you leave again.Begone, wanderer: stifle your sorrows!the world laughs at another’s pain.

My First Inspiration

The following poem in Spanish Mi Primera Inspiracion or “My First Inspiration” was believed to have been written by Dr. Jose Rizal when he was just nine years old. Other documents reported that this is the work of his nephew, Antonio Lopez-Rizal (Narcisa’s son) because of seeming likeness in handwriting of the two Rizals.

Why falls so rich a spray of fragrance from the bowers of the balmy flowers upon this festive day?  Why from woods and vales do we hear sweet measures ringing that seem to be the singing of a choir of nightingales?

Why in the grass below do birds start at the wind's noises, unleashing their honeyed voices as they hop from bough to bough?  Why should the spring that glows its crystalline murmur be tuning to the zephyr's mellow crooning as among the flowers it flows?

Why seems to me more endearing, more fair than on other days, the dawn's enchanting face among red clouds appearing?  The reason, dear mother, is they feast your day of bloom: the rose with its perfume, the bird with its harmonies.

And the spring that rings with laughter upon this joyful day with its murmur seems to say: "Live happily ever after!"  And from that spring in the grove now turn to hear the first note that from my lute I emote to the impulse of my love!

SOURCES:

http://www.joserizal.com/

http://joserizal.info/Writings/Poetry/poetry.lwp.htm

Thank You so much