Carranza (Carranza)

My father loved the poetry of Eduardo Carranza, a Colombian author who led the National Library of Colombia and died in the mid 80s.  Here is how Dad expressed his admiration.  From his book Boundaries (Confines). 

Carranza (Carranza)

“I do not inhabit my body

which for so many years

was my residence”

           Carranza

You are Eduardo

a man

without reference of time

and the same whether

present or absent.

Just a poet, and how much that is!

A man

who loved and sang

about things of the fatherland

and in whose word

it was diluted

in the freshness of its sweet name,

in the heat of its plains,

in the freshly blossomed rose,

in the centenary trees,

in the maternal rivers,

in the seas that dilate it,

in the gardens,

and in the wind

and in the wine

and in the party girls

that you sang for,

in the hope that one day

you could see joy walking around town,

in the city that you loved

and in the countryside,

life under noble flags

summarized in a transparent verse

of this EDUARDO CARRANZA

made of burning sun

and summer flowers.

You are EDUARDO

beyond death!