The Peruvian poet Javier Heraud Perez (1942-1963) was one of the most promising poets of his generation. At the age of 19, he won a prestigious national literary award for his second book of poems. His uncompromising political commitments led to his untimely death two years later.

---

Ars poetica

Javier Heraud

In truth, and frankly speaking,

poetry is a difficult job

that's won or lost

to the rhythm of the autumnal years.

(When one is young

and the flowers that fall are never gathered up,

one writes on and on at night,

at times filling hundreds and hundreds

of useless sheets of paper.

Once can boast and say:

'I write without revising,

poems leave my hand

like Spring discarded

by the cypresses on my street.')

But as time passes

and the years filter in between the temples,

poetry becomes

the potter's art:

clay fired in the hands,

clay shaped by the quick flames.

And poetry is a marvellous lightning,

a rain of silent words,

a forest of throbbings and hopes,

the song of oppressed peoples,

the new song of liberated peoples.

So poetry, then,

is love, is death,

is man's redemption.

Translated by Elinor Randall

*Third World Resurgence No. 296/297, April/May 2015, p 64