I embarked them in my boat.
It was daylight and France
her fancy dress
of every day she had at that time,
it was
the same clarity of wine and air
her clothes of forest goddess.
My ship expected
with its remote name “Winnipeg”
But my Spanish were not coming
from Versailles,
from the silvery dance,
from the old amaranth carpets,
from the cups chirping
with wine,
no, they were not coming from there,
no, they were not coming from there,
From further away,
from prison camps,
from the black sand
from the Sahara,
from rough hiding places
where they lay
hungry and naked,
there to my clear boat,
to the ship at sea, to hope
they arrived called one by one
by me, from their prisons,
from the fortress
from the shaky France
called by my mouth
arrived,
Saavedra, I said, and came the mason,
Zuniga, I said, and there he was,
Roces, I called, and arrived with grim smile,
I shouted, Alberti! and with hands of quartz
the poetry arrived.

Labourers, carpenters,
fishermen,
turners, machinists,
potters, tanners:
the boat was becoming populated
parting to my homeland.
I felt in my fingers
the seeds
from Spain
that I rescued myself and scattered
over the sea, directed
to the peace
of the prairies.

Yo los puse en mi barco.
Era de día y Francia
su vestido de lujo
de cada día tuvo aquella vez,
fue
la misma claridad de vino y aire
su ropaje de diosa forestal.
Mi navío esperaba
con su remoto nombre “Winnipeg”
Pero mis españoles no venían
de Versalles,
del baile plateado,
de las viejas alfombras de amaranto,
de las copas que trinan
con el vino,
no, de allí no venían,
no, de allí no venían.
De más lejos,
de campos de prisiones,
de las arenas negras
del Sahara,
de ásperos escondrijos
donde yacieron
hambrientos y desnudos,
allí a mi barco claro,
al navío en el mar, a la esperanza
acudieron llamados uno a uno
por mí, desde sus cárceles,
desde las fortalezas
de Francia tambaleante
por mi boca llamados
acudieron,
Saavedra, dije, y vino el albañil,
Zúñiga, dije, y allí estaba,
Roces, llamé, y llegó con severa sonrisa,
grité, Alberti! y con manos de cuarzo
acudió la poesía.

Labriegos, carpinteros,
pescadores,
torneros, maquinistas,
alfareros, curtidores:
se iba poblando el barco
que partía a mi patria.
Yo sentía en los dedos
las semillas
de España
que rescaté yo mismo y esparcí
sobre el mar, dirigidas
a la paz
de las praderas.

Neruda, en “Memorial de Isla Negra”