7th of November:

Ode to a Day of Victories

Pablo Neruda (1941)

I greet you, Soviet Union, on this day,

With humility: I am a writer and a poet.

My father was railroad worker: we were always poor.

Yesterday I was with you, far off, in my little

country of great rains. There your name grew

hot, burning in the people’s breasts

until it touched my country’s lofty sky!

Today I think of them, they are all with you!

From factory to factory, from house to house,

Your name flies like a red bird!

Praised be your heroes, and each drop

of your blood, praised

be the overflowing tide of hearts

that defend your pure and proud dwelling!

Praised be the heroic and bitter

bread that nourishes you, while the doors of time open

so that your army of people and iron may march, singing

among ashes and barren plain, against the assassins,

to plant a rose enormous as the moon

upon the fine and divine land of victory!