This is the land of which I sing.

Hoarsely, like the guardabarranco

which at a distance sounds just like cattle lowing,

he builds his nest in holes in rocky canyon walls.

And like the cheerful güis in Nicaragua’s parks and orchards

the cierto-güis which keeps reaping CIERTO-GUIS

or like the guas in Chinandega and Chontales

which sings in the dry fields, announcing rain

thus too my song . . . .

And like the “lion bird” (or cocoroco) a lonely fellow

which sings in anguish to announce a puma.

And like the “clock bird” singing out the hours

or the Atlantic “sun bird” saying that dawn is here

thus do I sing. . . .

And I sing like the bird they call “swamp-snorter”

(because it snorts in marshes and in swamps)

but also clearly, like zanates bugling

zanatillo zanatillo

the bird of the oppressed--

or like the “creaker” (grating in damp woods)

or like the ché-ché of the northern hills (guerilla hills)

which sings CHE-CHE CHE-CHE CHE-CHE

And like the “happy bird” whose song means FEELING JOY

The poet’s voice sings FEELING-JOY

JOY JOY

And I am also like the sad cocoyo at twilight

so sadly singing SCREW-THEE-TOO

or tecolotes (owls with enormous spectacles)

which hoot among the ruins.