After scouring the internet for not only the poem, but the perfect translation of it, to no avail, I have decided to simply post the poem myself. This translation comes from The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems written by Pablo Neruda, Edited by Mark Eisner check it out at Amazon.
Heights of Macchu Picchu: XII
Rise up and be born with me
Rise up and be born with me, my brother.
From the deepest reaches of your
Disseminated sorrow, give me your hand.
You will not return from the depths of rock.
You will not return from the subterranean time
It will not return, your hardened voice.
They will not return, your drilled-out eyes.
Look at me from the depths of the earth,
plowman, weaver, silent shepherd:
tender of the guardian guanacos:
mason of the impossible scaffold:
water-bearer of Andean tears:
goldsmith of crushed fingers:
farmer trembling on the seed:
potter poured out into your clay:
bring all your old buried sorrows
to the cup of this new life.
Show me your blood and your furrow,
say to me: here I was punished
because the gem didn't shine or the earth
didn't deliver the stone or the grain on time:
point out to me the rock on which you fell
and the wood on which they curcified you,
burn the ancient flints bright for me,
the ancient lamps, the lashing whips
stuck for centuries to your wounds
and the axes brilliant with bloodstain.
I come to speak through your dead mouth.
Through all the earth unite all
the silent and split lips
and from the depths speak to me all night long
as if we were anchored together
tell me everything, chain by chain
link by link and step by step,
sharpen the knives you kept,
place them in my chest and in my hand,
like a river of yellow lightning,
like a river of buried jaguars,
and let me weep, hours, days, years,
blind ages, stellar centuries
Give me silence, water, hope.
Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes
Fasten your bodies to mine like magnets.
Come to my veins and my mouth
Speak through my words and my blood.
'tis beauty spilled forth on paper...read more poetry...