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Literature of the Americas ADM

Gruesz 30 September 1994
Heroism in Neruda’s Canto General

In his Canto General, Pablo Neruda poetically renders the history of

Latin America
and all but abandons conventional historiographical technique, choosing
instead to develop a
new mythos for his people. The narrative’s poetic form allows Neruda to
emphasize certain
abstract themes that would be difficult or impossible for a traditional
historian to stress
convincingly. One of the most prevalent of these themes is that of
fertility and germination, a
motif Neruda employs to highlight not only the literal fecundity of Latin
America, but also
the way in which certain “seeds” were planted in history that gradually
grow into figures or
events in the history of his people. A seed may grow into a person, an
idea, a crowd, a
movement, a hero. And each of these, before disappearing, will yield a
seed of its own.
Neruda traces the seeds to a river and a single tree, each in a way
“nourished by naked corpses”
of Latin Americans (71). Neruda suggests that each Latin American who
dies for the future of
Latin America contributes to the growth of that realm, that each death is
another step toward
a stronger continent. Somehow, Neruda writes, each death helps create a
hero, an individual
who will struggle harder than most for the future of the countries. As
the tree grows, “its
heroes rise up from the earth,/ as leaves from the sap” (71).
Apparently, though, not every
death is a hero. Special properties seem distinguish Neruda’s heroes
from the masses, who
may die frequently as martyrs, but only rarely as heroes.
Although an avowed Communist, Neruda unapologetically pays homage to
those who
have stood apart from the crown and pushed Latin America forward. As its
title indicates, the
poem generally is the story of a people, but on a particular level,
especially in “The
Conquistadors” and “The Liberators,” the poem is the story of individual
heroes. But these
heroes appear all the more heroic because of their entirely self-
sacrificing nature. They give
everything to the people, and the people in turn offer everything to
them. One might observe
that the revolutionary armies of Latin America were not made of generals
and soldiers, but
rather heroes and martyrs. The development of the hero in Canto General
outlines the
distinction between heroes and others, and suggests certain salient
traits that every hero, at
least for Neruda, must have. Most significant in this regard, it seems,
is the ability of the hero
to have an impact on not only the present, but the future; the hero must
serve as inspiration for
future heroes. Such inspiration is a form of Neruda’s germination theme.
Also, as mentioned
above, the Neruda’s heroes willingly sacrifice everything for freedom.
Thirdly, the heroes
commit themselves to using the enemy’s ways against him. In other
words, the heroes,
whether Indian or Spanish, adopt the strengths of the opposing force, and
exploit the
weaknesses. Sadly, by the end of “The Liberators,” we see that some
liberators perhaps have
learned too much from the enemy. As the poem moves forward, each of
these characteristics
becomes increasingly important and evident, and the heroes grow
increasingly heroic. For
Neruda, history, and the heroes’ role in history, is at once cyclical and
progressive. The
liberators gain freedom, and Latin America moves forward, but the nations
still do not reach
synthesis, or even stasis. The continuing emergence of heroes, perhaps,
will lead to some form of
an ideal Latin America.
The cycle of Latin American history in Canto General begins with the
river and the
cordilleras in “Lamp on Earth.” As Neruda’s story moves slightly further
from Nature to Man,
we still see a strong connection between man and earth, at least as far
as the Indians are
concerned. The third book of the poem, “The Conquistadors” features
Spanish conquerors taking
land, minerals, and sovereignty from the Indians. Neruda almost entirely
removes the link
between the Conquistadors and the earth. The conquerors are animals who
devour the earth
and each other, or atmospheric phenomena removed from the land, except to
damage it. From
the earliest stages, we see the Spanish as bestial and greedy. As the
Conquistadors move
through the Latin America, “everything falls into the wolves’ treasure
chests” (47). “A seed”
not of organic material, but “of lightning bolts” (50) accompanies Balboa
as he explores South
America and moves into the Pacific Ocean. Later, “from the north,
Almagro brought wrinkled
lightning” (59). The lightning bolt’s only contact with the ground is to
scorch it. By contrast,
the people and elements of the Indians are organic; not ravenous, but
passively growing. This
becomes increasingly evident as the Canto continues, but already Neruda’
narrative “I” feels
the need to return to the earth, as though he could regress in the poem
to opening stanza where
there was no strife or blood. “I’ll descend through the earth, until I
reach the jaws of gold”
(58). The Indians at this point are so passive, Neruda can appeal only
to the natural world.
The earth has not yet imbued the natives with enough aggression to fight
back. The tree does
not yet have enough blood in its roots to pass on to the present
population. Despairing of this,
Neruda implores nature for help. “The ships are here, stop them river,
close off/ your ravenous
banks./…strike them with your fiery stinger,/ your bloodthirsty
vertebrates” (52). Because, as
one might guess, the river does not fight off the invaders, the
conquerors begin killing natives
and taking their gold without pause. As yet, no hero has emerged, only a
sea of martyrs who
dies, maybe unconsciously, for the future of their country. “The wheel
of gold turned, night
after night./ The wheel of martyrdom day and night” (56), Neruda remarks,
noting the
industrial genocide and robbery that took place in his homeland.
As the cycle continues, Neruda’s homeland, Araucania, begins to prepare
an opposing
force. The force derives, at least in part, from the power of the
Araucanian’s land, which the
Conquistadors treat as poorly as they do the people who live on it. In
the poem “Land and Man
Unite,” we see that man could “ask the earth for his standard” and the
earth “loved him and
defended him” (61). Prior to the arrival of the Conquistadors, the land
was “unanimous” and
there was “unity before combat” (61). The heroes in Neruda, it seems,
continue to take their
standard from the earth, emphasizing their continued connection to and
unity with the land.
When the Conquistadors come, they attempt to separate the natives from
the earth, and work
towards dispelling the unity which the Araucanians rely on. Neruda’s
heroes, consequently,
are those who seek to regain and perpetuate that unity, whatever the
cost.
As the inspiration of nature proves not enough to conquer the conquerors,
and more and
more Indians are martyred, their blood augments the force of nature,
which in turn
reinvigorates the soon-to-be liberators. Neruda portrays this cycle with
his use of the tree-
metaphor. The poem’s fourth book, “The Liberators” opens with a
representation of the people
of Latin America as parts of a tree, the “tree of the people” which
“feeds on martyrdom’s
nitrate” (71). In the opening stanzas of the book, the tree of the
people is drawing power from
those who lost their lives in the action of the third book of the poem.
At this point, for the
time in the poem, Neruda mentions the possibility of heroic action; of
figures who, as
individuals, will make enormous sacrifices for the good of present and
future generations.
Importantly, the tree is still a fixed structure, not yet actively
fighting off the
conquerors, but simply offering some resistance while at the same time
nursing leaves and
branches which will come to develop seeds of their own. There is in the
tree a promise for the
future, a promise which Neruda clearly anticipates before the action of
the fourth book begins.
The universal nature of the tree indicates the connection between all
those who are or will be
colonized or repressed. The tree sprouts seemingly infinite arms,
infinite branches that puncture
barriers of time and geography to offer, in much the same way as the
Canto, a sense of optimism
for the future. “This is the tree of the emancipated,…[of] countless
arms, the people,…This is
the tree/ of all the people/ of all the peoples struggling for freedom”
(72). Neruda is careful to
distinguish “all the people” from “all the peoples,” as he is aware that
certain individuals
will rise to prominent places on the tree, and other will occupy less
substantial places, even
though both will be necessary to the integrity, or unity, of the tree.
Also significant is that the
tree represents a “struggling,” although it does not struggle itself.
With this representation,
Neruda indicates the potential energy of the tree, which at this early
stage, is still drawing
energy from the earth and corpses.
As Neruda moves from the metaphor of the tree into discussion of the
figures, we
continue to get a sense of the approaching hero. Neruda calls up a
figure who though dead, “is
not extinct” (74). In other words, his force and grandeur will run
through the roots of the tree
and inspire those “leaves” still sprouting. His species survives after
him. Neruda here also
gives the first indication that one of the secrets to liberation is
learning to emulate the
conquerors so as to defeat them. In the same step, Neruda also moves the
natives away from
having the stationary tree as the sole representation of their strength.
The poet gives
Moctezuma the scorching power of Balboa and Almagro, while retaining the
beauty and organic
quality of the Aztec. Moctezuma, Neruda writes, “is armored lightning…
[and a] flower of the
people” (74). This characterization of Moctezuma helps to establish
Neruda’s belief in the
simultaneous beauty and force of the Indians. The former trait is
noticeably absent in discussion
of the Conquistadors, who to Neruda are maggot-ridden swineherds.1
In these still early stages of budding liberation, Neruda turns to Bro.
Bartolomé de Las
Casas as perhaps the poem’s first human hero. De Las Casas is the first
to stand up to the
Spanish successfully, in part because he is himself Spanish, and is not
subject to the same kind
of imperial condescension that the Indians are. In reading what Neruda
says of de Las Casas,
we begin to get a picture of what a hero is to Neruda. First, de Las
Casas will have an impact
on both the current and future generations. His decisions and actions
inspire the natives around
him (even those whose lives were once empty of joy and optimism) and will
touch those heroes
who come after him. “From the limits/ of agony, you engender hope” (75),
Neruda says,
referring to de Las Casas work on behalf of Indian slaves at Hispañola.
As for the future,
Neruda asks his progenitor to “bequeath to my heart the errant wine/ and
the implacable
bread of your sweetness” (77). This is one of Neruda’s first mentions of
the possibility of one
groups or person directly passing a spiritual element through the
generations. Although it is
merely a passing reference, it is significant, especially when the
liberators begin to confront
directly the Conquistadors. Also, de Las Casas retains contact with the
spirituality of the
Indians; he is by no means (at least according to Neruda) heartless or
vengeful. As “the eternity
of tenderness” whose “reason was…titanic material,” de Las Casas resisted
the influence of the
Spanish leadership, but showed continued kindness to slaves, even at
great personal cost. “The
conquistadors [were] saying: ‘There goes the agitator’” (76). De Las
Casas’ use of reason to fight
his battle is also emblematic of a liberator learning (or knowing) the
tactic of his enemy, and
exploiting it. Since he was dealing with the Spanish political
leadership in the issue of
emancipation, there was no need for him to take up arms. Using
persuasive reasoning, perhaps
the strongest currency of all in these times, he was able to take some of
the most important
early steps in the project of liberation.
The next big step for liberation and the progression of heroes is in “The
Men Rise Up,” in
which Neruda discusses the developing opposition in Chile, or Arauco.
Neruda takes a special
pride in Arauco’s status as being the fiercest of those who opposed the
Conquistadors, and so it
is to his homeland that he turns to watch the seeding of the liberators.
As part of his myth-
making project, Neruda establishes a sort of genesis for his heroes. He
again calls to mind the
close association between the fertile land and the people who will free
the land. Arauco, he
writes, “is where the chiefs germinated.” “From that black moisture,/
from that rain
fermented/…majestic breasts emerged.” This passage marks a big
transition from previous
sections of the poem, because for the first time, Neruda mentions the
possibility of violent force
fighting back. The force is still organic and involved with the trees
and the land, but his
language takes a threatening turn as it mentions “bright vegetal arrows,
teeth of savage stone,
inexorable crops of stakes.” The elements of the force come together to
bring back to Latin
America “glacial unity” (78). Neruda’s tone is at once threatening and
optimistic. The
discussion of organic weapons spells imminent violence, but his
“inexorable crops of stakes”
indicates that the Conquistadors must face the growing opposition. The
shift from stationary
tree to flying arrow indicates the force strongly enough, but Neruda does
not close the section
until he portrays the totality of Arauco’s shift from only a tree,
resisting and expanding to a
live, animate being. Now, Arauco will be like a “red puma…a hunted
beast” (78-79). At last,
The Indians have made the transition from passive plant to active animal.
In the poem’s very next stanza, Neruda develops further movement on the
part of the
Indians, in his discussion of Caupolicán, who organizes and wins a major
battle against the
Conquistador, Valdivia. In writing of the Araucanian chief, Neruda
captures the hybrid of the
vegetal and bestial. As Caupolicán assembles his force, he so inspires
even the dead, who rot
beneath the tree of the people, that “the tree walked.” The Spanish see
“the terrestrial trunk
becoming people” as though all of the martyrs since the Conquest had
risen to fight this battle,
under the leadership of their hero, Caupolicán, who “raises his mask of
lianas”2 and reveals a
“woodland face…a head with vines” (79). The Chief takes on the aspect of
the Conquistadors
who were followed by lightning; Moctezuma, who took it from them; and the
hunted beast that
is all of Arauco. Caupolicán’s face features the “deep-set/ look of a
mountainous universe,/ the
implacable eyes of the earth/ scaled by thunderbolts and roots” (79).
From Caupolicán, Neruda moves to the Chief’s Araucanian compatriot,
Lautaro, who
goes through a hero’s training, a training which encompasses the
traditions of both the Indians
and the Spanish military. “He ate in every kitchen of his people./ He
learned the lightning’s
alphabet” (82). Neruda indicates through this litany of training that
Lautaro has an
obligation to his people to represent them as effectively as possible, to
sacrifice everything for
them and the future. The poet’s pride in his people is evident when he
lists the incredible
tasks that the hero performs, the last of which was “to temper his
blood,” and then adds,
“Only then was he worthy of his people” (83). The masses, though they
cannot accomplish
what he did, are still, as a people, deserving of great heroes. There is
an obligation of the
father of a country toward the children of that country, Neruda says, and
Lautaro accepted the
obligation.
Even after the training, Lautaro continues to learn about the
Conquistadors, so he may
use their strengths against them, the mark of a true hero. “He marched
with their inscrutable
gods./ he divined their armor./ He witnessed their battles./ as he
entered step by step/ the
fire of Auracania” (83). The assuming of the enemy’s strength reaches
it’s peak after Lautaro
and Caupolicán team to defeat Valdivia, when Neruda’s narrative “we” cuts
out the
Conquistador’s heart, offers it to the tree, representing the past,
present, and future of those
who struggle for freedom, and then “fulfills the rites of the earth” as
he “sinks [his] teeth into
that corolla,” the heart of Valdivia. The chant that begins “Give me
your coldness, evil
foreigner./ Give me your great jaguar’s bravery” highlights the ferocity
the Indians hope get
out of the Conquistadors, and the desire for unity and serenity. The
chant ends with a plea for
“the homeland without thorns…[and] victorious peace” (86).
From this stage of heroism, in which the Indian hero has become animated,
fully in
touch with the past and future, and self-sacrificing, Neruda jumps ahead
three hundred years
to the Spanish colonies in South America in the 19th century. The
liberators now are Spanish
descendants who wish to remove their countries from Spanish control.
These new liberators
still fit into Neruda’s conception of the hero, although they may be a
little less in touch with
the history of their people. Men such as O’Higgins Riquelme, San Martín,
Miranda, and
Carrera, all share certain ideals regarding the independence of their
respective nations. In
some cases, they seem to be the father or hero of several countries,
spreading their fever for
sovereignty across a continent. Appropriately, Neruda dispenses with
much of the
plant/animal dichotomy, but still draws a tight bond between the men and
the land, defining
the identity of several of them as “the land you gave us” (97). The poet
continues however to
stress the masses, the will of the people, as something to which even
these revolutionaries
have an obligation. This relationship, as with Lautaro, is mutual, and
Neruda asks that the
people “preserve his name in the hard dominion of…the struggle” (108).
These men also have a
peculiar method of learning their enemies strengths and weaknesses: for
some time, they were
the enemy. Most of the revolutionaries Neruda mentions in “The
Liberators” learned their
skills while serving in the Spanish military.
As the liberators engage the project of liberation, it seems they become
less tied to the
land and increasingly tied to borders, a movement which parallels their
shift away from the
bestial nature of the later Indians and the Conquerors into the realm of
politicians. By the time
Neruda narrates to his contemporaries, betrayal and treachery are
rampant. Lincoln and
Sandino are killed, , Morazán (like Balboa) is “crawling with maggots”
(117), Balmaceda kills
himself (122), and there seem to be few, if any heroes, left. As with
the first arrival of the
Conquistadors, Neruda’s “I” retreats into “the uterine originality of
the womb” in search of
“man” as he was, when still part of the dust. Out of this wasteland,
Neruda finds his new
heroes, Recabarren and the Communist Party. These give him the unity he
thought he had
lost. “It was called People, Proletariat, Union—it had person and
presence.…This unity of
sorrows was called Party” (137). He asks, once again, for his people to
look to history, to the
tree—to Lautaro, de Las Casas, Caupolicán, Lautaro—for inspiration. With
a mind conscious of
history, the future, the masses, and the earth, this inspiration come for
the new heroes, who
will “join roots” and recapture the unity lost with the arrival of the
first Conquistador.

3274 words
1With the notable exception, perhaps, of Balboa, who gets from Neruda an
almost sentimental, or tragic,
“Homage.”
2Lianas are vines that grow in the ground and wrap around tree trunks.