Much of what I like most about the King James Version is the beauty inherent to its prose. Whether Psalms, Proverbs, Peter and Paul, or Prophets, I almost always find the version’s way of saying things – even when (mostly) inaccurate—poetic. Which version of the 23rd psalm can compare with the beauty and eloquence of the King James?
My undergraduate education was at the University of Madrid, during the days when Francisco Franco reigned. The world was a frightful place with Vietnam, Watergate, civil rights marches and riots, assassinations of beloved leaders, Khrushchev banging his shoe on a table at the United Nations while threatening “We will bury you!” and campus crusades ending in pools of blood.
In Franco’s Spain, however, the armed civil guard stood sentry on every street … ready to shoot first and (not) ask questions later. Especially when it came to students—university students—who were considered radical rabble-rousers causing trouble.
Young and old, many of us took up the arts for solace—playing music, painting, writing—to quell the anguish in our souls.
Some 50 years ago, I worried these words out in Spanish:
O, mi dolorosa verdad que evade los ojos …
Te buscaba entre las espinas de la vida.
¿Es que has muerto en un siglo cortísimo?
O, que, ya vives,
pudriéndote cada dia?
Roughly translated, my words mourned about the search for a painful and elusive truth, asking if it had died in a short, bygone era … or whether it still lived, albeit diseased and decaying, every day.
I think of my Spanish poem often these days.
Somehow, it seems even more relevant now than then.