José Julián Martí Pérez (January 28, 1853 – May 19, 1895) is a Cuban national hero and an important figure in Latin American literature. In his short life he was a poet, an essayist, a journalist, a revolutionary philosopher, a translator, a professor, a publisher, and a political theorist. After his death, one of his poems from the book, “Versos Sencillos” (Simple Verses) was adapted to the song “Guantanamera”, which has become the definitive patriotic song of Cuba.

Martí’s most famous legacy for Guatemala is the poem “La niña de Guatemala” about the death of young María García Granados, daughter of Guatemalan president Miguel García Granados who fell in love with Martí. The García-Granados schoolgirl’s crush was unrequited, however, as he went again to México, where he met Carmen Zayas Bazán and whom he later married. In 1878, Martí returned to Guatemala and published his book Guatemala, edited in Mexico. On May 10, socialite María García Granados died of lung disease; her unrequited love for Martí branded her, poignantly, as ‘la niña de Guatemala, la que se murió de amor’ (the Guatemalan girl who died of love).

The Spanish classical composer, Víctor Carbajo, was inspired by the poem and composed this art song of incredible passion and romanticism. I performed it on the 3rd of March of 2015.

In the shadow of a wing
I wish to tell this flowered tale
Of the girl from Guatemala
Who died of love.

The wreaths were of lilies
And jasmine and mignonette;
We laid the girl to rest
In a silken casket.

... She gave a little scented pillow
To the forgetful one, and he
Returned, returned now wedded.
She died of love.

Ambassadors and bishops
Carried her bier, and there were
Relays of people following,
All laden with flowers.

... Wishing to see him again,
She went out on the belvedere;
He returned with his wife:
She died of love.

Her brow was like molten bronze
At my parting kiss,
The brow I loved the most
in all my life!

... At dusk she entered the river,
The doctor pulled out her body.
They say she died of cold; I know
She died of love.

They laid her out on two benches
there in the frigid vault;
I kissed her slender hand
And her white shoes.

Softly, when evening fell,
The gravedigger bid me come.
Never again did I see that girl
She, who died of love.