Gerardo Diego. 6 poems and sonnets to remember

Gerardo diego is one of great poets for the 27 Generation. Santanderino by birth, however died in Madrid a day like today of 1987. I remember his work with the choice of these 6 poems which include a couple of sonnets and some shorter compositions.

Gerardo diego

Born in Santander on October 3, 1896, he received his doctorate in Philosophy and Letters at the University of Deusto and in Madrid, where he also met Juan Larrea, his countryman poet, with whom he maintained a great friendship. It was also Language and Literature teacher in different cities such as Gijón and Soria, and was also in charge of the management of Lola and Carmen, two literary magazines. Teaching made him travel a lot giving lectures and courses. It was also literary and music critic.

His work includes approximately about forty books eg The romance of the bride, Angels of Compostela, The moon in the desert o Wandering kite. He won various Awards such as National Literature, which he obtained twice, the City of Barcelona and the Cervantes.

6 poems


To Juan Ramón Jiménez

You were in the water
You were that I saw you

All cities
they cried for you

The naked cities
bleating like beasts in a pack

At your step
the words were gestures
like these that I now offer you

They thought they had you
because they knew how to type on your fan



you weren't there

You were in the water
that i saw you


Not see you

One day and another day and another day.
Not see you.

To be able to see you, to know that you are so close,
that the miracle of luck is likely.
Not see you.

And the heart and the calculation and the compass,
failing all three. No one guesses you.
Not see you.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, not finding you,
not to breathe, not to be, not to deserve you.
Not see you.

Desperately loving, loving you
and be born again to love you.
Not see you.

Yes, to be born every day. Everything is new.
New are you, my life, you, my death.
Not see you.

Groping (and it was noon)
with infinite fear of breaking you.
Not see you.

Hear your voice, smell your aroma, dreams,
oh, mirages that the desert reverses.
Not see you.

To think that you run away from me, you want me,
you would like to find yourself in me, lose yourself.
Not see you.

Two ships in the sea, blind the sails.
Will their wakes be kissing tomorrow?



Who said they run out the curve the gold the desire
the legitimate sound of the moon on marble
and the perfect pleating of the elytra
of the cinema when he exercises his tender protectorate?

Search my pocket
You will find in it feathers by virtue of a bird
crumbs in search of bread moth-eaten gods
words of eternal love without
landing letter
and the hidden path of the waves.



There will be a green silence
all made of unbraided guitars

The guitar is a well
with wind instead of water.



Giralda in pure prism of Seville,
leveled from lead and star,
mold in blue setting, tower without dent,
seedless architecture palm.

If your mirror the breeze ahead shines,
do not you contemplate yourself? oh, Narcisa ??, in her,
that your maiden skin does not change,
all orange to the sun that humiliates you.

In the backlight of the lemon tree,
your edge is the bevel, barbera blade
that its most beautiful vertical purifies.

The touch slips its vain caress.
Mudejar I love you and not Christian.
Volume nothing more: base and height.



To Blas Taracena

It was in Numantia, while declining
the afternoon of August August and slow,
Numantia of silence and ruin,
soul of freedom, throne of the wind.

The light became mine at times
of transparency and fading,
clearness of evening absence,
hope, hope of the portent.

Suddenly, where? A bird without a lyre,
without a branch, without a lectern, sings, raves,
floats at the peak of his acute fever.

I live beating of God dripped us,
laughter and talk of God, free and naked.
And the bird, knowing it, sang.

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