Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer: poems

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer (1836-1870) was a prominent Spanish writer in genres such as poetry and narrative. Most of his literary works fall within the symbolism and romanticism. Bécquer's posthumous fame made some of his titles the most widely read in the Spanish language.

Examples bearers of this singular popularity can be the titles: Rhymes and Legends —a joint selection of poems and short stories— and Literary letters to a woman (1860-1861). Bécquer's poetic work came to break something very marked at the time they were published: a tradition of prosaic materials of intimate transcendence. Likewise, the author undid in his lyrics that marked habit of pompous texts.

Synopsis of Rimas, collection of poems by Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

The first edition of Rimas It was made public in 1871 after the author's death. The title is considered a masterpiece of XNUMXth century poetry. —although there were authors who did not agree with this conception, such as Núñez de Arc—. There are several editions of Rimas, including one that has only 76 poems.

On many occasions, the metrics and the style of the poems are innovative for their time. The same way, the verses are usually far from what was dictated by the academy at that time, which makes them free compositions. The poetic work that addresses this anthology —like another called Legends— emerges from the text The Book of Sparrows.

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer: poems taken from Rimas

rhyme IV

Do not say that his treasure is exhausted,

affairs are missing, the lyre fell silent:

There may be no poets; but always

there will be poetry

While the waves of light to the kiss

throb lit;

while the sun the torn clouds

of fire and gold sight;

as long as the air in your lap carries

perfumes and harmonies;

as long as there is spring in the world,

there will be poetry!

As long as the science to discover does not reach

the sources of life,

And in the sea or in the sky there is an abyss

that resists calculation;

while humanity always advancing,

do not know where you walk;

as long as there is a mystery to man,

there will be poetry!

As long as we feel that the soul is happy

without the lips laughing;

while crying without the crying coming

to cloud the pupil;

while the heart and the head battling continue;

As long as there are hopes and memories,

there will be poetry!

As long as there are eyes that reflect

the eyes that look at them;

while the lip responds sighing

to the lip that sighs;

as long as they can feel in a kiss

two confused souls;

as long as there is a beautiful woman,

There will be poetry!

rhyme VI

Gustavo Adolfo Becquer Like the breeze that the blood breathes

on the dark field of battle,

loaded with perfumes and harmonies

in the silence of the vague night;

symbol of pain and tenderness,

Of the English bard in the horrible drama,

the sweet Ofelia, the lost reason

picking flowers and singing passes.

Rhyme XLVI

Your breath is the breath of flowers

your voice is of the swans the harmony;

Your look is the splendor of the day,

and the color of the rose is your color.

You lend new life and hope

to a heart for love already dead:

you grow from my life in the desert

as the flower grows in a moor.

rhyme xxiv

Two red tongues of fire that

the same trunk linked

approach, and when kissing

they form a single flame.

Two notes that of the lute

at the same time the hand starts,

and in space they meet

and harmonious embrace.

Two waves that come together

to die on a beach

and that when breaking they are crowned

with a silver plume.

Two wisps of steam that

from the lake they rise, and at

meet in heaven

They form a white cloud.

Two ideas that sprout together,

two kisses that at the same time explode,

two echoes that are confused,

that's our two souls.


A woman has poisoned my soul

another woman has poisoned my body;

Neither of them came looking for me

I am not complaining about either of them.

As the world is round

the world rolls

If tomorrow, rolling,

this poison

poisons in turn,

why accuse me?

Can I give more than you

they gave me?

rhyme XXXVI

If of our grievances in a book

history was written

and be erased in our souls how much

erased in its leaves;

I still love you so much

left on my chest

your love footprints so deep, that

only if you erased one,

I deleted them all!


Life is a dream

but a fever dream lasting a point;

When he wakes up,

It is seen that everything is vanity and smoke...

I wish it was a very dream

long and very deep

a dream that will last until death!...

I would dream of my love and yours.

V rhyme

nameless spirit,

indefinable essence,

I live with life

without forms of the idea.

I swim in the void

of the sun I tremble in the bonfire

I flutter in the shadows

and I float with the mists.

I am the golden fringe

from the distant star,

I am from the high moon

warm and serene light.

I am the burning cloud

that waves in the sunset;

I am from the wandering star

the luminous wake

I am snow on the peaks,

I am fire in the sands

blue wave in the seas

and foam on the banks.

I am a note on the lute,

perfume in the violet,

leaking flame in the graves

and in the ruins ivy.

I thunder in the torrent,

and whistle in the spark

and blind in the lightning

and I roar in the storm.

I laugh in the alcores

whisper in the tall grass,

sigh in the pure wave

and I cry in the dry leaf.

I undulate with the atoms

from the smoke that rises

and to the sky slowly rises

in a huge spiral

I in the golden threads

that insects hang

I blend between the trees

in the hot nap.

I run after the nymphs

than in the cool stream

of the crystalline stream

naked play

I in a coral forest, that

carpet white pearls,

I chase in the ocean

the light naiads.

I, in the concave caverns,

where the sun never penetrates,

mixing with the nomes

I behold his riches.

I search for centuries

the already erased traces,

and I know of those empires

of which not even the name remains.

I continue in rapid vertigo

the worlds that turn,

and my pupil encompasses

the entire creation.

I know of those regions

where rumor does not reach,

and where the astro reports

of life and breath await.

I am over the abyss

the bridge that crosses;

I am the unknown scale

that heaven unites with earth.

I am the invisible

ring that holds

the world of form

to the world of ideas.

I, in short, am the spirit,

unknown essence,

mysterious scent

of which the poet is a vessel.

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