To don Jose Zorrilla we owe him much more than him TenorioBut don Juan's scoundrel ate up the rest of his fame as a poet. So today, on the occasion of his As 203 February since he was born in Valladolid, I do a tribute remembering something of that poetic work, which is also highly celebrated and recognized. He and his namesake, admired and later friend José de espronceda are maybe the most famous romantic voices in verse of the XIX century in our country. There they go 4 of his poems.
Jose Zorrilla
It is true that Zorrilla achieved immortality with his plays such as Don Juan Tenorio o Traitor, unconfessed and martyr, but their legends (A good judge, best witness, Captain Montoya, Margarita the turner) Y poems They are also more than remarkable. Include thematic religious (God's wrath), loving (A memory and a sigh) o philosophical (Tales of a madman).
He was passionate romantic authors reader as Walter Scott, Away Dumas and Victor Hugo, or his contemporary colleagues such as the aforementioned Espronceda or the Duke of Rivas. And it certainly received its influence. The recognition came with the poem that he dedicated to Mariano Jose de Larra at his funeral. And he also wrote his autobiography in Memories of the old time.
These are 4 of his short poems, but anyone is worth reading.
poems
Remove the scented cloud from your eyes ...
Away from your eyes the perfumed cloud
that the radiance veils us that your countenance gives,
and give us, Mary, your maternal gaze,
where peace, life and wasteland is.
You, myrrh balm; You chalice of purity;
You, flower of paradise and of the light stars,
I know shield and shelter from mortal weakness
by the Divine Blood of the one who died on the Cross.
You are, oh Mary, a beacon of hope
that shines from life next to the troubled sea,
and towards your blessed light faintly advance
the castaway who longs to touch in Eden.
Impel her, oh august Mother, your sovereign breath
the shattered candle of my unhappy bat;
show him his course with a compassionate hand,
don't let my heart get lost in him.
***
Woe to the sad one!
Woe to the sad one who consumes
your existence in waiting!
Woe to the sad one who presumes
that the duel with which he is overwhelmed
the absent has to weigh!
Hope is from heaven
precious and fatal gift,
Well, lovers stay awake
they turn hope into jealousy
that burn the heart.
If what is expected is true,
it is a consolation indeed;
but being a chimera,
in such a fragile reality
who waits despairs.
***
To my daughter
On top of the mountain
that serves as a border,
sends you a sincere soul
a kiss and a song;
take them; that from Spain
they have to go give, my life,
in your soul my poetry,
my kiss in your heart.
Your father, behind the mountain
that for both is not a border,
carries sincere friendship
of the author of this song.
Receive, then, from Spain
kiss and sing, my life,
poetry in your soul
and the kiss on the heart.
If one day from that mountain
pass or cross the border,
you will see the sincere soul
who makes you this song,
that the nobility of Spain
is who knows, my life,
give poetry to the soul
and kisses to the heart.
***
To artistic Spain
Whose floor, carpeted with memories,
He is sipping on his own glories
What little he has of each illustrious feat: Traitor and friend without shame deceives you,
Your treasures are bought with slags,
Your monuments, oh! and your stories,
Sold they lead to a strange land. Damn you, homeland of the mighty,
That for a prize you give yourself to who else can
For not waving your indolent arms! Yes, come, I vow to God! for what remains,
Rapacious foreigners, how insolent
You have made Spain an auction!