leopold panero He was born in Astorga, León, on August 27, 1909. He studied in Valladolid and there shone for the talent of his poetry, where he experimented with free verse, the Dadaism, as well as the surrealism.
His work includes titles such as The empty room, Verses al Guadarrama, Written at every moment o Personal song. And the most remembered is Candida. Among others, he won the National Prize for Literature in 1949. This is a selection of some of his poems. To remember or discover it.
Leopoldo Panero - Poems
In your smile
Your smile begins,
like the sound of rain on windows.
The afternoon vibrates at the bottom of freshness,
and a sweet smell rises from the earth,
a smell similar to your smile,
ya move your smile like a willow
with the aura of April; the rain brushes
vaguely the landscape,
and your smile is lost inside,
and inwards it is erased and undone,
and towards the soul it takes me,
from the soul it brings me,
stunned, by your side.
Your smile already burns between my lips,
and smelling in it I am of clean earth,
already light, already the freshness of the afternoon
where the sun shines again, and the iris,
moved slightly by the air,
it's like your smile that ends
leaving its beauty among the trees ...
Flow from Spain
I'm drinking in the light, and from within
of my hot love, the land alone
that surrenders to my feet like a wave
of livid beauty. I enter my soul;
I sink my eyes to the living center
of mercy that without limits immolates itself
the same as a mother. And shimmer
the shadow of the planet our meeting.
Behind the clear sea the steppe grows,
and the brown cliff, and the still stream
at the bottom of the sudden ravine
that stops the heart and darkens it,
as a drop of time already complete
that towards God emerges on his way.
My son
From my old shore, from the faith that I feel,
towards the first light that the pure soul takes,
I'm going with you, my son, down the slow road
of this love that grows in me like meek madness.
I go with you, my son, sleepy frenzy
of my flesh, word of my quiet depth,
music that someone beats I don't know where, in the wind,
I don't know where, my son, from my dark shore.
I go, you take me, my gaze becomes credulous,
you push me slightly (I almost feel the cold);
You invite me to the shadow that sinks to my footstep,
You drag me by the hand ... And in your ignorance I trust,
I have already abandoned your love without leaving anything,
terribly lonely, I don't know where, my son.
Blind hands
Ignoring my life
struck by starlight,
like a blind man who extends,
when walking, hands in the shade,
all of me, my Christ,
all my heart, without diminishing, whole,
virginal and on, rests
in the future life, like the tree
he rests on the sap, which nourishes him,
and it makes it bloom and green.
All my heart, ember of a man,
useless without Your love, without You empty,
in the night he looks for you,
I feel him looking for you, like a blind man,
that extends when walking with full hands
wide and joyful.
Transparent matter
Again like in dreams my heart is fogged
of having lived… Oh cool transparent matter!
Again as then I feel God in my gut.
But in my chest now it is thirst that was a source.
In the morning the mountain light clears
immerse the blue gullies of relente ...
Once again this corner of Spain is like in dreams,
this smell of snow that my memory feels!
Oh pure and transparent matter, where prisoners,
just like the flowers in the frost, we stay
one day, there in the shadow of the thick forests
where the stems are born that when we live we tear!
Oh sweet spring that runs through my bones
again as in dreams ...! And again we woke up.
Sonnet
Lord, the old log falls apart,
the strong love born little by little,
breaks. The heart, the poor fool,
is crying alone in a low voice,
of the old trunk making poor box
mortal. Lord, I touch the oak in bones
undone between my hands, and I invoke you
in the holy old age that cracks
his noble strength. Each branch, in a knot,
It was brotherhood of sap and all together
they gave happy shade, good shores.
Lord, the ax calls the dumb log,
blow by blow, and is filled with questions
the heart of man where you sound.
In this winged peace of heart ...
In this winged peace of heart
the horizon of Castile rests,
and the flight of the cloud without shore
the plain blue meekly.
Only the light and the look remain
marrying mutual wonder
from the hot yellow land
and the greenery of the peaceful oak.
Say with the language the good fortune
of our double childhood, my brother,
and listen to the silence that names you!
The prayer to hear from pure water,
the fragrant whisper of summer
and the wing of the poplars in the shade.