Leopoldo Panero Torbado He died on August 27, 1962. He studied Law at the Universities of Valladolid and Madrid, where he graduated. He published the first verses of it in New Magazine, a publication that he founded and where he also launched others. Later, in Madrid, he became friends with Luis Rosales or Gerardo diego among others. Among his works are Verses of the Guadarrama o candid door, already at the end of his life. And among the awards he received is the Award National Literature. We remember it with this selection of poems.
Leopoldo Panero — Selection of poems
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 in my footprint,
You drag me by the hand ... And in your ignorance I trust,
and your love abandoned me with nothing left,
terribly lonely, I don't know where, my son.
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.
The melancholy
The man grasps in his sleep the hand that is extended to him
an angel, almost an angel. He touches her cold flesh,
and to the bottom of the soul. On her knees, she descends.
He he. He is the one who hopes to take us each day.
It is the sweet ghost of the heart, the elf
of our poor souls, is melancholy.
It is the sound of the forests where the wind spreads
speaking to us the same as God would speak to us!
An angel, almost an angel. In our chest pray,
in our eyes it looks and in our hand it touches;
and everything is like a mist of a slight sadness,
and everything is like a kiss close to our mouth,
and everything is like an angel tired of beauty,
who carries this weight of rock on his back!
say with language
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
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.
Song with your humility
how do you quench my thirst
with your humility! Your hand
shudders in my chest
the shadow of pain, just like a bird
among the green branches, next to the sky!
how you bring to my lips
with your humility the light on your forehead
the same as the snow on the field,
and you quench my thirst for having cried
of humility, having you,
asleep, like a child, in my arms!
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 her beauty among the trees.
Source: City Seva