Luis de Góngora. Portrait of Velázquez.
Luis de Gongora is, regardless of the particular tastes in poetry of each, the poet most original and influential of the Golden Age Spanish, where there was such a concentration of original and influential poets. Today is a new death anniversary of this immortal Cordoba man forever in his work of that intricate language, full of hyperbole, symbolism and cultism, periphrasis and almost impossible structures. To remind you, this is a selection of some of their sonnets.
Luis de Góngora and I
You have to admit it. Whoever reads Góngora and understands him (or thinks he does) the first time is a privileged person. Not even in my most tender childhood schoolboy, when you first read (or try to read) the fable of Polyphemus and Galatea, not now at the point of Half century I have managed to follow the good Don Luis. That is also where the attraction lies, the beauty their punches us and that twist a the language that few knew how to combine like this universal Cordovan poet.
And, in the end, it's true that you stay with him dialectical duel and bitterness unequaled that one had with another monster of his caliber, although more talkative as he was Don Francis Quevedo. But also with the fact that Don Miguel de Cervantes praised him to infinity. With the eyes that age gives and so many more readings, take a look now at Góngora It remains a challenge, but his virtuosity with the words.
6 sonnets
While competing with your hair
To Cordoba
Of honor, of majesty, of gallantry!
Oh great river, great king of Andalusia,
Of noble sands, since not golden!
That privileges the sky and gilds the day!
Oh always glorious my homeland,
As much for feathers as for swords! If among those ruins and spoils
That enriches Genil and Dauro bathes
Your memory was not my food,
Never deserve my absent eyes
See your wall, your towers and your river,
Your plain and sierra, oh homeland, oh flower of Spain!
To jealousy
Oh fog of the most serene state,
Hellish fury, evil born serpent!
O poisonous hidden viper
From green meadow to fragrant bosom!
Oh among the nectar of Poison mortal love,
That in a crystal glass you take life!
Oh sword on me with a hair held,
Of the loving hard brake spur!
O zeal, of the eternal executioner favor!
Go back to the sad place where you were,
Or to the kingdom (if you fit there) of terror;
But you will not fit there, because there has been so much
That you eat yourself and you don't finish,
You must be greater than hell itself.
To Quevedo
Spanish Anacreon, there is no one to stop you,
Do not say with great courtesy,
That since your feet are of elegy,
That your softness is made of syrup.
Will you not imitate the Terentian Lope,
Than to Bellerophon every day
On clogs of comic poetry
He wears spurs, and gives him a gallop?
With special care your cravings
They say they want to translate into Greek
Your eyes not having looked at it.
Lend them a while to my blind eye,
Because to light I brought out certain lazy verses,
And you will understand any gregüesco later.
Already kissing crystal clear hands
Already kissing crystal clear hands,
already knotting me to a white and smooth neck,
already spreading that hair over him
what love he drew from the gold of his mines,
already breaking into those fine pearls
sweet words a thousand without merit,
already grabbing each beautiful lip
purple roses without fear of thorns,
I was, oh clear envious sun,
when your light, hurting my eyes,
it killed my glory and my luck ran out.
If the sky is no longer less powerful,
because they don't give yours more annoyance,
Damn, like your son, give you death.
Inscription for the tomb of Dominico Greco
It is in elegant shape, oh pilgrim,
of shining porphyry hard key,
the brush denies the softer world,
who gave spirit to wood, life to linen.
His name, even more breathtaking dino
that in the bugles of Fame it fits,
the field illustrates from that grave marble:
avenge him and continue on your way.
The Greek lies. Inherited Nature
Art; and Art, study; Iris, colors;
Phoebus, lights -if not shadows, Morpheus-.
So much urn, despite its hardness,
tears drink, and how many sweats smells
Sabeo tree funeral bark.