Poems by Juan Ramón Jiménez

As a figure within Spanish-American literature and poetry, Juan Ramón Jiménez belongs to the Generation of 14 —or Noucentismo—; however, due to its aesthetics, it is possible to shelter it under Modernism. At the same time, he is a poet who transcends the literati of his own time, so it is convenient to study him outside the same guidelines with which the works of that period of time are examined.

In addition, Juan Ramón Jiménez was part of the Generation of '27, marking a path for poetic transformation and the imposition of pure poetry in Spain. It is in the first decade of the XNUMXth century that the author made his first collaborations as a writer for magazines, while publishing his first books. Jiménez obtained the Nobel Prize for Literature thanks to a group of works among which is the lyric in prose Platero and me.

Brief biography of Juan Ramón Jiménez

Juan Ramon Jimenez was born in 1881, in Moguer, Huelva, Spain. He was a Spanish poet and writer. In his adolescence he moved to Seville to be a painter; However, some time later he changed the easel for the pen, and devoted himself fully to letters. Around 1900, his father died, and his entire family was beset by bank debt. This fact deeply marked the author, who had to be admitted to a psychiatric clinic to treat his depression.

It is precisely at this time where books like Platero and me, where he collects poems in prose that narrate the story of days gone by, which he traveled in the company of his faithful donkey. Other works belonging to these years were Distant gardens y The sound solitude. Similarly, Juan Ramón wrote love books, where he recounted his adventures with local, foreign, single women, and even nuns, activity that was perpetuated until his marriage with Zenobia Camprubí.

Best poems by Juan Ramón Jiménez

"lucky creature"

Singing you go, laughing by the water,

you go whistling through the air, laughing,

in round blue and gold, silver and green,

happy to pass and review

among the red first bud of April,

different form, of snapshots

equalities of light, life, color,

with us, inflamed shores!

How joyful you are, being,

with what eternal universal joy!

You happily break the billowing of the air,

contrary to the ripples of the water!

Don't you have to eat or sleep?

Is all spring your place?

Everything green, everything blue,

the flourishing all is yours?

There is no fear in your glory;

your destiny is to return, return, return,

in round silver and green, blue and gold,

for an eternity of eternities!

You give us your hand, in a moment

of possible affinity, of sudden love,

of radiant bestowal;

and, to your warm touch,

in crazy vibration of flesh and soul,

we light up with harmony,

we forget, new, of the same,

We shine, for an instant, happy with gold.

Looks like we're going to be

perennials like you

that we are going to fly from the sea to the mountains,

that we are going to jump from the sky to the sea,

that we are going back, back, back

for an eternity of eternities!

And we sing, we laugh through the air,

through the water we laugh and whistle!

But you don't have to forget

you are perpetual casual presence,

you are the lucky creature

the magical being alone, the shadowless being,

the one adored for warmth and grace,

the free, the intoxicating thief,

that, in round blue and gold, silver and green,

you go laughing, whistling through the air,

through the water singing you go, laughing!

"to my soul"

You always have the branch prepared

for the fair rose; you are alert

always, the warm ear at the door

from your body, to the unexpected arrow.

A wave does not come from nothing,

that does not take away from your open shadow

the light better. At night, you're awake

in your star, to the sleepless life.

Indelible sign you put on things.

then, turned glory of the peaks,

you will revive in everything you seal.

Your rose will be the norm of roses;

your hearing, of harmony; of the fires

your thinking; your vigil, of the stars.

 “Nudes”

The gray moon was born, and Beethoven cried,

under the white hand, on her piano...

In the room without light, she, while playing,

brunette of the moon, she was three times beautiful.

We both had bled the flowers

of the heart, and if we cried without seeing each other...

Each note ignited a love wound...

"...The sweet piano was trying to understand us."

By the balcony open to starry mists,

A sad wind was coming from invisible worlds...

She asked me about unknown things

and I answered him about impossible things...

"I'm not me"

I'm not me.

I am this

that goes by my side without me seeing it,

that sometimes I will see

and that sometimes I forget.

The one who is silent, serene, when I speak,

the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,

the one who walks where I am not,

the one that will be left standing when I die.

"Transparency, God, transparency"

God of coming, I feel you in my hands,

here you are entangled with me, in a beautiful fight

of love, the same

than a fire with its air.

You are not my redeemer, nor are you my example,

Not my father, not my son, not my brother;

you are equal and one, you are different and everything;

you are the god of the beauty achieved,

my awareness of the beautiful.

I have nothing to purge.

All my impediment

It's nothing but foundation for this today

in which, at last, I want you;

because you are already by my side

in my electric zone,

as it is in love, full love.

You, essence, are consciousness; my conscience

and that of others, that of all

with the highest form of consciousness;

that the essence is the most,

is the highest attainable form,

and your essence is in me, like my form.

All my molds, filled

they were of you; but you now

you have no mold, you are without a mold; you are grace

that does not admit support,

that does not admit corona,

that crowns and sustains being weightless.

You are free grace

the glory of liking, the eternal sympathy,

the joy of tremor, the luminary

of clariver, the bottom of love,

the horizon that takes nothing away;

transparency, God transparency,

the one at last, God now alone in one of mine,

in the world that I have created for you and for you

"The Ultimate Journey"

… And I will go. And the birds will stay

singing;

and my garden will remain, with its green tree,

and with its white well.

Every afternoon, the sky will be blue and placid;

and they will play, as this afternoon they are playing,

the bells of the belfry.

Those who loved me will die;

and the town will become new every year;

and in that corner of my flowery and whitewashed garden,

my spirit will err nostalgic...

And I will go; And I'll be alone, homeless, treeless

green, no white well,

no blue and placid sky ...

And the birds will stay, singing.