Are fulfilled today 19 years after death of one of the greatest Spanish poets, Rafael Alberti. On October 28, 1999, this poet and also playwright left the moorings, member of the Generation of 27. He was considered one of the most representative writers of what became known as the Silver Age of Spanish literature in the first third of the XNUMXth century. Today I highlight these 5 poems to remember it.
Rafael Alberti
Alberti was born in El Puerto de Santa María on December 16, 1902 and died in the same city. At 15 he went to Madrid and lived there ever since. When his father died in 1920, a fact that marked him especially, started writing poetry. And while he was discovering himself as a poet he met a whole generación of young people as bright as him who would make up one of the most representative and influential of the entire Spanish twentieth century. Was the Part 27 and among them were Federico García Lorca, Pedro Salinas or Vicente Aleixandre.
When the Civil War ideologically positioned itself through the Alliance of Antifascist Intellectuals. After the conflict, went into exile and he was living in various parts of the world, from Paris to Buenos Aires.
Regarding his work, He was the author of a long list of collections of poems, including his acquaintance Sailor on land, who won the National Poetry Award, A ghost haunts Europe, Smile China, On the angels o Songs for Altair.
5 poems
What i left for you
I left my forests for you, my loss
grove, my sleepless dogs,
my capital years exiled
until almost the winter of life.
I left a shake, I left a shake,
a blaze of unquenched fires,
I left my shadow in the desperate
bleeding eyes of parting.
I left sad doves by a river
horses on the sun of the sands,
I stopped smelling the sea, I stopped seeing you.
I left everything that was mine for you.
Give me you, Rome, in exchange for my sorrows,
as much as I left to have you.
***
To Garcilaso de la Vega
… Ahead of time and almost in cut flower.
G. OF THE V.
You would have seen the ivy crying when the saddest water spent a whole night watching over an already soulless helmet,
to a dying helmet on a rose born in the mist that sleeps the mirrors of castles
at that hour when the driest tuberose remember their life when they see the dead violets abandon their boxes
and the lutes drown by trampling themselves.
It is true that the pits invented the dream and the ghosts.
I do not know what that immobile empty armor looks on the battlements.
How are there lights that so soon decree the agony of the swords
if you think that a lily is guarded by leaves that last much longer?
Living little and crying is the fate of the snow that mistakes its route.
In the south the cold bird is always cut almost in flower.
***
With the
I will set sail, at dawn, from the Port,
towards Palos de Moguer,
on a boat without oars.
At night, alone, to sea!
and with the wind and with you!
With your black beard you,
I bearded.
***
The good angel
The one I wanted came
the one I called.
Not the one who sweeps skies without defenses.
stars without huts,
moons without a country,
snows.
Snow of those falls of a hand,
a name,
a dream,
A front.
Not the one who to his hair
bound death.
The one I wanted.
Without scratching the air,
without hurting leaves or moving crystals.
The one who to his hair
tied the silence.
For without hurting me,
dig a shore of sweet light into my chest
and make my soul navigable.
***
The sea
The sea. The sea.
The sea. Only the sea!
Why did you bring me, father,
to the city?
Why did you dig me up
from sea?
In dreams the tidal wave
it pulls me by the heart;
I would like to take it.
Father why did you bring me
here? Moaning to see the sea,
a little sailor on land
raise this lament to the air:
Oh my sailor blouse;
the wind always inflated it
spotting the breakwater!