Love for poetry. Vicente Aleixandre

Even though people with philosophical and literary interests are not visible in the streets - like in the bars in Greece, for instance, where there're guys reading a book stooped over a cup of coffee and exchanging their observations spiritedly with one another, the owner or a waiter - there has always been a lot of remarkable intellectual activity to observe or engage in in Seville. This time I take the liberty to introduce Vicente Aleixandre, one of the most touching authors of Spain in the twentieth century.

Vicente Aleixandre, a Sevillian-born poet who lived a good long life in the years 1889-1984

I myself adore and admire his otherness, that is to say, his enjoyable style of writing and merely personalistic choice of subject matter of which the uniqueness of his spiritual realization being most worth your while. 

Handwriting sample of Vicente Aleixandre

As I said before, Vicente Aleixandre was born in Seville, but raised in Málaga that also lies at the heart of much of his work. In his early teens he moved with his family to Madrid, where he studied law and business administration and began a career in economic law. His first book was published in 1928. Around the same time, Vicente Aleixandre started to befriend with Pedro Salinas, Federico García Lorca, Jorge Guillén, and other Spanish poets based in Madrid, resulting in the novel literary movement referred to as the Generation of '27. The legendary writers of the group tried to bridge the gap between folklore, classical literary tradition and avant-garde phenomena. The influential group of poets wasn't exclusively located in Madrid, but rather spread itself out in a geographical constellation which maintained links together. By the way, the first formal meeting of the group took place in Seville in 1927, and, not surprisingly, two of its most important nuclei were in Andalusia: in Seville, around the Mediodía review, and in Málaga, around the Litoral review.

Monument to the poets of the Generation of '27 in Puerta de Jerez, a square in Seville

Moreover, great thinkers, writers and poets are generally loved and respected by Andalusians. There are a lot of streets (calles) in Andalusia named in honour of them. For example, streets named after Vicente Aleixandre can be found no less than in 24 municipalities of the province of Seville, in 14 municipalities of the province of Granada, in 10 municipalities of the province of Córdoba, in 8 municipalities of the province of Málaga, and in 7 municipalities of those of Huelva, Cádiz, Almería and Jaén. At least! 

Vicente Aleixandre Square

Promenade of Vicente Aleixandre

Vicente Aleixandre was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1977, at the age of 79. At the time, his poetry was barely known outside of Spain. Some of his work was translated into English in Twenty Poems of Vicente Aleixandre (1977) and A Longing for the Light: Selected Poems of Vicente Aleixandre (1979). But, as a matter of fact, prior to 1977, Aleixandre's works available to English readers, including Vicente Aleixandre and Luis Cernuda: Selected Poems (1974) and The Cave of Night: Poems (1976), had received little notice.

I translated a couple of his poems for your information and inspiration, but as I found later there were already some interpretations available online, I won't use mine though.

SIN FE

WITHOUT FAITH

Tienes ojos oscuros. Brillos allí que oscuridad prometen. Ah, cuán cierta es tu noche, cuán incierta mi duda. Miro al fondo la luz, y creo a solas. A solas pues que existes. Existir es vivir con ciencia a ciegas. Pues oscura te acercas y en mis ojos más luces siéntense sin mirar que en ellos brillen. No brillan, pues supieron. Saber es alentar con los ojos abiertos. ¿Dudar...? Quien duda existe. Sólo morir es ciencia.

You have dark eyes. Gleams there that promise darkness. Oh, how certain is your night, how uncertain my doubt. I see the light in the depths, and alone, I believe. Alone then, you exist. To exist is to live with knowledge blindly. For you approach darkly and in my eyes more lights are felt without my observing that they are shining in them. They do not shine, for they were aware. Is awareness knowledge? I do not know you and was aware. To be aware is to breathe with open eyes. To doubt …? One who doubts exists. Only death is knowledge. Translated by J. M. Cohen (see the references)

AMANTE

LOVER

Lo que yo no quiero es darte palabras de ensueño, ni propagar imagen con mis labios en tu frente, ni con mi beso. La punta de tu dedo, con tu uña rosa, para mi gesto tomo, y, en el aire hecho, te la devuelvo. De tu almohada, la gracia y el hueco. Y el calor de tus ojos, ajenos. Y la luz de tus pechos secretos. Como la luna en primavera, una ventana nos da amarilla lumbre. Y un estrecho latir parece que refluye a ti de mí. No es eso. No será. Tu sentido verdadero me lo ha dado ya el resto, el bonito secreto, el graciosillo hoyuelo, la linda comisura y el mañanero desperezo.

What I do not want is to give you the words of day dreams, not to spread the image with my lips on your face, nor with my kiss. I take the tip of your finger with pink nail, for my gesture, and, in this manner of airs, I give it back to you. From the grace and the lightsomeness of your pillow. And the heat of your exotic eyes. And the light of your secret breasts. Like the moon in the spring a window gives us yellow light, and a heart beat seems to flow back from you to me. It’s not that. Nor will it be. Your true sense has already given me the peace, the beautiful secret, the charming dimple, the lovely corner of your mouth and the weary morning. Translation (first draft) from the blog Spanish Poetry in Translation.