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
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WITHOUT FAITH
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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.
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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)
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AMANTE
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LOVER
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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.
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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.
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