The wicked beauty of Oleander

Oleander (la adelfa) is one of the most beautiful but deadly flowers in the world. Oleander is very decorative and drought tolerant, and stays green year-round. No wonder it is used as an ornamental plant in Mediterranean gardens, parks, promenades and any public place you can think of. It's not really a landmark, but landmark-ish; you are bound to run into at least one of the Oleander shrubs when you are in Seville. Here in Andalusia, Oleander is common for landscaping, though intensely poisonous, as it is a fast-growing evergreen. Its flowers can be vibrant pink, yellow, red or white and it is attractive when planted as a median barrier on the central reservations of Andalusian motorways to shield drivers from the effects of on-coming headlights, that is to say, to avoid dazzle between vehicles driving in opposite directions.

Oleander shrubs on the A49 motorway towards Huelva. Photo by Sevilla +VERDE

All these thousands and thousands of flowering shrubs used for motorways have many benefits: they are pleasing on eye, and they are, at the same time, absorbing carbon dioxide, filtering out particulate pollutants, such as atmospheric dust, increasing oxygen levels and humidity, and decreasing air temperature.

Pruning the Oleanders that delimit the central reserves in San Jerónimo neighbourhood in Seville. Photo by ABCdesevilla.es

Speaking of its lethality, cardiac glycosides found in the flowering shrub Oleander are said to be fatally toxic even in small doses, even if only one leaf is ingested. Glycosides can have severe toxic effects on the body, including the heart and other vital organs. Ingesting any type of extracts derived from Oleander leaves or seeds or the raw plant itself can cause Oleander poisoning. I've read a few sources stating that Oleander is not even a good source for bee forage in that the resulting honey is toxic. You can become poisoned just by breathing in it's smoke or by eating Oleander honey, so they say.

Close-up of an Oleander flower. Photo by Montse

The chances are that this is true. Henry Vollam Morton, a British travel writer, insists in his 1964 book about his adventures in Italy (see the references) that there are three categories of plants that are associated with toxic honey:

• plants whose nectar or pollen kills bees before they can transform it into honey (e.g. Locoweed, Veratrum californicum, Vernonia spp.);
• plants whose nectar is harmless to bees but when turned into honey becomes toxic to humans (e.g. Oleander, Thorn apple, Angel's trumpet, Mountain laurel, False jasmine, Euphorbia marginata, Serjania lethalis); and
• known poisonous plants that are harmless to bees and yield edible and often exquisite honey (e.g., Rhustoxicodendron, Metopium toxiferum, Jatropha curcas, Baccharis halimifolia, Ricinus communis).

But then, I tend to agree with some of the Gotmead Forum comments on this issue that the poisonous indigestible sap of Oleander can be irritating to the eyes and skin, but if the nectar was poisonous, the bees would die from consuming it. So, if the bees can eat it and make honey from it, it is not poisonous.

Poems of Antonio Machado

What's so special about Antonio Machado? What's to like about his poetry? For me it's its simplicity, its brevity, its being full of love. For God, for a woman. Though painful to read. I don't mind. Below are some prime examples of his style of verse. First, a couple of pithy love notes from his collection of poems called Nuevas canciones (New songs) combining both intense natural and figurative imagery that give you the idea, for example, that in the touch of spring one feels his longing for love to be reawakened.

CLIX CANCIONES III La primavera ha venido. Nadie sabe cómo ha sido. VIII La fuente y las cuatro acacias en flor de la plazoleta. Ya no quema el sol. ¡Tardecita alegre! Canta, ruiseñor. Es la misma hora de mi corazón. XI A las palabras de amor les sienta bien su poquito de exageración.	CLIX SONGS III Spring is here again. No one knows how it came. VIII The fountains and the four acacias in flower in the little plaza. The sun no longer burns. Pleasant late afternoon! Sing, you nightingale. It’s the same hour in my heart. XI Words of love sound better for a little excess.
	Translation from A. S. Kline's Poetry Archive

As death, besides love, is a recurring theme in the works of Antonio Machado, many scholars have studied his understanding of it thoroughly. Armando López Castro, Literature Professor of the University of León, says (see the references) that according to the poet's comprehension the death is a pit that opens to the possibility of a creation, which explains why he lived dying, in the permanent state of metamorphosis, accepting the death without fear and waiting for it just for being born. López Castro insists that Antonio Machado understood the death as it is and gave way to it big time, letting himself be driven along. To illustrate this I give the following examples from the collection of poems called Galerías.

LXXVIII ¿Y ha de morir contigo el mundo mago donde guarda el recuerdo los hálitos más puros de la vida, la blanca sombra del amor primero, la voz que fue a tu corazón, la mano que tú querías retener en sueños, y todos los amores que llegaron al alma, al hondo cielo? ¿Y ha de morir contigo el mundo tuyo, la vieja vida en orden tuyo y nuevo? ¿Los yunques y crisoles de tu alma trabajan para el polvo y para el viento?

LXXVIII And is that magical world to die with you, where memory goes guarding life’s purest breaths first love’s white shadow, the voice that entered your heart, the hand that you had wished to hold in dream, and all things loved that touched the soul, the depths of sky? And is that world of yours to die with you, the old life you renewed and set in order? Have the anvils and crucibles of your spirit laboured here only for dust and wind?

Translation from A. S. Kline's Poetry Archive

One can't help but think that his death portrayals are a flashback. He seems to have been more like someone risen from the dead than someone born. Oddly, he made no bones about the death for not dying. That was the trick, his survival strategy. Anyway, take a look at another one.

Llamó a mi corazón, un claro día, con perfume de jazmín el viento. - A cambio de este aroma, todo el aroma de tus rosas quiero. - No tengo rosas; flores en mi jardín no hay ya; todas han muerto. Me llevare los llantos de las fuentes, las hojas amarillas y los mustios petalos. Y el viento huyó... Mi corazón sangraba... Alma, ¿qué has hecho de tu pobre huerto?.

The wind, one brilliant day, called to my soul with an aroma of jasmine. “In return for this jasmine odor, I'd like all the odor of your roses.” “I have no roses; I have no flowers left now in my garden... All are dead.” “Then I'll take the waters of the fountains, and the yellow leaves and the dried-up petals.” The wind left. I wept. I said to my soul, “What have you done with the garden entrusted to you?”

Translated by Robert Bly (see the references)

From his first poems on, he never lost his hope to make it there, to the Great Beyond (al Más Allá), on his way from the shadows to the light. Thinking of the death as of the fundamentals of life and accepting the latter, he refused to consider the death to be an end. A thought that serves a beautiful final chord to the post.

Antonio and Leonor, his short-term wife and permanent muse

Aleixandre's video poems

There are some submissions of video poetry that have been made available to a wide audience on YouTube and thereby give the reader, now the viewer, a new experience of Aleixandre's poetry through sonic and visual layering. The following links are a selection of the few video poems of different quality available on the web.

• Videos of original live poetry read by the poet

Vicente Aleixandre himself recites an old-age poem "Rostro final" from one of his last books “Poemas de consumación” published in 1968:

Aleixandre recites "Canción a una muchacha muerta" from his fourth collection “La destrucción o el amor” written in 1932–1933:

Aleixandre recites "Adolescencia" from his first book “Ámbito” published in 1928:

Aleixandre recites “Ten esperanza” written in 1977:

• Other people performing his poetry

Two video versions (one of which being only linkable) of “Unidad en ella”, an Aleixandre's poem also from his book “La destrucción o el amor” published in 1935:

“Ven”, another poem from Aleixandre's “La destrucción o el amor”:

Ramón Fernández "Palmeral" recites Aleixandre's poetry from his collection "Poemas Paradisiacos" published in 1952:

Mercedes Pérez recites "El último amor” by Vicente Aleixandre from his collection ”Historia del corazón” published in 1954:

Manuel Mulciber recites “Después del amor” by Vicente Aleixandre:

Manuel Mulciber recites “Mano estregada” by Vicente Aleixandre:

Luciano Torres recites “Para quién escribo” by Vicente Aleixandre from his collection “En un vasto dominio” published in 1962:

• Aleixandre's Poetry recited in English:

“The Dream” and “You Almost Loved Me” by Vicente Aleixandre.

For the whole list of his books of verse, click here.

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.

García Lorca's "Malagueña"

This time I bring a poem into your attention. It's García Lorca's. This is for several reasons. Firstly, it's called Malagueña, and I have just been to Málaga, another Andalusian city, for a short visit. Secondly, Federico García Lorca is one of my favourite Andalusian poets (from Granada). Thirdly, he was a true devotee (aficionado) of Cante Jondo and flamenco music with what the poem also has to do (for García Lorca's book, see the references).

MALAGUEÑA	MALAGUEÑA
La muerte entra y sale de la taberna. Pasan caballos negros y gente siniestra por los hondos caminos de la guitarra. Y hay un olor a sal y a sangre de hembra, en los nardos febriles de la marina. La muerte entra y sale y sale y entra la muerte the de la taberna.	Death enters, and leaves, the tavern. Black horses and sinister people travel the deep roads of the guitar. And there’s a smell of salt and of female blood in the fevered tuberoses of the shore. Death enters, and leaves, and leaves, and enters, death of the tavern. Translation from here.

The title of the poem has several metaphorical connotations: it refers to a city (Málaga), a song (malagueña) and a woman/death, as malagueña is also understood as a woman from Málaga (I'll make the point on the connection with death clear some time in the future). According to George Boylston Brown, a music historian (please, see the references), malagueña is an example of native folk art of Gypsy influence (but not considered to be pure Gypsy folk art) together with rondena, granadina, cartagenera, murciana, fandanguillo, tango, seguidilla, sevillana and saetas. Basically, it's a traditional style of Andalusian music, a flamenco song used for dance. And, as stated in a study of a Hispanist, Walter Starkie, there is a distinction between Cante Flamenco (flamenco song) and Cante Jondo (deep song): Cante Jondo is limited to the purer and less corrupted style of singing - people have used the word Cante Jondo as a synonym of Cante Gitano (Gypsy song), whereas Cante Flamenco is used for every sort of Andalusian folk songs.

Edward Stanton, Professor Emeritus at the Department of Spanish Studies in the University of Kentucky in Lexington, who has worked on comparative literature and popular Spanish culture and has published on such topics as Hemingway in Spain and the contemporary pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, agrees those for whom García Lorca is an "extremist". García Lorca noted that the poetry of Gypsy music - Andalusian music influencer, as already stressed above - lacks a middle tone. Love and death constitute the two basic poles, leaving little room for the development of intermediate themes. The deepest forms of this music flourish only in extreme states - religious or sensual ecstasy, freedom, death, guilt. Stanton says that the poems do not usually describe or comment on these states. Their involvement is too direct to permit the luxury of moral or philosophical speculation.

For my Estonian readers, here's a very fine video version of García Lorca's Malagueña: