The Poems of realism Were the exponent of a literary movement was propelled in Europe in the middle of the nineteenth century, due to the natural exhaustion that was presenting the predecessor: the romanticism .
At realism Certain romantic canons such as costumbrismo were maintained, but he moved away from the imaginative and trivial to return to a more objective view of the world: to present society as it was, even with its defects. The latter was gaining ground and this current led to another call naturalism .
Although in the literary field, the genre that was most cultivated was the novel - which was given in parts in the European newspapers - poetry also found its place from the hand of leading authors of the time.
7 Poems of important authors of realism
1- Dollars
Love and glory
On sand and wind
It has been founded by the whole heaven!
Same the world of mud
Than the world of feeling.
Of love and glory the foundation
Only air and sand are.
Towers with which the illusion
Full world and hearts;
Those of the world are sand,
And air the heart!
Author: Ramón de Campoamor
2- The kingdom of the beodos
A kingdom once had so many drunks,
Which can be said to be all,
In which by just law was prevented:
-No one catches the wine.-
With joy the most crazy
Applauded the law, for costing:
To follow her, is another step;
But anyway, this is the case
Which gave a very different bias,
Believing that only the red,
And in the most frank way
They were then tasted with white wine.
I am surprised that the people do not understand it.
The Senate to the law puts an amendment,
And that of: None cate the wine,
He added, White, Apparently, with accuracy.
Respecting the amendment the populace,
Returned with red wine to be drunk,
Believing instinctively what instinct!
That the private in such case was not the red.
The Senate was already running,
In the second amendment, in cash
"None of the wine,
Be white, be red, - I warn you;
And the people, to leave the new attack,
With red wine then mixed white;
Finding another evasion in this way,
For neither white nor red was then.
Third time, mocked,
"That's not it, no sir,"said the Senate;
But how much a rebellious people forge!
Do you think I luv it mixed with water?
The Senate then left the post,
So on ceasing he gave a manifesto:
The law is network, in which it is always found
Decomposed a mesh,
Where the ruin that in his reason does not trust,
If you get suspicious... That's right!
And in the other colijo
That should say, if he did not say it:
The law never fails
To which to his infamy his malice equals:
If it is to be obeyed, the bad is good;
But if it is to be avoided, the good is bad.
Author: Ramón de Campoamor
3- Voltaire
You are a formidable striker: nothing
Resist your satanic irony.
Through the tomb still
Your raucous laugh resonates.
Fell under your steel satire
How much human stupidity he believed,
And today reason no longer serves as a guide
To the offspring of Adam regenerated.
Already only influences his immortal destiny
The free religion of ideas;
Already miserable faith to earth came;
Christ already collapses; And the tiles
They illuminate the mysteries of the road;
You've already won, Voltaire. Screw you!
Author: Gaspar Nuñez de Arce
4- The Ama (Fragment)
I learned at home in what is founded
The most perfect bliss,
And to make it mine
I wanted to be like my father was
And I looked for a woman like my mother
Among the daughters of my noble land.
And I was like my father, and he was my wife
Living image of the dead mother.
A miracle of God, that seeing made me
Another woman like the holy one!
They shared my only loves
The companion lover,
The homeland idolized,
The manor house,
With the inherited history,
With the inherited hacienda.
How good was the wife
And how wasteful the earth!
How happy was my house
And what heals my property,
And how strongly it was united
The tradition of honesty to them!
A simple laborer, humble,
Daughter of dark castellana hamlet;
A hardworking, honest woman,
Christian, kind, affectionate and serious,
I changed my house in adorable idyll
That no poet could dream.
Oh, how does it soften?
The painful hassle of the tasks
When there is love at home
And with him much bread is kneaded therein
For the poor who live in their shadow,
For the poor who fight for it!
And how much they appreciate it, without saying it,
And how much they care about the house,
And how they care for it,
And how God increases it!
Everything Christian woman could do,
The discreet woman did it all.
Life in the farmhouse
Revolved around her
Peaceful and friendly,
Monotonous and serene...
And how the joy and the work
Where is the virtue are penetrated!
Washing in the crystalline stream
The mozuelas sang,
And sang in the valleys the cowboy,
And the young men sang in the lands,
And the water-way to the fountain,
And the bummer on the bare slope...
And I also sang,
That she and the country made me a poet!
Sang the balance
Of that serene soul
Like the wide skies,
Like the fields of my beloved land;
And sang also those fields,
Those of the browns, wavy slopes,
Those of the seas of waxed harvest,
Those of the serious perspectives,
Those of the castes solitudes deep,
Those of the gray dead farms...
The soul was drenched
In the solemn classical grandeur
Which filled the open areas
Of heaven and earth.
Quenching the atmosphere,
How peaceful the landscape is, how serene
The blue atmosphere stretched
Over the face of the immense plain!
The afternoon breeze
Waved, loving, the mall,
The flowered brambles of the enclosure,
The guindos of the vega,
The crops of the leaf,
The green canopy of the old holm oak...
Monorrhmica music of the plain,
How nice you sound, how sweet it was!
The Shepherd's Bagpipe on the Hill
I wept the tunes of the earth,
Full of sweetness,
Full of monotonous sorrows,
And within the meaning
Cadences were falling
Like golden drops
Of sweet honey from the honeycomb flowed.
Life was solemn;
Pure and serene thought was;
Calm feeling, like breezes;
Mute and strong love, gentle feathers
Austere pleasures,
Ragged beliefs,
Tasty bread, repairing the dream,
Easy the good and pure the conscience.
What do you want the soul
Had to be good,
And how he was filled with tenderness
When God told him it was!
Author: José María Gabriel y Galán
5. Ecce Homo!
Twenty-four years ago
That I live only with myself
And four years ago I wish
To divorce myself.
Everything around me
It causes me deep boredom,
And if I enter into myself, it frightens me
And it gives me horror what I look at...
My head is vast chaos
Callous and sombre
Of which never will a world,
And it's my heart a circus
In that they fight like beasts
My virtues and my vices.
Without a star in my sky,
In black night road;
I look for flowers and I find thistles,
Heavenly aroma I perceive,
I run to him, and, running, blind,
My feet find emptiness;
Impossible is to stop,
I fall to an abyss,
I can grab a rose...
And it comes off with me!
Today neither love nor feel I can...
Oh! When I think I have been
Happy... that could be...
One day, damn day,
An eagerness to know crazy,
Made my spirit taste
The fence
Forbidden tree fruit
Of good and evil... Science
Threw me out of paradise!
Cruel she, in microscopes
My eyes have become;
Others see pure water
Full of infusorios I look,
And where they find love them
I only discover selfishness.
There are those at night, in the forest,
He delights in pure sheen
Of a light that between the leaves
The lawn opens the way;
I do not, I can not enchant
And to that light I approach,
Until you find the worm...
And I do the same in the world!
And if it causes my life
Boredom and annoyance,
Just thinking about death
I get chills.
Ill if I live, and worse if I die,
See if I will be fun
If the beings of the earth
Live all of which I live,
As there is God (if there is one) I do not understand
For what we will be born!...
Damn my luck
And the day be damned
In which they sent me to the world
Without consulting me
Author: Joaquín María Bartrina
6- The Homeland
I.
I want one day
Knowing what the Motherland is,
An old man told me
How much he loved her:
"The country feels;
They have no words
Of course explain it
Human languages.
»There, where all
Things speak to us
With voice that to the bottom
Penetrates the soul;
»There, where it starts
The short day
That the man in the world
The heavens point;
»There, where singing
Mother cooled
The cradle that the Angel
He guarded the guard;
»Where, on land
Blessed and Sacred
From grandparents and parents
The rest rests;
»There, where it rises
Your roof the house
Of our majors...
There is the Motherland.
II.
»The deep valley,
The rough mountain
What did you see merry
Running our childhood;
»The old ruïnas
Of tombs and of aras
What cloaks do they wear today?
Ivy and bramble;
»The tree that fruits
And shadow gave us
To the harmonious sound
Of the bird and the aura;
»Memories, loves,
Sadness, hopes,
What sources have been
Of joy and tears;
»The image of the temple,
The rock and the beach
That neither years nor absences
Of the spirit begin;
"The familiar voice,
The young lady who passes,
The flower that you have watered,
And the field that you make;
"Already in sweet concert,
Already in isolated notes,
You will hear what they say:
Here is the Motherland.
III.
»The floor you step on
And sports the finery
Of art and industry
Of all your race,
»It's not a day's work
That the wind breaks;
Labor is of centuries
Of sorrows and deeds.
»In him took origin
The faith that inflames you;
In him your affections
More noble ones are rooted:
»In him they have written
Plows and swords,
Brushes and pens,
Buriles and feats,
»Anales sombríos,
Stories that enchant
And in eternal traits
Your people portray.
»And so much in his life
Yours are linked,
Which one joins a tree
To the trunk the branch.
»Why present
Or in distant areas,
With you
The Fatherland always goes.
IV.
"It does not matter that the man,
Your land is ungrateful,
Let hunger afflict her,
May the plagues invade her;
»What vile executioners
The postren slave,
Breaking the Law
More fair and holy;
»What eternal nights
The mists bring you,
And never the stars
Your desired light;
"Ask the outcast,
Ask the vacant
For her homeless,
Without peace and without calm;
»Ask if they can
Never forget it,
If in sleep and wakefulness
For her they do not cry!
"It does not exist, in their eyes,
More beautiful abode,
Neither in the field nor in the sky
None equals him.
»Maybe together
They say tomorrow
"My God is yours,
My homeland your homeland. »
Author: Ventura Ruiz Aguilera
7- Recipe for a new art
Mix without concert, to the ventura,
he lake , the neurosis , he delirium ,
Titania , he dream , Satan , he lily ,
the dragon-fly , he Punch and the sculpture;
Dissolve in hellenic tincture
Auroral pallor Y Candle light ,
To be Musset already Baudelaire martyrdom,
And tongue and rhyme put on torture.
Then pass the thick mixture
By alambique to the sesera vana
Of a bard blue Of the last consignment
And you will have that sovereign jargon
Which is Góngora dressed to the French
And dipped in American compote.
Author: Emilio Ferrari
References
- Spanish Literature of Realism. Retrieved from es.wikipedia.org.
- Spanish Realism. Characteristics, Authors and Works. Recovered from una.es.
- Outstanding Authors of Spanish Realism. Retrieved from masterlengua.com.
- D. Ramón de Campoamor. Recovered from los-poetas.com.
- Doloras. Retrieved from poemasde.net.
- "Ecce Homo!", A poem by Joaquín María Bartrina. Recovered from caminoivars.com.
- José María Gabriel y Galán. Retrieved from poems-del-alma.com.
- Homeland. Recovered from sabalete.es.
- Emilio Ferrari. Retrieved from poeticas.es.