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Poetry
Chaikhana
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About Antonio MachadoTimeline (1875 - 1939) |
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English version by Original Language |
Songs
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I
Against the flowering mountain, the wide sea surges. The comb of my honeybees has gathered grains of salt. II Against the black water. Scent of sea and jasmine. Malaga night. III Spring has come. No one knows what has happened. IV Spring has come. White hallelujahs from the brambles in flower! V Full moon, full moon, so pregnant, so round. This serene March night, honeycomb of light carved by white bees! VI Castille night; the song is said, or, better, unsaid. When all sleep I'll go to the window. VII Sing, sing in clear rhyme, the almond's green arm and the river's double willow. Sing of the motled oak, the branch the ax cut, and the flower no one sees. Of the garden pear's white flower, the peach tree's rosy blossom. And this perfume the wet wind plucked from the blossoming beans. VIII The fountain and the four acacias aflower in the plaza. The sun burns no more. Twilight bliss! Sing, nightingale. This is the hour of my heart. IX White lodge, traveler's cell, with my shadow! X The Roman waterway, -- sings a voice from my homeland -- and the love we have for each other, little one, what strength! XI With words of love a bit of exaggeration just feels right. XII In Santo Domingo, the high mass. Even though they call me heretic and Mason, praying with you, what devotion! XIII Celebrations in the green pasture -- fife and drum. With his flower-draped crook and golden sandals a shepherd came. Down from the mountain I came, only to dance with her; to the mountain I'll return. Among the bower there is a nightingale; it sings of night and of day, it sings of the moon and the sun. Husky from song: to the garden goes the girl and a rose she will cut. Between the black oaks, there is a fountain of stone, and a clay pitcher that is never full. By the oak wood, with the white moon, she will return. XIV With you in Valonsadero, Feast of San Juan, morning in the Argentine plain, on the other side of the sea. Keep faith in me, that I will return. Tomorrow I'll be the wind upon the plain and my heart itself will go to the banks of the High Douro. XV While you are dancing in a circle, girls, sing: The fields are already green, April in his splendor has come. At the riverbank, near the black oaks, his silver sandals we've seen shine. The fields are already green, April in his splendor has come.
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Here is a translation I did of one of Antonio Machado's poems.
As with most of his poetry, the land itself is his primary subject. For Machado, the countryside is always alive, still, very present, awakening a deeper, but somewhat melancholy awareness of all that is.
The woman he refers to in this poem is probably his wife. She was raised in a traditional Catholic family, where only a churchgoer was considered a suitable match. When he was courting her, Machado started going to church regularly. She was his Beloved, she became the embodiment of the Divine for him. He says ironically, "praying with you / what devotion!" You can just picture his eyes turned from the altar to catch a glimpse of her face.
Sadly, she died as a young woman, soon after they were married. In Machado's poetry, she takes on a ghost-like quality, haunting his memories, calling to him, perhaps becoming even more consciously an image of the Divine as a result. Machado seems to be deliberately cultivating a mystical connection with her otherworldly presence through the very pain of separation. His longing is itself the connection.
"Even though they call me / heretic and Mason..." Some of his poetry hints at an even more specific mysticism, some familiarity with freethinking European mystical traditions, and maybe even Spanish Sufism. A couple of his other poems use overt symbols that draw on European alchemical thinking, for example.
If we want to stretch the symbolism of this series of verses (probably more than Machado himself intended), we could read a crown and seat symbolism overlaid on the geographical locations mentioned. Machado refers to the Malaga night "against the black water." Malaga is in lower Spain, place of mystery and ancient secrets, of Sufis and Kabbalists. It is near the Straits of Gibraltar, where the Mediterranean meets the Atlantic Ocean. Malaga is the gateway to Africa, doorway to the unknown. We could see Malaga as representing the point of initiation into the mysteries, the seat of the dark and awesome Kundalini. Whereas Castille is northern Spain, the crown, where "the song is said, / or, better, unsaid. / When all sleep / I'll go to the window." Castille is the place of awakening and true vision, read this way.
But I admit that interpretation is somewhat forced. I like the more immediate nature mysticism of these lines:
Spring has come.
No one knows what has happened.
Spring has come.
White hallelujahs
from the brambles in flower!
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Ivan
M. Granger's original poetry, stories and commentaries are Copyright ©
2002 - 2008 by Ivan M. Granger.
All other material is copyrighted by the respective authors, translators and/or
publishers.