viernes, 17 de abril de 2009

Antonio Machado (1875-1939)


Vamos a empezar a trabajar la antología de A. Machado. Para facilitaros el material, os proporciono enlaces a los veinte poemas que trabajaremos. Os recomiendo que los copiéis en un documento de texto para poder imprimirlos y anotar todo que lo vayamos comentado en clase.

¡Buen trabajo!



Soledades. Galerías y otros poemas

  1. "He andado muchos caminos"
  2. "Fue una clara tarde, triste y soñolienta"
  3. "El limonero lánguido suspende"
  4. "Se ha asomado una cigüeña a lo alto del campanario"
  5. "Las ascuas de un crepúsculo morado"
  6. "Era una mañana y abril sonreía"
  7. "Pasan las horas del hastío"
  8. "Era una tarde cenicienta y mustia"
Campos de Castilla

  1. Retrato. "Mi infancia son recuerdos de un patio de Sevilla"
  2. El Dios ibero. "Igual que el ballestero"
  3. Orillas del Duero. "¡Primavera soriana, primavera...!"
  4. Un loco. "Es una tarde mustia y desabrida"
  5. Campos de Soria, VII. "¡Colinas plateadas..."; VIII. "He vuelto a ver los álamos dorados"
  6. A un olmo seco. "Al olmo seco, hendido por el rayo"
  7. "Allá en las tierras altas"
  8. "Soñé que tú me llevabas"
  9. A José María Palacio. "Palacio, buen amigo"
  10. Otro viaje. "Ya en los campos de Jaén"
  11. Proverbios y cantares.
Nuevas canciones
  1. Los sueños dialogados, IV. "¡Oh soledad, mi sola compañía...!"

3 comentarios:

Monica Fernández dijo...

Curioso como a todos nos marcan los veranos de la infancia. Te dejo uno de mis poemas preferidos de Yeats. Si quieres te lo paso en inglés ;-)
Monica

LA ISLA DEL LAGO DE INNISFREE

Me levantaré y me pondré en marcha, y a Innisfree iré,
y una choza haré allí, de arcilla y espinos:
nueve surcos de habas tendré allí, un panal para la miel,
y viviré solo en el arrullo de los zumbidos.

Y tendré algo de paz allí, porque la paz viene goteando con calma,
goteando desde los velos de la mañana hasta allí donde canta el grillo;
allí la medianoche es una luz tenue, y el mediodía un brillo escarlata
y el atardecer pleno de alas de pardillo.

Me levantaré y me pondré en marcha, noche y día,
oigo el agua del lago chapotear levemente contra la orilla;
mientras permanezco quieto en la carretera o en el asfalto gris
la oigo en lo más profundo del corazón.
William Butler Yeats

Monica Fernández dijo...

Here it goes.
Machado in English. We could discuss in the translation for hours, but the questions is
Do you like this translation?
And to the students, do you recognise the original one? Hope so. I haven't given the title to make you think ;-) I teach to ESO so I only have lollypops to give as a prize for those who know the answer. Good Luck!

All goes, and all remains,
but our task is to go,
to go creating roads
roads through the sea.

My songs never chased
after glory to remain
in human memory.
I love the subtle worlds
weightless and charming,
worlds like soap-bubbles.

I like to see them, daubed
with sunlight and scarlet,
quiver, under a blue sky,
suddenly and burst…

I never chased glory.

Traveller, the road is only
your footprint, and no more;
traveller, there’s no road,
the road is your travelling.

Going becomes the road
and if you look back
you will see a path
none can tread again.

Traveller, every track
leaves its wake on the sea…


Once in this place
where bushes now have thorns
the sound of a poet’s cry was heard
‘Traveller there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’

Step by step, line by line…

The poet died far from home.
Shrouded by dust of a neighbouring land.
At his parting they heard him cry:
‘Traveller there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’

Step by step, line by line…

When the goldfinch can’t sing,
when the poet’s a wanderer,
when nothing aids our prayer.
‘Traveller there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’



Step by step, line by line.

Monica Fernández dijo...

Hello again,
I keep trying to interest you in British Poetry. This poem and its author is one of my favourites. Too hard for young hearts, too satirical for close minds... but great, after all he has been chosen the NATION'S FAVOURITE POET. (you can find more info in BBC News or in my blog)
Here it goes:
This Be The Verse
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.