- Poems by representative authors of neoclassicism
- 1- Epistle dedicated to Hortelio (Fragment)
- 2- Satire First: A Arnesto (Fragments)
- 3- Dorila
- 4- love dare
- 5- Ode
- 6- Invocation to poetry
- 7- The sweet illusion of my first age: A Albino
- 9- To Clori, declaiming in a tragic fable
- 10- While the sweet garment of mine lived
- 11- The gallant and the lady
- 12- Invocation to Christ
- 13- Safer oh! licino
- Other poems of interest
- References
I leave you a list of poems of neoclassicism by great authors such as José Cadalso, Gaspar Melchor de Jovellanos or Juan Meléndez Valdés. Neoclassicism was an aesthetic trend that emerged in France and Italy in the 18th century as a contrast to the ornate baroque ornament.
It quickly spread throughout Europe. This movement sought as reference the classical models of Ancient Greece and Rome and was nourished by the rational ideas of the Enlightenment.
This trend mainly served the nascent bourgeois class of the time - with the support of Napoleon Bonaparte - who wanted to rescue the ideals of simplicity, sobriety and rationality.
At the end of the 18th century, neoclassicism lost strength and gave way to Romanticism, which exalted totally opposite ideals. The literature of this period is part of the so-called "Age of Enlightenment", which was characterized by the exaltation of reason, morality and knowledge.
The artistic production of this period was, by nature, atheistic and democratic, emphasizing the importance of science and education and taking it away from religious customs and dogmas.
Poetry did not have much preponderance in this period and gave place to the fables (with Tomás de Iriarte and Félix María Samaniego as the main exponents), the anacreontics, satires and epistles, since they were more useful tools for their primary purpose. which was to spread knowledge.
Poems by representative authors of neoclassicism
Here are some texts from the most famous authors of this period.
1- Epistle dedicated to Hortelio (Fragment)
From the center of these solitudes,
pleasing to the one who knows the truths,
pleasing to the one who knows the deceptions
of the world, and take advantage of disappointments,
I send you, beloved Hortelio, fine friend!
a thousand proofs of the rest that I conceive.
Ovid in sad meters complained
that luck did not tolerate him
that the Tiber with his works would draw near,
but to be destined for cruel Pontus.
But what I have lacked as a poet
to get from Ovid to the heights,
I have plenty of philosopher, and I pretend
take things as they come.
Oh how you will miss when you see this
and only trifles here you read,
that I, raised in serious faculties,
I applied myself to such ridiculous subjects!
You already arch, you already raise those eyebrows,
the manuscript of the hand you leave,
and you say: «For similar toys,
Why do you leave the important points?
I do not know why whim you forget
so sublime and chosen matters!
Why don't you dedicate yourself, as is fair,
to matters of more value than taste?
Of the public law that you studied
when you visited such wise courts;
of state science and arcana
of the interest of various sovereigns;
of moral science, which teaches man
what virtue promises in its gift;
of the warrior arts that you learned
when you went to a volunteer campaign;
of the provable science of Euclid, of delightful new physics,
Wouldn't it be more of the case that you think
in writing what you will notice?
But coplillas? What about love? Oh sad!
You lost what little sense you had.
Did you say, Hortelio, how much, angry,
did you want this poor exile?
Well look, and with fresh and still phlegm
I tell you that I continue with my topic.
Of all those sciences that you refer
(and add some others if you want)
I have not obtained more than the following.
Listen to me, by God, attentively;
but no, what else seems what I say
relationship, not letter from a friend.
If you look at my sonnets to the goddess
of all the ancient most beautiful,
the first one will clearly say
why did I leave the higher faculties
and I only dedicate myself to hobby;
that you read them slowly I beg you,
keep quiet, and do not judge that my work is so foolish.
Author: José Cadalso
2- Satire First: A Arnesto (Fragments)
Quis tam patiens ut teneat se?
(JUVENAL)
Leave me, Arnesto, let me cry
the fierce ills of my country, let
its ruin and perdition lament;
and if you do not want
the penalty to consume
me in the dark center of this prison, at least let me raise the cry
against disorder; let the ink
mixing gall and acid,
my pen follow the flight of the jester of Aquino unruly.
Oh how much face I see my censure
of paleness and covered blush!
Courage, friends, no one fear, no one,
its piercing sting, which
in my satire I pursue the vice, not the vicious.
And what does it mean that in some verse,
the bile curling, it throws out a feature
that the common people believe points to Alcinda,
the one who, forgetting her proud luck,
goes down dressed to the Prado, like
a maja, with thunder and
high scratch her clothes, the caramba erect,
covered with a mound more transparent
than its intention, with glances and shakes
the mob of fools arousing?
Can she feel that a malicious finger,
pointing at this verse, is pointing at her?
Notoriety is already the noblest
attribute of vice, and our Julias,
rather than being bad, want to appear so.
There was a time when modesty was
gilding crimes; there was a time
when timid modesty covered
the ugliness of vice; but
modesty fled to live in the huts.
The blessed days fled with him,
they will never return; that century fled
when even the foolish mockery of a husband
the credulous Bascuñanas swallowed;
but today Alcinda has his breakfast
with mill wheels; it triumphs, it spends, it
spends jumping the eternal nights
of harsh January, and when the late sun
breaks the east, admire it, striking, as
if it were a stranger, its own hinge.
She enters, sweeping
the rug with her undy skirt; here and there ribbons and feathers
He sows from the enormous headdress, and continues
with a weak, sleepy and withered step,
Fabio still holding his hand,
to the bedroom, where
the cuckold snores freely and dreams that he is happy.
Neither the cold sweat, nor the stench, nor the rancid
burp disturb him. At his hour a
fool awakens; Silently he leaves
the desecrated Holland, and keeps
his murderous dream attentive.
How many, oh Alcinda, to the coyunda yoked
your luck envy! How many of Hymenaeus
seek the yoke to achieve your luck,
and without invoking reason, or weighing
their hearts the merits of the groom,
they pronounce yes and extend their hand
to the first one who arrives! What evils
this damn blindness does not abort!
I see the nuptial torches extinguished
by discord with infamous blow
at the foot of the same altar, and in the tumult,
toasts and cheers of the wedding,
an indiscreet tear predicts
wars and opprobrium to the badly united.
I see by reckless hand broken
the conjugal veil, and that running
with the impudent forehead raised, adultery goes from one house to another.
He hums, celebrates, laughs, and shamelessly
sings his triumphs, which perhaps
a foolish husband celebrates, and such an honest man
smite his chest with a penetrating dart,
his life abbreviates, and in the black grave he
hides his error, his affront and his spite..
Oh vile souls! Oh virtue! Oh laws!
O deadly honor! What cause
made you trust such unfaithful guards
such a precious treasure? Who, oh Themis, did
your arm bribe? You move him crudely
against the sad victims, who drag
nakedness or helplessness to vice;
against the weak orphan, of hunger
and harassed gold, or to flattery,
seduction and tender love rendered;
expiles it, you dishonor it, you condemn it
to uncertain and harsh imprisonment. And as long as
you see
disorder in the golden roofs sheltered, or you suffer it to
go out in triumph through the wide squares,
virtue and honor mocking!
Oh infamy! Oh century! Oh corruption!
Castilian matrons, who could your clear
pride overshadow? Who of Lucrecias
in Lais returned to you? Neither the stormy
ocean, nor full of dangers,
the Lilibeo, nor the arduous peaks
of Pyrene could shelter you
from fatal contagion? Set sail, pregnant
with gold, the Cadiz ship, brings
to the Gallic shores, and returns
full of futile and vain objects;
and among the signs of foreign pomp,
poison hides and corruption, bought
with the sweat of the Iberian fronts.
And you, miserable Spain, you wait for her
on the beach, and with eagerness you pick up
the stinking load and distribute it
joyful among your children. Vile feathers,
gauze and ribbons, flowers and plumes,
it brings you instead of your blood,
of your blood, oh baldness! and perhaps, perhaps
your virtue and honesty. Repairs
which light youth seeks them.
Author: Gaspar Melchor de Jovellanos
3- Dorila
How the hours go,
and after them the days
and the flowery years
of our fragile life!
Old age then comes,
from enemy love,
and
death looms among funereal shadows, that squalid and trembling,
ugly, shapeless, yellow,
terrifies us, and puts out
our fires and happiness.
The body becomes dull,
woes tire us,
pleasures flee from us,
and joy leaves us.
If this, then, awaits us,
why, my Dorila,
are the flowery years
of our fragile life?
For games and dances
and songs and laughter
the heavens gave us,
the Graces destine them.
Come oh! what's stopping you?
Come, come, my dove,
under these vines
the wind breathes lightly;
and between soft toasts
and cuddly
childhood delights let us enjoy,
because it flies so fast.
Author: Juan Meléndez Valdés
4- love dare
Love, you who gave me the daring
attempts and directed your hand
and placed it
on Dorisa's candid bosom, in untouched places;
If you look at so many rays, struck down
by his divine eyes against a sad one,
give me relief, because the damage you did
or my life and my cares are over.
Have mercy on my good; tell him that I die
of the intense pain that torments me;
that if it is shy love, it is not true;
that audacity in affection is
not an affront, nor does
an unhappy man deserve such severe punishment that he tries to be happy.
Author: Nicolás Fernández de Moratín
5- Ode
Do not pretend to know (that it is impossible)
which end the sky to you and my
destiny, Leucónoe, nor the Chaldean numbers
consult, no; that in sweet peace, any
luck you can suffer. Either the thundering
many winters bestow on your life,
or finally the one that today breaks
the Tyrrhenian waves on the rocks,
you, if you are prudent, do not shy away from
toasts and pleasure. Shorten
your hope. Our age
while we speak envious runs.
Oh! Enjoy the present, and never trust,
Gullible, the uncertain future day.
Author: Leandro Fernández de Moratín
6- Invocation to poetry
Tender and red nymph, oh young Poetry!
What forest on this day choose your retreat?
What flowers, behind the wave in which your steps go,
under delicate feet, gently bow?
Where will we look for you? Look at the new station:
on its white face, what a purple flash!
Sang the swallow; Céfiro is back: he
returns with his dances; love is reborn.
Shade, meadows, flowers are his pleasant relatives,
and Jupiter enjoys contemplating his daughter,
this land in which sweet verses, hurried,
sprout, everywhere, from your graceful fingers.
In the river that descends through the humid valleys , sweet, sonorous, liquid verses roll for you.
Verses, which are opened en masse by the sun uncovered,
are the fertile flowers of the red chalice.
And mountains, in torrents that whiten their tops,
throw brilliant verses to the bottom of the abyss.
From Bucólicas (1785-1787)
Author: André Chénier.
7- The sweet illusion of my first age: A Albino
Let the cursing fool,
inflamed envy,
with insolent language
discover his resentment, Licio, the wicked never
looked at the happiness of others
with a serene countenance;
and slander is poison, the
miserable fruit of his infamous pain.
Your blissful old age
always loved virtue; You have tried
in your happy state to
stifle
the poisonous tongue of malicious envy,
which wants to diminish the honest man.
Your noble endeavor is in vain: envy and malice are
companions of a fool
:
thus insane pride
accompanies haughty souls,
and their virtues are vice:
serve as punishment for their crime to
live abominated,
and even by their fellow men detested:
if in the poor dwelling, where I live,
their voices penetrated, they
only found compassion and contempt.
Pure water comes out of the mountain,
and carries its current through the meadow;
the cattle drink from it;
and the unclean animal first tries
to drink it, muddy it,
and soak it in its stinking bristles.
Then the passenger
in search of the crystal arrives tired,
and although discouraged, he
looks cloudy at its flattering course,
drinks, and is satisfied by
looking for the current where it is born.
Thus the sensible man
of envy the wise rumor despises;
And although he feels the infamous disrespect, he
grants pardon to foolish malice,
and compassionately says:
Oh how unhappy
the mortal is, who, occupied
in the scathing censorship,
of himself forgotten,
looks at the other's well with bitterness!
You know well, Lycian, how much
a sensitive and kind heart gains,
that his piety recreates
seeing his fellow man happier:
and although without more wealth,
that this gift that nature gave him,
by itself is loved,
happy in any kind and respected.
Through this garment, simple friendship,
pleasure, love,
brought their favors to your mansion;
And at your sight
the envious man trembles,
respecting your happy asylum.
With callous flight
the earth revolves around the day;
and although the fog and ice cloud
the joy of the sphere,
we do not doubt
that the sun always shines as we wish.
Pity, then, the envious,
who looks in disgust at
its rays fertilize the mountain and meadow;
and always generous,
if you appreciate my friendship,
do not deserve your anger so foolish souls
Author: María Rosa Gálvez de Cabrera.
9- To Clori, declaiming in a tragic fable
What lurking pain did the soul come to hurt? What funeral ornament is this? What is there in the world that your lights cost the crying that makes them crystalline? Could it be mortal effort, could fate thus offend its celestial spirit?… Or is it all deception?, And it wants Love to lend its lip and its action divine power. He wants that exempt from the sorrow he inspires, he imposes silence on the clamorous vulgar, and docile to his voice they become distressed and cry. May the tender lover who attends to her and looks, amid applause and doubtful fear, adore such high perfection absorbed. Author: Leandro Fernández de Moratín.10- While the sweet garment of mine lived
While my sweet garment lived,
Love, you inspired me with sound verses;
I obeyed the law that you dictated to me
and his strength gave me poetry.
But, alas! That from that fateful day
that deprived me of the good that you admired,
to the point without empire in me you found yourself
and I found my Talía lacking.
Well, the tough Grim Reaper does not erase his law
- whom Jove himself does not resist - he
forgot the Pindo and left the beauty.
And you too give up your ambition
and next to Phillies have
your useless arrow and my sad lyre buried.
Author: José Cadalsa.
11- The gallant and the lady
A certain gallant whom Paris acclaims,dandy of the strangest taste,
who changes forty dresses a year
and fearlessly spills gold and silver,
celebrating the days of his lady, he
released some tin buckles,
just to prove with this deception
how sure he was of his fame.
«Beautiful silver! What a beautiful shine! "
Said the lady," long live the taste and numen
of the fop in all the exquisite! "
And now I say: "Fill a
famous author a volume of nonsense,
and if they do not praise you, let them feather me."
Author: Tomás de Iriarte.
12- Invocation to Christ
The sun dissipates the dark darkness,
And penetrating the deep realm,
The veil tears that covered Nature,
And returns the colors and beauty
To the world universe.
Oh, of the souls, Christ, only light!
To you only the honor and adoration!
Our humble prayer reaches your summit; All hearts
surrender to your blissful servitude
If there are souls that waver, give them strength;
And make that joining innocent hands,
Worthily your immortal glories We
sing, and the goods that you
dispense in abundance to the people.
Author: Jean Racine.13- Safer oh! licino
Safer oh! Licino you will
live not engulfing yourself in the height,
nor approaching the pine
to a badly safe beach,
to avoid the dark storm.
The one that the
precious mediocrity loved, from the broken
and poor roof deviates
as from the envied
shelter in gold and carved porphyry.
Many times the wind
breaks tall trees; raised
towers with a more violent
blow fall ruined;
lightning strikes the high peaks.
The
strong man does not trust in happiness; in her affliction she awaits a
more favorable day:
Young the fierce season
of ice returns in pleasant spring.
If bad happens now, it will not always be bad. Perhaps Phoebus does not excuse
with sonorous zither to
animate the muse;
maybe the bow through the woods uses.
In misfortune he knows how to
show the brave heart to risk
and if the wind your ship
blows serenely
the inflated sail you will take prudent.
Other poems of interest
Poems of Romanticism.
Avant-garde poems.
Poems of the Renaissance.
Poems of Futurism.
Poems of Classicism.
Poems of the Baroque.
Poems of Modernism.
Poems of Dadaism.
Cubist Poems.
References
- Justo Fernández López. Neoclassical poetry. The Fabulists. Recovered from hispanoteca.eu
- Literature in the 18th century. Recovered from Escribresneoclasicos.blogspot.com.ar
- Neoclassical poetry. Recovered from literatureiesalagon.wikispaces.com
- Juan Menéndez Valdés. Recovered from rinconcastellano.com
- Ode. Recovered from los-poetas.com
- Loving audacity. Recovered from amediavoz.com
- To Dorila. Recovered from poemas-del-alma.com
- To Arnesto. Recovered from wordvirtual.com
- Epistle dedicated to Hortelio. Recovered from cervantesvirtual.com
- Neoclassicism. Recovered from es.wikipedia.org.