eBook - ePub
Fields of Castile/Campos de Castilla
A Dual-Language Book
Antonio Machado, Stanley Appelbaum, Stanley Appelbaum
This is a test
Share book
- 224 pages
- English
- ePUB (mobile friendly)
- Available on iOS & Android
eBook - ePub
Fields of Castile/Campos de Castilla
A Dual-Language Book
Antonio Machado, Stanley Appelbaum, Stanley Appelbaum
Book details
Book preview
Table of contents
Citations
About This Book
Master poet Antonio Machado y Ruiz is widely regarded as one of the twentieth-century’s greatest Spanish writers. His collection of poems celebrating the region of Castile made him one of the primary voices of the Generation of 1898 — a brilliant group of writers dedicated to Spain's moral and cultural rebirth after the Spanish-American War. Machado's lyrical Campos poems, tinged with nostalgic melancholy, are powerfully introspective and meditative, revealing an evolution away from his previously ornate, Modernist style. With these magnificent poems, Machado moved toward a simpler, more authentic approach that would later distinguish all of his works.
This unabridged edition of Machado's landmark Campos de Castilla is presented in a dual-language format which features an excellent new translation on pages facing the Spanish original. A fully informative introduction and comprehensive notes by the translator are also included.
This unabridged edition of Machado's landmark Campos de Castilla is presented in a dual-language format which features an excellent new translation on pages facing the Spanish original. A fully informative introduction and comprehensive notes by the translator are also included.
Frequently asked questions
How do I cancel my subscription?
Can/how do I download books?
At the moment all of our mobile-responsive ePub books are available to download via the app. Most of our PDFs are also available to download and we're working on making the final remaining ones downloadable now. Learn more here.
What is the difference between the pricing plans?
Both plans give you full access to the library and all of Perlegoâs features. The only differences are the price and subscription period: With the annual plan youâll save around 30% compared to 12 months on the monthly plan.
What is Perlego?
We are an online textbook subscription service, where you can get access to an entire online library for less than the price of a single book per month. With over 1 million books across 1000+ topics, weâve got you covered! Learn more here.
Do you support text-to-speech?
Look out for the read-aloud symbol on your next book to see if you can listen to it. The read-aloud tool reads text aloud for you, highlighting the text as it is being read. You can pause it, speed it up and slow it down. Learn more here.
Is Fields of Castile/Campos de Castilla an online PDF/ePUB?
Yes, you can access Fields of Castile/Campos de Castilla by Antonio Machado, Stanley Appelbaum, Stanley Appelbaum in PDF and/or ePUB format, as well as other popular books in Languages & Linguistics & Spanish Language. We have over one million books available in our catalogue for you to explore.
Information
Eulogies
To Don Francisco Giner de los RĂos
After the master departed,
this morningâs light
told me: âFor three days now
my brother Francisco hasnât been working.â
Is he dead? All that we know is
that he departed from us on a clear path,
telling us: âMake me
a funeral consisting of work and hope.
Be good, thatâs all, be what I have been
among you: soul.
Live, life goes on,
the dead die and the shadows pass;
he who leaves something behind takes something with him,15 and he who has
lived lives.
Anvils, resound; bells, be mute!â
this morningâs light
told me: âFor three days now
my brother Francisco hasnât been working.â
Is he dead? All that we know is
that he departed from us on a clear path,
telling us: âMake me
a funeral consisting of work and hope.
Be good, thatâs all, be what I have been
among you: soul.
Live, life goes on,
the dead die and the shadows pass;
he who leaves something behind takes something with him,15 and he who has
lived lives.
Anvils, resound; bells, be mute!â
Y hacia otra luz mĂĄs pura
partiĂł el hermano de la luz del alba,
del sol de los talleres,
el viejo alegre de la vida santa.
... Oh, sĂ, llevad, amigos,
su cuerpo a la montaña,
a los azules montes
del ancho Guadarrama.
AllĂ hay barrancos hondos
de pinos verdes donde el viento canta.
Su corazĂłn repose
bajo una encina casta,
en tierra de tomillos, donde juegan
mariposas doradas . . .
AllĂ el maestro un dĂa
soñaba un nuevo florecer de España.
partiĂł el hermano de la luz del alba,
del sol de los talleres,
el viejo alegre de la vida santa.
... Oh, sĂ, llevad, amigos,
su cuerpo a la montaña,
a los azules montes
del ancho Guadarrama.
AllĂ hay barrancos hondos
de pinos verdes donde el viento canta.
Su corazĂłn repose
bajo una encina casta,
en tierra de tomillos, donde juegan
mariposas doradas . . .
AllĂ el maestro un dĂa
soñaba un nuevo florecer de España.
Baeza, 21 febrero, 1915.
Al joven meditador José Ortega y Gasset
A ti laurel y yedra
corĂłnente, dilecto
de SofĂa, arquitecto.
Cincel, martillo y piedra
y masones te sirvan; las montañas
de Guadarrama frĂo
te brinden el azul de sus entrañas,
meditador de otro Escorial sombrĂo.
Y que Felipe austero,
al borde de su regia sepultura,
asome a ver la nueva arquitectura,
y bendiga la prole de Lutero.
corĂłnente, dilecto
de SofĂa, arquitecto.
Cincel, martillo y piedra
y masones te sirvan; las montañas
de Guadarrama frĂo
te brinden el azul de sus entrañas,
meditador de otro Escorial sombrĂo.
Y que Felipe austero,
al borde de su regia sepultura,
asome a ver la nueva arquitectura,
y bendiga la prole de Lutero.
A Xavier Valcarce
... En el intermedio de la primavera.
Valcarce, dulce amigo, si tuviera
la voz que tuve antaño, cantarĂa
la voz que tuve antaño, cantarĂa
And toward another, purer light
departed the brother of the light of dawn,
of the sun of the workshops,
the cheerful old man of hallowed life.
... Oh, yes, friends, bear
his body to the mountain,
to the blue hills
of the broad Guadarrama.
There, there are deep ravines
of green pines in which the wind sings.
Let his heart repose
beneath a chaste ilex,
in a land of thyme, where gilded
butterflies play . . .
There, one day, the master
dreamt of a new blossoming for Spain.
departed the brother of the light of dawn,
of the sun of the workshops,
the cheerful old man of hallowed life.
... Oh, yes, friends, bear
his body to the mountain,
to the blue hills
of the broad Guadarrama.
There, there are deep ravines
of green pines in which the wind sings.
Let his heart repose
beneath a chaste ilex,
in a land of thyme, where gilded
butterflies play . . .
There, one day, the master
dreamt of a new blossoming for Spain.
Baeza, February 21, 1915.
To the Young Thinker José Orega y Gasset
May laurel and ivy
crown you, beloved
of Wisdom, architect.
May chisel, hammer, and stone,
and masons serve you; may the mountains
of cold Guadarrama
offer you the blue of their entrails,
thinker of a new, somber Escorial.
And may austere Philip,
by the side of his royal tomb,
arise to see the new architecture
and bless the offspring of Luther.
crown you, beloved
of Wisdom, architect.
May chisel, hammer, and stone,
and masons serve you; may the mountains
of cold Guadarrama
offer you the blue of their entrails,
thinker of a new, somber Escorial.
And may austere Philip,
by the side of his royal tomb,
arise to see the new architecture
and bless the offspring of Luther.
To Xavier Valcarce
... In the interlude of spring.
Valcarce, dear friend, if I had
the voice I used to have, Iâd sing
el intermedio de tu primavera
âporque aprendiz he sido de ruiseñor un dĂaâ,
y el rumor de tu huertoâentre las flores
el agua oculta corre, pasa y suena
por acequias, regatos y atanoresâ,
y el inquieto bullir de tu colmena,
y esa doliente juventud que tiene
ardores de faunalias,
y que pisando viene
la huella a mis sandalias.
the voice I used to have, Iâd sing
el intermedio de tu primavera
âporque aprendiz he sido de ruiseñor un dĂaâ,
y el rumor de tu huertoâentre las flores
el agua oculta corre, pasa y suena
por acequias, regatos y atanoresâ,
y el inquieto bullir de tu colmena,
y esa doliente juventud que tiene
ardores de faunalias,
y que pisando viene
la huella a mis sandalias.
Mas hoy . . . ÂżserĂĄ porque el enigma grave
me tentĂł en la desierta galerĂa,
y abrĂ con una diminuta llave
el ventanal del fondo que da a la mar sombrĂa?
ÂżSerĂĄ porque se ha ido
quien asentĂł mis pasos en la tierra,
y en este nuevo ejido
sin rubia mies, la soledad me aterra?
me tentĂł en la desierta galerĂa,
y abrĂ con una diminuta llave
el ventanal del fondo que da a la mar sombrĂa?
ÂżSerĂĄ porque se ha ido
quien asentĂł mis pasos en la tierra,
y en este nuevo ejido
sin rubia mies, la soledad me aterra?
No sé, Valcarce, mas cantar no puedo;
se ha dormido la voz en mi garganta,
y tiene el corazĂłn un salmo quedo.
Ya sĂłlo reza el corazĂłn, no canta.
se ha dormido la voz en mi garganta,
y tiene el corazĂłn un salmo quedo.
Ya sĂłlo reza el corazĂłn, no canta.
Mas hoy, Valcarce, como un fraile viejo
puedo hacer confesiĂłn, que es dar consejo.
puedo hacer confesiĂłn, que es dar consejo.
En este dĂa claro, en que descansa
tu carne de quimeras y amorĂos
âasĂ en amplio silencio se remansa
el agua bullidora de los rĂosâ,
no guardes en tu cofre la galana
veste dominical, el limpio traje,
para llenar de lågrimas mañana
la mustia seda y el marchito encaje,
sino viste, Valcarce, dulce amigo,
gala de fiesta para andar contigo.
tu carne de quimeras y amorĂos
âasĂ en amplio silencio se remansa
el agua bullidora de los rĂosâ,
no guardes en tu cofre la galana
veste dominical, el limpio traje,
para llenar de lågrimas mañana
la mustia seda y el marchito encaje,
sino viste, Valcarce, dulce amigo,
gala de fiesta para andar contigo.
Y cĂñete la espada rutilante,
y lleva tu armadura,
the interlude of your springtimeâ
because I was once an apprentice to the nightingaleâ
and the sounds of your gardenâamid the flowers
the hidden water flows, passes, and resounds
through irrigation ditches, streams, and pipesâ
and the restless swarming in your beehive,
and that sorrowful youth which has
the fervor of Faunalia,
and which comes to tread
the prints of my sandals.
y lleva tu armadura,
the interlude of your springtimeâ
because I was once an apprentice to the nightingaleâ
and the sounds of your gardenâamid the flowers
the hidden water flows, passes, and resounds
through irrigation ditches, streams, and pipesâ
and the restless swarming in your beehive,
and that sorrowful youth which has
the fervor of Faunalia,
and which comes to tread
the prints of my sandals.
But today . . . is it because the grave enigma
tempted me in the deserted gallery
and I opened with a tiny key
the large window at the far end which faces the somber sea?
Is it because that person is gone
who planted my steps firmly on the earth,
and on this new commons
lacking a yellow harvest, the solitude frightens me?
tempted me in the deserted gallery
and I opened with a tiny key
the large window at the far end which faces the somber sea?
Is it because that person is gone
who planted my steps firmly on the earth,
and on this new commons
lacking a yellow harvest, the solitude frightens me?
I donât know, Valcarce, but Iâm unable to sing;
the voice in my throat has gone to sleep,
and my heart has a tranquil psalm.
Now my heart only prays, it doesnât sing.
the voice in my throat has gone to sleep,
and my heart has a tranquil psalm.
Now my heart only prays, it doesnât sing.
But today, Valcarce, like an old friar
I can make confession, which means giving advice.
I can make confession, which means giving advice.
On this bright day, when your flesh
is resting from its wild fancies and its romancesâ
in the same way, the seething water
of the rivers rests in a broad, silent poolâ
donât keep in your chest your elegant
Sunday clothes, your clean suit,
in order to fill with tears tomorrow
the faded silk and worn-out lace,
but, Valcarce, may dear friend, put on
holiday finery to go about in.16
is resting from its wild fancies and its romancesâ
in the same way, the seething water
of the rivers rests in a broad, silent poolâ
donât keep in your chest your elegant
Sunday clothes, your clean suit,
in order to fill with tears tomorrow
the faded silk and worn-out lace,
but, Valcarce, may dear friend, put on
holiday finery to go about in.16
And gird on a gleaming sword,
and wear your armor,
el peto de diamante
debajo de la blanca vestidura.
and wear your armor,
el peto de diamante
debajo de la blanca vestidura.
¥Quién sabe! Acaso tu domingo sea
la jornada guerrera y laboriosa,
el dĂa del Señor, que no reposa,
el claro dĂa en que el Señor pelea.
la jornada guerrera y laboriosa,
el dĂa del Señor, que no reposa,
el claro dĂa en que el Señor pelea.
Mariposa de la sierra
A Juan Ramón Jiménez, por su libro Platero y yo.
ÂżNo eres tĂș, mariposa,
el alma de estas sierras solitarias,
de sus barrancos hondos,
y de sus cumbres agrias?
Para que tĂș nacieras,
con su varita mĂĄgica
a las tormentas de la piedra, un dĂa,
mandĂł ...
el alma de estas sierras solitarias,
de sus barrancos hondos,
y de sus cumbres agrias?
Para que tĂș nacieras,
con su varita mĂĄgica
a las tormentas de la piedra, un dĂa,
mandĂł ...