Dicen que no hablan las plantas, ni los fuentes, ni los pajaros

Rosalia de Castro is a mid 19th century poet from Galicia in northwestern Spain. I once visited her cottage while on vacation in the area – a charming smallish white cottage surrounded by flowers, the picture postcard of what a poet’s cottage should look like, once the poet has moved on and up from starving in a garret. She also wrote in Galician – these poems are worth checking out for an interesting linguistic experience, and quite understandable if you speak Spanish and Portuguese.

Enjoy this contemplation of the otherness of the poet, and compare with Christina Rossetti’s poem, seen on this blog on October 20th.
Dicen que no hablan las plantas, ni las fuentes, ni los pájaros,
Ni el onda con sus rumores, ni con su brillo los astros,
Lo dicen, pero no es cierto, pues siempre cuando yo paso,
De mí murmuran y exclaman:
—Ahí va la loca soñando
Con la eterna primavera de la vida y de los campos,
Y ya bien pronto, bien pronto, tendrá los cabellos canos,
Y ve temblando, aterida, que cubre la escarcha el prado.

—Hay canas en mi cabeza, hay en los prados escarcha,
Mas yo prosigo soñando, pobre, incurable sonámbula,
Con la eterna primavera de la vida que se apaga
Y la perenne frescura de los campos y las almas,
Aunque los unos se agostan y aunque las otras se abrasan.

Astros y fuentes y flores, no murmuréis de mis sueños,
Sin ellos, ¿cómo admiraros ni cómo vivir sin ellos?

Lee todo en: Dicen que no hablan las plantas – Poemas de Rosalía de Castro http://www.poemas-del-alma.com/rosalia-de-castro-dicen-que-no-hablan-las-plantas.htm#ixzz3GVXQInRe

From <http://www.poemas-del-alma.com/rosalia-de-castro-dicen-que-no-hablan-las-plantas.htm&gt;

The poem imagines a dialogue between the poet and all the elements of nature which surround her. The first two lines take the setting out of the realm of everyday experience, by saying that most people say the plants, the springs, the birds and the stars don’t talk – but the poet knows better. Nature talks to the poet and the rest of the poem has that exchange – nature calls the poet crazy for dreaming while her life slips away and she will end up old and grey and have achieved nothing.

The poet’s riposte is the second half of the poem – yes, she will end up old and grey and poor, but dreaming of beauty and nature is the only way life is worth living, and the poet is the one who can see the world with a dreamlike quality, whatever the cost.

The Poetry Dude


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