<\/p>\n
En nuestra secci\u00f3n dedicada a Goya en la Literatura presentamos esta segunda entrega, dedicada a un gran poeta irland\u00e9s, quiz\u00e1s no demasiado difundido en Espa\u00f1a, de una lectura dif\u00edcil tanto por su erudici\u00f3n como por su complejidad, pero de un alt\u00edsimo vuelo po\u00e9tico. Heredero de los grandes poetas como Ted Hughes, Patrick Kavanagh y Robert Frost. Goya nos acerca ahora a su figura y su obra.<\/p>\n
SEAMUS HEANEY naci\u00f3 en el condado de Derry, Irlanda del Norte, en 1939. Fue Profesor en Harvard y Oxford. Recibi\u00f3 el Premio Nobel de Literatura en 1995. Falleci\u00f3 el 30 de agosto de 2013 en Dubl\u00edn.<\/p>\n
Vasta es la obra po\u00e9tica de Heaney, pero s\u00f3lo nos referiremos aqu\u00ed a su libro North, <\/em>Norte, un libro emblem\u00e1tico en el conjunto de su obra. Y m\u00e1s precisamente al poema Verano de 1969.<\/em><\/p>\n En el pr\u00f3logo del libro, Margarita Ardanaz, a quien se debe la traducci\u00f3n, dice:\u201d\u2026Ser irland\u00e9s y del Ulster condiciona, sin duda, la carrera de cualquier artista. Estar orgulloso de una de las tradiciones literarias m\u00e1s antiguas y fruct\u00edferas del mundo indoeuropeo y, a la vez, pertenecer desde el punto de vista de la administraci\u00f3n pol\u00edtica, de la educaci\u00f3n y del idioma a Inglaterra, es uno de los conflictos que, de manera recurrente aparecen en su obra.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026Norte<\/em> es el emblema, resumido en una \u00fanica e inequ\u00edvoca palabra , de al menos, tres aspectos fundamentales en la historia de la Gran Breta\u00f1a: el Norte <\/em>siempre indomable, brav\u00edo, industrial y obrero donde se han asentado tanto el radicalismo religioso como los movimientos sindicalistas y laboristas; el Norte<\/em> dan\u00e9s de las Islas Brit\u00e1nicas influ\u00eddo por la cultura de los pueblos germ\u00e1nico-n\u00f3rdicos, y colonizado por los implacables guerre-ros vikingos; el Norte<\/em>, es decir, el Ulster, de una Irlanda dividida contra la voluntad y el coraz\u00f3n de muchos \u201d.<\/p>\n La violencia, el amor y la muerte est\u00e1n siempre presentes. Po\u00e9tica y pol\u00edtica, pasado y presente constituyen la trama de su lenguaje. De un extraordinario lirismo son sus poemas dedicados a su madre, a sus amigos, a su amada, a la tierra, la Naturaleza ensalzada. Los pantanos, la turba, la marisma, la ci\u00e9naga, las tradiciones (Los esponsales de Cavehill<\/em>). Heaney amasa sus poemas con el material de la infancia, del medio rural, en el poema Los segadores<\/em>, dice<\/p>\n \u201cParece que existieron hace cientos de a\u00f1os. Brueghel,<\/p>\n T\u00fa los conocer\u00e1s si te los hago reales\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n (Ingl\u00e9s)<\/p>\n The Seed Cutters<\/p>\n \u201cThey seem hundreds of years away. Breughel,<\/p>\n You\u00b4ll know them if I can get them true\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Contin\u00faa Margarita Ardanaz: \u201c\u2026Destacan en este libro los textos inspi-rados en hallazgos arqueol\u00f3gicos , en especial las personas momificadas en las turbas de los pantanos, en los que el poeta actualiza el pasado y enlaza los siglos y el discurrir con su propia vida, tanto intelectual como sentimentalmente\u201d.<\/p>\n La sangre derramada, las muertes violentas sin vengar, las arqueolog\u00edas en Belderg, Ritos Funerarios (Funeral Rites), Sue\u00f1os de hueso (Bone Dreams), Reina del Pantano(Bog Queen), El hombre de Grauballe(The Grauballe Men),Extra\u00f1o fruto(Strange Fruit), <\/em> Castigo(Punishment)<\/em>, pertenecientes a la Primera parte del libro.<\/p>\n En la segunda parte entra de lleno en la pol\u00edtica y el conflicto del Ulster.<\/p>\n El sue\u00f1o del legislador no reconocido<\/em>:<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026Mi traicionado pueblo clama desde sus jaulas\u201d\u2026. \u201c\u2026My wronged people cheer from their cages\u201d\u2026 \u201c\u2026..La \u201cvoz de la cordura\u201d se est\u00e1 quedando ronca\u2026..\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n IV \u201c\u2026Esta ma\u00f1ana desde una autopista cubierta de roc\u00edo<\/p>\n Vi un nuevo campo de internados:<\/p>\n Una bomba hab\u00eda dejado un cr\u00e1ter de arcilla fresca<\/p>\n En el arc\u00e9n, y al otro lado, entre los \u00e1rboles,<\/p>\n Los puestos de ametralladoras perfilaban una aut\u00e9ntica empalizada\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n (Whatever You Say Say Nothing)<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026The \u201cvoice of sanity\u201d is getting hoarse\u201d\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n IV\u201d\u2026This morning from a dewy motorway<\/p>\n I saw the new camp for the interness:<\/p>\n A bomb had left a crater of fresh clay<\/p>\n In the roadside, and over in the trees<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Machine-gun posts defined a real stockade\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Bajo el ep\u00edgrafe Escuela de Canto<\/em> (Singing School<\/em>), hay en esta segunda parte del libro, memorables poemas donde Heaney pone al desnudo la violencia, la represi\u00f3n policial y el miedo.<\/p>\n I.El Ministerio del miedo: <\/em><\/p>\n \u201c\u2026.Ulster era brit\u00e1nico, mas sin derecho alguno<\/p>\n A la l\u00edrica inglesa: y todo a nuestro alrededor,<\/p>\n Aunque no le hayamos dado nombre, el ministerio del miedo.\u201d<\/p>\n ( I.The Ministry Of Fear)<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026Ulster was British, but with no rights on<\/p>\n The English lyric: all around us, though<\/p>\n We haden\u00b4t named it, the ministery of fear.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Y llegamos a Verano de 1969<\/em><\/p>\n La traducci\u00f3n al espa\u00f1ol es de Vicente For\u00e9s y Jenaro Talens, publicada en \u2018Campo abierto \/ Opened ground. Antolog\u00eda po\u00e9tica (1966-1996)\u2018, de Seamus Heaney<\/strong>, Visor Libros, Madrid, 2004]<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Mientras la polic\u00eda cubr\u00eda la muchedumbre<\/p>\n disparando a los Falls, yo sufr\u00eda tan solo<\/p>\n el sol avasallador de Madrid.<\/p>\n Cada tarde, en el calor de cazuela<\/p>\n del piso, mientras sudaba mi camino a trav\u00e9s<\/p>\n de la vida de Joyce, el hedor de los puestos de pescado<\/p>\n sub\u00eda como el tufo de una presa de lino.<\/p>\n Rojos de vino, de noche en el balc\u00f3n,<\/p>\n hab\u00eda una sensaci\u00f3n de ni\u00f1os en oscuros rincones,<\/p>\n mujeres viejas con chales negros junto a ventanas abiertas,<\/p>\n el aire, un ca\u00f1\u00f3n fluyendo en espa\u00f1ol.<\/p>\n Habl\u00e1bamos de vuelta a casa por descampados bajo las estrellas,<\/p>\n donde el charol de la Guardia Civil<\/p>\n brillaba como vientres de peces en aguas envenenadas por el lino.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00abAtr\u00e1s\u00bb, dijo uno, \u00abmant\u00e9nganse unidos\u00bb.<\/p>\n Otro conjur\u00f3 a Lorca desde su colina.<\/p>\n Nos trag\u00e1bamos casos de muerte y cr\u00f3nicas de toros<\/p>\n en la televisi\u00f3n, celebridades<\/p>\n llegadas de donde lo real a\u00fan suced\u00eda.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Me retir\u00e9 al frescor del Prado.<\/p>\n \u00abLos fusilamientos del Tres de Mayo\u00bb de Goya<\/p>\n cubr\u00eda una pared \u2013 con los brazos en alto<\/p>\n y el espasmo del rebelde, los militares con<\/p>\n casco y mochila, la eficiente<\/p>\n r\u00e1faga de los fusiles. En la siguiente sala,<\/p>\n sus pesadillas, injertadas en el muro del palacio\u00ac<\/p>\n ciclones oscuros, alz\u00e1ndose, rompiendo; Saturno<\/p>\n enjoyado en la sangre de sus propios hijos,<\/p>\n caos gigantesco haciendo girar sus caderas brutales<\/p>\n sobre el mundo. Tambi\u00e9n, ese encinar<\/p>\n donde dos locos se apalean a muerte<\/p>\n por cuestiones de honor, metidos en el fango, yhundi\u00e9ndose.<\/p>\n \u00c9l pintaba con sus pu\u00f1os y codos, haciendo florecer<\/p>\n la corteza te\u00f1ida de sangre de su coraz\u00f3n mientras la historia cargaba.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n *Falls Road: es una calle de Belfast famosa por su condici\u00f3n de l\u00ednea divisoria entre la zona cat\u00f3lica y la protestante.(Notas a la traducci\u00f3n).<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n Con este poema nos aproximamos a la figura de Goya y a su pintura a trav\u00e9s de la voz de un poeta para quien la palabra era una<\/em> campana<\/em> ( la voz que reverbera y expande), un poeta comprometido con su pa\u00eds y sus gentes, con la lucha del hombre por su libertad.<\/p>\n Silvia Pagliano<\/p>\n <\/p>\n In our section dedicated to Goya in Literature we present this second episode, devoted to a great Irish poet, perhaps not too widespread in Spain, with a difficult reading by its erudition and its complexity alike but of a high poetic flight. Heir of the great poets like Ted Hughes, Patrick Kavanagh and Robert Frost. Goya now brings us to his figure and his work.<\/p>\n SEAMUS HEANEY was born in Derry County, Northern Ireland, in 1939. He was a professor at Harvard and Oxford. He received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1995. He died in Dublin on August 30th<\/sup> 2013.<\/p>\n Vast is the poetic work of Heaney, but here we will only refer to his book North, a landmark in the whole of his work book. And more precisely to the poem \u2018Summer of 1969\u2019.<\/p>\n In the foreword of the book, Margarita Ardanaz, to who is due the translation, says: “…Be Irish and Ulster conditions, without a doubt, any artist’s career. Be proud of one of the oldest and most successful of the Indo-European world literary traditions and, at the same time, joining England from the point of view of the political administration, education and language is one of the conflicts which, in a recurrent way, appear in his work. \u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026North is the emblem, summarized in a unique and unambiguous word, of at least three fundamental aspects in the history of Great Britain: the North always indomitable, brave, industrial and working-class where both the religious radicalism and trade unionists and labour movements have settled; the Danish North of the British Islands, influenced by the culture of the Nordic-German people and colonised by the relentless Vikings warriors; the North, i.e., Ulster, of an Ireland divided against the will and the heart of many”.<\/p>\n Violence, love and death are always present. Poetics and politics, past and present constitute the plot of his language. About an extraordinary lyricism are his poems dedicated to his mother, his friends, his beloved, to the land, the Nature highlighted. The marshes, the peat, the marsh, the swamp, the traditions (the betrothal of Cavehill). Heaney kneads his poems with the material of childhood, of rural areas, in the poem \u2018The Seed Cutters<\/em>, he says…<\/p>\n \u201cThey seem hundreds of years away. Brueghel,<\/p>\n You\u2019ll know them if I can get them true…\u201d<\/p>\n Margarita Ardanaz continues: “…”Highlights in this book text inspired in archaeological finds, especially persons mummified in mobs of slough, in which the poet update the past and links centuries and the flow with his own life, both sentimental and intellectually”.<\/p>\n The bloodshed, The Violent Deaths without Revenge, The Archaeologies in Belderg, Funeral Rites, Bone Dreams, Bog Queen, The Grauballe men, Strange Fruit, Punishment, belonging to the first part of the book.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n In the second part gets fully in politics and the conflict in Ulster.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Unacknowledged Legislator\u00b4s Dream<\/em><\/p>\n \u201c\u2026My wronged people cheer from their cages\u201d.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Whatever You Say, Say Nothing<\/em><\/p>\n \u201c\u2026The \u201cvoice of sanity\u201d is getting hoarse…\u201d<\/p>\n IV \u201c\u2026This morning from a dewy motorway<\/p>\n I saw the new camp for the interness:<\/p>\n A bomb had left a crater of fresh clay<\/p>\n In the roadside, and over in the trees<\/p>\n Machine-gun posts defined a real stockade\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Under the heading \u2018School of Singing\u2019, threre are in this second part of the book memorable poems where Heaney put naked the violence, police repression and fear.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201c\u2026Ulster was British, but with no rights on<\/p>\n The English lyric: all around us, though<\/p>\n We haden\u00b4t named it, the ministery of fear.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n And we arrived in Summer of 1969<\/em><\/p>\n The Spanish translation is by Vicente For\u00e9s and Jenaro Talens, posted in \u2018Opened ground. Poetic Anthology (1966-1996)\u2019, by Seamus Heaney<\/strong>, Visor Libros, Madrid, 2004<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n While the Constabulary covered the mob<\/p>\n Firing into the Falls, I was suffering<\/p>\n Only the bullying sun of Madrid.<\/p>\n Each afternoon, in the casserole heat<\/p>\n Of the flat, as I sweated my way throug<\/p>\n The life of Joyce, stinks from the fishmarket<\/p>\n Rose like the reek off a flux-dam.<\/p>\n At night on the balcony, gules of wine,<\/p>\n A sense of children in their dark corners,<\/p>\n Old women in black shawls near open windows,<\/p>\n The air a canyon rivering in Spanish.<\/p>\n We talked our way home over starlit plains<\/p>\n Where patent leather of the Guardia Civil<\/p>\n Gleamed like fish-bellies in flax-poisoned waters.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2018Go back;\u2019 one said, \u2018try to touch the people.\u2019<\/p>\n Another conjured Lorca from his hill.<\/p>\n We sat through death-counts and bullfight reports<\/p>\n On the television, celebrities<\/p>\n Arrived from where the real thing still happened.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I retreated to the cool of the Prado.<\/p>\n Goya\u2019s \u2018Shootings of the Third of May\u2019<\/p>\n Covered a wall \u2013 the thrown-up arms<\/p>\n And spasm of the rebel, the helmeted<\/p>\n And knapsacked military, the efficient<\/p>\n Rake of the fusillade. In the next room,<\/p>\n His nightmares, grafted to the palace wall<\/p>\n Dark cyclones, hosting, breaking; Saturn<\/p>\n Jewelled in the blond of his own children,<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Gigantic Chaos turning his brute hips<\/p>\n Over the world. Also, that holmgang<\/p>\n Where two berserks club each other to death<\/p>\n For honour\u2019s sake, greaved in a bog, and sinking.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He painted with his fists and elbows, flourished<\/p>\n The stained cape of his heart as history charged.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n *Falls Road: it is a Belfast Street famous for its status as dividing line between the Protestant and the Catholic area. (Notes to the translation<\/em>)<\/p>\n With this poem we approach to the figure of Goya and his painting through the voice of a poet for whom the word was a campaign (the voice that reverberates and expanded), a poet committed to his country and its people, with the man’s struggle for freedom.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Silvia Pagliano<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Goya y la Literatura. 2 Enero de 2014 En nuestra secci\u00f3n dedicada a Goya en la Literatura presentamos esta segunda entrega, dedicada a un gran poeta irland\u00e9s, quiz\u00e1s no demasiado difundido en Espa\u00f1a, de una lectura dif\u00edcil tanto por su erudici\u00f3n como por su complejidad, pero de un alt\u00edsimo vuelo po\u00e9tico. Heredero de los grandes […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[20],"tags":[17],"class_list":["post-636","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-goya-en-la-literatura","tag-goya-y-la-literatura"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/realgoya.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/636","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/realgoya.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/realgoya.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realgoya.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realgoya.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=636"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/realgoya.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/636\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/realgoya.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=636"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realgoya.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=636"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realgoya.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=636"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n(The Unacknowledged Legislator\u00b4s Dream)<\/p>\n
\nDigas lo que digas, no digas nada.<\/em><\/p>\nGoya in Literature.2
\n<\/em><\/strong>January 2015<\/em><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n