1917
1
Nineteen seventeen.
My adolescence: madness
a paint box,
a blank canvas, an easel.
happy with my luggage in the morning impressionist. Divine
joy, unexpected lesson
open landscape.
candidly complicated flows
color palette,
that lights up the tree and violet
trunk in the shade of purple.
Comas are radiant flowers, leaves
points, reticent,
and water
transparent discs that play all colors.
The burning vermilion happy by marrying
and lift the yellow brick tower
under a bright orange.
The chrome green pales next to the silver white happy, but before the sun
it appears again and again assayed
greens.
light rains, and without notice
already a fugitive nymph
the eye looks nailed live on space
more accurate. Clarified
blue when dissolved
Lavad in an atmosphere that envelops
define the picture and evaporated.
now Diérame
madness at that time I had, for kids
poetry,
with the paint brush.
1
Nineteen seventeen.
My adolescence: madness
a paint box,
a blank canvas, an easel.
happy with my luggage in the morning impressionist. Divine
joy, unexpected lesson
open landscape.
candidly complicated flows
color palette,
that lights up the tree and violet
trunk in the shade of purple.
Comas are radiant flowers, leaves
points, reticent,
and water
transparent discs that play all colors.
The burning vermilion happy by marrying
and lift the yellow brick tower
under a bright orange.
The chrome green pales next to the silver white happy, but before the sun
it appears again and again assayed
greens.
light rains, and without notice
already a fugitive nymph
the eye looks nailed live on space
more accurate. Clarified
blue when dissolved
Lavad in an atmosphere that envelops
define the picture and evaporated.
now Diérame
madness at that time I had, for kids
poetry,
with the paint brush.
2
and statues. In my adolescent dream of flying
a naked Aphrodite
plaster to the wing design. Unused
wonderful! Venus
My hand and face to face with my illusion
teen:
a paper and charcoal.
Given the way, was my state of pure grace
and whiteness,
pilgrim at random,
free happy and handcuffed.
Incontenible, although undecided,
curved line soars like a bird
play with the outline of the breeze. Captive
finally
that promotes black and whiteness that shading, chiaroscuro
rounded top
exact relief.
And
underwater jet adheres to the daughter of the foam, plaster mock
, light and fog
coal, rubber and disfumino.
knew nothing of the poem already in my pencil pointed. Venus
only drew my dream pristine supreme. Happy
image in my life gave his most
beautiful fixture at the academy
necessary to open its flower
if you miss.
3
El Museo del Prado! My God! I had pine
eyes and offshore
still hurt a love beaches on one side,
when I went to open the Prado Museum.
Oh shock! Who would have thought that the old painters painted
Painting with such bright colors;
life that made an open window, not a petrified
still life, Venus was
and jasmine pearl and crystal,
no shade, as I believe naively! Loss
pines and of the sea, my hand encountered
sea pines and Titian, corporeal clarities
never imagined
by the brush of the wind bare and painted. Why
my teens the ancient figures moved him sleep
mysterious and dark?
I did not know then that life had
Tintoretto (summer), Veronese (spring), or that blondes
breast Thank
love running through the halls of the Museo del Prado. Rubens
sirens, nymphs
village deities were not blushing Cadiz seas
that my children and children's virgin forests were swimming or dancing
honest.
demure
My wild eyes
marine and sank in the Greco-Roman white bodies. And I bathed
Adonis and Venus together
and liquid face of Narcissus in the source.
And - oh sudden lightning! - I felt in my blood and burn the littoral
mythology, the gods
opening myself that it struck the
Painting the Beauty her rose, the carnation Beauty. Oh
celestial Twitter! Knees, captive
gold and indigo kindest most thoughtful,
walked the rooms, the winged Angel
orchards that Fra Angelico cut brushes.
And I realized that the soul of the way was the dream
Mantegna, and grace, Rafael, and design, and I heard from so
metric windows harmonious
my Andalusian Italian springs. Traded
of that morning, those clarities
sad 'Gulf shadow "violent cavities
torn by a flash of skull bone,
tied me to the strenuous torments of Ribera.
Poverty, Tear, pregnancy, fatigue, trachoma
of Spain ragged beggar
the brush and broom, knife
light as I sweetened the graceful bee Murillo.
From his celica, paperbacks, industrious, chrome palette
swallow Mary Immaculate, penetrated the punished
verdiseco ghostly
of death and life underground Greco. He left the dreadful English
darker
through my eyes piercing the idea of \u200b\u200ba river
night that his sword would pierce his chest
runner high, rising of the dawn.
shades of dawn, the folds of the hung their clearest
cloudscape white hard to dress plainly
of human Zurbarán
monk with the same fervor that the bread and apples. Oh
just blue, oh severe snow in the distance,
transparentized fire, with such ardent cold! The hand is
breeze subject aura linen, zephyr
colors and brush thin air;
aura, breeze, breeze, air, and the whole room
Velazquez, painting painted by a wing.
Oh shock! Who thought that even the English
painted in the shade as clear sunrises;
more sinister than his pond Goya
luciferin light jets will bring more crystal!
My dark demons of hell my color
the devil took me ratoneril
del Bosco and tender, with its chemical fire of temptations
of enemas and angry winged broom. On the trail
sayings are peasants. Patinir
Azulea the dawn of the pines.
And while the death scythe to the genet, Brueghel
governs the clouds his funeral trumpet.
The smell of varnish, a polished wood, resin
a bouquet of freshly mourned;
daily candor
build and copy the color palette of the old painters
the illusion of a forgotten even blow my
Alberti corner of the Museo del Prado;
the amazing, agonizing, sleepless
joy of seeking and finding Painting Poetry
buried the penalty
bury the pain of the birth of a dying poet a painter,
distant today lead me and verse pricked,
to tell you, oh Paint!, my love interrupted.
Rafael Alberti
