domingo, 20 de febrero de 2011

Leda pudorosa


Por Francisco Sosa Escalante

Quiso el rey de los dioses, cierto dia,
Alcanzar el amor; mas ella, fría
Oyó del dios el amoroso canto.

Ni los ruegos de Júpiter, ni el llanto,
Vencer lograron á la ninfa impía
Que, fuerte, su pureza defendía

Y no dejaba del pudor el manto.
De cisne entonces Júpiter vestido
A la ninfa llegó; de su blancura
Prendóse Leda y le abrigó en su seno...

¡Oh niña encantadora! no en olvido
Pongas, que infame el seductor procura
Llegar á la beldad con manto ajeno.

Thomas Andersen

Francisco Sosa Escalante. Poeta, historiador, humanista, periodista y político mexicano. Nació el 2 de abril de 1848. Funda en 1864 una revista. Las críticas contra el gobierno publicadas allí le valen la cárcel. Pasó a la historia mexicana al proponer a Profirio Díaz que se colocaran en el Paseo de la Reforma estatuas de personajes relacionados con el movimiento de la Reforma, surgiendo dos por cada estado de la República mexicana. Murió en la pobreza en el año de 1925 en el DF, específicamente en Coyoacán, lugar cuya calle principal, en la actualidad, lleva su nombre.

sábado, 19 de febrero de 2011

Constantin y Leda, sin cisne

Hoy 19 de febrero abrimos la página de inicio de google y nos sorprende la imagen de la obra de Constantin Brancusi haciendo la composición de las letras del nombre del conocido motor de búsqueda. Nos sorprende la coincidencia, pues allí está nuestra Leda, mínima y elegante, nos gusta especialmente y nos sirve de pretexto para presentar de la mano minimalista de este abstractamente impresionante artista rumano una de sus obras: Leda.

El doodle contiene:
Prometeo; Leda (1920)
el recién nacido (1920), musa dormida (1908)
Mademoiselle Pogany (1903),
ave en el espacio (1928), el beso (1907)

La simplicidad no
es un fin en el arte, pero llegamos a la simplicidad,
a pesar de nosotros mismos, a medida que nos acercamos al sentido real de las cosas”.

Leda (en mármol)

Constantin Brancusi nació en Rumania el 19 de febrero de 1876. Destacan en su biografía que aprendió a leer y escribir de manera autodidacta, además el arte de la talla en madera con la que se distraía en sus largas horas infantiles como pastor. De origen campesino, llegó a París a estudiar en la Escuela de Bellas Artes. En esa ciudad mantiene un gran vínculo de amistad con Libra de Ezra, Henri Pierre Roché, Apollinaire, Picasso, Marcel Duchamp, Henri Rousseau, Léger y el gran Rodin, con el que trabajó tan sólo dos meses, pues sostenía que nada podía crecer a la sombra de un gran árbol. Se nacionaliza francés. Maestro del Arte Abstracto, sus obras alcanzan la perfección de la simpleza, del decir mucho sólo fundamentándose en la esencia. Se inspira en la mitología primitiva europea, sobre todo en la rumana. La obra de arte simple es la magia que lo dice todo y lo puede todo. Se relacionó con el movimiento cubista por su interés en las formas básicas y desprecia lo accidental, lo descriptivo. Entre sus obras más conocidas están el pájaro, el huevo, el beso y la columna del infinito, ésta última fue donada a la ciudad de Târgu Jiu, Rumanía. Muere en París el 16 de marzo de 1957.

lunes, 7 de febrero de 2011

De un Príncipe para una Reina


por Edmund Spenser

Calm was the day, and through the trembling air
Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play?
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay
Hot Titan’s beams, which then did glister fair;
When I (whom sullen care,
Through discontent of my long fruitless stay
In princes’ court, and expectation vain
Of idle hopes, which still do fly away
Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain),
Walk’d forth to ease my pain
Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames;
Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems,
Was painted all with variable flowers,
And all the meads adorn’d with dainty gems
Fit to deck maidens’ bowers,
And crown their paramours
Against the bridal day, which is not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

There in a meadow by the river’s side
A flock of nymphs I chancéd to espy,
All lovely daughters of the flood there
by, With goodly greenish locks all loose untied
As each had been a bride;
And each one had a little wicker basket
Made of fine twigs, entrailéd curiously,
In which they gather’d flowers to fill their flasket
And with fine fingers cropt full feateously
The tender stalks on high.
Of every sort which in that meadow grew
They gather’d some; the violet, pallid blue,
The little daisy that at evening closes,
The virgin lily and the primrose true:
With store of vermeil roses,
To deck their bridegrooms’ posies
Against the bridal day, which was not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

With that I saw two swans of goodly hue
Come softly swimming down along the lee;
Two fairer birds I yet did never see;
The snow which doth the top of Pindus str
Did never whiter show,
Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be
For love of Le
da, whiter did appear;
Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he,
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing n
So purely white they were
That even the gentle stream, the which them bare,
Seem’d foul to them, and bade his billows spare
To wet their silken feathers, lest they might
Soil their fair plumes with water not so f
And mar their beauties bright
That shone as Heaven’s light
Against their bridal day, which was not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill,
Ran all
in haste to see that silver brood
As they came floating on the crystal flood;
Whom when they saw, they stood amazéd still,
Their wondering eyes to fill;
Them seem’d they never saw a sight so fair
Of fowls, so lovely, that they sure did deem
Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair
Which through the sky draw Venus’ silver team;
For sure they did not seem
To be begot of any earthly seed,
But rather angels, or of angels’ breed;
Yet were they bred of summer’s heat, they say,
In sweetest season, when each flower and weed
The earth did fresh array;So fresh they seem’d as day,
Even as their bri
dal day, which was not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

Then forth they all out of their baskets drew
Great store of flowers, the honour of the field,
That to the sense did fragrant odours yield,
All which upon those goodly birds they threw
And all the waves did strew,
That like old Peneus’ waters they did seem
When down along by pleasant Tempe’s shore
Scatter’d with flowers, through Thessaly they stream,
That they appear, through lilies’ plenteous store,
Like a bride’s chamber-floor.
Two of those nymphs meanwhile two garlands bound
Of freshest flowers
which in that mead they found,
The which presenting all in trim array,
Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown’d;
Whilst one did sing this lay
Prepared against that day,
Against their bridal day, which was not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

‘Ye gentle birds! the world’s fair ornament,
And Heaven’s glory, whom this happy hour
Doth lead unto your lovers’ blissful bower,
Joy may you have, and gentle heart’s content
Of your love’s complement;
And let fair Venus, that is queen of love,
With her heart-quelling son upon you smile,
Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove
All love’s dislike, and
friendship’s faulty guile
For ever to assoil.
Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord,
And blessed plenty wait upon your board;
And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound,
That fruitful issue may to you afford
Which may your foes confound,
And make your joys redound
Upon your bridal day, which is not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.’

So ended she; and all the rest around
To her redoubled that her undersong,
Which said their bridal day should not be long:
And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground
Their accents did reso
So forth those joyous birds did pass along
Adown the lee that to them murmur’d low,
As he would speak but that he lack’d a tongue,
Yet did by signs his glad affection show,
Making his stream run slow.
And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell
’Gan flock about these twain, that did excel
The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend
The lesser stars. So they, enrangéd well,
Did on those two attend,
And their best service lend
Against their wedding day, which was not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

At length they all to merry London came,
To merry London, my most kindly nurse,
That to me gave this life’s first native source,
Though from another place I take my name,
An house of ancient fame:
There when they came whereas those bricky towers
The which on Thames’ broad aged back do ride,
Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers,
There whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide,
Till they decay’d through pride;
Next whereunto there stands a stately place,
Where oft I gainéd gifts and goodly grace
Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell,
Whose want too well now feels my friendless case;
But ah! here fits not well
Old woes, but joys to tell
Against the bridal day, which is not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer,
Great England’s glory and the world’s wide wonder,
Whose dreadful name late thro’ all Spain did thunder,
And Hercules’ two pillars standing near
Did make to quake and fear:
Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry!
That fillest England with thy triumphs’ fame
Joy have thou of thy noble victory,
And endless happiness of thine own name
That promiseth the same;
That through thy prowess and victorious arms
Thy country may be freed from foreign harms,
And great Eliza’s glorious name may ring
Through all the world, fill’d with thy wide alarms
Which some brave Muse may sing
To ages following,
Upon the bridal day, which is not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

From those high towers this noble lord issuing
Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair
In th’ ocean billows he hath bathéd fair,
Descended to the river’s open viewing
With a great train ensuing.
Above the rest were goodly to be seen
Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature,
Beseeming well the bower of any queen,
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature,
Fit for so goodly stature,
That like the twins of Jove they seem’d in sight
Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright;
They two, forth pacing to the river’s side,
Received those two fair brides, their love’s delight;
Which, at th’ app
ointed tide,
Each one did make his bride
Against their bridal day, which is not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

Elizabeth Sparhawk-Jones


Edmund Spenser: poeta inglés (1552 aproximadamente -13 de enero, 1599) es reconocido como the Prince of Poets del período Isabelino. Con su poesía, Spenser trataba de buscar un lugar en la corte, el cual logró al entregar y hacer que le leyeran a Elizabeth I, su obra más famosa "La Reina de las Hadas" (The Faerie Queene). Pretendió crear una obra que épicamente fuese comparable con la Eneida de Virgilio, con ella puso de moda la estrofa Spenseriana, compuesta de 9 versos alejandrinos, que riman ababbcbcc, y el último verso es más largo que los demás.

Leda en postales

Las antiguas tarjetas postales con mujeres y cisnes son una constante entre los coleccionistas desde el siglo XIX. No son Ledas -eso lo sabemos- y los cisnes no son nuestros Olímpicos Cisnes de plata, pero se nos figuran que sean, queremos pensar que lo son, pues nos gusta soñar que Leda es la que se transfigura en desnuda, vestida, princesa, cortesana, apasionada o ausente para comunicarse con su Cisne...