The 34 best love poems of all time commented
We present a selection with 34 of the best love poems in history, briefly commented. The list is very varied. It encompasses classic and contemporary authors, men and women who have given love a particular and universal voice at the same time.
The chosen poems express different nuances of love: love as a concept, the lonely lover, reciprocated love, intimacy, mystical love, among others. The poems are organized according to the chronology of their authors.
1. Blessed be the year...
Author: Petrarca (Italy, 1304-1374)
Period or movement: Middle Ages, precursor of humanism
Petrarch represents love as a blessing that transforms life and makes it an inexhaustible source. For the poet, love is grace from which all art and beauty springs, and is condensed in the name of the person loved.
Blessed be the year, the point, the day,
the season, the place, the month, the hour
and the country, in which your lovely
gaze chained to my soul.Blessed is the sweet stubbornness
to give myself to that love that dwells in my soul,
and the bow and the arrows, that now
the sores still feel open.Blessed are the words with which I sing
the name of my beloved; and my torment,
my anxieties, my sighs and my tears.And bless my verses and my art
because they praise it, and, finally, my thought,
since she just shares it.
2. I would like not to wish you
Author: Juan de la Encina (Spain, 1468-1529)
Period or movement: Spanish renaissance
Juan de la Encina presents the classic conflict between will and love. The lover does not want to love, but he cannot do anything other than love. Therefore, he even "forgets to forget."
I would like not to wish you
and wish you did not want,
more, if I turn away from seeing you,
I'm so sorry to leave you
that I forget to forget you.
If I demand an award
in payment of my services,
daysme you for benefits
grief, pain and passion,
for more heartbreak.
And I can not unmake you
although I turn away from seeing you,
that if I think about not wanting you
I'm so sorry to leave you
that I forget to forget you.
3. Sonnet LXXXV
Author: Juan Boscán (Spain, 1487-1542)
Period or movement: Spanish Renaissance, Petrarchism
Juan Boscán questions whether whoever forgets can truly be called a lover. If someone has felt true love, Boscán implies, can he forget it?
Who says that absence causes oblivion
it deserves to be forgotten by everyone.
The true and firm lover
he is, when he is absent, most lost.Revives the memory the sense of him;
loneliness lifts care of him;
to be so far away from his good
makes the wishing of him more on.The wounds given in him do not heal,
even if the looking that caused them ceases,
if they remain confirmed in the soul,that if one is with many stabs,
because he fled from the one who stabbed him
not for that they will be better cured.
4. I already gave myself all
Author: Santa Teresa de Ávila (Spain, 1515-1582)
Period or movement: Spanish Renaissance, mysticism
The love of the divine is also an experience of love that ignites the soul. In Christianity, God is a person divine and, as such, relates personally and lovingly to the believer. Santa Teresa de Ávila surrenders to this transcendent love almost in a sensual way, because she feels united to the so-called Beautiful Love, to the point of finding her own identity in it.
I already gave myself and said
and in such a way I have bartered,
who is my beloved for me,
and I am for my beloved.When the sweet hunter
he threw me and left me surrendered,
in the arms of love
my soul was fallen.And taking on new life
in such a way I have bartered
who is my beloved for me,
and I am for my beloved.Hit me with an arrow
grassy with love,
and my soul was made
one with her Creator,I don't want another love
for I have given myself to my God,
and my beloved is for me,
and I am for my beloved.
5. Sonnet XII (Faint, dare, be furious ...)
Author: Lope de Vega (Spain, 1562-1635)
Period or movement: Spanish golden age, concept design
Lope de Vega describes love and all its nuances. He wonders what it is, and tries to answer. His words seem contradictory to each other, but certainly love contains tensions between passion and pain.
Faint, dare, be furious,
rough, tender, liberal, elusive,
encouraged, deadly, deceased, alive,
loyal, traitorous, cowardly and spirited;not find outside the good center and rest,
be happy, sad, humble, haughty,
angry, brave, fugitive,
satisfied, offended, suspicious;flee the face to the clear disappointment,
drink poison for soft liquor,
forget the profit, love the damage;believe that a heaven fits into a hell,
give life and soul to disappointment;
This is love, whoever tasted it knows it.
6. True love
Author: William Shakespeare (England 1564-1616)
Period or movement: English Renaissance, Elizabethan period
In this poem, the poetic subject tries to understand the definition of true love. But finally, she laments and confesses unable to have perceived the wonders of her when there was the occasion.
No, it does not separate two loving souls
adverse case or cruel persistence:
love never wanes or strays,
and it is one and without moving at all hours.
It is a fan that you roaring squalls
with motionless rays he defies;
fixed star that guide ships;
you measure its height, but its essence you ignore.
Love doesn't follow the fleeting stream
of age, that undoes the colors
of the flowery lips and cheeks.You are eternal, Love: if this denies
my life, I have not felt your ardors,
I didn't even know how to understand your wonders.
7. Love begins with restlessness
Author: Sor Juana de la Cruz (New Spain, 1648-1695)
Period or movement: Spanish-American Baroque
In this famous poem, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz describes the different stages of love, which are born with passion burning, and walks the streets of indifference, jealousy and pain at the fired.
Love begins with restlessness,
solicitude, ardors and sleeplessness;
it grows with risks, challenges and misgivings;
hold on to crying and pleading.Teach him lukewarmness and detachment,
preserve being between deceptive veils,
until with grievances or jealousy
she puts out his fire with her tears.Its beginning, middle and end is this:
So why, Alcino, do you feel the detour
of Celia, what other time did you love well?What reason is there that pain costs you?
Well, my love, Alcino did not deceive you,
but the precise term arrived.
It may interest you: Poems by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
8. Immortal reminiscence
Author: Friedrich Schiller (German, 1759-1805)
Period or movement: German romanticism
The lover hopes that his beloved ignites the same impulses that he does, since the mutual and full surrender of two people in a single being is perceived as a return to the lost divine origin.
Tell me friend, the cause of this burning,
pure, immortal longing that is in me:
suspend me to your lip eternally,
and immerse myself in your being, and the pleasant atmosphere
receive from your immaculate soul.In a time that passed, a different time,
Was not our existence of a single being?
Does the focus of an extinct planet
gave nest to our love in its enclosure
in days that we saw forever flee?... You too like me? Yes you have felt
in the chest the sweet heartbeat
with which passion announces its fire:
let's love each other, and soon the flight
we will happily raise to that sky
that we will be like God again.
9. Remember me
Author: Lord Byron (England, 1788 - 1824)
Period or movement: English romanticism
For the lover, oblivion is unbearable. The memory of his person is the only thing left before the inevitability of death. In fact, oblivion would be the true death. That is why the lover begs not to be forgotten.
My lonely soul cries in silence,
except when my heart is
united to yours in celestial alliance
of mutual sighing and mutual love.It is the flame of my soul like a light,
that shines in the sepulchral enclosure:
almost extinct, invisible, but eternal ...
not even death can annihilate it.Remember me!... Close to my grave
do not pass, no, without giving me a prayer;
for my soul there will be no greater torture
than knowing that you forgot my pain.Hear my last voice. It is not a crime
pray for those who were. I never
I asked you for nothing: when I expire I demand of you
that you come to my grave to sob.
10. Have compassion, mercy, love! Love mercy!
Author: John Keats (England, 1795-1821)
Period or movement: English romanticism
This poem by author John Keats is truly a desperate plea. The lover does not only wait for love correspondence. He wants total possession, absolute fusion between the two.
Have compassion, mercy, love! Love mercy!
Pious love that does not make us suffer without end,
love of a single thought, that you do not ramble,
that you are pure, without masks, without a stain.
Let me have you whole… Be everything, all mine!
That shape, that grace, that little pleasure
of the love that is your kiss... those hands, those divine eyes
that warm, white, bright, pleasant chest,
even yourself, your soul for mercy give me everything,
don't hold back an atom of an atom or I'll die,
Or if I keep living, only your despicable slave,
Forget, in the mist of useless affliction,
the purposes of life, the taste of my mind
getting lost in callousness, and my blind ambition!
11. Meaning of the word "I loved"
Author: Gertrudis Gómez de Avellaneda (Cuba-Spain, 1814-1873)
Period or movement: Spanish romanticism
Gertrudiz Gómez reflects on the meaning of "I loved". Can a love that is considered true end?
With "I loved" anyone says
This bleak truth:
-Everything in the world is chimera,
There is no true fortune
No constant feeling.
"I loved" means: -Nothing
It is never enough for man:
The most delicate passion,
The most sacred promise,
They are smoke and wind… and no more!
12. Come walk with me
Author: Emily Brontë (England, 1818 - 1848)
Period or movement: English Romanticism, Victorian period
Emily Brontë reflects in this poem on the nature of love. Can human love be eternal? Can you turn your light back on when after the reign of darkness?
Come walk with me
only you have blessed immortal soul.
We used to love the wintry night
Wandering through the snow without witnesses.
Will we go back to those old pleasures?
Dark clouds rush
overshadowing the mountains
just like many years ago,
until I die on the wild horizon
in gigantic stacked blocks;
as the moonlight rushes on
like a furtive, nocturnal smile.Come walk with me;
not long ago we existed
but death has stolen our company
(As the dawn steals the dew)
One by one he carried the drops into the void
until only two remained;
but my feelings still flash
for in you they remain fixed.Don't claim my presence
Can human love be that true?
Can the flower of friendship die first
and revive after many years?
No, although with tears they are bathed,
The burial mounds cover the stem of it,
The life sap has faded
and the green will never come back.
Safer than the final horror
inevitable like the underground rooms
where the dead live and their reasons,
Time, relentless, separates all hearts.
13. I adore you just like the night vault
Author: Charles Baudelaire (France, 1821-1867)
Period or movement: Symbolism
The loved person is a being worthy of adoration who, for the lover, demands the most absolute prostration. The faith of the lover does not see if the god is tyrant or cold. He gladly subordinates himself to this god.
I adore you just like the night vault,
Oh glass of sadness, great taciturn!
And I love you so much more, beautiful, the more you run away from me;
and the more you seem to me the charm of my nights,
ironically increase the distance
that separates my arms from the blue immensity.
I advance in the attacks and I climb in the assaults
like a choir of worms next to a corpse,
and I love tenderly, implacable and cruel beast,
even your coldness, which increases your beauty.
It may interest you: Poems by Charles Baudelaire
14. Poem 84 (Her breast is conducive to pearls ...)
Author: Emily Dickinson (United States, 1830 - 1886)
Period or movement: American romanticism
A heart worthy of love does not only wear pearls. Nor is it the seat of power. To love is to make a home, to live in the heart of the other.
His breast is conducive to pearls,
But I am not a Diver—
His forehead is conducive to thrones
But I don't have a plume.His heart is conducive to a home—
I — a Sparrow — build there—
With the sweetness of the branches
My perennial nest.
15. Quia multum amavi / Because I have loved so much
Author: Oscar Wilde (Ireland, 1854 - 1900)
Period or movement: Aestheticism, decadentism, Victorian era
The lover shows the open wound of the soul in the face of betrayal. Still, he cannot regret having wanted to. His words hurt us. It is an overflowing love that has lost its way.
Dear heart, I believe that the young and passionate priest,
when first taking out of the hidden sanctuary
to his God secluded in the Eucharist
and eat the bread, and drink the terrible wine,
he did not feel as terrible a amazement as I did
when my loving eyes collided with yours
for the first time
And all night before I kneel at your feet
Until you got tired of my passion
Ah! If you had liked it less
and you would have loved me more,
in those summer days of joy and rain,
he would not have been heir to sadness
not a lackey in the house of pain.
Still, despite the regret, white face
of the servant of youth,
hot on my heels with his entourage,
I'm glad I loved you: think of all
the suns that turned into a blue veronica!
16. Advice
Author: Antonio Machado (Spain, 1875 - 1939)
Period or movement: Generation of '98, Spain
Unlike the things of the world, of the currencies that we value so much, love is the only thing that is lost when it is not given. Only the soul that gives love is not lost; only the soul that gives itself, is magnified.
This love that wants to be
perhaps it will soon be;
but when is she to return
what just happened?
Today is far from yesterday.
Yesterday is never again!
Coin that is in hand
maybe you should save:
the little coin of the soul
it is lost if it is not given.
It may interest you: Short love poems with their author
17. All love letters are ridiculous
Author: Fernando Pessoa (Portugal, 1888 - 1935)
Period or movement: Generation of Orpheu, Portugal
Fernando Pessoa surprises us with this prose poem, signed under the heteronym Álvaro de Campos. It is true that love letters are ridiculous, he says, but it is more ridiculous not to dare to write them. More ridiculous is not to love ridiculously.
All love letters are
ridiculous.
They wouldn't be love letters if they weren't
ridiculous.I also wrote love letters in my time,
like the others,
ridiculous.The love letters, if there is love,
they have to be
ridiculous.But, at the end of the day,
only creatures who never wrote love letters
yes they are
ridiculous.Who would give me the time when I wrote
without noticing
love letters
ridiculous.The truth is that today my memories
of those love letters
yes they are
ridiculous.(All the words esdrújulas,
like sdrugal feelings,
they are naturally
ridiculous).
You can delve into: Fundamental poems of Fernando Pessoa
18. Yesterday I kissed you on the lips
Author: Pedro Salinas (Spain, 1891 - 1951)
Period or movement: Generation of 27, Spain
The kiss is a sign that, like a baptismal font, gives name and existence to love. The kiss is treasured, it is recreated, it is repeated in the mind of the loved one, from where he does not want it to escape.
Yesterday I kissed you on the lips.
I kissed you in the lips. Dense,
red. It was such a short kiss
that lasted longer than lightning,
than a miracle, more. Time
after giving it to you
I didn't want it at all anymore
Not at all
I had wanted it before.
It began, it ended in him.
Today I am kissing a kiss;
I'm alone with my lips
I put them
not in your mouth, no, not anymore ...
"Where did he get away from me?"
I put them
in the kiss that I gave you
yesterday, in the mouths together
of the kiss that they kissed.
And this kiss lasts longer
than silence, than light.
Because it is no longer a meat
not a mouth what I kiss,
that escapes, that flees me.
Not.
I'm kissing you further.
19. Beloved, tonight you have crucified yourself
Author: César Vallejo (Peru, 1892 - 1938)
Period or movement: Avant-garde
Love is a sacred and profane experience at the same time, an oxymoron. Lover and beloved give themselves in a mutual offering that ties souls to the grave.
Beloved, tonight you have crucified yourself
on the two curved timbers of my kiss;
and your pain has told me that Jesus has cried,
and that there is a Good Friday sweeter than that kiss.
On this clear night how much you have looked at me,
Death has been joyful and has sung to his bone.
On this September night it has been officiated
my second fall and the most human kiss.
Beloved, we will both die together, very close together;
our sublime bitterness will gradually dry up;
and our dead lips will have touched the shadow.
And there will no longer be reproaches in your blessed eyes;
nor will I offend you again. And in a grave
We will both fall asleep, like two little brothers.
See also: Poems by César Vallejo
20. The verses that I did to you
Author: Florbela Espanca (Portugal, 1894 - 1930)
Period or movement: Early 20th century, pioneer of Portuguese feminism
The woman she loves expresses the imperative desire to declare her love with her verses, but her condition as hers forces him to remain silent. The mouth and the kiss, although never given, reserve the most beautiful poem.
Let me tell you cute rare verses
That I have in my mouth to tell you!
They are sculpted in Paros marble
Chiseled by me to serve you.
They are expensive velvets for their sweetness,
They are like pale silks to burn you ...
Let me tell you cute rare verses
That were created to drive you crazy!
But I'm not telling you, my love, yet ...
That a woman's mouth is always beautiful
When inside it keeps verses that it does not say!
I want you so much! I never kissed you ...
And in the kiss, love, that I did not give you
I keep the most beautiful verses that I made you!
21. Resignation
Author: Andrés Eloy Blanco (Venezuela, 1896 - 1955)
Period or movement: Generation of 18, Venezuela
The wounded lover realizes one of the shadows of love: resignation. What can a lover do if her love does not correspond to him or if her love has opened new wounds?
I have given up on you. It was not possible
They were vapors of fantasy;
are fictions that sometimes give the inaccessible
a proximity from a distance.
I stared at how the river went
getting pregnant from the star ...
I sank my crazy hands towards her
and I knew the star was up ...
I have renounced you, serenely,
how the delinquent renounces God;
I have renounced you like the beggar
that is not seen by the old friend;
Like the one who sees great ships depart
as a course towards impossible and longed-for continents;
like the dog that extinguishes its loving spirits
when there is a large dog that shows its teeth;
Like the sailor who renounces the port
and the wandering ship that renounces the lighthouse
and like the blind man next to the open book
and the poor child before the expensive toy.
I have given up on you, how I give up
the madman to the word that his mouth pronounces;
like those autumnal rascals,
with static eyes and empty hands,
that cloud his resignation,
blowing the crystals
in the shop windows of the confectioneries ...
I have given up on you, and every moment
we give up a little of what we wanted before
and in the end, how many times the waning longing
ask for a piece of what we went before!
I go to my own level. I'm already calm.
When I renounce everything, I will be my own owner;
disrupting lace I will return to the thread.
Renunciation is the journey back from the dream ...
22. Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint
Author: Federico García Lorca (Spain, 1898 - 1936)
Period or movement: Generation of 27, Spain
Fear and anxiety over the possibility of losing the loved one obsess over the lover, who complains of this inevitable fate that condemns him.
I'm afraid of losing the wonder
of your statue eyes and the accent
that at night puts me on the cheek
the lonely rose of your breath.I'm sorry to be on this shore
trunk without branches; and what I feel the most
is not having the flower, pulp or clay,
for the worm of my suffering.If you are my hidden treasure,
if you are my cross and my wet pain,
if I am the dog of your lordship,don't let me lose what I have gained
and decorate the waters of your river
with leaves of my alienated autumn.
23. The threatened
Author: Jorge Luis Borges (Argentina, 1899 - 1986)
Period or movement: philosophical literature, fantastic literature
Love seems like a threat because it affects us and it hurts us. It makes us vulnerable, because we are involuntarily at the mercy of the loved one. Would it be better to run away? In the end, love takes the lover by storm and overcomes all resistance.
It is love. I will have to hide or flee.
The walls of his prison grow, as in an atrocious dream.
The beautiful mask has changed, but as always it is the only one.
What good will my talismans do me: the exercise of letters,
the vague erudition, the learning of the words that the harsh North used to sing his seas and the swords of him,
the serene friendship, the library galleries, the common things,
the habits, the young love of my mother, the military shadow of my dead, the timeless night, the taste of sleep?
To be with you or not to be with you is the measure of my time.
Already the pitcher breaks on the source, already the man
Raises the voice of the bird, those who look through the windows have already darkened, but the shadow has not brought peace.
It is, I know, love: the anxiety and relief of hearing your voice, the waiting and the memory, the horror of living in the future.
It is love with its mythologies, with its useless little magics.
There is a corner that I dare not go through.
Now the armies are getting closer, the hordes.
(This room is unreal; she hasn't seen it.)
The name of a woman betrays me.
A woman hurts all over my body.
24. In what quiet way
Author: Nicolás Guillén (Cuba, 1902 - 1989)
Period or movement: Avant-garde
The lover expresses the simplicity and subtlety with which the loving feeling is born in the subject, inadvertently breaking down its walls, while exposing the subject's vulnerability.
In what quiet way
you enter me smiling,
as if it were spring!
Me, dying!And in what subtle way
I spill on my shirt
all april flowers
Who told you that I was
always laugh, never cry,
as if
spring?
I'm not that much!Instead, how spiritual
that you give me a rose
of his main rosebush!
In what quiet way
you enter me smiling,
as if it were spring
Me, dying!
25. Cover me love
Author: Rafael Alberti (Spain, 1902 - 1999)
Period or movement: Generation of 27, Spain
Love is also passion between two bodies. The poem passes and reviews in its images the love that is expressed in the desire between loving bodies.
Cover me, love, the sky of my mouth
with that extreme foam rapture,
which is jasmine that knows and burns,
sprouted on tip of rock coral.Cheer me on, love, your salt, crazy
Your lancinating sharp supreme flower,
Doubling his fury in the diadem
of the mordant carnation that unleashes her.Oh tight flow, love, oh beautiful
snow-tempered gurgling
for such a narrow grotto raw,to see how your fine neck
it slips on you, love, and it rains on you
of jasmine and saliva stars!
26. Poem XV (I like it when you shut up ...)
Author: Pablo Neruda (Chile, 1904 - 1973)
Period or movement: avant-garde
The lover surrenders to the absolute fascination offered by the contemplation of the loved one, whose silence and repose are the occasion for a calm and patient gaze.
I like you when you shut up because you are absent,
and you hear me from afar, and my voice does not touch you.
It seems that your eyes have flown
and it seems that a kiss closes your mouth.As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from things, full of my soul.
Dream butterfly, you look like my soul,
and you look like the word melancholy.I like you when you are quiet and you are distant.
And you're like complaining, lullaby butterfly.
And you hear me from afar, and my voice does not reach you:
Allow me to hush myself with your silence.Let me also speak to you with your silence
clear as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, silent and constellated.
Your silence is from the stars, so far and simple.I like you when you are silent because you are absent.
Distant and painful as if you had died.
A word then, a smile is enough.
And I'm glad, glad it's not true.
It may interest you: The best poems of Pablo Neruda
27. Late love
Author: José Ángel Buesa (Cuba, 1910-1982)
Period or movement: Neo-romanticism
Love is not always a thing of youth. Sometimes it comes when it is least expected, when time has made its mark, or when opportunities have dissipated. What to do with love that is late?
Belatedly, in the gloomy garden,
belatedly a butterfly entered,
transfiguring in miraculous dawn
the depressing summer evening.
And, thirsty for honey and dew,
belatedly on the rosebush it perches,
Well, the last rose has already defoliated
with the first blast of cold.
And I, who am walking towards the west,
I feel wonderfully arriving,
like that butterfly, an illusion;
but in my autumn of melancholy,
butterfly of love, at the end of the day,
how late you come to my heart ...
28. Under your clear shadow
Author: Octavio Paz (Mexico, 1914 - 1998)
Period or movement: Modernism, surrealism
The sensuality of love is present in the poem Under your shadow, in which the poet walks through the body of the beloved that looks like a treasure in her hands.
One body, one body only, one body
a body like spilled day
and devoured night;
the light of some hair
that never appease
the shadow of my touch;
a throat, a belly that dawns
like the sea that lights up
when it touches the forehead of the dawn;
some ankles, summer jumpers;
night thighs that sink
in the green music of the evening;
a chest that rises
and sweeps away the foams;
a neck, just a neck,
just a few hands,
a few slow words that descend
like sand fallen into another sand….
This that escapes me
water and dark delight,
sea being born or dying;
these lips and teeth,
these hungry eyes,
they strip me of myself
and his furious grace lifts me up
up to the still skies
where the moment vibrates;
the top of the kisses,
the fullness of the world and its forms.
You can read: Poems by Octavio Paz
29. I love you
Author: Mario Benedetti (Uruguay, 1920 - 2009)
Period or movement: Generation of 45, Uruguay
Simple words summarize the love experience, not only based on the fascination for the body of the other, but for their ideas, for their commitment, for their spiritual beauty. Love is complicity.
Your hands are my caress
my everyday chords
I love you because your hands
they work for justiceIf I love you, it's because you are
my love my accomplice and everything
and in the street side by side
We are much more than twoyour eyes are my spell
against the bad day
I love you for your look
what looks and sows futureyour mouth that is yours and mine
your mouth is not wrong
I love you because your mouth
knows how to scream rebellionIf I love you, it's because you are
my love my accomplice and everything
and in the street side by side
We are much more than twoand for your sincere face
and your wandering step
And your tears for the world
because you are a people I love youand because love is not a halo
nor candid moral
and because we are a couple
who knows that she is not aloneI want you in my paradise
that is to say that in my country
people live happy
even if I don't have permissionIf I love you, it's because you are
my love my accomplice and everything
and in the street side by side
We are much more than two.
Read more in the following article: Poems by Mario Benedetti
30. Love at first sight
Author: Wislawa Szymborska (Poland, 1923 - 2012)
Period or movement: 20th and 21st centuries
Before love at first sight, was there not an inadvertent history between lovers? Has there not been before countless coincidences that, like a thread, were threaded between the needles to weave a new love dress?
Love at first sight.
They are both convinced
that a sudden feeling has joined them.
That security is beautiful,
but insecurity is more beautiful.They imagine that as before they did not know each other
nothing had happened between them.
But what about the streets, the stairs, the corridors
in which long ago they could have crossed?I would like to ask you
if they don't remember
-maybe a face-to-face meeting
Ever in a revolving door
or some "sorry"
or the sound of "you made a mistake" on the phone-,
but I know your answer.
They do not remember.They would be surprised
to know that a long time ago
that chance plays with them,
a coincidence not quite ready
to become your destiny,
that brought them closer and further away,
that stood in his way
and that holding back the laughter
he stepped aside.There were signs, signs,
but what to do if they weren't understandable.
Has it not fluttered
a blade from one shoulder to another
three years ago
or even last Tuesday?There was something lost and found.
Who knows if some ball
In the thickets of childhoodThere were doorknobs and doorbells
in which a touch
he overcame another touch.
Suitcases, side by side, in a slogan.
Maybe one night the same dream
disappeared immediately after waking up.All beginning
it is nothing more than a continuation,
and the book of events
it is always open in the middle.
31. Sonnet to start a love
Author: Manuel Alcántara (Spain, 1928 - 2019)
Period or movement: Generation of 50, Spain
He cannot force a loved one with spells or enchantments. The lover only has to cling to the patient hope. Will love become a reality? Or will it slip through your fingers like desert sand?
It happens that oblivion, before being,
It was great love, golden cataclysm;
girl on the threshold of my selfishness,
What is going to happen? it is better not to know.Girl with love, where to put it?
Loving is close to oneself.
As always, rolling into the abyss,
love will go, without seeing it or drinking it.Lie down to see what happens, that's my thing;
turning years you will go in my memory,
living for yesterday, like an ember,because the blood will not reach the river,
because one day we will just be history
and one thing is to lie down to see what happens.
32. In the swift land
Author: Eugenio Montejo (Venezuela, 1938 - 2008)
Period or movement: Avant-garde
The lover expresses how the loved one is his absolute. By being loved, he consecrates himself, as a divine idol, while understanding the presence of random destiny. Whether for an instant or for a lifetime, consummate love is the vital meaning.
He just wanted to be alive to love you
on the fast land. Here by your side
following the flight of this spinning sphere
behind too remote a sun.
Whatever the time they gave us
the gods or chance, whatever is left
of fire in our indecisive lamp,
my wish is here, not in another world,
next to your hands, your eyes and your laugh,
next to the trees and the wind
that accompany your passage through the world.
Whoever rushes the stars
and make us be born or unborn,
Whoever brings our bodies together
although this lightning does not last at all
and the fast land will erase the dream.
33. Love under the moonlight
Author: Louise Elisabeth Glück (United States, 1943)
Period or movement: 20th and 21st centuries
Louise Glück vividly describes the intimacy between two subjects who, under the moon, discover each other in the chorus of the world.
Sometimes a man or a woman impose their despair
someone else, they call that
alternately bare the heart, or bare the soul.
(Which means they acquired one by then.)
Outside, the summer afternoon, a whole world
thrown to the moon: clusters of silvery shapes
which could be trees or buildings, the narrow garden
where the cat hides to roll in the dust,
the rose, the choreopsis and, in the dark, the golden dome of the capitol
transformed into an alloy of moonlight,
form without detail, the myth, the archetype, the soul
full of that fire that is actually moonlight,
taken from another source, and it shines
a few moments, how the moon shines: stone or not,
the moon is still more than alive.
34. We were not meeting ...
Author: Olga Tokarczuk (Poland, 1962)
Period or movement: 20th and 21st centuries
This poem reminds Love at first sight of Szymborska, as it describes the love between lovers as a mutual belonging declared from the origin, destined to occur.
We did not meet
we did not look for each other in the orchards with an apple
among the murmurs of silk in church navesWe were always inside each other
in the body of god double-sided
in medieval paintings in museum cellars
and in the photos of our parents
innocent as paperWe -masters of crossing-
we just stood facing each other
and in mirrors of the skin we reflect ourselves whole
the world moved away in silence and with the finger on the lips
the forests took root in the ground
cities guided by smell found places
where men built them infinitely
the rivers entered the seas like trains in the stations
the ungraspable mountains curdled in the cavesIf I am a mountain
you are a cave inside of me
place in the mount where there is no mount
place inside me where I am not
You can also see:
- Love poems by Latin American authors
- Spanish American heartbreak poems
- Literary trends
- The best romance novels
