Prosas Profanas E-Book

Darío Rubén

• Herausgeber: CLXBX
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 72

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

Prosas Profanas is one of Rubén Darío's most celebrated and transformative works, a dazzling collection that solidified his role as the leading voice of the Modernismo movement in Spanish-language literature. First published in 1896, this remarkable volume represents the height of Darío's aesthetic experimentation, combining musical precision, sensual imagery, and cosmopolitan sophistication in a way that forever changed the course of Hispanic poetry. In this collection, Darío embraces artistic freedom with bold confidence. Drawing inspiration from French symbolism, classical mythology, and the elegance of European culture, he creates a poetic universe filled with princes, nymphs, swans, marble palaces, and dreamlike landscapes. Each poem is carefully crafted, rich with rhythm and sonic beauty, reflecting his belief that poetry should delight the senses as much as it stirs the intellect. Yet beneath the ornamental surface lies a deeper artistic vision. Prosas Profanas is not merely an exercise in decorative language; it is a declaration of creative independence. Darío challenges conventional themes and traditional forms, reshaping metrics and revitalizing Spanish verse with fresh cadences and innovative structures. His poetry moves fluidly between the sensual and the spiritual, the pagan and the sacred, the worldly and the transcendent. The collection also reflects the cultural currents of the late nineteenth century. In an era marked by modernization and shifting identities, Darío's work offers both escape and subtle commentary. His cosmopolitan outlook bridges continents, blending Latin American sensibilities with European influences to create a truly international voice. Through his refined aesthetic, he affirms art as a realm of beauty, imagination, and renewal. One of the defining features of Prosas Profanas is its musicality. Darío's masterful control of rhythm, sound, and imagery elevates language to a near-symphonic level. His verses shimmer with color and movement, inviting readers into a world where art becomes an act of transformation. The poems celebrate desire, elegance, mythology, and the creative spirit itself, embodying the Modernista pursuit of harmony and refinement. Over time, Prosas Profanas has come to be recognized as a cornerstone of modern Hispanic literature. Its innovative style influenced generations of poets across Spain and Latin America, shaping the evolution of twentieth-century poetry. Darío's ability to unite technical mastery with imaginative freedom continues to captivate readers and scholars alike. A luminous testament to artistic audacity and poetic reinvention, Prosas Profanas remains a landmark achievement—an enduring celebration of beauty, rhythm, and the boundless possibilities of language.

Leseprobe

Prosas Profanas

Rubén Darío

Copyright © 2026 by Rubén Darío

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

PROFANE PROSE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

VARIA

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

VERLAINE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

ARCHAEOLOGICAL RECREATIONS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

PROFANE PROSE

Chapter1

IT WAS A SOFT BREEZE...

It was a soft breeze, with slow turns;

The fairy Harmony rhythmed her flights;

And vague phrases and faint sighs went

among the sobs of the cellos

On the terrace, next to the branches,

It sounded like a tremolo of Aeolian lyres

When

the white magnolias, standing erect on their stems, caressed the silken garments.

The Marchioness Eulalia: laughter and digressions

He gave the same amount of time to two rivals:

The blond viscount of challenges

And the young abbot of madrigals.

Close, crowned with vine leaves,

Laughed in his bearded mask,

And, like an ephebe who was a girl,

Diana showed her naked marble.

And beneath a grove of love, a palestra,

On a rich plinth in the Ionian style,

with a candlestick lit in his right hand,

flew the Mercury of Juan de Bolonia.

The orchestra was fragrant with its magical notes;

A chorus of winged sounds could be heard;

gallant pavans, fleeting gavottes

were sung by the sweet violins of Hungary.

Upon hearing the complaints of his knights

Laugh, laugh, laugh, divine Eulalia,

For her treasure is the arrows of Eros,

The girdle of Cypria, the distaff of Omphale.

Woe to him who gathers his sweet words and phrases!

Woe to him who trusts in the song of her love!

With her lovely eyes and her red mouth,

the divine Eulalia laughs, laughs, laughs.

She has blue eyes, she is evil and beautiful;

When he looks, he pours forth a strange, vivid light: The soul of the blond Champagne crystal

peers out from his moist, starry pupils .

It's a night of celebration, and the costume ball.

She flaunts her glory of worldly triumphs.

The divine Eulalia, dressed in lace,

crushes a flower with her smooth hands.

The harmonic keyboard of her delicate laughter

It equals the cheerful music of a bird,

with the staccatos of a dancer

and the crazy escapes of a schoolgirl.

Loving bird that exhales trills

Beneath the wing, sometimes hiding the beak;

What rude disdain it hurls beneath the wing,

Beneath the treacherous wing of the light fan!

When at midnight its notes begin

And in golden arpeggios Philomel moans,

And the ivory swan, upon the still pond

Like a white gondola, imprints its wake,

The merry marchioness will arrive at the grove,

Grove that covers the pleasant gazebo

Where the arms of a page must embrace her,

Who, being her page, will be her poet.

To the rhythm of a song by an Italian artist

Let the orchestra dissolve in the wandering breeze,

Beside the rivals the divine Eulalia,

The divine Eulalia, laughs, laughs, laughs.

Was it perhaps during the time of King Louis of France,

Sun with a court of stars, in fields of azure, When the regal and pompous rose Pompadour

filled the palaces with fragrance ?

Was it when the beautiful one picked up her skirt

With nymph-like fingers, dancing the minuet,

And following the rhythm of the measures,

On the red heel, pretty and light the foot?

Or when shepherdesses of flowery valleys

Did they adorn their white lambs with ribbons,

and did they hear, divine Thyrsis of Versailles,

the declarations of their knights?

Was it in that good old time of shepherd dukes,

Of loving princesses and tender gallants,

When amidst smiles and pearls and flowers

Were the coats of the chamberlains worn?

Was it in the North or in the South?

I know neither the time nor the day nor the country,

But I know that Eulalia still laughs,

And her golden laughter is cruel and eternal!

Chapter2

DIVAGATION

You come ? It reaches me here, for you sigh,

A breath of the magic fragrances

That made the deliriums of the lyres

In the Greeces, the Romes and the Frances

Sigh like this! Let the bees swarm

At the scent of Olympian ambrosia,

In the perfumes you leave in the air;

And the stone god awakens and laughs.

And the stone god awakens and sings

The glory of the flowering thyrsi

In the ritual gesture of the bacchante

With red lips and snowy teeth;

In the ritual gesture that in the beautiful

Nymphalias guides the divine bonfire,

Bonfire that makes the roses blaze

On the spotted skins of panthers.

And since you love to laugh, laugh, and the breeze

Let the sound of the lyrical crystals

of your laughter carry, and let laughter make

the beard of jovial terms tremble.

Look towards the side of the woods, look

To whiten Diana's ivory thigh,

And after the Virgin, the Hetaira

Goddess, her white, pink, and blonde sister.

He passes by in search of Adonis; his scents

Roses and tuberoses delight her;

a pair of doves follows her

, and a flock of leopards flees behind her.

Exotic loves, perhaps...?

Like a rose from the Orient you fascinate me:

I delight in silk, gold, and satin.

Gautier adored Chinese princesses.

Do you like to love in Greek? I love parties

I seek gallant ones, where it is remembered,

To the soft sound of rhythmic orchestras,

The land of light and the green blackbird.

(The abbots recount adventures

To the blonde marchionesses. Sleepy

philosophers defend the tenderness

of love, with subtle arguments,

As it emerges from the green grass,

In her hand the acanthus of Corinth,

A nymph to whom

Beaumarchais placed an epigram, on the marble of her plinth.

I love it more than the Greece of the Greeks

The Greece of France, because in France,

To the echo of laughter and games,

Venus pours her sweetest liquor.

They demonstrate more charm and treachery.

Crowned with flowers and naked.

The goddesses of Clodion, more so than those of Phidias;

some sing in French, others are mute.

Verlaine is more than Socrates; and Arsenius

Houssaye surpasses the old Anacreon.

In Paris, Love and Genius reign.

The two-faced god has lost his empire.

Monsieur Prudhomme and Homais know nothing.

There are Cyprus, Paphos, Tempes and Amathus,

where the love of my godmother, a fairy,

will join your fresh lips to mine.)

Sounds of the bandolin. The red wine

A red page leads the way. Do you love the sounds

of the mandolin, and a Florentine love?

You will be the queen in the Decameron.

(A chorus of poets and painters)

She tells racy stories. With wicked,

cheerful smiles, the gentlemen approve.

Clelia blushes; a duenna makes the sign of the cross.

Or a German love?—that they haven't felt

Never the Germans—: the celestial

Gretchen; moonlight; the aria; the

nightingale's nest; and on a rugged rock,

The snowy light that comes from the sky

And bathes a beauty that sighs

The vague lament that Loreley delivers to the night

in the language of the lyre.

And over the blue water, the knight

Lohengrin; and his swan, as if it were

a chiseled traveling iceberg,

with its neck arched in the shape of an S.

And a song from the divine Henry Heine,

On the banks of the Rhine; and

the long hair and cloak of the divine Wolfgang;

and the white wine of the Teutonic grape.

Oh love full of sun, love of Spain,

Love full of purples and golds;

Love that gives the carnation, the strange flower

Watered with the blood of bulls;

Gypsy flower, flower that love fears

Love of blood and light, mad passions;

Flower that transcends clove and cinnamon,

Red like wounds and mouths.

Exotic loves, perhaps...?

Like a rose from the Orient you fascinate me:

I delight in silk, gold, and satin.

Gautier adored Chinese princesses.

Oh, beautiful love of a thousand genuflections;

Kaolin towers, impossible feet,

Teacups, turtles and dragons,

and peaceful green rice paddies!

Love me in Chinese, in sonorous Chinese

From Li-Tai-Pe. I will equal the wise

Poets who interpret destiny;

I will compose madrigals beside your lips.

I will say that you are more beautiful than the moon;