Bécquer, Lorca and the rest

If we wanted to know about my connection with poetry, we would have to go back in time at least 10 years ago. My parents had encouraged me to read since I was a child. I read a lot by then: comics, little novels, stories; everything that I could understand. The first experience with poetry that I experienced was with the little poems for children that were written in our books. The author of these poems was Gloria Fuertes. She wrote about simple things as animals or clothes with a very easy vocabulary and rimes, so that the children could understand well the images. We read the poems in class and I remember that I loved the rhythm and the intonation that our teacher put when she read them.


So basically that was the beginning of my relation with this topic. In superior courses we had to memorize poems (thing that I liked, in contrast with the people in my class). Finally, in recent years things have become more serious and we have studied different authors and their poems in class, what I think that was the key that opened my sensibility to this world. To be exact, it was two years ago, when I studied in France, when I realized without even knowing it that I loved poetry. We did deep analysis on poems, analysis which I didn’t like in that time; but from which I learned a lot and build in my head the bases of analyzing poetry.

In this past two years of college we have studied Spanish authors who now are my favorites, and which poems I’ve often learned by heart. And a friend of mine encouraged me to write some too, so my connection with poetry now seems to be passive and active, in reading and writing.

Finally, with this blog hope that I can transmit to you a little bit of this passion that I feel inside. I leave you with a poem of Antonio Machado which illustrates very well this first days at the University and the overcoming of the past (I’m sorry but it is in Spanish, and I feel that if I translate it I’m going to fail in choosing the right words).

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar.

Antonio Machado

Read you soon!

Pablo Maljean González


  • wikipedia.org
  • pinterest.com (photo of the poem)
  • Antonio Machado’s poem comes from my memory!

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