Poet: Rubén Darío

Lo Fatal / Mortal by Rubén Dario

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Marc Neys AKA Swoon‘s latest videopoem uses a translation of my own, so it’s entirely possible I’m prejudiced here, but I really like his choice of footage to accompany this century-old poem by the great Nicaraguan innovator of Modernismo. He also made a version in the original Spanish.

We each shared some notes about the poem and the film in a blog post. Quoting oneself is weird, but here’s what Marc wrote, in part:

I probably fell for the poem because of the outspoken naivety in lines like

for there’s no greater pain than the pain of being alive,
no affliction more severe than consciousness.

I wanted to steer away from easy or obvious choices in imagery but I also wanted the footage to be clean and simple (unremarkable almost), yet beautiful in their elusiveness.

In the editing process the starting point was the poem. I put different title blocks along the length of the soundtrack (without the presence of images). Only then I looked for appropriate footage (some of it is mine, others came from archives or videezy, videoblocks and mazwai) and adjusted them (pace and length) to make them fit the title blocks with the lines of the poem. The choice of font and placement of the text on the selected images was the last thing to do.

I still enjoy this way of composing.

Sonatina by Rubén Darío

Poet: | Nationality: | Filmmaker:

A piece produced for public TV in (I assume) Argentina. Darío, a Nicaraguan, was a seminal figure in the development of modern Spanish-language poetry, but his poetry has always struck me as a bit too lush and Baroque. The film mitigates this to a considerable extent, I think, in part by using only excerpts from a much longer text, but also of course by its reimagining of the poem in a modern context, where every little girl, it seems, wants to be a Disney princess. Here’s a quick-and-dirty English translation of the lines used in the film, followed by the complete poem in Spanish, with the excerpted parts in bold.

The princess is sad. What ails her?
Sighs escape her strawberry lips
that laughter has abandoned, that all color has fled.
The princess is pale on her golden throne,
her harpsichord’s sonorous keys are still,
the triumph of peacocks fills the garden.
Ah, the poor princess with her mouth of roses
longs to be a swallow, longs to be a butterfly
on weightless wings soaring up to the sky,
climbing toward the sun on a ladder of light,
greeting the lilies with May-time verses
or losing herself in the wind over thunderous seas.
Be still, be still, my princess! says the fairy godmother.
A winged horse is heading straight your way,
bearing a joyful knight, who adores you without ever having seen you,
travelling from afar with a sword at his belt and a hawk in his hand
to conquer death and ignite your lips with one amorous kiss.

*

La princesa está triste… qué tendrá la princesa?
Los suspiros se escapan de su boca de fresa,
que ha perdido la risa, que ha perdido el color.
La princesa está pálida en su silla de oro,
está mudo el teclado de su clave sonoro;

y en un vaso alvidada se desmaya una flor.

El jardín puebla el triumfo de los pavos-reales.
Palanchina, la dueña dice cosas banales,
Y, vestido de rojo, pirueta el bufón.
La princesa no ríe, la princess no siente;
La princesa persigue por el cielo de Oriente
La libélula vaga de una vaga ilusión.

Piensa acaso e el príncipe de Golconda o de China,
o en el que ha detenido su carroza argentina
para ver de sus ojos la dulzura de luz?
O en el rey de las Islas de las Rosa fragantes,
o en el que es soberano de los claros diamantes
o en dueno orgulloso de las perlas de Ormuz?

Ay! La probre princesa de la boca de rosa
quiere ser golondrina, quiere ser mariposa
tener alas ligeras, bajo el cielo volar,
ir al sol por la escala luminosa de un rayo,
Saludar a los lirios con los versos de mayo,
o perderse en el viento sobre el trueno del mar.

Ya no quiere el palacio, ni la rueca de plata,
ni el halcón encantado, ni el bufón escarlata,
ni los cisnes unánimes en el lago de azur.
Y están las flores por la flor de la corte;
los jaszmines de Oriente, los nelumbos del Norte,
de Occidente las dalias y las rosas del Sur.

Pobrecita princesa de los ojos azules!
Está presa en sus oros, está presa en sus tules,
en la jaula de mármol del palacio real,
el palacio soberbio que vigilan los guardas,
que custodian cien negros con sus cien alabardas
un lebrel que no duerme y un dragón colosal.

Oh quién fuera hipsipila que dejó la crisálida!
(La princesa está triste. La princesa está pálida)
Oh visión adorada de oro, rosa y marfil!
Quién volara a la tierra donde un príncipe existe
(La princesa está palida. La princesa está triste)
más brillante que el alba, más hermoso que abril!

—Calla, calla, princesa! — dice el hada madrina —,
e caballo con alas, hacia acá se encamina,
e el cinto la espada y en la mano el azor,
el feliz caballero que te adora sin verte,
y que llega de lejos, vencedor la Muerte,
a encenderte los labios con su beso de amor!