been a while since I posted my last entry this blog. I want to thank the faithful readers that despite the long absence, have visited the blog to read past notes, and even have left comments asking me to keep feeding the blog.
In this interval has been around, two major trips (one to Huelva, the other to Cáceres and Hurdes), a personal crisis mood. Problems, crisis, sadness, happiness, in confused uproar, and both in myself and in the immediate environment of family and friends. I guess that is what life in that mixture of sadness and joy.
But globally, and without trying to dramatize, I believe that hard times have been . You know going through difficult times when she stood up in the morning, visualize the day ahead like an endless and long hours (twelve, more or less, in summer more) having to go and live for that day. Hard Times I do not know if you can call it that at this lapse in chronological but in any case, I would remember and copy here a beautiful poem by Luis Alberto de Cuenca, some of whose verses I have been sometimes identified, and entitled precisely with this expression:
TIMES
was all so sad and so absurd.
not just lived. I hung upon the wall
melancholy
and you saw
spend the slow hours that lead to anything and to never. Women will
had withdrawn its protection, the gods
assistance and literature his wing.
those were difficult times. The joint English
"difficult times" translates almost literally the Latin phrase season lasts. The Latin phrase, literally translated into English even more is the one used by the English novelist Charles Dickens to title his famous novel Hard times , published in 1854. In a similar way, Almudena Grandes titled his novel Winds difficult, taking up a mint Manuel Altolaguirre ( already talked about this ). Well, the Latin phrase season lasts documented at least two classic vintage Latin poets, Propertius and Ovid.
Propertius, in his elegy 1.7, lamented the "hard times" ( tough season) that he lives, subjected to the cruelty of his amada Cintia, en contraste con el amigo Póntico, que se dedica a la composición de una epopeya sobre el tema mítico de los Siete contra Tebas. No es de descartar que Luis Alberto de Cuenca pudiera haberse inspirado en este poema de Propercio.
Dum tibi Cadmeae dicuntur, Pontice, Thebae
armaque fraternae tristia militiae,
atque, ita sim felix, primo contendis Homero
(sint modo fata tuis mollia carminibus),
nos, ut consuemus, nostros agitamus amores,
atque aliquid duram quaerimus in dominam;
nec tantum ingenio quantum servire dolori
cogor et aetatis tempora dura queri.
hic mihi conteritur vitae modus, haec mea famast,
hinc cupio nomen carminis ire mei. While you
, Pontic, sing the fatal struggle
Thebes Cadmus and the fratricidal war and - hopefully I felt so happy! -
rival Homer, prince of poets
(if the fates are conducive to your lines),
me, as I usually do, I dedicate my love poetry
and look for something to break my proud owner;
and forces me to be enslaved not so much of my inspiration as my sorrow and regret
the grueling days of my life.
So goes the way I live, so is my reputation, thereby
desire to spread the fame of my verses.
(Trad. A. Ramirez de Verger)
Ovidio, por su parte, en dos ocasiones denomina tempora dura a su período de exilio en Tomis, en conexión con el mal clima de su destino de destierro ( Tristia 5.10.13, Pónticas 4.9.88). En la elegía de Tristia 5.10, en el tercer año de su destierro en Tomis, se queja de lo largo y difícil que se le hace el tiempo vivido en el destierro:
Vt sumus in Ponto, ter frigore constitit Hister,
facta est Euxini dura ter unda maris.
At mihi iam uideor patria procul esse tot annis,
Dardana quot Graio Troia sub hoste fuit.
Stare putes, adeo procedunt tempora tarde,
et peragit lentis passibus annus iter. [...]
Scilicet nouata in nobis est rerum natura, Curis meis
cumque omnia facit longa. An peragunt solitos
temporary COMMUNIA motus, IUF magis stantque
season lasts meae?
Since we are in the Ponto three times with cold froze the Danube,
three times the water of Pontus has solidified.
But to me it makes me that I have been away from home for so many years as Dardania
Troy remained besieged by the Greek.
It seems that time is frozen, so utterly passes slowly, so much so
year-footed crosses his path delinquent. Undoubtedly
nature has been renewed in my injury
and has done all along, as my sorrows.
Or is that the usual stages travel times for ordinary mortals, and are instead
more hard times of my life?
I hope that my readers have a few times "softer" than those of Propertius, Ovid, and Luis Alberto de Cuenca. That is something that should come, in principle, favored by the summer holidays. So
health, Latin and better times for all .
