| THE DEAF SATIRE |
| Greek Story |
Olympus lived near a satyr, and was the old king of the jungle. The gods had told him: "Rejoice, the forest is yours, I know a happy rogue, pursuing nymphs and sound of your flute." The satyr was amused.
One day the father Apollo was strumming the lyre divine, the satyr left his dominions and was dared to climb the sacred mountain and the god amazing mane. It punished him, recompensing deaf as a rock. In vain the thickets of the jungle full of birds, spilling the trills and coos emerged. The satyr heard nothing. Philomela came to sing on his head crowned with branches tangled, songs that did stop the streams redden and pale roses. He remained unmoved, or throw their wild laughter, and jump and lascivious happy when perceived by the branches full of gaps and some hip white rotunda was sporting the sun with his light blond. All the animals around him as a master who is obeyed.
In his view, to distract, dancing chorus of Bacchae on in your mouth bitch and accompanying harmony, near him, fauns adolescents as beautiful ephebes reverently caressed him with her smile, and though not heard any voices or the noise of the crótolos, enjoyed in different ways. So this king spent his beard, which had crowbars.
satyr was capricious.
Courtly advisers had two: a lark and a donkey. The first lost his reputation when he became deaf satyr. Before, if tired of their lust sweetly blew his flute, the lark with him. After the vast forest, where they heard the voice of the Olympic and thunder, the animal patient, the long ears, he used to ride, while the alomdra, in the heydays of the morning, he was on his hands, singing way of heaven.
The forest was huge. Played it to the lark the summit the ass, grass. The lark was greeted by the first rays of dawn, drinking dew on the buds, oak awoke saying: "Old Oak, wake up." Delighted with a kiss of the sun: it was loved by the morning star. And the deep blue, so big, I knew that she, so young, was in its immensity. The ass (but then I had not talked to Kant) was an expert in philosophy, as the common saying. The satyr, who saw him browsing on the pasture, moving ears gravely, had a high idea of \u200b\u200bsuch a thinker. In those days the donkey was not for so long today fame. Moving their jaws, would not have thought to write down in praise Daniel Heinsins, in Latin; Passerat, Buffon and the great Hugo, French, Posada and Valderrama, in English.
He pacienzudo, if you were biting flies, frightened the tail was kicking from time to time and released under the forest canopy strange chord in his throat. And it was spoiled there. To sleep his siesta on the black earth and friendly, gave the smell of herbs and flowers. And the great trees bowed their foliage to make shade.
In those days, Orpheus, a poet, appalled at the misery of men, thought to flee to the forests where the trees and the stones would understand and listen with rapture, and where he might tremble in harmony and fire of love and life the sound of your instrument.
When Orpheus strummed his lyre had smile on his face Apollo. Demeter felt joy. Palm trees shed their pollen, bursting seed, the Lions moved softly his mane. Once flew a carnation red butterfly made its stem, and a star fell and became fascinated lily. What
forest better than the satyr, whom he would love to, where it would be taken as a demigod, jungle and dance all joy, beauty and lust, where nymphs and Bacchae were cherished forever and ever virgin, where he had grapes and roses and noise of rattles, and where the king caprípedo fauns danced before his drunken and gesturing like Silenus?
He was with his crown of laurel, the lira, the head of a poet, proud, erect and radiant.
came to where was the hairy satyr and Ranger, and to ask for hospitality, sang. She sang of great Jove, Eros and Aphrodite, in the centaurs gallant and ardent Bacchae: Dionysus sang the cup, and that hurts tirso the festive mood, and Emperor Pan of mountains, forests Ruler, god-satyr who could also sing. Sang the intimacies of air and earth, great mother. So said the melody of an aeolian harp, the whisper of a grove, the raucous noise of a snail and the harmony notes that flow from a syringe. Sang the verse that comes down from heaven and place of the gods, which accompanies the beard in the ode and the time in the paean. Snow sang breasts warm and gold crown larado, and the crop of the bird and the glory of the sun.
And from the beginning of the song light shone more brightly. The huge logs were moved, and there were roses and lilies were defoliated leaned languidly like a faint sweet. Orfeo was moaning because lions and mourn the pebbles with the rhythmic music of his lira. The Bacchae most furious were silent and heard him in a dream. A virgin nymph who never even a glance of the satyr was desecrated, the singer approached timidly and said, "Yo I love you." Philomela had flown to land on the lira as the dove Anacreontic. No further echo the voice of Orpheus. Nature was anthem. Venus, passing through the neighborhood, asked from afar with his divine voice: "Is this, perhaps, Apollo?"
And in all that immensity of wonderful harmony, just do not hear anything was the satyr deaf.
When the poet concluded, said this: - I place my song? If so, I will stay with you in the jungle.
The satyr looked at his two counselors. It was necessary to work out what they could not understand him. That look called for a review.
"Sir," said the lark, striving to produce the strongest voice of his crop - and who has sung stay with us. Here's your lira is beautiful and powerful. Has offered you the greatness and the light rare today have seen in your forest. You have given your harmony. Lord, I know these things. When dawn comes and wakes up naked the world, I deep I go back to heaven and pour from the height of my invisible pearls trills, and between the clarity morning my melody fills the air, and is the joy of space. Well I say that Orpheus has performed well and is a chosen of the gods. His music drunk the entire forest. The eagles have come to flip over our heads, flowering shrubs gently shaken their censers mysterious, the bees have left their cells to come and listen. As for me, oh lord, if I were in your place, I would give my garland of vine leaves and my tirso. There are two powers: the real and ideal. What would your wrists Hercules, Orpheus does his inspiration. The god robust despedazaría a punch at the same Athos. Orfeo amansaría them with the efficiency of your voice triumphant, Nemean lion and its Erimanto his boar. Of the men, some are born to forge metals, other fertile soil to start the wheat stems, others to fight in bloody wars and others to teach, glorify and sing. If I am your butler and give you wine, enjoy your palate, if I offer you a hymn, has your soul.
As he sang the lark, Orpheus with his instrument with him, and a vast and dominant lyrical breath escaped from the forest green and fragrant. The deaf satyr was beginning to get impatient. Who was this strange visitor? Why he had ceased to dance crazy and voluptuous? What did they say his two counselors?
Ah! The lark had sung, but the satyr not hear! Finally, he turned his eye to the ass.
you missing your opinion? Well, before the huge jungle and noise, under the sacred blue, the donkey shook his head from side to side, serious, stubborn, silent, as the wise man who meditates.
Then, with his cloven foot, struck the ground satyr, wrinkled his brow in anger, and inadvertently anything, he said, pointing to Orpheus out of the jungle:
- No! ... Olympus
Al neighbor came the echo, and rang there, where the gods were a joke, a chorus of laughter formidable then called Homeric. Orfeo
thought the jungle out of the satyr deaf and almost ready to hang the first bay to be in its path.
not hanged, but he married Eurydice.
One day the father Apollo was strumming the lyre divine, the satyr left his dominions and was dared to climb the sacred mountain and the god amazing mane. It punished him, recompensing deaf as a rock. In vain the thickets of the jungle full of birds, spilling the trills and coos emerged. The satyr heard nothing. Philomela came to sing on his head crowned with branches tangled, songs that did stop the streams redden and pale roses. He remained unmoved, or throw their wild laughter, and jump and lascivious happy when perceived by the branches full of gaps and some hip white rotunda was sporting the sun with his light blond. All the animals around him as a master who is obeyed.
In his view, to distract, dancing chorus of Bacchae on in your mouth bitch and accompanying harmony, near him, fauns adolescents as beautiful ephebes reverently caressed him with her smile, and though not heard any voices or the noise of the crótolos, enjoyed in different ways. So this king spent his beard, which had crowbars.
satyr was capricious.
Courtly advisers had two: a lark and a donkey. The first lost his reputation when he became deaf satyr. Before, if tired of their lust sweetly blew his flute, the lark with him. After the vast forest, where they heard the voice of the Olympic and thunder, the animal patient, the long ears, he used to ride, while the alomdra, in the heydays of the morning, he was on his hands, singing way of heaven.
The forest was huge. Played it to the lark the summit the ass, grass. The lark was greeted by the first rays of dawn, drinking dew on the buds, oak awoke saying: "Old Oak, wake up." Delighted with a kiss of the sun: it was loved by the morning star. And the deep blue, so big, I knew that she, so young, was in its immensity. The ass (but then I had not talked to Kant) was an expert in philosophy, as the common saying. The satyr, who saw him browsing on the pasture, moving ears gravely, had a high idea of \u200b\u200bsuch a thinker. In those days the donkey was not for so long today fame. Moving their jaws, would not have thought to write down in praise Daniel Heinsins, in Latin; Passerat, Buffon and the great Hugo, French, Posada and Valderrama, in English.
He pacienzudo, if you were biting flies, frightened the tail was kicking from time to time and released under the forest canopy strange chord in his throat. And it was spoiled there. To sleep his siesta on the black earth and friendly, gave the smell of herbs and flowers. And the great trees bowed their foliage to make shade.
In those days, Orpheus, a poet, appalled at the misery of men, thought to flee to the forests where the trees and the stones would understand and listen with rapture, and where he might tremble in harmony and fire of love and life the sound of your instrument.
When Orpheus strummed his lyre had smile on his face Apollo. Demeter felt joy. Palm trees shed their pollen, bursting seed, the Lions moved softly his mane. Once flew a carnation red butterfly made its stem, and a star fell and became fascinated lily. What
forest better than the satyr, whom he would love to, where it would be taken as a demigod, jungle and dance all joy, beauty and lust, where nymphs and Bacchae were cherished forever and ever virgin, where he had grapes and roses and noise of rattles, and where the king caprípedo fauns danced before his drunken and gesturing like Silenus?
He was with his crown of laurel, the lira, the head of a poet, proud, erect and radiant.
came to where was the hairy satyr and Ranger, and to ask for hospitality, sang. She sang of great Jove, Eros and Aphrodite, in the centaurs gallant and ardent Bacchae: Dionysus sang the cup, and that hurts tirso the festive mood, and Emperor Pan of mountains, forests Ruler, god-satyr who could also sing. Sang the intimacies of air and earth, great mother. So said the melody of an aeolian harp, the whisper of a grove, the raucous noise of a snail and the harmony notes that flow from a syringe. Sang the verse that comes down from heaven and place of the gods, which accompanies the beard in the ode and the time in the paean. Snow sang breasts warm and gold crown larado, and the crop of the bird and the glory of the sun.
And from the beginning of the song light shone more brightly. The huge logs were moved, and there were roses and lilies were defoliated leaned languidly like a faint sweet. Orfeo was moaning because lions and mourn the pebbles with the rhythmic music of his lira. The Bacchae most furious were silent and heard him in a dream. A virgin nymph who never even a glance of the satyr was desecrated, the singer approached timidly and said, "Yo I love you." Philomela had flown to land on the lira as the dove Anacreontic. No further echo the voice of Orpheus. Nature was anthem. Venus, passing through the neighborhood, asked from afar with his divine voice: "Is this, perhaps, Apollo?"
And in all that immensity of wonderful harmony, just do not hear anything was the satyr deaf.
When the poet concluded, said this: - I place my song? If so, I will stay with you in the jungle.
The satyr looked at his two counselors. It was necessary to work out what they could not understand him. That look called for a review.
"Sir," said the lark, striving to produce the strongest voice of his crop - and who has sung stay with us. Here's your lira is beautiful and powerful. Has offered you the greatness and the light rare today have seen in your forest. You have given your harmony. Lord, I know these things. When dawn comes and wakes up naked the world, I deep I go back to heaven and pour from the height of my invisible pearls trills, and between the clarity morning my melody fills the air, and is the joy of space. Well I say that Orpheus has performed well and is a chosen of the gods. His music drunk the entire forest. The eagles have come to flip over our heads, flowering shrubs gently shaken their censers mysterious, the bees have left their cells to come and listen. As for me, oh lord, if I were in your place, I would give my garland of vine leaves and my tirso. There are two powers: the real and ideal. What would your wrists Hercules, Orpheus does his inspiration. The god robust despedazaría a punch at the same Athos. Orfeo amansaría them with the efficiency of your voice triumphant, Nemean lion and its Erimanto his boar. Of the men, some are born to forge metals, other fertile soil to start the wheat stems, others to fight in bloody wars and others to teach, glorify and sing. If I am your butler and give you wine, enjoy your palate, if I offer you a hymn, has your soul.
As he sang the lark, Orpheus with his instrument with him, and a vast and dominant lyrical breath escaped from the forest green and fragrant. The deaf satyr was beginning to get impatient. Who was this strange visitor? Why he had ceased to dance crazy and voluptuous? What did they say his two counselors?
Ah! The lark had sung, but the satyr not hear! Finally, he turned his eye to the ass.
you missing your opinion? Well, before the huge jungle and noise, under the sacred blue, the donkey shook his head from side to side, serious, stubborn, silent, as the wise man who meditates.
Then, with his cloven foot, struck the ground satyr, wrinkled his brow in anger, and inadvertently anything, he said, pointing to Orpheus out of the jungle:
- No! ... Olympus
Al neighbor came the echo, and rang there, where the gods were a joke, a chorus of laughter formidable then called Homeric. Orfeo
thought the jungle out of the satyr deaf and almost ready to hang the first bay to be in its path.
not hanged, but he married Eurydice.
Rubén Darío, was inspired by Victor Hugo, "Le satyr" is the most famous poem The legend ever present in the works since 1855. Inspired in the Eclogue "Silenus " of Virgil, had great influence on the poetry of the late nineteenth century. It will face the gods, especially Hercules and Apollo, the faun Marsyas, the human paradigm.
short story, 'The deaf satyr 'is a fable inverted, where the animals have a human psychology to show the irrationality of man. The satyr deaf, physically defective character and grotesque in its actions, has counselors courtiers, the lark and the ass. The investment is carried to cancel the didactic sense
short story, 'The deaf satyr 'is a fable inverted, where the animals have a human psychology to show the irrationality of man. The satyr deaf, physically defective character and grotesque in its actions, has counselors courtiers, the lark and the ass. The investment is carried to cancel the didactic sense
Blue is a book of short stories and poems of the Nicaraguan poet Rubén Darío, considered one of the most relevant Hispanic modernism. Closely related to the theme of eroticism is the use of exotic settings, distant in space and time. The search of the exotic has been interpreted generally modernist poets as an attitude of rejection of reality prudish to them live. Between these scenarios is that it provides the mythology of ancient Greece. Dario's poems are full of satyrs, nymphs, centaurs and other mythological creatures. The image is Darius of ancient Greece is passed through the sieve of the eighteenth-century France. In "Wandering" wrote :
love France more than the Greeks of Greece
France because in France
the echo of laughter and games, her sweetest
Venus pours liquor
France because in France
the echo of laughter and games, her sweetest
Venus pours liquor
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