Ryan Anthony Spangler - People at Creighton University

Ryan Anthony Spangler
University of Kentucky
468 Plainview Road
Lexington, KY 40517
phone: (859) 335-0233
fax: (859) 323-9077
ryan.spangler@uky.edu
Approaching the Modern in Martí:
The Aura of Authenticity in Spanish-American Modernismo
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Approaching the Modern in Martí:
The Aura of Authenticity in Spanish-American Modernismo
Abstract: This paper deals with the interpretation and manifestation of modernity within
the writings of José Martí. It analyzes Martí’s prose and poetry and delineates the
martian expression of modernity as an authenticated and sincere poetry. However, due to
the incapacities of language, it exposes Martí’s inability to realize such spontaneous and
unlabored poetry. What compensates for his failure is the idealistic drive towards a
heroic and genuine poetics that reveals his internal moral push for authenticity. True
spontaneity is an expression of pain and sorrow that characterizes the overarching pursuit
for sincerity. Martí’s expression of modernity revealed in his poetry ultimately realizes
the true modern spirit of originality that the modernistas who follow him will in turn
attempt to achieve.
Key words: Modernismo, José Martí, modernity, poetry, authenticity, Romanticism,
Positivism, Ismaelillo, Versos libres
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Approaching the Modern in Martí:
The Aura of Authenticity in Spanish-American Modernismo
Pon de lado las huecas rimas de uso, ensartadas de persas y matizados con flores de
artificio, que suelen ser más juego de la mano y divertimiento del ocioso ingenio que
llamarada del alma y hazaña digna de los magnates de la mente. Junta en haz alto, y echa
al fuego, pesares de contagio, tibiedades latinas, rimas reflejas, dudas ajenas, males de
libros, fe prescrita, y caliéntate a la llama saludable del frío de estos tiempos dolorosos en
que, despierta ya en la a mente la criatura, adormecida, están todos los hombres de pie
sobre la tierra, apretados los labios, desnudo el pecho bravo y vuelto al puño al cielo,
demandando a la vida su secreto.
-José Martí, «Prólogo al Poema del Niágara»
When José Martí (1853-1895), one of the progenitors of Modernismo, first
proposed in the «Prólogo al Poema del Niágara» his rejection of “empty used rhymes
[…] mixed with artificial flowers,” he addressed the trend among Latin American and
Spanish Romantic writers of his day to abandon poetic sincerity in order to imitate their
European counterparts. “La modernidad,” according Paz, “nunca es ella misma: siempre
es otra” (Los hijos del limo 408). That is, modernity signifies a critique, rupture, or break
from something else, a push for immediacy: a newness. Martí, like the Romantics and
Symbolists before him, broke from the trend of imitation in order to define the terms of
his own modern poetry—a voice of sincerity, ethics, and a heroic, prophetic vision.
Martí denied emphatically his relationship to his Spanish American literary
contemporaries that specialized in the imitation of their authentic European counterparts.
Instead, he felt that “las ideas no hacen familia en la mente, como antes, ni casa, ni larga
vida. Nacen a caballo, montadas en relámpago, con alas (64 italics mine). Poetry, for
Martí, should be a written manifestation of what the poet feels and perceives instead of
breeding in the mind as done by the Spanish Romantic writers before him. Martí’s
ambivalent language expressed a poetics that exemplified his idealistic politics and
morals that had come to distinguish him from his contemporaries. However, even though
Martí created a distinct poetic voice, his conscious attentiveness to his poetic
surroundings addressed the major concern of modernity that confronted many other
writers in Latin America.
Although this essay will not focus on any of the other Spanish American
Symbolists, I feel Martí’s “Prólogo” to be useful in setting the stage in addressing the
question of modernity in the Spanish American fin de siècle. The primary participants in
this movement, ie. José Martí, Rubén Darío, Leopoldo Lugones, Delmira Agustini, etc.,
each attend to this issue of modernity through their distinct expressions of rupture. My
intent is to discuss the notion of modernity and afterwards pinpoint the mode of rupture
in Martí as a groundwork for the other authors of Modernismo. Using an assortment of
prose and poetry, I aim to outline the unique position of Martí and reveal his authentic
perception and manifestation of modernity.
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Literary modernity is ultimately the modern confronting the modern. What I
mean is that modern literature deals firsthand with the dilemma of technological and
scientific advancement by approaching the spiritual emptiness often left by its presence.
As scientific modernity continued to distance itself from literary modernity, writers began
to analyze simultaneously both the question of technology and the exploration of
liberated writing, demonstrated in the fragmentary style of Schlegel and Novalis. Authors
began to use poetry to question the thematic boundaries of literature, by exploring the
realm of politics, ethics, intimate relations, and experimental religious ideas. This
thematic break ultimately lead to a rupture in the structure of poetic form, thus paving the
way for German and English Romanticism, French Symbolism, and Spanish American
Modernismo.
The appearance of Auguste Comte’s Positivism, and later Herbert Spencer’s
Social Darwinism in Latin America, often considered the precursors to Modernismo,
emerged among the political circles from Mexico to Argentina. Benito Juárez’s
implementation of it that later continued during the Porfiriato (1876-80, 1884-1910
created the cultural context for one of the foundational modernistas, José Martí. Although
a native of Cuba, Martí (1853-1895) was exiled at the age of eighteen from the island and
lived in Spain until 1874. Unable to return to Cuba, but with a desire to return to
America, Martí joined his family in Mexico. His three-year stay in Mexico occurred
during the transition from Lerdo de Tejada to Díaz; a period that coincided with a
burgeoining positivistic politics. Martí witnessed the institutionalization of positivism
through the government’s persecution of the church in Mexico, the secularization of the
state, and the proliferation of state-funded education. The “scientific” solution to politics
that Martí observed, greatly affected his internal perception of government as he searched
for solutions to Cuba’s situation under Spanish dominance. He realized that such an
approach to the problem at hand left a spiritual absence that failed to explain artistic
creation.
Although Martí’s rejection of positivism and Social Darwinism has often been
considered the source of his modernista poetry, it would be misleading to view this
political tumult as the sole factor that led to his poetic search for the heroic, sincere, and
spontaneous to which he alludes in his “Prólogo.” While his confrontation with
positivism and United States imperialism became most overtly manifest in his prose, very
little of his poetry actually addressed the surge of positivism within Latin America, at
least explicitly. Instead, Martí sought to create an impulsive, spontaneous voice that
demonstrated his search for a genuine, authentic poetry, unlike many Spanish American
and Spanish Romantics who continued to imitate their French, German, and English
contemporaries. And as Paz notes, it is Martí’s incorruptible nature that led to the
sincerity of his poetry and the personal sacrifice of his life for his country (Los hijos del
limo 501). In order to understand this, however, we need to return to the “Prólogo.”
Martí first wrote the “Prólogo al «Poema del Niágara» de Juan A. Pérez Bonalde”
in 1882, the same year Ismaelillo, his first collection of poetry, appeared. This essay,
which characterizes Martí’s perception of a more authentic poetry, is divided between his
description and meditation of modern times and poetry, and the actual prologue to Pérez
Bonalde’s poem. His essay pinpoints the problems of imitation, labored verse, and the
veiling of human burdens found in the verses of his contemporaries in Spain and Latin
America. He writes:
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¡Este que traigo de la mano no es zurcidor de rimas, ni repetidor de viejos
maestros —que lo son porque a nadie repitieron—, ni decidor de amores, como
aquellos que trocaron en mágicas cítaras el seno tenebroso de las traidoras
góndolas de Italia, ni gemidor de oficio, como tantos que fuerzan a los hombres
honrados a esconder sus pesares como culpas, y sus sagrados lamentos como
pueriles futilezas! Este que viene conmigo es grande, aunque no lo sea de España
[...]. (59)
Martí notes that literature in Spain and Spanish America had come to be characterized as
mended rhymes and the repetition of old masters, stories of love and words that conceal
the sacred laments of the soul and convert them into childish trivialities. Each of these
defects counters what Martí considers to be authentic poetry, leaving only “esa
mutilación de nuestros hijos, ese trueque del plectro del poeta por el bisturí del disector!
Así quedan los versos pulidos” (74). Instead of springing from within like a newborn
child, the inspired verses are manipulated and contorted into something that barely
resembles what they first were. “Las convenciones creadas,” he affirms, “deforman la
existencia verdadera, y la verdadera vida viene a ser como corriente silenciosa que se
desliza invisible bajo la vida aparente” (68). The borrowed poetics used by an author
completely silence the actual message and “deform the true existence” of the message.
As he states, “ahora el poeta ha mudado de labor, y anda ahogando águilas” (60). This
construction and laboring of verses, according to Martí, drowns the natural voice; it
demonstrates a lack of newness or spontaneity. It may exhibit what is in the mind, but
covers the original visionary inspiration of the poet. The genuineness of a verse depends
not only on how it first came from the poet, but whether or not the original message
remained untainted. The preservation of the original message concerns Martí to the point
of his labeling any other type of verse as “pesares de contagio, tibiedades latinas, rimas
reflejas, dudas ajenas, males de libros, fe prescrita” (78).
His second complaint, the “repetidor de viejos maestros,” identifies the manner in
which authentic poetry becomes silenced; through the imitation of previous writers.
Most poetry in Spain during the nineteenth century imitated the earlier English and
German Romantics. In Martí’s view, Spanish America’s writers merely imitated their
Spanish counterparts, thus making poetry in the Americas a repetition of imitated verse.
Poetry wreaked of artificiality and lacked the novelty that Martí sought. Next, he
condemns sentimental verse, especially words that duplicate and thus betray the
originality and sensitivity of petrarchian structure and themes. This style, evident among
such writers as Espronceda and Bécquer (though he never names them specifically),
expresses more a sentimentality—a longing for an unknown and artificial love—than
actual love. “El amor,” Martí explains, “rebosa y se esparce [...], entona cantos fugitivos,
mas no produce —por sentimiento culminante y vehemente cuya tensión fatiga y abruma
— obras de reposado aliento, y laboreo penoso” (63). The sentimental poetry that he
condemns does not express a true aspect of love because its message has been tempered
into a new form. It is merely stagnant air, like the words that express it. The higher love
spoken of by Martí cannot be contained nor directed to an individual. It bubbles over and
scatters itself to effect a change in everyone that feels its presence. Poetry should
resemble that love.
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Martí also condemns the obscuring of “pesares como culpas” and transforming
sacred laments into childish trivialities. Santí notes that Martí considered Ismaelillo to be
his first true book for “la manera en que asumió su condición de poeta,” –his recognition
of his dolores graves – “y en la manera en que esa experiencia se transparentó en los
poemas de Ismaelillo” (35). Probably the most characteristic and problematic of Martí’s
critique of his contemporaries, and commensurate defense of his own poetics, is this
notion of sincerity, which echoes throughout all of his works. In every case of his poetry,
he attempts to reveal the burdens, misfortunes, and tragedies of his own life without any
sort of reproachful accusation directed toward them. The revelation of adversity, for
Martí, corresponds with the sacred, raising the poet to the status of Job, or even Christ.
Like so many of the Judeo-Christian archetypes to which he subtly refers, the acceptance
of such pain and reality only elevates the individual to a level of clearer comprehension.
He/She gains the ability to overlook the trivialities of life and focus on the enlightenment
of others. And while Martí may not be capable of clearly expressing the anguish that he
often experiences, his attempt to allow it to spring forth unadulterated without
manipulation exemplifies his desire for the conservation of the pure images, feelings, and
ideas first received by the poet.
The final words of the “Prólogo,” already cited in the epilogue of this essay,
reaffirm Martí’s desire to replace the empty, overworked rhymes with a sincere voice that
clearly expresses the poet’s visionary experience. Mankind “[demanda] a la vida su
secreto” (78), and it is the poet’s responsibility to reveal that. This secret is only
contained in the spontaneous and sincere voice of an unlabored poetry, not the verse
Martí so vehemently rejects. And rather than strive to create, mend, or imitate anything,
he advises the poet to do something else: “caliéntate a la llama saludable del frío de estos
tiempos dolorosos.” That is, allow the verse to be born out of your own suffering. Such
is Martí’s proposed poetics.
The three books of poetry that Martí writes while living in New York, Ismaelillo
(1882), Versos libres1 (1880’s, but published posthumously in 1913), and Versos
sencillos (1891), each address the problem of modernity as they propose a poetry of
heroics—poetry that conveys the visionary experience of the author—that embodies the
modernista spirit of novelty and unrepeatable time. My intention is to address the
opening and introductory poems to two of these works, Ismaelillo and Versos libres and
highlight how Martí attempts to distinguish himself from the “huecas rimas de uso” that
he so overtly rejects. However, this reading will also reveal Martí’s ultimate inability to
carry out his project to liberate poetic language. Ultimately, I will demonstrate the
uniqueness of Marti’s modernity as he creates a voice that distinguishes him from both
his precursors and his modernista contemporaries.
Martí’s proposed poetics is rather problematic in that he contradicts himself as he
attempts to define his notion of poetry while writing within the guidelines that he has
established for himself. Ranging from the simplicity of Versos sencillos to the difficult
vocabulary of Versos libres, his poetry confounds both critics and readers alike who
attempt to decipher the message encoded in his works. Although his poetic style and
approach to modernity may seem confusing, each work projects the similar themes of
originality, spontaneity, and most importantly, sincerity. In this prologue to Ismaelillo he
writes:
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Hijo:
Espantado de todo, me refugio en ti.
Tengo fe en el mejoramiento humano, en la vida futura, en la utilidad de la
virtud, y en ti.
Si alguien te dice que estas páginas se parecen a otras páginas, diles que te
amo demasiado para profanarte así. Tal como aquí te pinto, tal te han visto mis
ojos. Con esos arreos de gala te me has aparecido. Cuando he cesado de verte en
una forma, he cesado de pintarte. Esos riachuelos han pasado por mi corazón.
¡Lleguen al tuyo! (57)
Martí defends his poetry and, in effect, certifies his own authenticity as an author. The
hijo to whom he directs it, can be interpreted in a number of manners: his actual son, José
Francisco, who had recently departed New York with his mother, Carmen Zayas Bazán,
and returned to Cuba. Martí’s explanation duly expresses his desire to reveal to his son
the manner in which he sees him, as well as assert his originality. Implicitly, however,
Martí refers to the reader, who like a child, will be viewing his book for the first time. In
this sense, he asks that we look at it with newness, in the fresh way a child perceives life.
Thus, Martí, or his implied author, addresses each of us as his son and hopes to persuade
us of his authenticity as a poet. And although his work addresses a child, it is in no way a
childish triviality. “Ismaelillo,” states Enrico Santí, “no pertenece al género de la
literatura infantil; es decir, no es tanto un libro escrito para niños como un libro sobre un
niño” (23). Martí uses the image of the child to call upon a fresh, uncluttered vision and
to then confirm the reality of his sorrows expressed through his poetry. In so doing,
Martí reaffirms his belief in the poetic standards he described in the “Prólogo” by
addressing each point that he considered then of greatest importance in the production of
poetry. He begins by stating that he is “espantado de todo,” thus asserting his own
frustrations and fears in life. He does not in anyway attempt to “esconder sus pesares
como culpas” (“Prólogo” 59), but rather, insists upon revealing his personal troubles.
Such a manifestation promotes Martí’s attempt to unveil the sacred laments that he
considers his work to be. And by so doing, he asserts that his work is faithful to the
experiences and visions he attempts to relate.
The second paragraph in the Ismaelillo prologue expresses the areas of Martí’s
faith: the betterment of humanity, the future life, the utility of virtue, and a multipledirected you. These areas confirm Martí’s teleological drive for change—an objective to
transform the current reality into the vision of the child—and work collectively to
produce the type of poetry that mirrors what the poet has beheld. The first expresses a
yearning to overcome the burdens that inflict him. “Future life” refers of course to the
reality of the present, and the poet’s failure to realize linguistically his vision. By looking
towards the future, Martí recognizes his current incapacity to produce the type of verse
that he promotes in his prologue. Secondly, he is also referring to his belief in a life after
the one he now knows. In the “Prólogo” he states “La imperfección de la lengua humana
para expresar cabalmente los juicios, afectos y designios del hombre es una prueba
perfecta y absoluta de la necesidad de una existencia venidera” (75). Martí articulates a
need for a coming existence to overcome the poetic struggles that our insufficient
language causes. He deems that it is only through the realization of this life to come that
language will be perfected, where signifier and signified will be one, and the “secreto” of
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the poet will be revealed. His intended poetics, impossible in this life with the linguistic
tools he currently possesses, can only be achieved in a future life, whether that life be
contained in the manifestation of the child, or in a life we have yet to know.
Martí then expresses his faith in the utility of virtue, a statement that conveys his
personal standard of ethical writing as well as his desire for change in the world around.
While there are traces of a political agenda in this statement, I believe his intention was
directed more to the poetic dilemma at hand. By articulating his moral idealistic stance
through the projection of virtue, he raises the bar in the production of poetry, specifically
for himself and for those who read his work. Finally, the tú to whom he is referring once
again goes back the idea of the hijo and what that suggests. Martí, along with the
dedication of his book to his son, his Ismaelillo also refers to the poets and readers of his
work. His goal advocates a change not only in the role of the poet, but also of the reader.
We must change how we read and look at poetry and reevaluate the emphasis we often
place on aesthetics at the cost of sacrificing the ethical value of the poetry. The
promotion, acceptance, and most importantly, the realization of his poetic ideal rests
upon his readers. By invoking a nameless tú, he is calling upon everyone to cast aside
the empty verse of his day and search for a more authentic voice.
For this purpose, the next paragraph of the prologue for Ismaelillo exemplifies
Martí’s resolution to assert his status as an honorable, sincere writer. His pen writes only
according to what he sees, and does not get entangled in the problem stylistics and
aesthetics. His verse, like the streams that pass through his heart, are in constant flux.
They do not stagnate in his mind as he ponders upon the precise words to select; instead,
they constantly flow out from him, similar to the verses “montadas en relámpago, con
alas” (“Prólogo” 64) that he speaks of in the “Prólogo.”
Up to now, I have relied solely upon two prologues to discuss Martí’s poetic
ideals. As will be seen later, as I analyze the prologues from another of his two works of
poetry, he never retracts from his proposed poetics, but rather, continually promotes his
idealized notion of a sincere, untampered art that does not bow to the gods of
versification or rhyme. Yet, as we read through Martí’s actual poetic work, we begin to
recognize the incapability of Martí to realize the art that he so resolutely endorses.
The opening of the first poem of Ismaelillo, “Príncipe enano” illustrates the point
perfectly.
Para un príncipe enano
Se hace esta fiesta.
Tiene guedejas rubias,
Blandas guedejas;
Por sobre el hombro blanco
Luengas le cuelgan.
Sus dos ojos parecen
Estrellas negras:
Vuelan, brillan, palpitan,
Relampaguean!
Él para mí es corona,
Almohada, espuela.
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The title implies a political syncretism with childhood. The prince, a figure of power,
becomes molded to the dwarf, a reference to the child. Thus, the title projects the clear
image of a child at play, as if taking on an adult responsibility. Martí uses the child as a
form of mediation to give the reader the perspective of a child and see the world with
innocent eyes. Both father and reader desire to participate in the experience through the
game’s creation. Martí opens the poem with a dedication to the dwarf prince. Yet, the
words used by the author result in a party, and not only a poem. We begin to see the
simplicity of the child’s life and recognize the game not as an escape but a reality. As
adults, we use games in order to divert the pains and troubles, work and responsibilities,
that burden us. But for a child, life is a constant game, a flux of words, actions, vision,
and imaginations. The poet allows the adult to participate in the child’s game and sees it
as reality instead of as distraction.
Secondly, the poet uses the image of the child in order to break from the semantic
structure of narrative poetry. Martí accentuates the necessary drive towards lyrical poetry
in order to give greater freedom to the poet and unbind him/her. This authorial stress is a
critique of the linearity and the semantic axle of narrative poetry, as it rejects linear time
in favor of a broader perception of reality that places the poem in a sequence of moments
and spaces. Martí uses this technique as a means of assaulting the question of form.
However, such a conscious effort on the part of Martí contradicts his overall project of
liberated verse. For by overtly fighting against the linearity of narrative verse, he reveals
the construction used to create his verse and denies the spontaneity he promotes. He also
remains tied to traditional Spanish heptasyllablic meter. It can be argued, however, that
such a meter is traditional not only in Spanish verse, but also in spoken dialogue. Many
of the common idiomatic expressions in Spanish follow either a heptasyllabic or
octosyllabic structure. Nevertheless, Martí’s meter is laced with archaic words (guedejas,
luengas) used to carry both meter and rhyme scheme. He also uses assonant rhyme
throughout the poem, an indication of his premeditation or re-articulation of the verse
form. Thus, while Martí’s prologue boasts spontaneity, his verse works otherwise.
Perhaps what Martí does divulge in this poem is a desire to attain the poetry he discusses
in the book’s prologue. He admires the innocent child’s position and attempts to express
through an incapable language—a language unable to completely convey the vision of
the poet or the child—the perspective that he/she has in a game. The child’s simplistic
lifestyle is thus similar to the visionary perspective Martí endeavors to communicate
throughout his poetry, all the while recognizing his inability to do so. The overarching
goal of sincere, spontaneous, heroic poetry Martí endorses becomes realized only in the
very act of the game of childhood because though it is reality for the child, it is merely a
refuge for the adult.
Martí’s second collection of poetry, Versos libres, comes closer to his proposed
heroic poetry as he expresses the anguish of displacement and abandonment felt during
his time in New York. With regards to this book of poetry, Martí states, “Mis
encrespados Versos Libres, mis endecasílabos hirsutos, nacidos de grandes miedos, o de
grandes esperanzas, o de indómito amor de libertad, o de amor doloroso a la hermosura,
como riachuelo de oro natural, que va entre arena y aguas turbias y raíces, o como hierro
caldeado, que silba y chispea, o como surtidores candentes” (Schulman 37-8). Unlike
Ismaelillo, which is born from the vision Martí has of his son, and poetry in general,
Versos libres expresses the pain, sorrow, hope, and love that he sees and feels. It
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distances itself from the futuristic visionary poetry of Ismaelillo and communicates the
angst Martí feels at the time his wife and child left him for good in New York. However,
like his earlier book, Versos libres attempts to convey the inner sentiments of the poet,
and promotes the newness and sincerity that will “[calentar] a la llama saludable del frío
de estos tiempos dolorosos,” (78) spoken of in the “Prólogo.”
The prologue to Versos libres, entitled “Mis versos” encapsulates Martí’s desire
to convey the poetic sentiments he feels within as he encounters the foreign world around
him, and the abandonment he feels. He once again asserts the sincerity of his verses as
he attempts to escape narrative poetry and endorse a more lyrical voice. The first half of
the prologue states:
Estos son mis versos. Son como son. A nadie los pedí prestados.
Mientras no pude encerrar íntegras mis visiones en una forma adecuada a ellas,
dejé volar mis visiones: oh, cuánto áureo amigo, que ya nunca ha vuelto! Pero la
poesía tiene su honradez, y yo he querido siempre ser honrado. Recortar versos,
también sí, pero no quiero. Así como cada hombre trae su fisonomía, cada
inspiración trae su lenguaje. Amo las sonoridades difíciles, el verso escultórico,
vibrante como la porcelana, volador como un ave, ardiente y arrollador como una
lengua de lava. El verso ha de ser como una espado reluciente, que deja a los
espectadores la memoria de un guerrero que va camino del cielo, y al envainarla
en el sol, se rompe en alas. (95)
Martí’s firm declaration of the authenticity of his verses emphasizes his drive for
sincerity in poetry. They are neither borrowed nor loaned from other writers. They are
his and came about through the articulation of his visions. For Martí, the primary goal is
a manifestation in honorable form of his visions. Poetry is the most admirable means of
revealing his visions, even if it is incapable of divulging all of the anguish and hope Martí
feels. As he states, if language is unable to “encerrar íntegras [sus] visiones en una forma
adecuada,” he allows them to escape, with the knowledge that they will most likely never
return. Even though they are lost, however, they still remain respectable, because they
were not twisted or manipulated into something else. Essentially, Martí is asserting that
what remains in Versos libres does not in any way contradict the sincere vision that they
project. If the vision could not be converted to words or articulated in a poem, the reader
will never know of them. For Martí, it is better to lose the vision in its pure form than to
convert, or rather, distort it into something else. Martí’s comment criticizes the empty
poetry of imitation of many of the Hispanic and Spanish American poets of his day.
Unlike their verses, his poems are solely his and are tied only to the visions that inspired
them. And though he has the ability to “recortar versos,” he restrains himself from
changing the authentic vision he first received.
Martí problematizes the situation through the language and images he uses in the
prologue, that seem to undermine his heroic ideal. By declaring, “Amo las sonoridades
difíciles,” he weakens his call for spontaneity. His desire to express difficult sounds
demonstrates a conscientious creativity that undercuts the voice of impulsiveness.
Martí’s love for difficult sounds, evident in Versos libres, challenges the very honor of
his poetry. As he describes the formation of his poetic voice, which now seems to be
more of a creation than an inspiration, he uses an accumulation of metaphorical images
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(sonoridades difíciles/ verso escultórico/ porcelana/ ave/ lengua de lava/ espada
reluciente/ un guerrero/ el sol/ alas), that articulate Martí’s cognizance of his own
inventive powers. Instead of witnessing the transcription of the incarnate manifestation
of Martí’s vision, we are left with a series of difficult sounds and sculptured verses that
no longer resemble the poet’s original revelation.
Although Martí repetitively reasserts the authenticity of his poetry, he continually
contradicts himself as he undermines his drive for spontaneity in poetic creation:
Tajos son éstos de mis propias entrañas —mis guerreros—. Ninguno me
ha salido recalentado, artificioso, recompuesto de la mente; sino como las
lágrimas salen de los ojos y la sangre sale a borbotones de la herida.
No zurcí de éste y aquél, sino sajé en mí mismo. Van escritos, no en tinta
de academia, sino en mi propia sangre. Lo que aquí doy a ver lo he visto antes
(yo lo he visto, yo), y he visto mucho más, que huyó sin darme tiempo a que
copiara sus rasgos. —De la extrañeza, singularidad, prisa, amontonamiento,
arrebato de mis visiones, yo mismo tuve la culpa, que las he hecho surgir ante mí
como las copio. De la copia yo soy el responsable. Hallé quebrados los vestidos,
y otros no y usé de estos colores. Ya sé que no son usados. Amo las sonoridades
difíciles y la sinceridad, aunque pueda parecer brutal.
His emphatic affirmation that his poetry is sincere and spontaneous, that his verses run
from him like tears from one’s eyes, duly asserts the legitimacy of his writing while
simultaneously critiquing his contemporaries. He claims that, unlike other contemporary
poets from Spain and South America, his poetry is not an artificial re-warming of reworked ideas from his mind. They are the written manifestation of the visions that only
he has seen. This prophetic role as visionary seer places his poetry at biblical status. His
words, like those of Moses, Isaiah, or even John the Revelator before him, are scriptural
revelations that give meaning to life “not as the world giveth,” (John 14:26) but as from
someone with visionary insight. In an age when “los sacerdotes no merecen ya la
alabanza ni la veneración de los poetas, ni los poetas han comenzado todavía a ser
sacerdotes!” (“Prólogo” 60), Martí stands as more than a symbolic voice for poetic
enlightenment. His poetry exalts him to the status of a priest or a prophet that “[ha]
querido ser leal, y si pec[ó], no [s]e avergüenz[a] de haber pecado” (“Mis versos” 96).
Such a declaration reaffirms Martí’s design for authenticity, whether or not that goal can
be accomplished.
As a poetic seer, he is given the right to reduce the visions to written text using
the rhetorical colors of language that accentuate his validity as a poetic lover of “las
sonoridades difíciles y la sinceridad, aunque pueda parecer brutal.” He excuses neither
himself nor his poetry because it is truth, instead of a falsified distortion of it. However,
Martí’s bold contention for sincere poetry, which should be “una espada reluciente,”
places him—borrowing a Spanish idiomatic expression—between a sword and a wall.
His poetry, which cannot fully express his visions without conforming to some sort of
meter or versification, falls short of its desired destination. Without demonstrating his
poetics through language, his expression of desire for spontaneity becomes a goal never
realized.
11
In a completely different draft of a prologue for Versos libres not used by the
poet , Martí exemplifies a more Romantic approach to poetry and expresses his
frustration with the inadequacy of language to fully communicate his visionary
experiences. It opens with a disclaimer that states both the incompleteness of the text as
well as Martí’s scorn for his own work. He states, “Éstas que ofrezco, no son
composiciones acabadas: son, ay de mí! notas de imágenes tomadas al vuelo” (Obras
completas 223). Similar to the fragmented works of the German Romantic writers
Schlegel and Novalis, Martí recognizes an incompleteness to his work. He comes to
terms with the impossibility of totality, and that all poetic work is incomplete. In this
sense, this introduction differs from “Mis versos” in that he openly admits to the
insufficiency of his poetic work. He continues, “Yo desdeño todo lo mío: y a estos
versos, atormentados y rebeldes, sombríos y querellosos, los mimo, yo los amo” (223).
The deficiency of his work, however, draws the poet nearer to its message. Like the
poems themselves, Martí feels tormented, dark, rebellious, and incomplete, and therefore
bonds with them. His desire to love and pamper them relates to the suffering they both
feel and share. The emptiness in his life and his work relate to the deficiencies of
language. As he states, “De estos tormentos nace, y con ellos se excusa, este libro de
versos” (223). The inability of language to properly convey the “imágenes tomadas al
vuelo” is the proprietor responsible for both the birth and the imperfections of Versos
libres. Such a declaration affirms Martí’s proposed heroic, spontaneous, and sincere
poetry. By insisting upon the fragmentary nature of Versos libres, this prologue, more so
than “Mis versos,” reconfirms the authenticity of Martí’s work.
Similar to the leading text in Ismaelillo, “Académica,” the first poem of Versos
libres, exemplifies Martí’s search for authenticity, laced with difficult sounds and
archaism. It is divided into three distinct sections that outline the visionary poetic
experience. The opening section reads as follows:
2
Ven, mi caballo, a que te encinche: quieren
Que no con garbo natural el coso
Al sabio impulso corras de la vida,
Sino que el paso de la pista aprendas,
Y la lengua del látigo, y sumiso
Des a la silla el arrogante lomo:—
With the initial calling of the horse, Martí opens with a metaphorical allusion to the
caballero from Ismaelillo. By so doing, he draws upon the image he had written of
before, the child at play, and opens the doorway to imagining spontaneous poetry. Martí
infers that his poetic creation is more a recompilation of his visions than anything else.
His role, as the poet, is to perceive the vision and renew it within a linguistic parameter.
In other words, he attempts to first grasp the concept of the image and then give it form.
Such is the case in this poem as the author attempts to coax the horse into accompanying
him so as not to lose the image. He endeavors to rescue the vision from being distorted
by other poets, or academics, that will force the words into unnatural structures. Martí
appears to remain faithful to his demands of unforced poetry—he abandons all forms of
rhyme seen in his other poetry; however, he uses a variety of poetic tools to configure the
ideas into the endecasyllable meter to give a poetic flow to the work. Also, he relies
12
upon hyperbaton in order to restructure the verse to conform with the meter he desires.
These poetic instruments, combined with archaisms (encinche/ garbo), arrange the words
into a pattern that resembles the very idea Martí rejects. His Versos libres begin to lose
their freedom as the author binds the images with the structures and poetic tools that
disfigure the original vision. Once again, the encoded message of the vision becomes
distorted, rather than revealed, by Martí’s inability to project linguistically the image he
witnesses.
The second half of the poem details the process of sterilization that takes place as
poets attempt to conform the unique ideas and visions they receive to empty rhymes and
hollow structures. He continues:
Ven, mi caballo: Dicen que en el pecho
Lo que es cierto, no es cierto: que la estrofa
Ígnea que en lo hondo de las almas nace,
Como penacho de fontana pura
Que el blando manto de la tierra rompe
Y en gotas mil arreboladas cuelga,
No ha de cantarse, no, sino la pautas
Que en moldecillo azucarado y hueco
Encasacados dómines dibujan:
Y gritan «Al bribón!» —cuando a las puertas
Del tempo augusto un hombre libre asoma!—
Once again, Martí returns to coaxing the horse into following his lead so that the poet
may liberate him. The academics, on the other hand, will discredit the natural instinct of
the vision telling him that “lo que es cierto, no es cierto.” The academics bring into
disrepute the inspiration, or “la estrofa ígnea que en lo hondo de las almas nace.” Martí
uses a number of metaphors, or “estos colores” (“Mis versos” 96) as he calls them, in
order to correlate the visionary poet’s writing to a pure fountain that breaks apart the
earth below it. Martí reverts back to the use of hyperbaton (fontana pura/ que … rompe
… el blando manto de la tierra), thus undermining his project of pure poetry. Perhaps
what he is criticizing more than anything is the dulcifying deformation (moldecillo
azucarado y hueco) that often takes place in the writing of verse. Martí rejects the
formalities of poetry, preferring the rascal (bribón) to the gentleman (dómine), as the true
poetic voice, because the rascal infers a sense of unrestrained liberty, whereas the
gentleman has conformed to societal norms.
The final section of “Académica” begins again with an invitation to both horse
and reader to partake of the beauty of natural, liberated, spontaneous poetry. The poem
concludes:
Ven mi caballo, con tu casco limpio
A yerba nueva y flor de llano oliente,
Cinchas estruja, lanza sobre un tronco
Seco y piadoso, donde el sol la avive—
Del repintado dómine la chupa,
De hojas de antaño y de romanas rosas
13
Orlada, y deslucidas hoyas griegas,—
Y al sol del alba en que la tierra rompe
Echa arrogante por el orbe nuevo.
The third and final invitation given to the horse requests that the horse arrive “con tu
casco limpio,” implying that the vision must be free from the mind. The mind
manipulates the original inspiration and converts it into empty verses. Martí’s continued
insistence upon the liberation of the poem from the mind accentuates his focus on the
need for a purer, or unadulterated poetry. The academic corrupts poetry and destroys the
essence and power of the image because he/she recreates the message instead of
displaying it. If this manipulation occurs, the poem becomes the “pesares de contagio,
tibiedades latinas, rimas reflejas, dudas ajenas, males de libros, [y] fe prescrita” that
Martí desires to cast aside. By arriving without distractions from the mind, the horse can
comprehend the nature that surrounds it. It remains untouched and pure “donde el sol la
aviva” from the academic.
The slight jump from the natural scene to the distractions of empty poetry changes
in style as well as in theme. Martí, in describing the natural landscape, displays a variety
of simple terms and images free from metaphors. This simplified diction approaches
Martí’s proposal of spontaneity and sincerity. However, as the poet begins to discuss the
rejected aspects of distorted poetry, the words become archaic and ornamental (dómine/
la chupa/ orlada), mingled with metaphors that connote a counterfeit nature (hojas de
antaño/ rosas romanas/ hoyas griegas), demonstrating linguistically the differences
between the two styles of verse. Martí’s language, which thematically rejects labored
verse, succumbs to the problem of metaphorical stylization. He becomes entrapped by
the very dilemma that he so passionately rejects.
While Martí’s conscious manifestations of theme and style undermine his overall
project towards an uninhibited spontaneous poetry, what he still is able to communicate is
sincerity. Martí never cowers to the norms and standards established by his Spanish
speaking contemporaries that reveled in the imitation of their European neighbors.
Instead, he justifies his poetry by relating the anguish, anxiety, fear, and frustration that
he feels in a strange world. Martí uses his poetry as a means of creating an
unprecedented literary standard in Spanish American poetry through the renewal of “la
otra tradición española” (Paz 502). And while those who would follow him would have
very little knowledge of his ethical poetic voice, Martí raises a type of Mosaic staff that
he hoped would heal poetry. His simplicity and sincerity, which overshadow his
undermining argument for spontaneity, can be seen, from the image of the child in
“Príncipe enano” to the empty cups in “Amor de ciudad grande.” This voice of sincerity
exemplifies Martí’s overarching mode of rupture that distinguishes him from the Spanish
and Spanish American Romantics before him, and the modernistas that would follow
him. Among all of these writers, Martí’s mode of rupture is genuine, and pertains solely
to him, making him a modern among the modernistas.
Martí’s proposal, while bold, seems nearly impossible for the poet to achieve.
But it is this boldness, this sharp contrast from the writing he rejects, which defines his
ethical view of poetry. This model for a new poetry is merely his idea of what we are
capable of attaining, simply due to the fact that the mind has the ability to conceive it. As
he states, “La mente no podría concebir lo que no fuera capaz de realizar” (Ensayos 76).
14
And perhaps, by conceiving such an intrepid transition for the future of poetry, he
ultimately passes the apostolic torch of poetry to those who will realize his vision of
liberated verse.
15
End Notes
1
While critics have often argued over the relationship between Flores del destierro and
Versos libres, I will follow the classification given in the Obras completas de José Martí
published by Letras Cubanas which classifies Flores del destierro as part of Versos
libres.
2
Most often used as the prologue for Flores del destierro, the Obras completas de José
Martí published by Letras Cubanas classifies this prologue as merely another draft, and
includes it in the appendix.
16
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