Miguel Hernández: famous short poems to share

At just 15 years old, Miguel Hernández would write his first verses. He dedicated them to nature, that which dazzled him with its beauty and majesty while he took care of his goats. His father forced him to help him with chores in the fields, hence his nickname of shepherd poet, but he would not give up given his great passion for letters.

A self-taught poet, such was his passion for poetry that in 1930 he managed to publish his first poem in a newspaper in his native Orihuela (Alicante). This would only be the beginning of a prolific trajectory where he would write about nature, love, life, death and his political commitment. And it is that Miguel Hernández voluntarily fought on the Republican side during the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939). Throughout his career Miguel Hernández has left poems well known to all.

Miguel Hernández: a life made into a poem

Sometimes it happens that life is stranger than fiction and, in the case of Miguel Hernández, tragedy stalked him as a hunter for his prey. Unfortunately, he was never able to avoid it and this is reflected in multiple poems.

Is there anything worse for a father than losing his son? Miguel Hernández and his great love, to whom he would dedicate a large number of poems, Josefina, lost their first child when they were only 10 months old. About this wrote in his poems clothes with his smell either black black eyes. A few months later what would be his second son would be born and to whom he would dedicate one of his best-known poems: lullabies from an onion. At that time, Miguel Hernández was in prison, for having fought against the national side and for being affiliated with the communist party, and he knew that the base of his wife and son’s diet was onions.

This inability to support his family caused him great pain that he would reflect in his poems. However, this would not be his only hardship, since not being akin to the ideas of the regime that governed at that time, led him to the worst of endings.

WAR POEMS BY MIGUEL HERNÁNDEZ

Writing about one’s own experiences is commonplace. Miguel Hernández was no exception and in his poems you can know his dreams, his desires and also his hardships. Of course, an experience as shocking as one of war could not fail to manifest itself in his writings. sad wars, I call the youth either sitting on the dead are some of his most famous poems.

I would not only write poems from the trenches, but I would also do it from prison, since when the national side wins, it orders his capture. Faced with this victory, Miguel Hernández manages to flee to Portugal, but the Portuguese law enforcement authorities hand him over to the Spanish Civil Guard. This would be the end of him. After his return to Spain, he would only know different prisons, coming to die in Alicante due to tuberculosis.

Miguel Hernández is one of the great poets of Spanish literature, which is why it is necessary to continue keeping his memory alive. For this, we have compiled thehe 22 best poems by Miguel Hernández.

1. Sad wars (a poem by Miguel Hernández)

sad wars

if the company is not love

sad, sad

sad guns

if not the words

sad, sad

sad men

if they don’t die of love

sad, sad

2. I wrote in the sand (Poem by Miguel Hernández)

I wrote in the sand

the three names of life:

life, death, love.

a gust of sea,

so many clear times gone,

He came and erased them.

3. The mouth (poem by Miguel Hernández)

Mouth that drags my mouth:

mouth that you have dragged me:

mouth that comes from afar

to illuminate me with rays

Dawn that you give to my nights

a red and white glow.

Mouth full of mouths:

bird full of birds

song that turns wings

up and down.

Death reduced to kisses,

thirsty to die slowly,

give to the bleeding grass

two bright flaps.

the lip above the sky

and the earth the other lip.

Kiss that rolls in the shadow:

kiss that comes rolling

from the first cemetery

to the last stars

star that has your mouth

muted and closed

until a celestial touch

it makes your eyelids vibrate.

Kiss that goes to a future

of girls and boys,

that will not leave deserts

Neither the streets nor the fields.

how much buried mouth,

without a mouth, we dig up!

I kiss on your mouth for them,

I toast in your mouth for so many

that fell on the wine

of the loving glasses.

Today are memories, memories,

distant and bitter kisses.

I sink my life into your mouth

I hear rumors of spaces

and infinity seems

that has turned on me.

I have to kiss you again

I have to go back, hundo, I fall,

as the centuries descend

towards the deep ravines

like a feverish snowfall

of kisses and lovers.

mouth you dug up

the clearest dawn

with your tongue. Three words,

three fires you have inherited:

life, death, love. there they remain

written on your lips

4. He did not want to be (a poem by Miguel Hernández)

did not know the meeting

of man and woman.

the lovely down

could not bloom.

stopped his senses

refusing to know

and they descended diaphanous

before dawn.

He saw his morning cloudy

and he stayed in his yesterday.

He didn’t want to be.

5. For freedom (poem by Miguel Hernández)

For freedom I bleed, I fight, I live.
For freedom, my eyes and my hands,
like a carnal tree, generous and captive,
I give to the surgeons.

For freedom I feel more hearts
what sands in my chest: my veins foam,
and I enter the hospitals, and I enter the cotton
as in the lilies.

For freedom I detach myself with bullets
of those who have rolled his statue through the mud.
And I break free from my feet, from my arms,
of my house, of everything.

Because where some empty sockets dawn,
she will put two stones of future look
and will make new arms and new legs grow
in the cut meat.

They will sprout winged sap without autumn
relics of my body that I lose in each wound.
Because I am like the felled tree, what a sprout:
because I still have life.

6. I call the youth (poem by Miguel Hernández)

fifteen and eighteen,

eighteen and twenty…

I’m going to have my birthday

to the fire that requires me,

and if my time resonates

before twelve months

I will fulfill them underground.

I try that they remain of me

a sun memory

and a brave sound.

If every mouth in Spain,

of his youth, put

these words, biting them,

in the best of his teeth:

if the youth of Spain,

of a single and green impulse,

will raise his gallantry,

his muscles extended

against the rampaging

that they want to appropriate Spain,

it would be the sea throwing

to the ever-changing sand

various horse dung

of its transparent towns,

with an endless arm

of perpetual strong foam.

If the Cid nailed again

those bones that still hurt

dust and thought

that hill on his front,

that thunder of his soul

and that indelible sword,

without rival, on his shadow

of intertwined laurels:

when looking at what of Spain

the Germans claim

Italians try

the Moors, the Portuguese,

that they have recorded in our sky

cruel constellations

of crimes soaked

in innocent blood

climb on his angry colt

and in his celestial anger

to shoot down trimotors

like someone who demolishes crops.

under a paw of rain,

and a cluster of relente,

and an army of sun,

rebel bodies roam

of the dignified Spaniards

who do not submit to the yoke,

and clarity follows them,

and the oaks refer them.

between grave stretcher-bearers

there are wounded who die

with his face surrounded

from such diaphanous sunsets,

that are sown auroras

around your temples.

they look like sleeping silver

and gold at rest seem.

They reached the trenches

and they firmly said:

here we will put down roots

before anyone kicks us out!

and death was felt

proud to have them.

But in the black corners,

in the blackest ones, they tend

to cry for the fallen

mothers who gave them milk,

sisters who washed them,

girlfriends who have been snow

and that they have turned into mourning

and that they have returned from fever;

bewildered widows,

scattered women,

letters and photographs

that faithfully express them,

where the eyes break

from so much seeing and not seeing them,

of so many silent tears,

of so much absent beauty.

Solar Youth of Spain:

let time pass and stay

with a murmur of bones

heroic in their flow.

Throw your bones into the field,

use the strength you have

to the dark mountain ranges

and to the olive tree of oil.

It shines through the hills,

and turn off the bad people,

and dare with the lead,

and the shoulder and leg extends.

Blood that does not overflow,

youth that does not dare,

It is not blood, nor is it youth,

They don’t shine, they don’t bloom.

Bodies that are born defeated,

defeated and gray die:

They come with the age of a century,

and they are old when they come.

youth always pushes

youth always wins

and the salvation of Spain

It depends on your youth.

Death next to the rifle

before we are banished,

before we are spit on,

before we are faced

and before among the ashes

that of our people remain,

hopelessly dragged

let us cry bitterly:

Oh Spain of my life,

Oh Spain of my death!

7. Olive groves (poem by Miguel Hernández)

Andalusians of Jaen,
haughty olive trees,
tell me in my soul: who,
who raised the olive trees?

Nothing raised them
neither the money, nor the lord,
but the silent earth,
work and sweat.

United to pure water
and the united planets,
the three gave the beauty
of the twisted trunks.

Rise up, white-haired olive tree,
they said at the foot of the wind.
And the olive tree raised a hand
powerful foundation

Andalusians of Jaen,
haughty olive trees,
tell me in my soul: who
nursed the olive trees?

Your blood, your life,
not that of the exploiter
that was enriched in the wound
bountiful of sweat

Not the landlord’s
who buried you in poverty,
that trampled on your forehead,
that lowered your head.

trees that your eagerness
consecrated to the center of the day
they were the beginning of a loaf
that only the other ate.

How many centuries of olives,
feet and hands imprisoned,
sun to sun and moon to moon,
weigh on your bones!

Andalusians of Jaen,
haughty olive trees,
asks my soul: whose,
whose are these olive trees?

Jaén, get up brave
on your moonstones,
do not go to be a slave
with all your olive groves

inside the clarity
of the oil and its aromas,
indicate your freedom
the freedom of your hills.

8. Waltz of lovers and united forever (Miguel Hernández)

They never went out

from the orchard of the embrace.

And before the red rose bush

of the kisses rolled.

hurricanes wanted

with spite to separate them.

And the sharp axes

and the rigid rays.

increased the land

of pale hands

Precipices measured,

by the wind driven

between undone mouths

They toured shipwrecks,

getting deeper

in their bodies their arms.

persecuted, sunk

for a great helplessness

of memories and moons

of novembers and marches,

they were thrown

as a light powder:

they were fanned,

but always hugging

9. Everything is full of you (Poem by Miguel Hernandez)

Everything is full of you
and all of me is full:
the cities are full
just like cemeteries
of you, for all the houses,
of me, for all the bodies.

through the streets I leave
something I’m collecting:
pieces of my life
come from far away.

I go winged to agony,
crawling I see myself
on the threshold, in the background
latent from birth.

Everything is full of me:
of something that is yours and I remember
lost but found
sometime, some time.

time left behind
decidedly black,
indelibly red,
gold on your body

Everything is full of you
pierced your hair:
of something that I have not achieved
And that I look for between your bones.

10. Flight …