Neoclassicism and its poems: Poems of great authors to understand this aesthetic movement
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For today's post it is necessary to move to the Age of Enlightenment. Time of structural changes in society. Marked mainly by the success of the French Revolution, with the subsequent contagion in politics and society of the time (in Europe and beyond its borders).
In Neoclassical period is between the Baroque period and Rococo and the period of Romanticism. Today we analyze some of the best poems of this aesthetic movement.
What is known as Neoclassicism?
Neoclassicism or the neoclassical era is an event that dates back to the eighteenth century, and lasts until the end of same century, when it is supplanted by the Renaissance period. Corresponds a frontal response to the predominant cultures of the time: the baroque and the rococo.
Unlike the two mentioned, neoclassical culture was entrenched in the doctrines of the Enlightenment: the search for truth through science , the predominance of reason before feelings, and everything developed from a flat, simple, naked aspect; with a strong didactic and moralizing content. That is why it is known as the cultural manifestation that best reflected the social and economic events of the time.
Later it would be known as The Century of Lights .
However, if one had to look for a moment for the neoclassical, it would undoubtedly be the French Revolution. Because it is the Enlightenment, with its teachings and the democratization of knowledge, that injects the poor of France with the knowledge necessary to dare to take the power established by the kings. The success of this movement, of course, allowed rapid dissemination throughout the European continent. And beyond the Atlantic.
Therefore, when we speak of the Enlightenment in the arts, we actually refer to the neoclassical period, to Neoclassicism.
Elemental characteristics of this aesthetic movement
Beyond knowing its origins or its duration, we must analyze what were the elementary characteristics of the neoclassical period. In this case, from the literary point of view, where we are responsible for carrying out the work.
The predominance of literary genres "illustrated"
With illustrated no reference is made to the inclusion of material in pictures. It is, rather, to consider the predominant genders of the period of the Enlightenment.
It is that, knowing that it was an era where knowledge, research, education through literature and transmission prevailed of values and teachings; some genres had a greater impact than others.
In the specific case of Neoclassicism, poetry was one of the genres that had the lowest boom. This was because it was the favorite genre of Baroque and Rococo, and the favorite genre to transmit feelings and creations from the imagination.
Instead, fables and essays gain ground, and are the best valued.
The pursuit of truth and history
Knowledge, or the desire to possess it, was what guided the artists of the Neoclassical. In the literature, this was evidenced in the writings of authors such as Voltaire, Montesquieu or Rousseau (called the Three great enlightened ).
In addition, there is an inescapable commitment to the search for truth through the history. That is why many of the works of this era speak of history. Most of these range from the perspective of the French Revolution, which marked a before and after for the arts. But also, there is much attachment to ancient Greek art, and Roman art.
Omission of the ecclesiastical
Another important characteristic of the neo-classicist movement had to do with the total and irrevocable detachment with the Catholic sector of the time.  Considering a literary banner of the Enlightenment, all authors based their work on the search for reason and truth through science. But never through the magical, ecclesiastical or esoteric.
Although a contempt for the believing sectors was not openly manifested, they did not reveal an empathy, even if it was weak.
The search for perfection
A Following the success of the Napoleonic expeditions (and having Napoleon Bonaparte as one of the fervent defenders of the Enlightenment), the literature of neoclassicism spread rapidly throughout the European continent. Paris became the literary epicenter of the time.
This diffusion, with the increase of the reading masses, increased the search for quality in the works of writers. It is necessary to mention that at this time one begins to see the professional writers. That is, those who lived entirely from his writings .
But, it was so much the obsession to seek more and more quality and to pretend artistic perfection, that the movement began to have fissures. And detractors, of course.
While the pursuit of total quality and perfection can be mentioned as one of the most important characteristics of Neoclassicism and the entire Enlightenment, it was also the cause of the movement's decline, and the gain of followers for Romanticism.
6 of the best poems corresponding to neoclassicism
After this balm of knowledge, it is time to talk directly about the most outstanding examples of this period. In this case, poetry.
A different poetry, given the conditions and characteristics of the neoclassical, which at first confronted frontally Baroque and Rococo poetry, where the ornaments and details were the factor main, in addition to the feelings.
We leave you with the best 6 poems of neoclassicism.
Atrevimiento amoroso, by Nicolás Fernández de Moratín
Love, you gave me the daring
attempts and the hand you directed
and in the candid breast you put
of Dorisa, in untouched places;
if you look so many rays, fulminated
of her divine eyes against a sad one,
give me the relief , because the damage you did
or finish my life and my care.
Pity my good; tell him that I die
from the intense pain that torments me;
that if it is shy love, it is not true;
that it is not audacity in affection affront
nor deserves such severe punishment  an unhappy man, who tries to be happy.
Rubia, by Andrés Bello
You know, blonde, what grace do I request
when I cover the altars with offerings?
Not rich furniture, not proud,
nor a table that flatters the appetite.
From Aragua on the banks of a district
that gives me easy delicacies,
do neighbor to my rustic homes
between boulders run a little stream.
To welcome me in the summer heat,
that I have a grove I also want,
do grow up beside the willow the haughty coconut.
Felice me if in this shelter I die;
and exhaling my fugitive breath,
stamp on your lips the final goodbye!
To Dorila, by Juan Meléndez Valdés
How the hours go,
and after them the days  and the flowery years
of our fragile life!
Old age then comes,
of enemy love,
and between funeral shadows
how emaciated and trembling,
ugly, report, yellow,
terrifies us, and extinguishes
our fires and joys.
The body becomes numb,
the woes distress us,
the pleasures flee
and leaves the joy
If this, then, awaits us,
why, my Dorila,
are the florid years
of our fragile life?
For games and dances
and songs and laughter
were given to us by the skies,
the Graces are destined.
Come oh! What's stopping you?
Come, come, my dove,
under these vines
do light wind suck;
and between soft toasts
and mimosas delights
from childhood we enjoy,
as it flies so fast.
Ode to a lover of the arts of imitation, by María Gálvez de Cabrera
Oh you, what protector of the Spanish genius
elevates the dejected lira mine,
from the dark bosom,
from the veil of oblivion covered it,
to the supreme seat, which prevents
fame from divine poetry;
to you I will consecrate such sweet employment ;
to you who love the imitative art,
of sister music,
and the lovely sensitive soul.
Follow my song, of pleasure swollen,
zithers of the Iberia;
Amira, raising the humiliated accent,
advocates the science of Helicona;
and scatters by the wind
resonant meters of the Hesperia.
If from ancient times the heroism
of the time reaches the swift flight,
and the pure heavenly virtues
were a pair of the eternalized world,
by you, Immortal Poets,
our age arrived; of the centuries
the immense darkness arrogating,
of annihilating the man with his fame
to the bones you pull out the sad forum.
Such is the art of the divine Homer.
The frog and the tadpole, by Tomás de Iriarte
On the banks of the Tagus
spoke with the Frog the Tadpole,
praising the leaves, the thicket
of a large cane field and its vegetables.
But after the wind
the violent impetus
a reed struck, which fell into the river,
in a lesson tone the Frog said:
«Come and see her, my son;
] by outside very smooth, very fresh;
inside all flabby, all vain ».
If the Frog understood poetry,
also many verses would say it.
Niagara, by José María Heredia
Templad my lyre, give it to me, I feel
In my soul shaken and agitated
] Burn the inspiration. Oh! How long
In darkness it passed, without my forehead
Shining with its light …! Niagara undoso,
Your sublime terror could only
Twist me the divine gift, that ruthless
It robbed me of the impious hand of pain.
Prodigious torrent, calm, quiet
Your terrifying thunder: dissipates somewhat
The darkness that surrounds you around;
Let me contemplate your serene countenance,
And my soul fills with burning enthusiasm.
I am worthy to contemplate you: always
The common and petty disdainful,
I craved for the terrific and sublime.
When the furious hurricane came tumbling down,
When the thunderbolt rumbled on my forehead,
Palpitating I enjoyed: I saw the Ocean,
Beaten by austro procelloso,
Fighting my ship, and before my plants  Boiling vortex open, and I loved the danger.
Over the sea fierceness
In my soul did not produce
The deep impression that your greatness.
Serene corres, majestic; and then
On rough boulders broken,
You swoop violently, snatched away,
Like irresistible and blind destiny.
What human voice could describe
Of the roaring sirte
The terrifying face? The soul of mine
In vague thought is confused
When looking at that fervid current,
That in vain he wants the disturbed sight
In his flight follow the dark edge
From the highest precipice: thousand waves,
What fast thinking passing,
They collide, and they get angry,
And another thousand and another thousand already reach them,
And between foam and clamor they disappear.
See! Come, jump! The horrendous abyss
Devours the torrents tumbled:
They crissen on him a thousand irises, and they settle
The forests return the tremendous roar.
In the rigid rocks
The water breaks: vaporous cloud
] With elastic force
Fill the abyss in whirlwind, up,
Revolve around, and in the ether
Luminous pyramid lifts,
And over the mountains that surrounds it
The lonely hunter scares .
But what in you looks for my longing sight
With useless desire? Why do not I look
Around your immense cavern
Las palmas ay! the delicious palms,
That in the plains of my ardent homeland
They are born from the sun to the smile, and they grow,
And at the breath of the ocean breezes,
Under a pure sky they sway?
This memory to my regret comes to me …
Nothing oh Niagara! missing to your destiny,
Not another crown that the wild pine
To your terrible majesty agrees.
The palm, and myrtle, and delicate rose,
Pleasure pier inspire and soft leisure
In frivolous garden: to you the luck
Saved more worthy object, more sublime
The free, generous, strong soul,
Come, see you, is astonished,
The petty delight despises,  And still feels raised when he names you.
Omnipotent God! In other climates
I saw execrable monsters,
Blaspheming your sacrosanct name,
Sowing error and ungodly fanaticism,
The fields flooding with blood and crying,
Of brothers stirring up the infantry war,
] And frantically desolate the earth.
Vilos, and the chest was inflamed in his sight
In grave indignation. On the other hand
I saw lying philosophers, who dared
Scrutinize your mysteries, outrage,
And ungodly to the pitiful pit
The wretched men dragged.
That's why my weak mind sought you  In the sublime solitude: now
Whole opens up to you; your hand feels
In this immensity that surrounds me,
And your deep voice wounds my breast
Of this stream in the eternal thunder.
How your mind alienates,
And terror and admiration fills me!
Where your origin is? Who fertilizes
For so many centuries your inexhaustible source?
What a powerful hand
Makes you receive
Does not overflow the ocean?
The Lord opened his omnipotent hand ;
He covered your face with troubled clouds,
He gave his voice to your tumbled waters,
And he ordained with his bow your terrible forehead
Blind, deep, indefatigable,
dark torrent of the centuries
In unfathomable eternity …! To the man
Thus the pleasant illusions escape,
The blossoming days,
And wakes up the pain …! Oh! agostada
My youth lies; my face, withered;
And the deep sorrow that shakes me
Ruga my forehead, with cloudy pain.
Never so much I felt like this day
My loneliness and miserable abandonment
and lamentable lack of love … Could
In a stormy age
Without love be happy? Oh! If a beautiful
My affection fixed,
And from this abyss to the turbulent edge
My vague thought
And ardent admiration accompany!
How I shall enjoy, watching it cover
Of slight pallor , and be more beautiful
In his sweet terror, and smile
When holding my loving arms …!
Delusions of virtue …! Oh! Exiled,
Without homeland, without love,
I only look at me crying and pains!
Goodbye! goodbye! Within a few years
Already devoured will be the cold grave
To your weak cantor. Last my verses
What your immortal glory! May godly
Seeing you some traveler,
Giving a sigh to my memory!
And when Phoebus went down in the west,
Happy I fly the Lord calls me,
And when listening echoes of my fame,
Raise the radiant forehead in the clouds.