The 10 best poems of modernism

Is considered "Modernism”To a time (late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries) in which a movement emerged in literature with that name; being poetry the main literary genre with the most changes, since the artists seek to demonstrate more creativity, with narcissistic tones, a more renewed language (as well as the metric) and emphasizing the culture where patriotic identity is seen with different eyes.

At that time, many modernism poems emerged that today continue to enjoy great popularity, such as the ones we have included in this compilation. Surely some names sound familiar to you if you know poetry, or even if you don't, since Rubén Darío, which is considered the maximum exponent of the movement, is a name that you had to have heard at least once.

Poems of modernism that you cannot miss

Obviously being Rubén Darío one most prominent poets of modernism, a little more had to be added about his works (three poems to be exact). However, you can also enjoy the writings of José Martí, Antonio Machado, Salvador Díaz Mirón, Ramón López Velarde and Delmira Agustín.

1. And I looked for you by towns ...

And I looked for you in towns,
And I looked for you in the clouds
And to find your soul
Many lilies I opened, blue lilies.

And the sad ones crying told me:
Oh, what a living pain!
That your soul has long lived
On a yellow lily!

But tell me how has it been?
Didn't I have my soul in my chest?
Yesterday I met you
And the soul that I have here is not mine

Author: José Martí

2. Caupolican

It is something formidable that the old race saw;
sturdy tree trunk on the shoulder of a champion
savage and fierce, whose stout mace
wield the arm of Hercules or the arm of Samson.

His hair for a helmet, his chest for a breastplate,
could such a warrior, from Arauco in the region,
Spearman of the woods, Nimrod who hunts all,
to disarm a bull or strangle a lion.

He walked, he walked, he walked. He saw the light of day,
the pale afternoon saw him, the cold night saw him,
and always the tree trunk on the titan's back.
"El Toqui, el Toqui!" Cries the moved caste.
He walked, he walked, he walked. The dawn said "Enough",
and the high forehead of the great Caupolican was raised

Author: Rubén Darío

3. The fatal

Blessed is the tree that is hardly sensitive,
and more the hard stone, because it no longer feels,
because there is no greater pain than the pain of being alive,
nor greater sorrow than conscious life.

To be, and to know nothing, and to be aimlessly,
and the fear of having been, and a future terror ...

And the sure horror of being dead tomorrow,
and suffer for life and for the shadow and for
what we do not know and hardly suspect,
and the meat that tempts with its fresh bunches
and the grave that awaits with its funeral bouquets,
And not knowing where we are going
or where do we come from ...!

Author: Rubén Darío

4. Childhood memory

A cold brown afternoon
of winter. Schoolboys
they study. Monotony
of rain behind the windows.

It's the class. On a poster
Cain is represented
fugitive, and Abel dead,
next to a crimson stain.

With voiced and hollow timbre
thunders the teacher, an old man
badly dressed, lean and dry,
carrying a book in his hand.

And a whole children's choir
the lesson is singing:
«A thousand times a hundred, a hundred thousand;
a thousand times a thousand, a million ».

A cold brown afternoon
of winter. Schoolboys
they study. Monotony
of the rain on the windows.

Author: Antonio Machado

5. I'm dreaming roads

I go dreaming roads
pm. The hills
golden, the green pines,
the dusty oaks! ...
Where will the road go?
I'm singing, traveler
along the trail ...
(The afternoon is falling)
"In my heart I had
the thorn of a passion;
I managed to rip it off one day:
"I no longer feel my heart."

And the whole field for a moment
he remains, mute and gloomy,
meditating. The wind sounds
in the poplars of the river.

The afternoon grows darker;
and the road that winds
and weakly bleaches
it becomes cloudy and disappears.

My song wails again:
“Sharp golden thorn,
who could feel you
nailed in the heart ”.

Author: Antonio Machado

6. Spinels

That like the dog that licks
the hand of his lord,
fear softens rigor
with the tears that I spill;
let ignorance claim
to heaven the good it lacks.

I, with my forehead very high,
which daring the lightning to hurt me
I will endure without giving up
the storm that assails me.

Don't wait on your pity
that is not inflexible twisted:
I will be a slave by force
but not by will.

My indomitable vanity
it does not suit a mean role.
Humiliate me? Nor before that
that turns the day on and off.

If I was an angel, I would be
the superb angel Luzbel.
Man of heart
never yield to malice.

Author: Salvador Diaz Mirón

7. Sister, make me cry ...

Fuensanta:
give me all the tears of the sea.
My eyes are dry and I suffer
an immense desire to cry.

I do not know if I am sad for the soul
of my faithful departed
or because our withered hearts
they will never be on earth together.

Make me cry sister
and christian piety
of your seamless hand
wipe away the tears with which I cry
the bitter time of my useless life.

Fuensanta:
Do you know the sea?
They say it's less big and less deep
than regret.

I don't even know why I want to cry:
it may be because of the regret that I hide,
maybe because of my infinite thirst to love.

Sister:
give me all the tears of the sea ...

Author: Ramón López Velarde

 8. I love, you love

Loving, loving, loving, loving always, with everything
Being and with the earth and with the sky,
With the light of the sun and the dark of the mud;
Love for all science and love for all desire.

And when the mountain of life
Let it be hard and long and high and full of abysses,
Loving the immensity that is of love on
And burn in the fusion of our own breasts!

Author: Rubén Darío

9. When you come to love

When you come to love, if you have not loved,
You will know that in this world
It's the biggest and deepest pain
To be both happy and miserable.

Corollary: love is an abyss
Of light and shadow, poetry and prose,
And where the most expensive thing is done
Which is to laugh and cry at the same time.

The worst, the most terrible,
Is that living without him is impossible

Author: Rubén Darío

10. Serpentine

In my dreams of love I am a snake!
Gliso and ripple like a stream;
Two pills for insomnia and hypnotism
They are my eyes; the tip of the charm
It is my tongue ... and I attract like tears!
I am a knob of the abyss.

My body is a ribbon of delight
Glisa and undulate like a caress ...

And in my hateful dreams I am a snake!
My tongue is a poisonous fountain;
My head is the warlike diadem,
Make death in a fatal side
With my pupils; and my body in gem
It's the lightning sheath!

If that's how my flesh dreams, that's how my mind is:
A long, long, serpentine body,
Vibrating eternally, voluptuously!

Your love, slave, is like a very strong sun:
Golden gardener of life,
Death Fire Gardener
In the fruitful carmen of my life.

Raven's beak smelling of roses,
Melared Stinger of Delights
Your language is. Your mysterious hands
They are gloved claws of caresses.

Your eyes are my cruel midnights
Black honeycombs of fucking honeys
That bleed out in acerbity;

Chrysalis of a flight from the future,
It is your magnificent and dark arm,
Haunted tower of my loneliness.

Author: Delmira Agustin

These are the poems of modernism that caught our attention and we wanted to place it for you, so we hope you like it. Remember to share the publication on your social networks if it was to your liking and also, you can also leave a comment about the poems.