Poems by joan brossa 5 Great ones that you will like!

The concept of art as visuality knows Poems of Joan Brossa 5 Great ones that you will like! Enter this article and learn about the poems that will change the way you read poetry.

Poems by Joan Brossa 5 Great ones that you will like!

Spanish poet, born in Barcelona in 1919, he died at the age of 79 in Barcelona, ​​on December 30, 1998. His visual poetry and his posters constitute part of his work: as Works by Jose Joaquin de Olmedo and his important, best-known biography, to the point that in this field Brossa becomes a world reference.

Recognized or not, his works constantly appear all over the world, above all plastic works. Maximum representative of surrealism or neo-surrealism, as he himself called it, in post-war Catalan literature. He founded in 1948, the “Dau al Set” Group with Modest Cuixart and Antoni Tapies.

Five Great Poems of Joan Brossa

»To Poetry»

Oh Poetry, melt in progress

The pride of being able to say companion or town;

The rich details have hidden the woods

From the hymn shoots.

Transform every hour, Poetry;

Make hard fantasy stand out

With the warmth of the spirit of the people

From my country.

The street art where you've been built,

The iron sculpture that forms,

You don't want them a dead frame. of intense life

Forge the memory.

Straighten the greed of those who make you dark,

Poets of honey and molasses,

Yellow top hats and graveyards,

sterile goods.

Take off your hood on Sundays,

Put yourself in your place and distribute the likes

For the crowning of an artistic enjoyment

With life in the background

Be a professor with judgment in the manner

Of referring to men and things;

Normal breeze constant, renders justice

To the poor flowers.

Come back, my love, integrate into lives,

Join the arrows to simplicity;

Put aside the fossils of beasts

Facts of more scandal.

Wrap yourself in my body. but illuminate

Like the light beam of a clear magnifying glass,

The much thrust of this single concept:

Freedom

Final!

You should have had another ending;

You deserved, hypocrite, a wall in

Another hole.

Your dictatorship, your dirty life as a murderer,

Little blood fire! rotten executioner,

I should have hit you hard

Darkness of the peoples, delivered to torture,

Hanging from a tree at the end of some road.

Rodent of the worst infraction,

Another victim with crime adhered to you,

The end of so many since that month of July.

But you have had it as a Spanish dictator,

Alone and hibernated, expectoration of science

And with vanity to blood and excrement.

Glory of the plunges,

Europe's oldest dictator is dead.

A hug, love, and let's raise the glass!

"Evening"

Beyond the space we see shines a countless crowd

of worlds similar to ours.

They all turn and move.

Thirty-seven million lands. Nine million five hundred thousand moons.

I think with panic in immense distances

and in millions of dead spheres

around suns already extinguished.

I meditate on pride.

What happens beyond the stars?

The ground is splattered.

A woman kisses a girl.

Today dinner has been generous.

You hear a crank touch.

There is a mirror hanging on the wall.

Come in, come in, the door is open.

A shepherd and a junkman pass by outside.

"Spain"

There is no criticism

what exists is a Bibliographic Information Service

to avoid possible financial damage to publishers.

There are no people who are starving:

there are people who suffer from nutritional insufficiencies

due to dietary insufficiencies.

There is no gender struggle:

there are social tensions concentrated around dissimilar

partitions of the National Gain.

There is no episcopal obstacle:

it is not about removing the archbishop but about changing

hierarchical organizations that are not sensible

of the commission with the post-conciliar lines.

There are no government divisions:

there is a situation of oppositions of opinions.

There is no price increase:

There is a fee review.

There is no right to strike:

there is a way to externalize direct conflict.

There is no cholera epidemic:

there are sultry outbreaks of decomposition.

There is no talk of forgiveness

but of censorship of laws.

Etc.

"The Queen's Garden"

Hey, don't step on the beetle!
Johannes Brahms

This is the Queen's orchard.

This is the key to the Queen's garden.

This is the ribbon that supports the key to the Queen's garden.

This is the fish that has bitten the tape that keeps

the key to the Queen's Eden.

These are the eyes that shine like the fish that has

bitten the ribbon that holds the key to the Queen's garden.

These are the hands that have darkened the eyes that

they shine like the fish that has bitten the tape that

holds the key to the Queen's garden.

This is the hair that has been combed by the hands that have

shadowed the eyes that shine like the fish that has

bitten the ribbon that holds the key to the Queen's garden.

This is the source that has soaked the hair that they have

combing the hands that have shaded the senses that

they shine like the fish that has gnawed the tape that

holds the key to the Empress's garden.

This is the road that bypasses the fountain that has wet

the hair that has been combed by the hands that have cast a shadow

to the eyes that shine like the fish that has bitten the tape

holding.

The visual poem: bastion of brossian poetry

The poems by Joan Brossa Visuals poetically manifest that he relies on the attraction and communication of the elements that make up the work. In this case, the visual poem replaces the elements of the traditional poem (such as rhythm, meter, stanza, syntax, etc.) with an expressive system nourished from elements extracted from drawing, engraving, photography or of any everyday object.