Coplas por la muerte del maestre de Santiago don Rodrigo Manrique

Coplas por la muerte del Maestre de Santiago don Rodrigo Manrique

por Jorge Manrique (1440 -1479) 


1. ¿Quién es Jorge Manrique?
      
      Un hombre noble de clase social alta que se dedicó a la guerra (caballero) y a escribir (autor).
      Cuando su padre, Rodrigo Manrique murió, decidió escribir el poema por su padre.(elegía) 

2. ¿Qué podemos decir sobre estas coplas?

•   el lenguaje es muy bello
• tiene mucha profundidad
• se aplica mucho a la vida
• una influencia enorme a la literatura española

3. Hay dos tópicos dentro de las Coplas. ¿Qué son?

UBI SUNT

       consiste en hablar de personaje del pasado. y ¿Dónde están?
        El poeta hace alusiones a personas famosas del pasado y se pregunta dónde estarán ahora. 

Danza de la muerte

      Consiste en ver como todo el mundo no se escapar de la muerte
      la idea fundamental de que todos, aún los rico s y poderosos, son iguales ante la muerte. 

4. Estructura métrica? 
     Coplas de pie quebrado  = Coplas manriqueñas
           un sistema métrica combinada los versos de octosílabos con los de 4-sílabos. 

    Toda la Copla tiene estrofas métricas. estrofas de pie quebrado
    el sistema métrico combinados versos de octosílabos con versos de 4 sílabos (de pie quebrado) 

    Cada verso ----> octosílabos (8 sílabos)

    versos cortos (4)  --> pie quebrado 

5. Estructura de contenido

   Cada copla tiene 2 partes.

primera parte         símbolos

                              pie quebrado

segunda parte        un resúmen, significado de Copla como una conclusión 

6. las imágenes

    el viaje                        = la vida

    el rio                            =la vida

7. ¿Qué es alegoría?
      es la obra que tiene dos significados como la metáfora continuada.
      La técnica típica de alegoría es personificación.

8. ¿Qué es elegía?
       un poema que lamenta la muerte de algo o alguien.  En estas Coplas, el autor está hablando de su          padre. 

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III Nuestras vidas son los ríos   25       Our lives are Rivers, gliding free que van a dar en la mar,                  to that unfathomed, boundless sea,  qu’es el morir;                                 The silent grave! allí van los señoríos                         Thither all earthy pomp and boast derechos a se acabar                       Roll, to be swallowed up and lost  e consumir;        30                          In one dark wave.  allí los ríos caudales,                       Thither the mighty torrents stray,  allí los otros medianos                     Thither the brook purses its way,  e más chicos,                                  And tinkling rill.  allegados, son iguales                     There all are equal; side by side los que viven por sus manos           The poor man and the son of pride e los ricos.                                       lie calm and still III 1. el tema:   Toas las vidas son iguales ante la muerte 2. Estructura del contenidos    Hay dos partes.       La primera parte:            La vida como un río  ------1a  subparte        General                                              ------2a  subparte        más concreto y persona      La segunda parte:           Igualdad ante la muerte ----1a subparte         más persona                                                 ----2a subparte         General 3. imágenes:       ríos,      la vida,       la mar   (ligüísticamente, la mar debe ser EL MAR, pero en poemas, los autores expresan                    mucho sobre "queremos la mar."                    Hemingway (el viejo y el mar == pero se usa mucho "la mar" para expresar el                    amor al mar.                    Los pescadores de Galicia usan "la mar" porque la quieren. Además la palabra                    feminina simboliza "la mujer."                    Ignacio Aldecoa (que recibió influencia de Hemingway) también usó "la mar."     ;   (punto y coma)   significa  "nos paramos más"     ,   (coma)                significa  "paramos un poco más agil = rápido)     .   (punto)                significa " paramos."   ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
VIII Ved de cuán poco valor                  Behold of what delusive worth son las cosas tras que andamos       The bubbles we pursue on earth, y corremos,       75                          The shapes we chase que, en este mundo traidor,             Amid a world of treachery! aun primero que muramos               They vanish ere death shuts the eye,  las perdemos.                                  And leave no trace. Dellas deshaze la edad,                   Time steals them from us, chances strange,  dellas casos desastrados  80            Disastrous accident, and change,  que acaecen,                                   that come to all; dellas, por su calidad,                      Even in the mos exalted state,  en los más altos estados                  Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate; desfallescen.                                    The strongest fall.  VIII 1. el tema:                                                                                                                                     Las cosas materiales no tienen valor ante la muerte  2. Estructura del contenidos    Hay dos partes.       La primera parte (6 versos)             presenta la idea principal       La segunda parte (otros 6 versos)            desarrolla y explica la primera parte 3. vocabulario / léxico.  (muy pesimista)       muchas palabras negativas.              poco valor              traidor             deshaze (des-hacer)              desastrados             desfallescen             perder      Ved ( por favor, vosotros veaís!) para llamar nuestra atención     Hay bastante verbos en este poema = se quiere expresar "rapidez"             andar, correr (el significado de estos verbos también el sentido de irse = rápidamente) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IX Dezidme; La hermosura,   85          Tell me, the charms that lovers seek la gentil frescura y tez                      in the clear eye and blushing cheek,  de la cara,                                        The hues that play,  la color e la blancura,                       O'er rosy lip and brow of snow, cuando viene la vejez,                     When hoary age approaches slow,  ¿Cuál se para?               90               Ah, where are they?  Las mañas e ligereza                        The cunning skill, the curious arts,  e la fuerca corporal                          the glorious strength that youth imparts de juventud,                                     in life's first stage;  todo se torna graveza                       These shall become a heavy weight,  cuando llega el arrabal     95            When Time swings wide his outward gate de senectud.                                     to weary age.  IX 1. el tema:   La vejez toma todas las respectivas de joventud.  2. Estructura del contenidos    Hay dos partes.       La primera parte:            La descripción de joventud  ------1a  subparte        habla más de joventud                                                         ------2a  subparte        habla de vejez. (Pregunta)       La segunda parte:           La descripción de vejez           ----1a subparte         habla más de joventud                                                           ----2a subparte         habla de vejez (Respuesta)  3. vocabulario / léxico        Hay mucha descripción con los nombres (nouns) y adjetivos.        No hay tantos movimientos.      Son positivos cuando habla de la joventud.      Son negativos cuando habla de la vejez.  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- JORGE MANRIQUE: Coplas por la muerte del maestre de Santiago don Rodrigo Manrique ACTIVIDAD: Indique si los comentarios que siguen reflejan correctamente o no el contenido del poema. Haga clic sobre V (verdadero) o F (falso). 1. Los placeres del mundo se van lentamente. a. V b. F 2. El poeta dice que no se preocupa por las obras de los poetas famosos. a. V b. F 3. La vida es como un viaje; termina cuando morimos. a. V b. F 4. Ante la muerte, la sangre de los godos es muy importante. a. V b. F 5. Fortuna tiene una rueda que da vueltas. a. V b. F 6. Los edificios de los reyes son como el rocío de los prados. a. V b. F 7. Rodrigo Manrique dejó grandes tesoros. a. V b. F 8. Jorge Manrique odiaba a su padre. a. V b. F ----------------------------------------------------------- From the web page at http://www.bartleby.com/356/478.htmlhttp://www.bartleby.com/356/478.html All COPLAS transelated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1833) Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882).  Complete Poetical Works.  1893. Translations From the Spanish. Coplas de Manrique OH let the soul her slumbers break, Let thought be quickened, and awake; Awake to see How soon this life is past and gone, And death comes softly stealing on,         5 How silently! Swiftly our pleasures glide away, Our hearts recall the distant day With many sighs; The moments that are speeding fast         10 We heed not, but the past,—the past, More highly prize. Onward its course the present keeps, Onward the constant current sweeps, Till life is done;         15 And, did we judge of time aright, The past and future in their flight Would be as one. Let no one fondly dream again, That Hope and all her shadowy train         20 Will not decay; Fleeting as were the dreams of old, Remembered like a tale that ’s told, They pass away. Our lives are rivers, gliding free         25 To that unfathomed, boundless sea, The silent grave! Thither all earthly pomp and boast Roll, to be swallowed up and lost In one dark wave.         30 Thither the mighty torrents stray, Thither the brook pursues its way, And tinkling rill. There all are equal; side by side The poor man and the son of pride         35 Lie calm and still. I will not here invoke the throng Of orators and sons of song, The deathless few; Fiction entices and deceives,         40 And, sprinkled o’er her fragrant leaves, Lies poisonous dew. To One alone my thoughts arise, The Eternal Truth, the Good and Wise, To Him I cry,         45 Who shared on earth our common lot, But the world comprehended not His deity. This world is but the rugged road Which leads us to the bright abode         50 Of peace above; So let us choose that narrow way, Which leads no traveller’s foot astray From realms of love. Our cradle is the starting-place,         55 Life is the running of the race, We reach the goal When, in the mansions of the blest, Death leaves to its eternal rest The weary soul.         60 Did we but use it as we ought, This world would school each wandering thought To its high state. Faith wings the soul beyond the sky, Up to that better world on high,         65 For which we wait. Yes, the glad messenger of love, To guide us to our home above, The Saviour came; Born amid mortal cares and fears,         70 He suffered in this vale of tears A death of shame. Behold of what delusive worth The bubbles we pursue on earth, The shapes we chase         75 Amid a world of treachery! They vanish ere death shuts the eye, And leave no trace. Time steals them from us, chances strange, Disastrous accident, and change,         80 That come to all; Even in the most exalted state, Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate; The strongest fall. Tell me, the charms that lovers seek         85 In the clear eye and blushing cheek, The hues that play O’er rosy lip and brow of snow, When hoary age approaches slow, Ah, where are they?         90 The cunning skill, the curious arts, The glorious strength that youth imparts In life’s first stage; These shall become a heavy weight, When Time swings wide his outward gate         95 To weary age. The noble blood of Gothic name, Heroes emblazoned high to fame, In long array; How, in the onward course of time,         100 The landmarks of that race sublime Were swept away! Some, the degraded slaves of lust, Prostrate and trampled in the dust, Shall rise no more;         105 Others, by guilt and crime, maintain The scutcheon, that, without a stain, Their fathers bore. Wealth and the high estate of pride, With what untimely speed they glide,         110 How soon depart! Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay, The vassals of a mistress they, Of fickle heart. These gifts in Fortune’s hands are found;         115 Her swift revolving wheel turns round, And they are gone! No rest the inconstant goddess knows, But changing, and without repose, Still hurries on.         120 Even could the hand of avarice save Its gilded baubles, till the grave Reclaimed its prey, Let none on such poor hopes rely; Life, like an empty dream, flits by,         125 And where are they? Earthly desires and sensual lust Are passions springing from the dust, They fade and die; But, in the life beyond the tomb,         130 They seal the immortal spirit’s doom Eternally! The pleasures and delights, which mask In treacherous smiles life’s serious task, What are they all         135 But the fleet coursers of the chase, And death an ambush in the race, Wherein we fall? No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed, Brook no delay, but onward speed         140 With loosened rein; And, when the fatal snare is near, We strive to check our mad career, But strive in vain. Could we new charms to age impart,         145 And fashion with a cunning art The human face, As we can clothe the soul with light, And make the glorious spirit bright With heavenly grace,         150 How busily each passing hour Should we exert that magic power! What ardor show, To deck the sensual slave of sin, Yet leave the freeborn soul within,         155 In weeds of woe! Monarchs, the powerful and the strong, Famous in history and in song Of olden time, Saw, by the stern decrees of fate,         160 Their kingdoms lost, and desolate Their race sublime. Who is the champion? who the strong? Pontiff and priest, and sceptred throng? On these shall fall         165 As heavily the hand of Death, As when it stays the shepherd’s breath Beside his stall. I speak not of the Trojan name, Neither its glory nor its shame         170 Has met our eyes; Nor of Rome’s great and glorious dead, Though we have heard so oft, and read, Their histories. Little avails it now to know         175 Of ages passed so long ago, Nor how they rolled; Our theme shall be of yesterday, Which to oblivion sweeps away, Like days of old.         180 Where is the King, Don Juan? Where Each royal prince and noble heir Of Aragon? Where are the courtly gallantries? The deeds of love and high emprise,         185 In battle done? Tourney and joust, that charmed the eye, And scarf, and gorgeous panoply, And nodding plume, What were they but a pageant scene?         190 What but the garlands, gay and green, That deck the tomb? Where are the high-born dames, and where Their gay attire, and jewelled hair, And odors sweet?         195 Where are the gentle knights, that came To kneel, and breathe love’s ardent flame, Low at their feet? Where is the song of Troubadour? Where are the lute and gay tambour         200 They loved of yore? Where is the mazy dance of old, The flowing robes, inwrought with gold, The dancers wore? And he who next the sceptre swayed,         205 Henry, whose royal court displayed Such power and pride; Oh, in what winning smiles arrayed, The world its various pleasures laid His throne beside!         210 But oh, how false and full of guile That world, which wore so soft a smile But to betray! She, that had been his friend before, Now from the fated monarch tore         215 Her charms away. The countless gifts, the stately walls, The royal palaces, and halls, All filled with gold; Plate with armorial bearings wrought,         220 Chambers with ample treasures fraught Of wealth untold; The noble steeds, and harness bright, And gallant lord, and stalwart knight, In rich array,         225 Where shall we seek them now? Alas! Like the bright dewdrops on the grass, They passed away. His brother, too, whose factious zeal Usurped the sceptre of Castile,         230 Unskilled to reign; What a gay, brilliant court had he, When all the flower of chivalry Was in his train! But he was mortal; and the breath         235 That flamed from the hot forge of Death Blasted his years; Judgment of God! that flame by thee, When raging fierce and fearfully, Was quenched in tears!         240 Spain’s haughty Constable, the true And gallant Master, whom we knew Most loved of all; Breathe not a whisper of his pride, He on the gloomy scaffold died,         245 Ignoble fall! The countless treasures of his care, His villages and villas fair, His mighty power, What were they all but grief and shame,         250 Tears and a broken heart, when came The parting hour? His other brothers, proud and high, Masters, who, in prosperity, Might rival kings;         255 Who made the bravest and the best The bondsmen of their high behest, Their underlings; What was their prosperous estate, When high exalted and elate         260 With power and pride? What, but a transient gleam of light, A flame, which, glaring at its height, Grew dim and died? So many a duke of royal name,         265 Marquis and count of spotless fame, And baron brave, That might the sword of empire wield, All these, O Death, hast thou concealed In the dark grave!         270 Their deeds of mercy and of arms, In peaceful days, or war’s alarms, When thou dost show, O Death, thy stern and angry face, One stroke of thy all-powerful mace         275 Can overthrow. Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh, Pennon and standard flaunting high, And flag displayed; High battlements intrenched around,         280 Bastion, and moated wall, and mound, And palisade, And covered trench, secure and deep, All these cannot one victim keep, O Death, from thee,         285 When thou dost battle in thy wrath, And thy strong shafts pursue their path Unerringly. O World! so few the years we live, Would that the life which thou dost give         290 Were life indeed! Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our happiest hour is when at last The soul is freed. Our days are covered o’er with grief,         295 And sorrows neither few nor brief Veil all in gloom; Left desolate of real good, Within this cheerless solitude No pleasures bloom.         300 Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, And ends in bitter doubts and fears, Or dark despair; Midway so many toils appear, That he who lingers longest here         305 Knows most of care. Thy goods are bought with many a groan, By the hot sweat of toil alone, And weary hearts; Fleet-footed is the approach of woe,         310 But with a lingering step and slow Its form departs. And he, the good man’s shield and shade, To whom all hearts their homage paid, As Virtue’s son,         315 Roderic Manrique, he whose name Is written on the scroll of Fame, Spain’s champion; His signal deeds and prowess high Demand no pompous eulogy,         320 Ye saw his deeds! Why should their praise in verse be sung? The name, that dwells on every tongue, No minstrel needs. To friends a friend; how kind to all         325 The vassals of this ancient hall And feudal fief! To foes how stern a foe was he! And to the valiant and the free How brave a chief!         330 What prudence with the old and wise: What grace in youthful gayeties; In all how sage! Benignant to the serf and slave, He showed the base and falsely brave         335 A lion’s rage. His was Octavian’s prosperous star, The rush of Cæsar’s conquering car At battle’s call; His, Scipio’s virtue; his, the skill         340 And the indomitable will Of Hannibal. His was a Trajan’s goodness, his A Titus’ noble charities And righteous laws;         345 The arm of Hector, and the might Of Tully, to maintain the right In truth’s just cause; The clemency of Antonine, Aurelius’ countenance divine,         350 Firm, gentle, still; The eloquence of Adrian, And Theodosius’ love to man, And generous will; In tented field and bloody fray,         355 An Alexander’s vigorous sway And stern command; The faith of Constantine; ay, more, The fervent love Camillus bore His native land.         360 He left no well-filled treasury, He heaped no pile of riches high, Nor massive plate; He fought the Moors, and, in their fall, City and tower and castled wall         365 Were his estate. Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, Brave steeds and gallant riders found A common grave; And there the warrior’s hand did gain         370 The rents, and the long vassal train, That conquest gave. And if of old his halls displayed The honored and exalted grade His worth had gained,         375 So, in the dark, disastrous hour, Brothers and bondsmen of his power His hand sustained. After high deeds, not left untold, In the stern warfare which of old         380 ’T was his to share, Such noble leagues he made that more And fairer regions than before His guerdon were. These are the records, half effaced,         385 Which, with the hand of youth, he traced On history’s page; But with fresh victories he drew Each fading character anew In his old age.         390 By his unrivalled skill, by great And veteran service to the state, By worth adored, He stood, in his high dignity, The proudest knight of chivalry,         395 Knight of the Sword. He found his cities and domains Beneath a tyrant’s galling chains And cruel power; But, by fierce battle and blockade,         400 Soon his own banner was displayed From every tower. By the tried valor of his hand, His monarch and his native land Were nobly served;         405 Let Portugal repeat the story, And proud Castile, who shared the glory His arms deserved. And when so oft, for weal or woe, His life upon the fatal throw         410 Had been cast down; When he had served, with patriot zeal, Beneath the banner of Castile, His sovereign’s crown; And done such deeds of valor strong,         415 That neither history nor song Can count them all; Then, on Ocaña’s castled rock, Death at his portal came to knock, With sudden call,         420 Saying, “Good Cavalier, prepare To leave this world of toil and care With joyful mien; Let thy strong heart of steel this day Put on its armor for the fray,         425 The closing scene. “Since thou hast been, in battle-strife, So prodigal of health and life, For earthly fame, Let virtue nerve thy heart again;         430 Loud on the last stern battle-plain They call thy name. “Think not the struggle that draws near Too terrible for man, nor fear To meet the foe;         435 Nor let thy noble spirit grieve, Its life of glorious fame to leave On earth below. “A life of honor and of worth Has no eternity on earth,         440 ’T is but a name; And yet its glory far exceeds That base and sensual life, which leads To want and shame. “The eternal life, beyond the sky,         445 Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high And proud estate; The soul in dalliance laid, the spirit Corrupt with sin, shall not inherit A joy so great.         450 “But the good monk, in cloistered cell, Shall gain it by his book and bell, His prayers and tears; And the brave knight, whose arm endures Fierce battle, and against the Moors         455 His standard rears. “And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured The life-blood of the Pagan horde O’er all the land, In heaven shalt thou receive, at length,         460 The guerdon of thine earthly strength And dauntless hand. “Cheered onward by this promise sure, Strong in the faith entire and pure Thou dost profess,         465 Depart, thy hope is certainty, The third, the better life on high Shalt thou possess.” “O Death, no more, no more delay; My spirit longs to flee away,         470 And be at rest; The will of Heaven my will shall be, I bow to the divine decree, To God’s behest. “My soul is ready to depart,         475 No thought rebels, the obedient heart Breathes forth no sigh; The wish on earth to linger still Were vain, when ’t is God’s sovereign will That we shall die.         480 “O thou, that for our sins didst take A human form, and humbly make Thy home on earth; Thou, that to thy divinity A human nature didst ally         485 By mortal birth, “And in that form didst suffer here Torment, and agony, and fear, So patiently; By thy redeeming grace alone,         490 And not for merits of my own, Oh, pardon me!” As thus the dying warrior prayed, Without one gathering mist or shade Upon his mind;         495 Encircled by his family, Watched by affection’s gentle eye So soft and kind; His soul to Him who gave it rose; God lead it to its long repose,         500 Its glorious rest! And, though the warrior’s sun has set, Its light shall linger round us yet, Bright, radiant, blest.