Rosalia de Castro
Biography of Rosalia de Castro
María Rosalía Rita de Castro, better known as Rosalía de Castro (24 February 1837 – 15 July 1885), was a Galician romanticist writer and poet.
Writing in the Galician language, after the Séculos Escuros (lit. Dark Centuries), she became an important figure of the Galician romantic movement, known today as the Rexurdimento ("renaissance"), along with Manuel Curros Enríquez and Eduardo Pondal. Her poetry is marked by 'saudade', an almost ineffable combination of nostalgia, longing and melancholy.
She married Manuel Murguía, member of the Galician Academy, historian, journalist and editor of Rosalía's books. (Her married name was Rosalía Castro de Murguía.) The couple had seven children: Alexandra (1859-1937), Aura (1868-1942), twins Gala (1871-1964) and Ovidio (1871-1900), Amara (1873-1921), Adriano (1875-1876) and Valentina (stillborn, 1877). The only two that married were Aura in 1897 and Gala in 1922; neither they nor their siblings left any children, and thus there are no living descendants of Rosalía de Castro and her husband. Their son Ovidio was a good painter, but his early death cut his career short.
The date she published her first collection of poetry in Galician, Cantares gallegos ("Galician Songs"), May 17, 1863, is commemorated every year as the Día das Letras Galegas ("Galician Literature Day"), an official holiday of the Autonomous Community of Galicia, and has been dedicated to an important writer in the Galician language since 1963.
Relative poverty and sadness marked her life, although she had a strong sense of commitment to the poor and to the defenseless. She was a strong opponent of abuse of authority and defender of women's rights. She suffered from cancer of the womb and died of this illness. Her image appeared on the 500 peseta Spanish banknote.
Rosalia de Castro's Works:
Cantares gallegos (1863)
Follas novas (1880
La Flor (1857)
A mi madre (1863)
En las orillas del Sar (1884)
Rosalia de Castro Poems
1 ¡Silencio, los lebreles de la jauría maldita!
Good-Bye Rivers, Good-Bye Fountains
Good-bye rivers, good-bye fountains; Good-bye, little rills; Good-bye, sight of my eyes: Don't know when we'll see each other again.
When I think that you have parted, Black shadow that overshades me, At the foot of my head pillows You return making fun of me.
From The Cadenced Roar Of The Waves.
From the cadenced roar of the waves and the wail of the wind, from the shimmering light flecked over woodland and cloud,
They Say That The Plants Do Not Speak
They say that the plants do not speak, not the brooks, nor the birds, Nor the waves with their roar, not with their brilliance the stars, So they say: but one cannot be sure, for always when I go by, They whisper about me and say
I Know Not What I Seek Eternally.
I know not what I seek eternally on earth, in air, and sky; I know not what I seek; but it is something that I have lost, I know not when,
Hour After Hour, Day After Day
between the earth and sky that keep eternal watch, like a rushing headlong torrent life passes on.
Feeling Her End Would Come With Summer's...
Feeling her end would come with summer's end, the incurable invalid thought with mingled joy and sadness: "I shall die in the autumn,
I In My Bed Of Thistles.
I in my bed of thistles, You in your bed of roses and feathers, He spoke the truth who spoke of an abyss between your good fortune and my wretchedness.
The Spring Does Not Flow Now
The spring does not flow now, the stream is quite dry, No traveller goes to quench his thirst there. The grass does not grow now, no daffodil blooms, No fragrance of lilies floats on the air.
He Who Weeps Goes Not Alone
He who weeps goes not alone, Keep flowing, I beg of you, my tears! A single burden suffices the soul; One joy is never, never enough.
Now That The Sunset Of Hope….
Now that the sunset of hope for my life has sand and colourless come, toward my dim dwelling, dismantled and chill, let us turn step by step:
Cold Months Of Winter
Cold months of winter That I love with all my love; Months of rivers that run full And the sweet love of home.
The Atmosphere Is Incandescent
The atmosphere is incandescent; The fox explores an empty road; Sick grow the waters That sparkled in the clear arroyo,
Cold Months Of Winter
Cold months of winter
That I love with all my love;
Months of rivers that run full
And the sweet love of home.
Months of wild storms,
Image of the pain
That besets the young
And severs lives in bloom.
Come, after the autumn