Juan Ramon Jimenez (1881-1958) was a Spanish poet who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1956. He mostly wrote erotic poems but critics say that they were in "true" French form. However, in 1914, he gave tribute to his hometown (an Andalusian village of Moguer in the south of Spain) with this beautiful book, Platero and I: An Andalusian Elegy. Originally written in Spanish, it is about a friendship between a man and his donkey. However, just like in any other well-loved children's books, this story can be read in two levels: a child can read it as is and enjoy the many adventures and misadventures of the man and his donkey, Platero or an adult can read it as one big metaphor.The story is told by the author mostly addressing his words directly to Platero. However, he starts the story by describing his pet: Platero is small, downy, smooth - so soft to the touch that one would think he were all cotton, that he had no bones. Only the jet mirrors of his eyes are hard as two beetles of dark crystal. With this description, Platero seems not to be a donkey at all. Checking Wikipedia, Platero actually symbolizes the simple, rustic and laidback village where Jimenez spent his childhood. He wrote Platero and I upon his return from Madrid where he met the Latin American Poet Ruben Dario who he later replaced as the leading poet in Spanish-speaking countries during that time. The popular then poet Jimenez, for an unknown reason, retreated back to his hometown and spent six years (1905-1911) missing his childhood and the things that were associated with it.His prose in this book is almost like poetry. I particularly enjoyed The Boneyard where Jimenez describes his plan in case Platero dies. Jimenez makes it an introduction to the elegiac mood that dominates this book. Being an erotic poet, is there anything erotic in this supposedly children's book? Only this part where the man and Platero are watching a nearby open fire: "Don't you like fire, Platero? I don't think that the body of any nude woman can be compared with fire. What flowing hair, what arms, what legs could stand comparison with these fiery nudities? Nature has perhaps no better offering than fire." I really liked this book. Easy read. Like reading short poems. Full of symbolisms. Reminds me of my childhood in our small provincial town. Reminds me of the things I used to enjoy there. When life was a lot simpler. When there are christmas carols playing during early December mornings. This book, Platero and I almost rivals my favorite book in the genre, Antoine de Saint-Exupery's The Little Prince. If I were a young man reading this for the first time, I would right away still prefer Saint-Exupery's work for its cohesiveness and structure. Platero and I seems to be fragmented and feels like a sad long lamentations of an dying man and what makes it worse is that in the end, he is lamenting for a dead donkey. At least, in Saint-Exupery's tale, towards the end, the young little prince is missing his rose that is still fresh and smelling nice.
Encantador. Seguramente habría leído ya varios capítulos, o porque un profe nos la dio de tarea para una clase, o por haberlos enseñado en una de las mías. Pero ya de mayor, creo que se aprecia mucho más su estilo lírico, algo que quizás los muy jóvenes (es decir, los del tercero que según una amiga GR española, son los que lo leen en la escuela) no capten o aprecien. Además, lo compré este verano, porque caímos en Sevilla el penúltimo día de la Feria del Libro, y me sorprendí al saber que las estudiantes que me acompañaban esa noche ya conocían capítulos y que le tenían mucho cariño. Creo que todas compramos una copia, y nos sacamos fotos con un burro (¨Platerito¨) que tenían allí en Plaza Nueva para recaudar fondos para una organización que rescata burros. Así que esta edición, con sus ilustraciones preciosas, ha resultado un buen recuerdo de ese viaje a Sevilla.Otra notita--para mis amigos GR que buscan mejorar el español, éste no sería mala idea. La mayor parte de los capítulos se narran en el presente, lo cual permite captar bastante de la trama. Lo único, que estos poemas en prosa (porque eso son) sí contienen un léxico tan rico y lindo que les haría falta tener un diccionario a la mano al leerlo.Pienso buscar una edición parecida en inglés-espero que exista-para las hijas de una amiga este año, en su cumpleaños. Quizás para mi sobrina nieta, cuando sea un poco mayor.
What do You think about Platero Y Yo (1994)?
لست بصدد عرض أهمية "الحمار" عند الشعوب و ذكر مكانته في التاريخ الأدبي العالمي،و أعلم أن بمجرد قراءة العنوان يثير اﻹستغراب و اﻹبتسامة معا :-)...، الأديب و الشاعر اﻷسباني الذي اتخذ من المخلوق اللطيف "بﻻتيرو" بطﻻ لقصصه و شعره،بل هو ما ذكره أحد النقاد..أقتبس: قرية الشاعر نفسه،باعتبارها كائن حي له شخصيته المتغيرة في كل فصل و في كل ساعة و موقف،فالكائنات و اﻷشياء في القرية كأنها حوادث قصة تنبعث بها نفس الشاعر الحزين يغمره الشوق و الحنين، فيه يرثي الطفل اﻷبله و الكلب اﻷجرب و الكناري المحتضر"..انتهى.¤الكتاب خفيف و لطيف تثير فيه العواطف بحكمة أخﻻقية و طريفة موجهه للصغار لكن... من قال أن الكبار ﻻ يقرؤون قصص اﻷطفال !! :-;-)..■ الكتاب معرب من مكتبة نوبل و المدى الطبعة الثانية 2000 بعنوان أنا و حماري ،من ترجمة د.لطفي عبد البديع. ..لم أجد له غلاف بالطبعة العربية
—Kdashti78
The version of this book that I read was a translation of the 1917 version, and not the better known 1914 edition that is aimed at children. I thought that I would be able to read this short book in a day at the most, but that proved impossible. Doing so would be like drinking a bottle of Benedictine or Cointreau in one sitting. The prose is some of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful, that I have ever read, and had to be savored. In addition, though the only Spanish I know is the usual that we Americans know (hombre, amigo, loco, and a few others) I found my eye being drawn to the original to compare the translation. I think that even if you have no interest in learning Spanish, this would be a good volume to have in your library, to appreciate both the prose of the translation and the original.
—Fred Kohn
I may have found my poetry place... for example:93. Dawn In the slow-coming mornings of winter, when the watchful roosters see the first roses of dawn and give them gallant greeting, Platero, tired of sleep, brays for a long time. How sweet is his distant awakening, in the sky-blue light which streaks through the cracks in my bedroom. I, also eager for the day, think of the sun from the softness of my bed. And I think of what would have become of poor Platero if, instead of falling into my poet's hands, he had fallen into the hands of one of those charcoal-makers who go while it is still dark along the hard frost of deserted paths to steal pine in the forest, or into the hands of one of those miserable gypsies who paint their donkeys and feed them arsenic and put needles in their ears to keep them from falling. Platero brays again. Can he know that I am thinking of him? What does it matter to me? In the softness of the early light the thought of him is as pleasing to me as the dawn. And I thank God that he has a stall as warm and soft as a crib, as kindly as the thoughts I have of him.
—Travelling Sunny
