the theory and function of the duende/«teoria y juego del duende» — part 1
Friends, today I would like to introduce to you Federico Garcia Lorca's concept of "the duende," that is (according to Wiki), "a rarely-explained concept in Spanish art, particularly flamenco, having to do with emotion, expression and authenticity. In fact, 'tener duende' can be loosely translated as having soul."
In 1933, three years before his assassination, Federico gave a lecture, «Teoria y Juego del Duende,» where he explained his concept of the duende. I present my translation of that lecture. Because my Spanish is so poor and the original is so marvelous, I include both here. Handicapped with my own limitations I do not do justice to Garcia Lorca's words but I hope his spirit will forgive me for trying.
The lecture is nearly four and a half pages, so I have divided the translation into three blog entries. Federico fills his essay with cultural references that probably were familiar to a 1930s audience; however, many phrases I have left in Spanish since I cannot figure out what they are in reference to. As always, all mistakes found here are mine alone. For those who have never heard of the duende I hope it delights as much as it did me when I first stumbled upon it. Enjoy.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Ladies and Gentlemen:
Ever since the year 1918, when I entered the Residencia de Estudiantes de Madrid, until 1928 when I left, having completed my studies in Philosophy and Letters, I attended, in the same elegant salon where the old Spanish aristocracy used to do penance for their frivolous vacations on the France seacoast, close to one thousand lectures.
-
Señoras y señores:
Desde el año 1918, que ingresé en la Residencia de Estudiantes de Madrid, hasta 1928, en que la abandoné, terminados mis estudios de Filosofía y Letras, he oído en aquel refmado salón, donde acudía para corregir su frivolidad de playa francesa la vieja aristocracia española, cerca de mil conferencias.
I used to grow so bored longing for air and sunlight as to feel myself covered in a light coating of ash that was about to turn into burning irritation.
-
Con ganas de aire y de sol, me he aburrido tanto, que al salir me he sentido cubierto por una leve ceniza casi a punto de convertirse en pimienta de irritación.
No. That is why I have chosen never to let that terrible horsefly of boredom into this room, stinging every head with a fine thread of sleep and poking little pins and needles in all our eyes.
-
No. Yo no quisiera que entrase en la sala ese terrible moscardón del aburrimiento que ensarta todas las cabezas por un hilo tenue de sueño y pone en los ojos de los oyentes unos grupos diminutos de puntas de alfiler.
Quite simply, the tone of my poetic voice does not have wooded lights in it, nor bunches of hemlocks, nor sheep who suddenly transform into knives of irony, but I shall try to give you a simple lesson in the spirit of suffering hidden in Spain.
-
De modo sencillo, con el registro que en mi voz poética no tiene luces de maderas, ni recodos de cicuta, ni ovejas que de pronto son cuchillos de ironias, voy a ver si puedo daros una sencilla lección sobre el espíritu oculto de la dolorida España.
Down by the rivers Júcar, Guadalfeo, Sil, and Pisuerga, wherever the bull's hide has been stretched, (not to mention those that meet the tawny waves like a lion's mane stirred by the Plata) often one hears people say, “This has much duende.” Manuel Torre, the great Andalusian artist, once told a singer: “You have a voice, you know the style, but you will never succeed because you have no duende.”
-
El que está en la piel de toro extendida entre los Júcar, Guadalete, Sil o Pisuerga (no quiero citar a los caudales junto a las ondas color melena de león que agita el Plata), oye decir con medida frecuencia: «Esto tiene mucho duende.» Manuel Torres, gran artista del pueblo andaluz, decía a uno que cantaba: «Tú tienes voz, tú sabes los estilos, pero no triunfarás nunca, porque tú no tienes duende.»
Throughout Andalusia, from the rock of Jaén to the horn of Cádiz, the people constantly talk of the duende and know it at once and instinctively whenever it appears. The marvelous singer El Lebrijano, creator of the Debla, used to say, “No one can rival me on days when I sing with duende.” The old Gypsy dancer La Malena once heard Brailowsky play a snatch of Bach and exclaimed, “Ole! That has duende!” But she was unmoved with Gluck, Brahms, and Darius Milhaud. After listening to Falla play his own “Nocturno del Generalife,” Manuel Torre, a man who had more culture in his blood than any I have ever known, uttered this splendid sentence: “All with the black sound has duende.” And there is no greater truth.
-
En toda Andalucía, roca de Jaén y caracola de Cádiz, la gente habla constantemente del duende y lo descubre en cuanto sale con instinto eficaz. El Maravilloso cantaor El Lebrijano, creador de la Deb la, decía: «Los días que yo canto con duende no hay quien pueda conmigo»; la vieja bailarina gitana La Malena exclamó un día oyendo tocar a Brailowsky un fragmento de Bach: «¡Ole! ¡Eso tiene duende!», y estuvo aburrida con Gluck y con Brahms y con Darius Milhaud. Y Manuel Torres, el hombre de mayor cultura en la sangre que he conocido, dijo, escuchando al propio Falla su Nocturno del Generalife, esta espléndida frase: «Todo lo que tiene sonidos negros tiene duende.» Y no hay verdad más grande.
This “black sound” is the mystery, the root fastened in the quagmire that we all know, all ignore, the swamp that gives us the very essence of art. “The black sound,” said that man of the Spain, agreeing with Goethe who explained the duende while speaking of Paganini: “That mysterious power which we all feel but no philosopher can ever explain.”
-
Estos sonidos negros son el misterio, las raíces que se clavan en el limo que todos conocemos, que todos ignoramos, pero de donde nos llega lo que es sustancial en el arte. Sonidos negros dijo el hombre popular de España y coincidió con Goethe, que hace la definición del duende al hablar de Paganini, diciendo: «Poder misterioso que todos sienten y que ningún filósofo explica.»
So, the duende is, then, a power and not a method; a struggle and not an idea. I have heard an old guitar maestro say, “The duende is not in your throat; the duende rises up from inside you, from the very soles of your feet.” Which is to say it is not a question of ability, but of true, living style, of blood, of only the most ancient of culture, of the art of creation.
-
Así, pues, el duende es un poder y no un obrar, es un luchar y no un pensar. Yo he oído decir a un viejo maestro guitarrista: «El duende no está en la garganta; el duende sube por dentro desde la planta de los pies.» Es decir, no es cuestión de facultad, sino de verdadero estilo vivo; es decir, de sangre, de viejisima cultura, de creatión en acto.
“That mysterious power which we all feel but no philosopher can ever explain” is, actually, the spirit of the earth. It is the same duende that burned Nietzsche's heart, who had been seeking its outer forms on the Bridge of Rialto and in the music of Bizet without ever finding it, without knowing that the duende he was sought had leaped straight from the Greek mysteries into the dancers of Cádiz or the tortured, Dionysian scream of Silverio's siguiriya.
-
Este «poder misterioso que todos sienten y que ningún filósofo explica» es, en suma, el espíritu de la tierra, el mismo duende que abrazó el corazón de Nietzsche, que lo buscaba en sus formas exteriores sobre el puente de Rialto o en la música de Bizet, sin encontrarlo y sin saber que él duende que el perseguía había saltado de los misteriosos griegos a las bailarinas de Cádiz o al dionisiaco grito degollado de la siguiriya de Silverio.
And I do not want anyone to confuse the duende with the theological demon of doubt, such as the one at Nüremberg at whom Luther, in bacchic fervor, hurled a poet of ink at, nor with the Catholic devil, destructive and stupid, who disguises himself as a dog to get into convents, nor with the one in Cervantes' La comedia de los celos y las selvas de Ardenia.
-
Así, pues, no quiero que nadie confunda al duende con el demonio teológico de la duda, al que Lutero, con un sentimiento báquico, le arrojó unfrasco de tinta en Nüremberg, ni con el diablo católico, destructor y poco inteligente, que se disfraza de perra para entrar en los conventos, ni con el mono parlante que lleva el truchimán de Cervantes, en La comedia de los celos y las selvas de Ardenia.
No. The duende I am talking about is dark and trembling, the descendant of Socrates' happy demon, all marble and salt, of. The one that angrily scratched him on the day Socrates took the hemlock. And that melancholy demon, small as a green almond, belonging to Descartes, who wearied of circles and lines and escaped down to the canals to drunken sailors sing.
-
No. El duende de que hablo, oscuro y estremecido, es descendiente de aquel alegrísimo demonio de Sócrates, mármol y sal que lo arañó indignado el día en que tomó la cicuta, y del otro melancólico demonillo de Descartes, pequeño como almendra verde, que, harto de círculos y lineas, salió por los canales para oír cantar a los marineros borrachos.
All of us, whether an artist of Nietzsche or not, shall climb up each step in the tower of their own perfection by fighting their duende, not their angel, as has been said, nor their muse. This distinction is both fundamental and at the very root of all art.
-
Todo hombre, todo artista llamará Nietzsche, cada escala que sube en la torre de su perfección es a costa de la lucha que sostiene con un duende, no con un ángel, como se ha dicho, ni con su musa. Es preciso hacer esa distinción fundamental para la raíz de la obra.
[continued at part 2]