I will say a part of a very short poem.
The titled:
“SEVENTY BALCONIES AND NOT ANY FLOWER”
And it starts:
There are seventy balconies in this house.
Seventy balconies and not any flower…
To its inhabitants, sir, what is wrong with them?
Do you hate the perfume, do you hate the color?
and ended
Does no one want to see behind the glass
a tiny garden copy?
On the white stone climb the rose bushes,
in the black irons open a jasmine?
They will not know about music, rhymes, love…
Seventy balconies and not any flower!
Fernández Moreno, was born and died in Buenos Aires, the city he loved so much.
Of Spanish parents, they took him as a child to the mother country, where he attended primary school. There in the province of Santander, he was dazzled by the beauty of the region’s landscape.
Fernández Moreno recounted that in his childhood he would go to the shores of the Cantabrian Sea and recite poems to it, from the solitude of its sands.
“It is that in the child we were, there will always be the man we are.”
His parents, fearing that his poetic soul would divert him from the medical career to which they had destined him, brought him back to Buenos Aires.
He was already 13 years old. He completed high school and entered the Faculty of Medicine.
Received as a doctor, he did not want to practice his profession in the Capital.
That is why several towns in the province of Buenos Aires -Chascomús among them- had the honor of having treated the doctor-poet, much more of a poet than a doctor, although he practiced this profession for more than 20 years.
But he felt besieged by poetry. Although since he was a real poet he needed to write verses.
Fernández Moreno also knew that “living with poetry meant suffering, but living without poetry was not even suffering…”
Because his spirit made him forever, poet. And his heart gave him impulse.
He wrote 12 books full of beauty, nostalgia, freshness, including one of aphorisms, of beautiful aphorisms.
In 1928 he was awarded the 2nd National Prize for Literature. A thorough recognition of a distinguished poet.
The First Prize was awarded that year to Arturo Capdevila, who upon accepting the award expressed with that nobility, so typical of the Cordovan writer:
-“If I had been a jury, the First Prize would have been awarded to Baldomero Fernández Moreno”.
Eight years later, in 1936, at the age of 50, Arturo Capdevila’s wish came true.
They awarded Fernández Moreno the First National Prize for Literature.
And July 1950 arrived. Our poet doctor was already 63 years old. A very rigorous winter endured Buenos Aires.
Suddenly, he felt himself die.
His health had been failing for some time. She felt that this was the last day of her life.
He called his most beloved friends and asked one of them to recite his most beloved poem for him.
He gently closed his eyes –still conscious- one of them, quietly, with the room in darkness, recited his “Seventy Balconies and No Flower”.
“There are seventy balconies in this house.
Seventy balconies and not any flower…
To its inhabitants, sir, what is wrong with them?
Do you hate the perfume, do you hate the color?
Fernández Moreno, already dying, continued to hear his own verses.
Does no one want to see behind the glass
a tiny garden copy?
A kiss will never be heard, a key will never be heard,
Seventy balconies and not any flower!
Almost coincidentally with this last verse, on July 7, 1950, Baldomero Fernández Moreno, the dreamy poet, who knew how to find beauty in the simple things of life, finally closed his eyes.
His personality, simultaneously simple and profound, prompted me to create this aphorism:
“We can find magic…in the little things. Because the magic is in the things”.
Source: Ambito
David William is a talented author who has made a name for himself in the world of writing. He is a professional author who writes on a wide range of topics, from general interest to opinion news. David is currently working as a writer at 24 hours worlds where he brings his unique perspective and in-depth research to his articles, making them both informative and engaging.
