Guitarra MagazineGuitarra Magazine HomeGuitars of SpainGuitar HistoryGuitar CatalogGuitar MuseumGuitar Photo Gallery
GUITAR HISTORY
The guitar, which permeated our and foreign composers' musical sentiment arrived to permeate also the soul of our poets, not only (and that would be enough) as an unique musical spokesman which it is, but also for its human dimensions, which make it appear as man's very heart to which it is possible to make sing, say, or cry. The piano is pompous, the violin is delicate, both instruments are as a continuation of or as collaborators with music, while the guitar and music seem to be the one and the same, one same soul, like a member more necessarily born from the other to express musically that which was not yet possible to say with the voice. The guitar is a companion that one always takes with him, which one has to caress everyday as in intimacy, and to do so the guitar interprets the interpreter, according to his sentiment, to his passion, to his wisdom, and in such a way reaches that interpretation, that which, at times, does not appear in the music, but the guitar itself takes from the depth of its box, from its soul, feelings that touches and moves everyone. From there the poets anthropomorphize in the guitar many of the human feelings, as we are now going to see:

Garcia Lorca, in his "Grafico de la Petenera," sings thus to "Las Seis Cuerdas" (The Six Strings):


La Guitarra,
hace llorar a los suenos.
El sollozo de las almas
Perdidas,
se escapa por su boca
redonda.
Y como la tarantula
teje una gran estrella
para cazar suspiros,
que flotan en su negro
aljibe de madera.

In his devotion to Regino Sainz de la Maza, and dedicated to him, he improvises the following "Adivinanza de Ia Guitarra" (Riddle of the Guitar):

En la redonda
encrucijada,
seis doncellas
bailan.
Tres de carne
y tres de plata.
Los sueños de ayer las buscan
pero las tiene abrazadas,
un Polifemo de oro.
¡La guitarra!

And in his "Viñetas Flamencas" he does not forget naturally the guitar:

Cuando yo me muera
enterradme con mi guitarra
bajo la arena.

Cuando yo me muera,
entre los naranjos
y la hierbabuena.

Cuando yo me muera,
enterradme, si queréis,
en una veleta.

¡Cuando yo me muera!