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Jose Maria de Heredia y Giraud

I lived from 1842-1905. I was from Cuba, and am in the Americas category.

Acclaimed in his own lifetime as the greatest master of the French sonnet, Jose Maria de Heredia y Giraud was born in Santiago de Cuba on November 22, 1842. Heredia was the cousin and namesake of Cuba's national poet, Jose Maria de Heredia y Campuzano (1803-1839), and though one wrote in Spanish and the other in French, they are often confused (Heredia II did write one Spanish poem: a sonnet for the centenary of his cousin's birth). Educated in France (his mother was of French origin), Heredia never again returned to Cuba but made his home and career in France. The publication in 1893 of "Les Trophées" (The Trophies) caused a national and even international sensation. The book was instantly proclaimed a classic of French literature and the most masterfully wrought work of the language. The English critic Edmund Goose said the sonnets were "perfect in every respect" and hailed Heredia as "beyond all question a great poetic artist and probably the most remarkable now alive in Europe." Awarded the Legion of Honor and elected to the French Academy, Heredia died on October 2, 1905 at age 62 at Chateau Bourdonné, near Houdan. In 1994, the French Academy instituted a "Prix Hérédia" which is awarded anually to a noteworthy formalist poet.

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  • As when at Delphi, Thymus close behind,
    He flew through stadium to applause's roar,
    17 lines
  • Blue glaciers, peaks of marble, granite, slate,
    Moraines whence winds from Begle to Nethou
    17 lines
  • O'er their soft limbs has myrrh its fragrance shed;
    And bathed in warmth beneath December's skies
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  • Pious the moss to see no more the ground;
    For from this wasted wood forever gone
    14 lines, 2 comments
  • Although beyond the eternal snows, aspires
    The vast-winged eagle still to loftier air,
    14 lines
  • Juan Ponce de Leon, by the Devil led,
    With years weighed down and crammed with antique lore,
    15 lines
  • On Egypt sleeping under sky of brass
    The twain gazed wistfully from terrace high,
    15 lines
  • All wretched, shocking, nude, with vilest fare,
    Such slave am I -- my body bears the signs --
    15 lines, 2 comments
  • As you came out of church, all piously
    Your noble hands bestowed alms freely there,
    14 lines
  • When over us the cross its shadow throws,
    Our frames enshrouded in the mould of night,
    15 lines

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