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Jorge Guillén interrupted his exile to visit Spain in the 1960s and 1970s before returning for good in 1977. This article examines the effects on his poetry of his progressive return to Spain. In Y otros poemas (1973) and Final (1981) Guillén rethinks his place and that of his works in Spanish reality and history. He insists on remembering the effects of the Civil War, brings attention to his exile poetry, and highlights the role of the reader in the survival of his work. In order to understand Y otros poemas and Final, it is key to connect them to the ethical awakening that exile provoked in his writing. The analysis of his acknowledgment of the relational dimension of poetry during his exile reveals that his return, far from becoming a break from his previous work, meant a conscious reiteration of the lessons that he had learned outside of Spain.

En este artículo estudio y comparo el uso de algunas imágenes sobrenaturales que he rastreado en parte de la obra crítica de Luis Cernuda, Federico García Lorca y Jorge Guillén. En el apartado central, las imágenes analizadas –musa, ángel, demonio, sirena y duende– se refieren a la psicología de la invención literaria. También hago referencia a algunas imágenes menores –fantasmas, cíclopes– que los poetas-críticos usan para hablar del poeta mismo y de su obra. Sostengo que todas estas imágenes surgen como consecuencia de lecturas y contactos con el romanticismo y el surrealismo, que son ampliamente estudiados en la introducción de este artículo; pero, también, como producto de una manera de ver y entender el mundo que responde al momento histórico de la España de comienzos de siglo xx

Reflecting on the incisive years of the early 1920s, when he was already amongst the now celebrated group of writers gathered in Madrid, Guillén candidly informs us that he had wanted nothing more than to write a volume of poems; but he had not done so; and why? 'Because I never dared', he says. Guillén's hesitancy or caution is significant for it was to result in a first volume, Cántico (1928), that was relatively slim, composed entirely of short, intensely worked poems. His initial creative disposition may be described as guarded rather than precocious, but this is not to say, as some did, that he lacked inspiration; a criticism which has since been completely refuted by the pertinacious development of his life's work towards Aire nuestro.

The first books of a new generation of poets appeared in the period 1920-1930. The last to appear was Cántico (1919-1928) in 1928. Its appearance had been eagerly awaited by 'unos breves núcleos de fervorosos admiradores', who were not disappointed by the generally favourable reception of the book: Con la publicación de este elegante volumen se integra el cuadro de nuestra generación poética actual. Su autor, hasta ahora inédito-sólo accesible en el área limitadísima de las más alertas minorías intelectuales-nos brinda el fruto de su paciente, sabio y disciplinado adiestramiento, en una obra de múltiples e imponderables valores. As Luis Cernuda rightly pointed out neither Presagios nor Cántico 'parece un libro primero ... tras de ambos volúmenes es lógico suponer una serie de composiciones que sus autores destruyeron o que al menos dejaron inéditas'. The significance of the differences between the four editions of Cántico has been well documented. No less significant is the process of rewriting and revision which preceded the first edition of that work.

One of the most important and recurrent concepts in the poetry of Pedro Salinas is summarized in the following lines from La voz a ti debida: Fatalmente, te mudas sin dejar de ser tú, en tu propia mudanza, con la fidelidad constante del cambiar. (125) This old Petrarchan conceit about perpetual change, in addition to being a key thematic comment on the nature of the amada, can well be taken as an adroit piece of self-criticism by Pedro Salinas with respect to his poetic concepts and practices. The conceit, which prizes the elusive changeability of the amada, was as useful and pertinent for Salinas as it had been for Garcilaso, who gave it similar succinct expression, and Bécquer, who let it echo more indefinitely through his Rimas. But the point of changeability is not restricted solely to the amada. In all three poets, and never more so than in Salinas' La voz a ti debida, the amada appears as an enlarged reality; ubiquitous, multiple, physical and metaphysical, she is both the sum of exterior reality and the embodiment of the poet's sensitivity: everything: 'abolición/ triunfal, total, de todo/ lo que no es ella' (136). She incorporates even his poetry: as Bécquer's 'Poesía ... eres tú' is already implied in the title of Salinas' major volume. Fundamentally, her prime function is to help conceptualize the poet's thought, and thus her changeability, as many other of her features, reflects a value in the poet: Salinas, as I will attempt to show, is nothing if not changeable, even inconsistent, in his attitude towards both exterior reality and, more significantly, towards words. To some large extent, his poetics, as such, may be said to focus upon this question. The present paper considers changeability in two ways: firstly, in the exterior sense of Salinas' attitudes through the years, and secondly, in more detail, as a dynamic concept determining both theme and the expression of theme in words.

Las seis cartas intercambiadas entre Jorge Guillén y Guillermo de Torre que ofrecemos en el presente artículo son una muestra de la diversidad de modos de relación personal en el panorama literario y artístico anterior y posterior a la guerra civil española. Junto a su valor documental, nos permiten observar el perfil estético, político y autobiográfico de sus corresponsales a través de tres protagonistas de igual talla: Federico García Lorca, Pablo Picasso y Juan Ramón Jiménez, que son en ellas objeto de reflexión y recuerdo.

Salinas' contempt for visual impressions is one aspect of a literary pose already assumed at the beginning of his career and faithfully maintained thereafter: that of the poet who distils and wholly re-fashions his contacts with reality. In one of the early poems in Presagios he catches sight of a fruit hanging from a tree, and immediately blames his eyes for their superficiality in seeing only its exterior; closing them, he transforms his hand into a mano de ciego, aspiring to bypass that exterior in quest of the invisible, untouchable essence of the fruit.