[In the following essay, Avrett discusses the philosophy underlying González Martinez's poetry.]

Enrique González Martínez, physician, poet, journalist, and diplomat, was born on April 13, 1871, in the city of Guadalajara, capital of the state of Jalisco, Mexico. In 1893 he received his degree in medicine from the Facultad of Jalisco. The young doctor soon moved to the state of Sinaloa, where he settled down to the serious practice of his profession. His first slender volume of poems came out in 1903, under the very appropriate title of Preludios; and it was followed in 1907 by Lirismos, by Silénter in 1909, and by Los senderos ocultos in 1911. In the latter year he took up his residence in Mexico City, where he was at once admitted into the inner circles of the foremost men of letters of the capital. González Martínez, however, did not permit himself the luxury of idleness. In 1912 he founded the literary review Argos, but it was short-lived. Within the same year he became editorial writer for El Impartial, and president of the Ateneo, whose membership included the most distinguished literary men of the capital. In 1913 he served for a brief period as undersecretary of public instruction and fine arts. Later, he was chosen secretary of state for Puebla; he became professor of French literature in the Escuela de Altos Estudios; and he was made director of the department of literature and grammar, and professor of Mexican literature in the Escuela Preparatoria. For a period, during the Carranza administration, González Martínez ceased to be prominently identified with public life. In 1920, however, he was sent as minister to Chile, where he remained for over a year before going to the Argentine Republic as minister plenipotentiary; and in 1924 he was sent as minister to Spain, in which capacity he has since served.

In spite of his busy public life, González Martínez has steadily built up his literary reputation; and he early acquired a very considerable following among the younger poets of his own country. His verses have been collected from time to time and published, each new volume adding to his popularity among literary circles, if not among the masses. In 1915 appeared La muerte del cisne and Jardines de Francia, the latter consisting of translations from modern French poets, with a prologue by Pedro Henríquez Ureña. In 1916 three volumes were published: a second edition of Los senderos ocultos, with a prologue by Alfonso Reyes; a second edition of Silénter, containing a prologue by Sixto Osuna and a portrait sketch of González Martínez by Saturnino Herrán; and La hora inútil, a reprint of poems selected from Preludios and Lirismos. Two more volumes were added in 1917: El libro de la fuerza, de la bondad y del ensueño and Pensamiento de los jardines, the latter a prose translation from the French of Francis Jammes. In 1918 appeared Parábolas y otros poemas, with a prologue by the distinguished Mexican poet Amado Nervo, and Tres grandes poetas belgas, Rodenbach—Maeterlinck—Verhaeren, a collection of translations into Spanish made by various poets, with a conferencia by González Martínez as an introduction. For the next several years the poet contributed occasional articles and poems to various periodicals, but it was not until 1921 that a new volume of verse appeared under the symbolic title of La palabra del viento. The year 1923 saw the publication of El romero alucinado; and in 1925 two more volumes were brought out: a second edition of El romero alucinado, with a prologue by E. Díez-Canedo, and Las señales furtivas, a new book of poems to which Luis G. Urbina contributed the prologue.

At first glance there might seem a bit of incongruity between the vocation of medicine and the avocation of poetry; but a moment's consideration will reveal that such a lack of harmony may be more apparent than real. To a man endowed with a sensitive, artistic temperament intimate daily contact with suffering humanity must, of necessity, bring about one of two reactions: he will become hardened spiritually and more or less indifferent to the misery of his surroundings, or he will become, as it were, subtly attuned to mankind, seeking to fathom something of that impenetrable mystery of human existence and its significance, an enigma that is never quite solved to the seeker's satisfaction. Fortunately, González Martínez followed the second course. His poetry is intensely subjective, and his themes are frequently tinged with that mystical philosophy which comes only from profound introspection. Beginning with Preludios, his first published volume of verse, the poet made evident his interest in those things that lie within the human soul, rather than in the bare rehearsal of such things and events as may be perceived readily by the casual observer. As Pedro Henríquez Ureũa points out:

La autobiografía lírica de Enrique González Martínez es la historia de una ascensión perpetua. Hacia mayor serenidad; pero, a la vez, hacia mayor sinceridad; hacia más severo y hondo concepto de la vida.

In the poem "Lucha eterna" the poet indulges in a bit of faintly ironical philosophy, a tendency which has steadily developed in his subsequent works, although in a broader, more tolerant vein. The last two stanzas follow:

 Mujer, es fuerza batallar, prosigue
  Y sírvate de aliento la esperanza
  Para que al débil corazón fustigue,
  Que es ley ineludible y sin mudanza
  Huir de la ventura que nos sigue,
  Seguir el ideal que no se alcanza.

Yielding, apparently, to a temporary state of spiritual depression, the poet declares in "Como sutil neblina …":

Mi vida es selva donde no hay el germen
  De una Ilusión y mis ensueños duermen
  Oculta bajo el ala la cabeza;
  Aves que esperan en su pobre nido
  El abrazo de nieve del olvido
  Y el ósculo glacial de la tristeza.

The indomitable spirit of González Martínez soon reasserts itself, however, and there is something heroic in the calm philosophy expressed in "Resurgam":

No importa que las iras de la suerte
  A mi ansia de ideal hieran de muerte
  Y hagan caer con ímpetu violento;
Para cada tropiezo de la vida
  Yo tengo un claro sol que en la caída
  Trueca en iris triunfal mi pensamiento.

Lirismos, the poet's next volume, shows an added sureness of touch gained through a greater confidence in the value of his ideals and in his ability to express himself simply and harmoniously. There is a perceptible deepening of his tendencies toward mystic symbolism; both the ideals and the philosophy of Enrique González Martínez have expanded. There are times when he seems possessed of what, for want of a better term, may be called a certain mystic melancholy; he seeks to unravel the riddle of man's life and ultimate destination by a searching study of the world of nature, but he never quite discovers the key that will unlock the door of the future. In "Creciente" he watches the torrent of the river as it sweeps relentlessly onward, but he derives no answer to his problem. The great why? and whither? remain unknown. The last two stanzas sum up the spirit of the entire poem.

Alamo enorme que tronchó la ira
  De sañudo huracán, cruzar se mira
  Como una barca gigantesca y rota,
Llevando en la prisión de su ramaje
  Un ave implume que en extraño viaje
  No sabe cómo va ni adónde flota.

Much the same idea of the uncertainty of man's destination is conveyed in the seventh stanza of "País de ensueño," wherein the poet exclaims:

Tú misma no sabías á dónde los antojos
  Del céfiro empujaban tu barco de oro y gules,
  Y en pájaros de armiño y en vértices azules
  Ibas posando el ávido anhelo de tus ojos.

Silánter, published in 1909, marks a distinct step forward in the artistic development of the poet. Eduardo Colín, in a somewhat brief but discerning essay entitled "Enrique González Martínez," offers the following comment:

Uno de los nuevos espectáculos que ha aparecido en la poesía hispanoamericana es Enrique González Martínez. Nuevo por razón de los años en que ha escrito y por la originalidad de su manera. Es el poeta esencialmente filosófico. Hay poetas como Olegario Andrade, Acuña y el propio Darío que son tenidos por bardos pensantes, pero en realidad no lo son como González Martínez; cantan asuntos concretos y de ellos derivan ideas. Los temas del autor de Silénter, son por sí mismos estados, impulsos abstractos del alma, motivos ideales. Y su singularidad también consiste en el modo de exhalar su pensamiento; no es en odas docentes como tantas escritas en América "A la Ciencia," "A Natura," "A Dios," pura ideología versificada, sino que su filosofía es de temperamento, verdadera filosofía de poeta.

Philosophy is not to be attained without meditation; and nothing so induces meditation as solitude. It is solitude and freedom from the rude disturbances of the busy world of men that González Martínez is seeking. From silent and solitary communion with Nature the poet derives his greatest enjoyment, a calm, philosophical contentment that embraces the soul as much as the senses. The last stanza of "Soledad" is quite characteristic of this phase of the poet.

 Ante el cielo sin brumas y sin celajes
  Sueño con mis memorias y mis paisajes,
  Mis sombras familiares, mis pobres muertos
  Que han pisado la arena de otros desiertos …
  Y la tarde se muere, la tarde quieta,
De las tardes amadas por el poeta,
  En que todo reposa, todo convida
  A meditar muy hondo sobre la vida.

With the publication of Los senderos ocultos, in 1911, it became evident that the poet's period of early uncertainty, of continuous groping toward the light which only his own soul could reveal to him, had ended. The man, as well as the artist, had found himself; there was revealed the calm purpose of the poet who, after frequent wanderings, had come to realize his mission and to formulate more clearly his philosophy of life. Henceforth, González Martínez might stray occasionally into the delightful realms of pure fancy, but he inevitably must return again to continue his explorations into the fascinating territory of the human soul. Philosophers throughout the ages have realized that joy must be tinged with grief—happiness and sorrow are more closely akin than the average mortal supposes. In "Una vieja tristeza …" this age-old truth is clothed in a mystic symbolism that renders the poem unusually appealing.

Una vieja tristeza desanduvo el camino …
  Yo podaba mi huerto y libaba mi vino …

Una constante charla de pájaros decía
  Las divinas canciones de la franca alegría;

Los ajados rosales, los musgos del jardín,
  Y las fresas regadas, hablaban del festín

Interrumpido; el aire fingía llevar esos
  Apagados murmullos de los furtivos besos,

Y un viejo Pan de mármol en la rústica fuente
  De piedra, parecía reir paternalmente. …

Y la vieja tristeza se detuvo á mi lado
  Y la oí levemente decir: ¿has olvidado?. …

De mis ojos aun turbios del placer y la fiesta,
  Una lágrima muda fué la sola respuesta. …

Mientras tanto, la charla de pájaros seguía
  Las divinas canciones de la franca alegría.

Y la vieja tristeza se fué por donde vino
  Perdiéndose y perdiéndose por el mismo camino. …

Yo podaba mi huerto y libaba mi vino. …

The last six lines of the sonnet "Intus" give in condensed form an entire philosophy of life, a philosophy with which we have every reason to believe that the poet himself is in accord.

Hay que labrar tu campo, hay que vivir tu vida,
  Tener con mano firme la lámpara encendida
  Sobre la eterna sombra, sobre el eterno abismo. …

Y callar. … mas tan hondo, con tan profunda
     calma,
  Que absorto en la infinita soledad de tí mismo
  No escuches sino el vasto silencio de tu alma.

La muerte del cisne and El libro de la fuerza, de la bondad y del ensueño, published in 1915 and 1917, respectively, show a gradual deepening of the poet's regard for Nature and an increasing use of mystic symbolism. The philosophical tendency to probe to the soul of the material which he treats is generally more strongly pronounced than in his earlier works. It is not greatly surprising, therefore, that with Parábolas y otros poemas, which appeared in 1918, González Martinez should plunge frankly into the realm of the mystic. Luisa Luisi has analyzed with rare discernment this mysticism of the poet.

Ama en las cosas el alma, y no la apariencia; y mucho menos el goce pasajero que prestan a nuestros sentidos. Esa honda espiritualidad de su poesía, que es al mismo tiempo su mayor nobleza, recuerda a la del catalán Fernando Maristany, aunque este último, como Amado Nervo, se sienta arrastrado al fin, por la corriente del neocristianismo. La dificultad estriba en mantenerse místico, sin caer ni en la religión, ni en el sensualismo. En "La puerta," magnífico poema, en "Un fantasma," esta actitud de sinceridad y de nobleza, adquiere toda su serena amplitud. El problema de la muerte lo atrae con fuerza invencible. Quisiera creer en la vida de ultratumba, pero la educación combate el anhelo del alma. Y este combate, que analizó magistralmente Unamuno en uno de sus mejores libros, está contenido todo él en "La puerta":

Los dos llamamos a la misma puerta
  para saber un día lo que esconde
  la lóbrega mansión. … En la desierta
  inmensidad, el eco nos responde.

Largo llamar. … Los maltratados nudos
  de las manos ya sangran. Han corrido
  con el tiempo las lágrimas. … ¡ Oh, mudos
  huéspedes sin piedad y sin oído!

A veces, un rumor de la lejana
  extensión nos anima; el ansia crece. …
  ¡ Oh, triste golpear!. … En la mañana,
  la ilusión de la noche desparece.

Mas llegará la hora en que la herida
  mano rompa el orín de los cerrojos,
  y al último rincón de la guarida
  penetre la codicia de los ojos.

Y cuando ceda al fin el oxidado
  gonce que afianza la cerrada puerta,
  sabrá nuestro dolor que hemos llamado
  ante el umbral de una mansión desierta.

The publication of La palabra del viento, in 1921, marked another forward step in the poetic development of Enrique González Martínez. The mysticism and the philosophical melancholy which had been so apparent in Parábolas y otros poemas finds in the later volume a fitting continuation; and there is sounded, moreover, in the versification a distinctly new and varied note that connects the author with the more progressive younger school of Mexican poets. This evidence of progressiveness is not surprising, coming as it does from a poet who had much earlier allied himself with the so-called modernista movement. Indeed, as Coester points out:

González Martinez's poems mark the trend that modernistic poetry had already taken. Introspection and sensitiveness to the world, "el alma colosal del paisaje," were rudimentary in modernistic poetry from the first. Sensations and the joy of experiencing them demand the attention of youth; reflection comes later. … There is something quite Mexican in the mystical attitude toward Nature. It appears continuously in Mexican poetry.

The appearance of El romero alucinado, which came out in 1923, was received with almost universal praise by the critics. Suárez Calimano has analyzed the characteristics of this volume very concisely.

Toda una filosofía de la vida se desprende de la primera parte de este libro, en la que campea una gracia helénica y moderna al mismo tiempo, suave y elegante, bien ajena al vetusto y gris ropaje que a menudo le prestan ciertos poetas cuando la traen a sus jardines.

El romero alucinado is, in truth, a pilgrimage into that mystical region whose territory is entered through the single gateway of the human soul. The poet is still fascinated by the mysteries of life and death, but there is little bitterness when he fails to solve these phenomena. Instead, there is a patient continuation of the endless search for the hidden truth that is almost stoic in its resignation. The man of science recognizes that inevitable change which must come to every man—the beginnings of the physical dissolution that the years bring on, accompanied by torturing doubts as to the spiritual stability. The body is decaying—must the soul likewise decay? And yet, in spite of the unmistakable evidences of change which he recognizes in himself from day to day, the poet feels that there is within his own soul something that endures. This conception is expressed simply in the poem "¿. … ?," whose delicate beauty merits quotation in full.

Cada día me cambia en otro hombre;
  ahora mismo soy otro ya.
  El hombre de ayer está muerto. …
  ¡ Descanse en paz!

Son inútiles los propósitos.
  Arrepentirse. … ¿ Para qué?. …
  El hombre nuevo de mañana
  dictará su ley.

Cada instante, con un olvido
  o con una nueva emoción,
  va cavando el abismo insondable
  de ayer a hoy.

Y en la sucesión vertiginosa
  de este incesante devenir,
  la vida es un río que corre y que corre
  sin rumbo y sin fin. …

Bajo la embriaguez de lo efímero,

mientras todo viene y se va,
  "hoy es el hombre y mañana no parece". …
  ¡ Descanse en paz!

(Y, no obstante, cuando allá a solas
  dialogamos tú y yo,
  sentimos que hay algo que dura,
  i oh, corazón!. …

In Las señales furtivas, published in 1925, González Martínez sums up, as it were, the various characteristics of his earlier volumes. His varied verse forms, and especially his numerous short poems, proclaim the new spirit in poetry; yet there may be discerned something of the delicate mysticism and the poetic sensitiveness which were responsible for much of the charm of his earlier works, notably in portions of Los senderos ocultos and in Parábolas y otros poemas. His philosophy is frequently tinged with a slightly ironical humor that is wholly delightful. Las señales furtivas is indisputable proof that Enrique González Martínez is not yet ready to relinquish his leadership to younger contemporaries. He is not only the poet of the past, but he is the poet of the present as well. His own definition of his poetic ideal, given in an interview for a Costa Rican periodical, is perhaps the best possible explanation for the poet's continued popularity throughout Spanish America.

Al tanto de la actual discusión relativa a la poesía pura … le pregunto al vate mexicano, ¿ cuál es su ideal poético? Casi sin pensarlo (maravilloso improvisador), me responde: traducirme a mí mismo y expresar mi inquietud ante la contemplación de la vida.

Because he has achieved this ideal, because he has "interpreted himself to himself and expressed his inquietude before the contemplation of life," González Martínez is able to share with others something of his own innermost feeling. He has interpreted himself, not to himself alone, but to his readers likewise; and thus he has depicted something of the perpetual struggle, something of the inquietude before the unfathomable mysteries of life and death, and something of the eternal quest that is as old as mankind, but which is ever new.