QUEVEDO'S GUNSHOT, ACCORDING TO GÓNGORA

Now the pompous and eloquent speak of whether size matters. In the 17th century, it not only mattered, but also whether it was erect, as it should be, whether it performed or not. Sex is among us, and batteries last and last like Duracells. Fewer balloons, but the truth is that at a certain age many men run out of steam and aren't up for lifting heavy things. Góngora, who was a monstrous poet—the best in my opinion in the Spanish language—was a swordsman of words. A bad clergyman who would fall asleep when the choir of the Córdoba mosque sang the office or smoke vespers and go to some dive on the banks of the Guadalquivir to while away the afternoon. Quevedo's mortal enemy, a man with a nose glued to his own, accused him of being Jewish because his nasal structure resembled the prow of a galley. He also called him a sodomite, though I don't believe it. Don Luis accused Don Francisco, the divine cripple, of being impotent, since old age is a piper, and it seems that the divine cripple, at fifty, was no longer up to much. With this little ditty, he seems to be directing all his artillery against the author of "El Buscón" as revenge for his poem "Once upon a time there was a man with a nose glued to his own." Word spread throughout Madrid that the illustrious author of "Los Sueños" could no longer get an erection, nor could he be held, and his premature ejaculations became famous in the brothels. In 1625, Góngora launched this barb in the form of a poem:

To a knight who, being with a lady, could not fulfill his desires

With Marfisa in the stocks

You entered so poorly equipped

That her shield, though split,

Your sword did not cleave it

What wonder if, raised

It was not seen in such a cruel predicament

Nor could your shame

shed four tears

Even for leaving

The shield covered in urine?

It is clear that Don Francisco de Quevedo y Villegas was getting old, could no longer perform as he used to, and, going off to wild parties, made a fool of himself. Don Luis de Góngora y Agorte, just in case, didn't get involved in politics. “Let me be warm, let the people laugh… let others worry about the government, the world, and its monarchies.” Quevedo turned to dust in love, but he remained unhappy with his Lisi in the houses of Tócame Roque. Luis de Góngora y Agorte received admonitions from the Bishop of Córdoba for his indolence and lack of devotion. All he wanted was a peaceful life. He wandered from tavern to tavern, kissing the jugs, and upon entering the bars that proliferated in the shadow of the cathedral, behind the mosque, he would shout to the innkeeper:

"Give me a half, sir!"

Then he would toast with a "Laus tibi Deo." The two greatest poets, swordsmen of the word, bitter enemies—ferocious insults exchanged along the way—were both consumed by Spanishness and humanism. Which, their shortcomings aside, were very human, I mean.

Wednesday, October 29, 2025