The absinthe influences on two great South American poets, adapted from original contributions to the Fee Verte Absinthe Forum by kind
permission of Marc Chevalier:
Pablo Neruda
Hemingway was Cuba’s most famous absinthe drinker. But Pablo Neruda, Chile’s most famous poet (and a Nobel Prize winner), was
also an absinthe enthusiast. Hemingway and Neruda followed similar paths. In the 1920s, the poet spent some years in France, and in
the late ‘30s lived in Spain, where he supported the Republican cause against Franco’s Fascists. One can assume that Neruda, like
Hemingway, acquired his taste for absinthe in one or both of these countries.
Neruda’s house -- now a museum -- in Valparaiso, has a display of his collection of goblets and glasses, including half dozen antique
cordon glasses.
The following translation is taken from the transcript of a speech made in Cuba by Ángel Augier, a poet and friend of Pablo Neruda.
On March 13, 1942, Neruda, then Chile’s General Consul to Mexico, paid his first visit to Havana. Soon after arriving, the poet,
accompanied by his wife and some Cuban friends, took a stroll down the Paseo del Prado and invited the group for drinks in a bar on the
way. All but one ordered absinthe; Ángel Augier, a light drinker, opted for a beer. Neruda, in a mock-stentorian voice, declared:
“Ángel – now and again, it's absinthe that gets the job done!”
After everyone’s laughter had subsided, he continued:
“Back in Mexico, when I had to finish writing my 'Song for Bolívar' only hours before having to read it aloud on stage, I just couldn’t seem
to end the thing. So I went for a glass of absinthe and finished the poem in a really great mood …”
More laughter. Augier replied:
“Now I know what to take the next time I find myself in a similar predicament.”
Rubén Darío
Latin America -- Nicaragua, to be exact -- had its own absinthe-soaked poetic genius. His name was Rubén Darío; and though he died
nearly 90 years ago, his fame is such that nearly every educated Latin American knows of his work. A lesser, but still considerable,
number have heard of Darío's fondness for absinthe.
Rubén Darío was born on January 18, 1867 in Metapa, Nicaragua (later renamed Ciudad Dario). Dubbed "El Nino Poeta" (the poet
child), Darío began reading at the age of 3 and at 12 he was already publishing poems. At 14, Darío was received by President Zaldivar
of El Salvador and awarded an attractive 500-peso grant to support his talents. The young poet squandered the money in one night of
champagne revelry at a San Salvador hotel with newly-found friends. As a result, President Zaldivar sentenced the intemperate young
poet to nine months at a strict boarding school. Here Darío not only studied French, but also met the well-respected poet, Francisco
Gavidia. Gavidia introduced Darío to the rhythmic structure of French poetry, which later became the cornerstone of Dario's revolutionary
verses.
At the age of 19, Darío moved to Chile and dabbled in journalism. Though his poetry received praise in Chilean competitions, Darío was
confronted with prejudice and racism due to the dark complexion of his skin, compared to that of the European-influenced Chileans.
Despite his disillusionment and despondency, Darío continued to be prolific in his writing and published some of his more popular
works such as "Azul", "Otonales", and "Primeras Notas".
Throughout his life, Darío indulged in alcohol and women and was notorious for his immoderate lifestyle. One of Nicaragua's most
notorious drunks, he developed a taste for high living, absinthe, and exquisite dining.
While still working as a poet and journalist, Darío was named Ambassador of Nicaragua in Paris in 1903. He gained recognition
throughout Latin American and Spain with the 1905 publication of "Azul", a full-length collection of his work. "Azul" introduced Darío as the
spokesman of a new Latin American modernism. The collection incited a literary revolution because Darío replaced the complex
Spanish verse with a simple, direct structure, adding a musical, rhythmic quality and an unparalleled sensitivity and cognizance to his
verse.
In 1914, while in New York, Darío fell ill to pneumonia and recovered only to find himself financially bankrupt. Colombian poet and friend
Juan Arana had to beg in the streets of New York to support Darío; he also managed to collect money from friends in Buenos Aires and
from the Nicaraguan government. The following year, Darío returned to Nicaragua and died there in 1916 at the age of 49.
Darío wrote: "Poetry will exist as long as there is a problem of life and death. ... There are no schools; there are poets."
Letter from the Blue Country (Carta del país azul), addressed to the Chilean sculptor, Nicanor Plaza, c. 1888
I do not lie in telling you I fell in love at that instant; and when the cool breath of midnight blew upon me, I felt a desire to write you this
letter, from the divine blue country where I wander to -- a letter that seems saturated with the scent of illusion; mad and naïve, joyful and
sad, aching and mist-covered, and with the taste of absinthe, a liquor which holds, in its crystalline greenness, both opals and dreams --
as you well know.
No te miento si te digo que estuve en aquel instante enamorado; y que cuando bajó sobre mí el soplo de la media noche, me sentí con
deseos de escribirte esta carta, del divino país azul por donde vago, carta que parece estar impregnada de aroma de ilusión; loca e
ingenua, alegre y triste, doliente y brumosa; y con sabor a ajenjo, licor que como tú sabes tiene en su verde cristal el ópalo y el sueño.
The Bluebird (El pájaro azul) c. 1888
Paris is theater, amusing and terrible. Among the congregants at the Café Plombier, doughty and determined fellows -- painters,
sculptors, writers, poets; yes, all striving for the ancient green laurel! -- none were more loved than one poor Garcin, perennially sad, a
dedicated drinker of absinthe, a dreamer who never got drunk and, like any irreproachable bohemian, an excellent improviser. ... His
verses were for us. We read them and applauded. All sang praises to Garcin. He was a genius who would undoubtedly shine. Time
would tell. Oh, the Bluebird would soar! Bravo! Outstanding! Hey, waiter, more absinthe! ...
When the Bluebird wants to fly and spread his wings and is hemmed in by the walls of his own skull, he turns his eyes to the sky,
furrows his brow and drinks absinthe without much water, while smoking a scrounged paper cigarette.
París es teatro divertido y terrible. Entre los concurrentes al café Plombier, buenos y decididos muchachos -- pintores, escultores,
escritores, poetas; si, ¡todos buscando el viejo laurel verde!, ninguno más querido que aquel pobre Garcín, triste casi siempre, buen
bebedor de ajenjo, soñador que nunca se emborrachaba, y, como bohemio intachable, bravo improvisador. ... Los versos eran para
nosotros. Nosotros los leíamos y los aplaudíamos. Todos teníamos una alabanza para Garcín. Era un ingenio que debía brillar. El
tiempo vendría. ¡Oh, el pájaro azul volaría muy alto! ¡Bravo! ¡Bien! ¡Eh, mozo, más ajenjo! ...
Cuando el pájaro quiere volar y abre las alas y se da contra las paredes del cráneo, se alzan los ojos al cielo, se arruga la frente y se
bebe ajenjo con poca agua, fumando además, por remate, un cigarrillo de papel.
Edgar Poe and Dreams (Edgar Poe y los Suenos) c. 1911
To revel, with opium, in Poe's exotic dreams -- to contemplate with eager eyes the magical panoramas of a "dream land" in order to
shiver with poetic terror before the apparition of a Ligeia -- to hear the "nevermore" of the Raven -- one has to have, before all else, the
genius of a Poe. And this alone should give pause to the conceited, who beg the hypocritical and bewitching drug for an inspiration they
know they won't find in themselves. Wise words, to be heeded by the young -- fooled by their own misguided ambitions -- who think that
with Verlainean absinthe they will dream up the same "fetes galantes" as Verlaine, or that with Poe's gin or laudanum they will have the
key to the mysterious hells and heavens Poe knew, guided by fatality -- that exceptional spirit.
Para gustar con el opio los exóticos sueños de Poe, para contemplar con un ojo ávido los mágicos panoramas de un 'País de sueño',
para estremecerse de un poético terror ante la aparición de una Ligeia, para oír el 'never more' del 'Cuervo', hay, ante todo, que tener el
genio de un Poe, y eso sólo debía dar a reflexionar a los presuntuosos que van a mendigar a la hipócrita y maleficiosa droga una
inspiración que saben no encontrarán en ellos mismos". Cuerdas palabras para que sean bien entendidas por los jóvenes engañados
por sus propias equivocadas ambiciones, que creen que con el ajenjo verlainiano soñarán las mismas fiestas galantes que Verlaine, o
con el gin o el láudano de Poe, tendrán la llave de los misteriosos infiernos y paraísos que visitó señalado por la fatalidad, aquel espíritu
excepcional.
Sister Philomene (Sor Filomena) c.1911
"It's done, by all the devils!", roared the obese businessman heading toward the little marble table, where a poor boulevardier was
drowning his bitterness in the opaline waves of a glass of absinthe.
The businessman -- that famous Krau fellow; haven't you heard of his magnificent nose, a genuine pink jewel adorned with alcoholic
rubies? -- the businessman ordered his own [absinthe] without much water. Soon the sweat dried from his brow and, with a bang of the
fist that shook the tray and the glasses, he proceeded to loosen his tongue.
"¡ Ya está hecho, por todos los diablos!" rugió el obeso empresario, dirigiéndose a la mesita de mármol en que el pobre tenorio
ahogaba su amargura en la onda de ópalo de un vaso de ajenjo.
El empresario -- ese famoso Krau, ¿no conocéis la celebridad de su soberbia nariz, un verdadero dije de coral ornado de rubios
alcohólicos?--, el empresario pidió el suyo con poco agua. Luego secó el sudor de su frente, y dando un puñetazo que hizo temblar la
bandeja y los vasos, soltó la lengua.
permission of Marc Chevalier:
Pablo Neruda
Hemingway was Cuba’s most famous absinthe drinker. But Pablo Neruda, Chile’s most famous poet (and a Nobel Prize winner), was
also an absinthe enthusiast. Hemingway and Neruda followed similar paths. In the 1920s, the poet spent some years in France, and in
the late ‘30s lived in Spain, where he supported the Republican cause against Franco’s Fascists. One can assume that Neruda, like
Hemingway, acquired his taste for absinthe in one or both of these countries.
Neruda’s house -- now a museum -- in Valparaiso, has a display of his collection of goblets and glasses, including half dozen antique
cordon glasses.
The following translation is taken from the transcript of a speech made in Cuba by Ángel Augier, a poet and friend of Pablo Neruda.
On March 13, 1942, Neruda, then Chile’s General Consul to Mexico, paid his first visit to Havana. Soon after arriving, the poet,
accompanied by his wife and some Cuban friends, took a stroll down the Paseo del Prado and invited the group for drinks in a bar on the
way. All but one ordered absinthe; Ángel Augier, a light drinker, opted for a beer. Neruda, in a mock-stentorian voice, declared:
“Ángel – now and again, it's absinthe that gets the job done!”
After everyone’s laughter had subsided, he continued:
“Back in Mexico, when I had to finish writing my 'Song for Bolívar' only hours before having to read it aloud on stage, I just couldn’t seem
to end the thing. So I went for a glass of absinthe and finished the poem in a really great mood …”
More laughter. Augier replied:
“Now I know what to take the next time I find myself in a similar predicament.”
Rubén Darío
Latin America -- Nicaragua, to be exact -- had its own absinthe-soaked poetic genius. His name was Rubén Darío; and though he died
nearly 90 years ago, his fame is such that nearly every educated Latin American knows of his work. A lesser, but still considerable,
number have heard of Darío's fondness for absinthe.
Rubén Darío was born on January 18, 1867 in Metapa, Nicaragua (later renamed Ciudad Dario). Dubbed "El Nino Poeta" (the poet
child), Darío began reading at the age of 3 and at 12 he was already publishing poems. At 14, Darío was received by President Zaldivar
of El Salvador and awarded an attractive 500-peso grant to support his talents. The young poet squandered the money in one night of
champagne revelry at a San Salvador hotel with newly-found friends. As a result, President Zaldivar sentenced the intemperate young
poet to nine months at a strict boarding school. Here Darío not only studied French, but also met the well-respected poet, Francisco
Gavidia. Gavidia introduced Darío to the rhythmic structure of French poetry, which later became the cornerstone of Dario's revolutionary
verses.
At the age of 19, Darío moved to Chile and dabbled in journalism. Though his poetry received praise in Chilean competitions, Darío was
confronted with prejudice and racism due to the dark complexion of his skin, compared to that of the European-influenced Chileans.
Despite his disillusionment and despondency, Darío continued to be prolific in his writing and published some of his more popular
works such as "Azul", "Otonales", and "Primeras Notas".
Throughout his life, Darío indulged in alcohol and women and was notorious for his immoderate lifestyle. One of Nicaragua's most
notorious drunks, he developed a taste for high living, absinthe, and exquisite dining.
While still working as a poet and journalist, Darío was named Ambassador of Nicaragua in Paris in 1903. He gained recognition
throughout Latin American and Spain with the 1905 publication of "Azul", a full-length collection of his work. "Azul" introduced Darío as the
spokesman of a new Latin American modernism. The collection incited a literary revolution because Darío replaced the complex
Spanish verse with a simple, direct structure, adding a musical, rhythmic quality and an unparalleled sensitivity and cognizance to his
verse.
In 1914, while in New York, Darío fell ill to pneumonia and recovered only to find himself financially bankrupt. Colombian poet and friend
Juan Arana had to beg in the streets of New York to support Darío; he also managed to collect money from friends in Buenos Aires and
from the Nicaraguan government. The following year, Darío returned to Nicaragua and died there in 1916 at the age of 49.
Darío wrote: "Poetry will exist as long as there is a problem of life and death. ... There are no schools; there are poets."
Letter from the Blue Country (Carta del país azul), addressed to the Chilean sculptor, Nicanor Plaza, c. 1888
I do not lie in telling you I fell in love at that instant; and when the cool breath of midnight blew upon me, I felt a desire to write you this
letter, from the divine blue country where I wander to -- a letter that seems saturated with the scent of illusion; mad and naïve, joyful and
sad, aching and mist-covered, and with the taste of absinthe, a liquor which holds, in its crystalline greenness, both opals and dreams --
as you well know.
No te miento si te digo que estuve en aquel instante enamorado; y que cuando bajó sobre mí el soplo de la media noche, me sentí con
deseos de escribirte esta carta, del divino país azul por donde vago, carta que parece estar impregnada de aroma de ilusión; loca e
ingenua, alegre y triste, doliente y brumosa; y con sabor a ajenjo, licor que como tú sabes tiene en su verde cristal el ópalo y el sueño.
The Bluebird (El pájaro azul) c. 1888
Paris is theater, amusing and terrible. Among the congregants at the Café Plombier, doughty and determined fellows -- painters,
sculptors, writers, poets; yes, all striving for the ancient green laurel! -- none were more loved than one poor Garcin, perennially sad, a
dedicated drinker of absinthe, a dreamer who never got drunk and, like any irreproachable bohemian, an excellent improviser. ... His
verses were for us. We read them and applauded. All sang praises to Garcin. He was a genius who would undoubtedly shine. Time
would tell. Oh, the Bluebird would soar! Bravo! Outstanding! Hey, waiter, more absinthe! ...
When the Bluebird wants to fly and spread his wings and is hemmed in by the walls of his own skull, he turns his eyes to the sky,
furrows his brow and drinks absinthe without much water, while smoking a scrounged paper cigarette.
París es teatro divertido y terrible. Entre los concurrentes al café Plombier, buenos y decididos muchachos -- pintores, escultores,
escritores, poetas; si, ¡todos buscando el viejo laurel verde!, ninguno más querido que aquel pobre Garcín, triste casi siempre, buen
bebedor de ajenjo, soñador que nunca se emborrachaba, y, como bohemio intachable, bravo improvisador. ... Los versos eran para
nosotros. Nosotros los leíamos y los aplaudíamos. Todos teníamos una alabanza para Garcín. Era un ingenio que debía brillar. El
tiempo vendría. ¡Oh, el pájaro azul volaría muy alto! ¡Bravo! ¡Bien! ¡Eh, mozo, más ajenjo! ...
Cuando el pájaro quiere volar y abre las alas y se da contra las paredes del cráneo, se alzan los ojos al cielo, se arruga la frente y se
bebe ajenjo con poca agua, fumando además, por remate, un cigarrillo de papel.
Edgar Poe and Dreams (Edgar Poe y los Suenos) c. 1911
To revel, with opium, in Poe's exotic dreams -- to contemplate with eager eyes the magical panoramas of a "dream land" in order to
shiver with poetic terror before the apparition of a Ligeia -- to hear the "nevermore" of the Raven -- one has to have, before all else, the
genius of a Poe. And this alone should give pause to the conceited, who beg the hypocritical and bewitching drug for an inspiration they
know they won't find in themselves. Wise words, to be heeded by the young -- fooled by their own misguided ambitions -- who think that
with Verlainean absinthe they will dream up the same "fetes galantes" as Verlaine, or that with Poe's gin or laudanum they will have the
key to the mysterious hells and heavens Poe knew, guided by fatality -- that exceptional spirit.
Para gustar con el opio los exóticos sueños de Poe, para contemplar con un ojo ávido los mágicos panoramas de un 'País de sueño',
para estremecerse de un poético terror ante la aparición de una Ligeia, para oír el 'never more' del 'Cuervo', hay, ante todo, que tener el
genio de un Poe, y eso sólo debía dar a reflexionar a los presuntuosos que van a mendigar a la hipócrita y maleficiosa droga una
inspiración que saben no encontrarán en ellos mismos". Cuerdas palabras para que sean bien entendidas por los jóvenes engañados
por sus propias equivocadas ambiciones, que creen que con el ajenjo verlainiano soñarán las mismas fiestas galantes que Verlaine, o
con el gin o el láudano de Poe, tendrán la llave de los misteriosos infiernos y paraísos que visitó señalado por la fatalidad, aquel espíritu
excepcional.
Sister Philomene (Sor Filomena) c.1911
"It's done, by all the devils!", roared the obese businessman heading toward the little marble table, where a poor boulevardier was
drowning his bitterness in the opaline waves of a glass of absinthe.
The businessman -- that famous Krau fellow; haven't you heard of his magnificent nose, a genuine pink jewel adorned with alcoholic
rubies? -- the businessman ordered his own [absinthe] without much water. Soon the sweat dried from his brow and, with a bang of the
fist that shook the tray and the glasses, he proceeded to loosen his tongue.
"¡ Ya está hecho, por todos los diablos!" rugió el obeso empresario, dirigiéndose a la mesita de mármol en que el pobre tenorio
ahogaba su amargura en la onda de ópalo de un vaso de ajenjo.
El empresario -- ese famoso Krau, ¿no conocéis la celebridad de su soberbia nariz, un verdadero dije de coral ornado de rubios
alcohólicos?--, el empresario pidió el suyo con poco agua. Luego secó el sudor de su frente, y dando un puñetazo que hizo temblar la
bandeja y los vasos, soltó la lengua.
| Absinthe in America IV - Central & South America |
| Absinthe was drunk in South America from - at least - the1850's. It was manufactured in Cuba, in Mexico and in Argentina, and probably also in Brazil. In the early years of the twentieth century it was fashionable amongst the same type of literary and Bohemian crowd who drank it in Paris. |
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Extrait d'Absinthe E.Albado, Habana. Circa 1930
The first bottle ever discovered of vintage Cuban absinthe.
Pre-Castro Cuba had a considerable history of absinthe production - Hemingway drank it there, and
used to stock up on his frequent marlin-fishing trips to the island, where he later bought a house.
This bottle, produced by the Aldabo Distillery (also known as a rum and curacao producer) appears
to be a good quality, naturally coloured absinthe, and likely dates from the mid 1930's.
The first bottle ever discovered of vintage Cuban absinthe.
Pre-Castro Cuba had a considerable history of absinthe production - Hemingway drank it there, and
used to stock up on his frequent marlin-fishing trips to the island, where he later bought a house.
This bottle, produced by the Aldabo Distillery (also known as a rum and curacao producer) appears
to be a good quality, naturally coloured absinthe, and likely dates from the mid 1930's.
Another label of South American interest:
Pernod Fils label for Argentina, Uruguay and Paraguay.
Click on the image to see an enlarged version.
Pernod Fils label for Argentina, Uruguay and Paraguay.
Click on the image to see an enlarged version.
Case label for an Argentinean Swiss-style absinthe, produed by the
Arbide distillery, owned by Juan & Domingo Parellada.
The following information s kindly provided by Oscar Vicario, the
great grandson of one of the proprietors:
Domingo Parellada was my great grand-father, he married
Margueritte Nodenot, a Frenchwoman who arrived in Argentina in
1889, with her family. They had two daughters, Juana and Josefina.
Juana was my grandmother on my mother's side. This explains why
I happen to have some information, rather poor in fact.
The distillery was a small one, and it was not in the city of Buenos
Aires, but in the town of Rosario, about 300 kilometers north of the
capital city. The address was Moreno 237, and the telephone
number: 62. I don't think the label mentioned dates back to 1890,
because the distillery was set up later, probably around 1902, and
was in operation until 1914, when the Parellada brothers decided to
close it down. My great-grandfather retired and moved back to
Spain, his birthplace. Besides Ajenjo Arbide, they produced
liqueurs, Aperitif Parellada and "Ginebra uso de Holanda" (a sort of
gin in the Dutch style).
In 1916, my great-grandfather and his family returned to Argentina
because of the First World War, and he died in 1920.
Arbide distillery, owned by Juan & Domingo Parellada.
The following information s kindly provided by Oscar Vicario, the
great grandson of one of the proprietors:
Domingo Parellada was my great grand-father, he married
Margueritte Nodenot, a Frenchwoman who arrived in Argentina in
1889, with her family. They had two daughters, Juana and Josefina.
Juana was my grandmother on my mother's side. This explains why
I happen to have some information, rather poor in fact.
The distillery was a small one, and it was not in the city of Buenos
Aires, but in the town of Rosario, about 300 kilometers north of the
capital city. The address was Moreno 237, and the telephone
number: 62. I don't think the label mentioned dates back to 1890,
because the distillery was set up later, probably around 1902, and
was in operation until 1914, when the Parellada brothers decided to
close it down. My great-grandfather retired and moved back to
Spain, his birthplace. Besides Ajenjo Arbide, they produced
liqueurs, Aperitif Parellada and "Ginebra uso de Holanda" (a sort of
gin in the Dutch style).
In 1916, my great-grandfather and his family returned to Argentina
because of the First World War, and he died in 1920.
Spanish version: Ajenjo Berger
Found recently in Buenos Aires, it seems to have
been made for the Argentinean market.
Found recently in Buenos Aires, it seems to have
been made for the Argentinean market.
Copa de ajenjo
Tango
Music: Juan Canaro
Lyric: Carlos Pesce
Suena tango compañero,
suena que quiero cantar,
porque esta noche la espero
y sé que no ha de llegar.
Y en esta copa de ajenjo
en vano pretendo mis penas ahogar.
Suena tango compañero,
suena que quiero llorar.
Pensar que la quise tanto
y embrujao por sus encantos
hoy perdí la dignidad.
Soy un borracho perdido
que en la copa del olvido
busca su felicidad.
Son caprichos del destino,
que lo quiso una mujer,
si está marcado mi sino
quién sabe si ha de volver...
¡Pero yo la esperaré!
Suena tango compañero,
como una recordación.
Si lloro porque la quiero,
son cosas del corazón.
Sirva otra copa de ajenjo
que a nadie le importa si quiero tomar.
Porque esta noche la espero
y sé que no ha de llegar.
Tango
Music: Juan Canaro
Lyric: Carlos Pesce
Suena tango compañero,
suena que quiero cantar,
porque esta noche la espero
y sé que no ha de llegar.
Y en esta copa de ajenjo
en vano pretendo mis penas ahogar.
Suena tango compañero,
suena que quiero llorar.
Pensar que la quise tanto
y embrujao por sus encantos
hoy perdí la dignidad.
Soy un borracho perdido
que en la copa del olvido
busca su felicidad.
Son caprichos del destino,
que lo quiso una mujer,
si está marcado mi sino
quién sabe si ha de volver...
¡Pero yo la esperaré!
Suena tango compañero,
como una recordación.
Si lloro porque la quiero,
son cosas del corazón.
Sirva otra copa de ajenjo
que a nadie le importa si quiero tomar.
Porque esta noche la espero
y sé que no ha de llegar.
The Cup of Absinthe
Play, tango, my friend
play, that I want to sing
because tonight I'm waiting for her
and I know she won't come.
And in this cup of absinthe
I vainly expect to drown my sorrows.
Play, tango, my friend
play, that I want to cry.
To think that I loved her so much...
and bewitched by her charms
today my dignity is gone.
I'm a total drunkard
that looks for happiness
in oblivion's cup.
Destiny's whims...
a woman's caprices...
it may be in my fate
that she'll return...
But I'll wait!
Play, tango, my friend
as a remembrance.
If I cry because I love her
those are things of the heart.
Pour me another cup of absinthe
nobody cares if I want to drink.
Because tonight I expect her
and I know she won't appear.
By kind permission of "Dr Ordinaire"
Play, tango, my friend
play, that I want to sing
because tonight I'm waiting for her
and I know she won't come.
And in this cup of absinthe
I vainly expect to drown my sorrows.
Play, tango, my friend
play, that I want to cry.
To think that I loved her so much...
and bewitched by her charms
today my dignity is gone.
I'm a total drunkard
that looks for happiness
in oblivion's cup.
Destiny's whims...
a woman's caprices...
it may be in my fate
that she'll return...
But I'll wait!
Play, tango, my friend
as a remembrance.
If I cry because I love her
those are things of the heart.
Pour me another cup of absinthe
nobody cares if I want to drink.
Because tonight I expect her
and I know she won't appear.
By kind permission of "Dr Ordinaire"
A very early reference to absinthe in Cuba, in The Century Magazine Volume 57, Issue 2, Dec 1898
LIFE AND SOCIETY IN OLD CUBA.
EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF JONATHAN S. JENKINS, AN AMERICAN PAINTER OF MINIATURES, WRITTEN IN 1859
CUBAN DRINKS.
THE Cubans are a very sober people, and, while there are cafes, drunkenness is rare. The most common and popular of their drinks
is composed of white sugar, water, and the white of an egg; another is a drink of absinthe and water; then absinthe and a decoction
of aniseed mixed, which they call champorian. Orchata is also a favorite drink; it is made from the juice of almonds, and is as white
as milk. During the summer the water of a green cocoanut flavored with a little gin is sometimes indulged in. Light wines are often
used at table as substitutes for tea and coffee, which are ill adapted for such a warm climate. Agrass, which is the pure juice of the
grape, costing twenty-five cents a glass, is a drink of the wealthy. This list contrasts favorably with our formidable catalogue of brandy
smashes, cocktails, punches, etc., which the Spaniards regard with horror, and never use except when Americans drink with them. I
once asked an old Cuban why he did not have his son taught to speak English. He very significantly shook his head, and replied that
as soon as a Spaniard learned English he began to drink cognac and soon became worthless.
A SPECULATION IN MINT JULEPS.
AFTER the introduction of ice from Boston into Havana an enterprising Yankee named Welsh conceived the idea of making a large
fortune by introducing a new drink into Cuba nothing less than the fragrant mint julep. The idea seemed plausible, and success was
assured if the dons could be brought to appreciate it. Desiring to have the good thing all to himself, Welsh bought from the
captain-general a monopoly of manufacturing it throughout Cuba. Just think of it! the sole right to make iced mint juleps for the whole
of Cuba! The monopolist had already a vision of an outpouring of doubloons from the horn of fortune. The usual form was gone
through of fitting up an elegant saloon and advertising an opening on a certain day, when iced mint juleps would be served for the first
time in Havana. The first day curiosity brought crowds. The dons drank, contracted their brows, held their breaths, paid their money,
and departed without a word. About four hundred juleps went down Spanish throats; but the next day the sales dropped to fifty, and
the next there were still fewer, until finally the saloon of the newcomer was passed by for the old caf6s. If you asked a don how he
liked the mint julep, he shrugged his shoulders, and replied that it was too irritating. Welshs visions of gold vanished into thin air,
leaving him with a very real load of debt, of which he relieved himself by escaping to the United States.
LIFE AND SOCIETY IN OLD CUBA.
EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF JONATHAN S. JENKINS, AN AMERICAN PAINTER OF MINIATURES, WRITTEN IN 1859
CUBAN DRINKS.
THE Cubans are a very sober people, and, while there are cafes, drunkenness is rare. The most common and popular of their drinks
is composed of white sugar, water, and the white of an egg; another is a drink of absinthe and water; then absinthe and a decoction
of aniseed mixed, which they call champorian. Orchata is also a favorite drink; it is made from the juice of almonds, and is as white
as milk. During the summer the water of a green cocoanut flavored with a little gin is sometimes indulged in. Light wines are often
used at table as substitutes for tea and coffee, which are ill adapted for such a warm climate. Agrass, which is the pure juice of the
grape, costing twenty-five cents a glass, is a drink of the wealthy. This list contrasts favorably with our formidable catalogue of brandy
smashes, cocktails, punches, etc., which the Spaniards regard with horror, and never use except when Americans drink with them. I
once asked an old Cuban why he did not have his son taught to speak English. He very significantly shook his head, and replied that
as soon as a Spaniard learned English he began to drink cognac and soon became worthless.
A SPECULATION IN MINT JULEPS.
AFTER the introduction of ice from Boston into Havana an enterprising Yankee named Welsh conceived the idea of making a large
fortune by introducing a new drink into Cuba nothing less than the fragrant mint julep. The idea seemed plausible, and success was
assured if the dons could be brought to appreciate it. Desiring to have the good thing all to himself, Welsh bought from the
captain-general a monopoly of manufacturing it throughout Cuba. Just think of it! the sole right to make iced mint juleps for the whole
of Cuba! The monopolist had already a vision of an outpouring of doubloons from the horn of fortune. The usual form was gone
through of fitting up an elegant saloon and advertising an opening on a certain day, when iced mint juleps would be served for the first
time in Havana. The first day curiosity brought crowds. The dons drank, contracted their brows, held their breaths, paid their money,
and departed without a word. About four hundred juleps went down Spanish throats; but the next day the sales dropped to fifty, and
the next there were still fewer, until finally the saloon of the newcomer was passed by for the old caf6s. If you asked a don how he
liked the mint julep, he shrugged his shoulders, and replied that it was too irritating. Welshs visions of gold vanished into thin air,
leaving him with a very real load of debt, of which he relieved himself by escaping to the United States.
Latin American poets like Darío (see below) inspired a whole generation of Argentinean
tango composers to try absinthe in Paris. Not a few of these "tangueros" wrote songs
praising -- or condemning -- the drink. Here's a typical example:
tango composers to try absinthe in Paris. Not a few of these "tangueros" wrote songs
praising -- or condemning -- the drink. Here's a typical example:
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