Sunday, December 30, 2007

“Manera sencillíssima de destruir una ciudad”

René Magritte, La bataille de l’Argonne

“Se espera, escondido en el pasto, a que una gran nube de la especie cúmulo se sitúe sobre la ciudad aborrecida. Se dispara entonces la flecha petrificadora, la nube se convierte en mármol, y el resto no merece comentario.”


Maneira sensibilíssima de destruir uma cidade

Espere, escondido no pasto, até que uma grande nuvém da espécie cúmulo paire sobre a cidade aborrecida. Dispare então a flecha petrificadora, a nuvem se converte em mármore, e o resto não merece comentário.


Really Sensible Way To Destroy A City

Wait, hidden in the pasture, until a large cumulus cloud settles over the abhorred city. Then shoot the petrifying arrow, the cloud will be converted into marble, and the rest deserves no comment.



(Julio Cortázar, “Verano en las Colinas,” La vuelta al día en ochenta mundos.” Trans. Marco Alexandre de Oliveira)

Saturday, December 29, 2007

El poeta es camaleón ...

“En cambio, ve usted, el poeta renuncia a defenderse. Renuncia a conservar una identidad en el acto de conocer porque precisamente el signo inconfundible, la marca en forma de trébol bajo la tetilla de los cuentos de hadas, se la da tempranamente el sentirse a cada paso otro, el salirse tan fácilmente de sí mismo para ingresar en las entidades que lo absorben, enajenarse en el objeto que será cantado, la materia física o moral cuya combustión lírica provocará el poema. Sediento de ser, el poeta no cesa de tenderse hacia una realidad cada vez mejor ahondada, más real. Su poder es instrumento de posesión pero a la vez e inefablemente es deseo de posesión; como una red que pescara para sí misma, un anzuelo que fuera a la vez ansia de pesca. Ser poeta es ansiar, pero sobre todo obtener en la exacta medida en que se ansía. De ahí las distintas dimensiones de poetas y poéticas; está el que se conforma con el deleite estético del verbo y procede en la medida circunstanciada de su impulso de posesión; está el que irrumpe en la realidad como un raptor de esencias y halla en sí mismo y por eso mismo el instrumento lírico que le permitirá arrancar una respuesta de lo otro capaz de volverlo suyo, de hacerlo suyo y, por lo tanto, nuestro…”

“Mire usted, señora, la experiencia humana no basta para hacer un poeta, pero lo engrandece cuando se da paralelamente a la condición de poeta y cuando el poeta comprende la especial relación con que debe articularlas.”

(Julio Cortázar, “Casilla de camaleón,” La vuelta al día en ochenta mundos”)

Friday, December 21, 2007

"Citar es citarse"

“Se habrá advertido que aquí las citas llueven, y esto no es nada al lado de lo que viene, o sea casi todo. En los ochenta mundos de mi vuelta al día hay puertos, hoteles y camas para los cronopios, y además citar es citarse, ya lo han dicho … con la diferencia de que los pedantes citan porque viste mucho, y los cronopios porque son terriblemente egoístas y quieren acaparar sus amigos …”

(Julio Cortázar, La vuelta al día en ochenta mundos.)

Monday, December 17, 2007

"pobre shaman blanco"

“¿Por qué escribo esto? No tengo ideas claras, ni siquiera tengo ideas. Hay jirones, impulsos, bloques, y todo busca una forma, entonces entra en juego el ritmo y yo escribo dentro de ese ritmo, escribo por él, movido por él y no por eso que llaman el pensamiento y que hace la prosa, literaria u otra …. Escribir es dibujar mi mandala y a la vez recorrerlo, inventar la purificación purificándose; tarea de pobre shaman blanco con calzoncillos de nylon.”

(Julio Cortázar, Rayuela.)

"desde un intersticio ..."

“Mucho de lo que he escrito se ordena bajo el signo de la excentricidad, puesto que entre vivir y escribir nunca admití una clara diferencia; si viviendo alcanzo a disimular una participación parcial en mi circunstancia, en cambio no puedo negarla en lo que escribo puesto que precisamente escribo por no estar o por estar a medias. Escribo por falencia, por descolocación; y como yo escribo desde un intersticio, estoy siempre invitando a que otros busquen los suyos y miren por ellos el jardín donde los árboles tiene frutos que son, por supuesto, piedras preciosas.”

(Julio Cortázar, “Del sentimiento de no estar del todo,” La vuelta al día en ochenta mundos.)

what poetry is even ...

“Her stockings are loose over her ankles. I detest that: so tasteless, Those literary etherial people they are all. Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. Esthetes they are. I wouldn't be surprised if it was that kind of food you see produces the like waves of the brain the poetical. For example one of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts; you couldn't squeeze a line of poetry out of him. Don't know what poetry is even. Must be in a certain mood.”

(James Joyce, Ulysses)

Monday, December 10, 2007

To PRACTICE Poetry ...

“Man proposes and disposes. He and he alone can determine whether he is completely master of himself, that is, whether he maintains the body of his desires, daily more formidable, in a state of anarchy. Poetry teaches him to. It bears within itself the perfect compensation for the miseries we endure. It can also be an organizer, if ever, as the result of a less intimate disappointment, we contemplate taking it seriously. The time is coming when it decrees the end of money and by itself will break the bread of heaven for the earth! There will still be gatherings on the public squares, and movements you never dared hope participate in. Farewell to absurd choices, the dreams of dark abyss, rivalries, the prolonged patience, the flight of the seasons, the artificial order of ideas, the ramp of danger, time for everything! May you only take the trouble to practice poetry. Is it not incumbent upon us, who are already living off it, to try and impose what we hold to be our case for further inquiry?”

(André Breton, “Manifesto of Surrealism”)

IMAGINE ...

“We are still living under the reign of logic: this, of course, is what I have been driving at …. It is pointless to add that experience itself has found itself increasingly circumscribed. It paces back and forth in a cage from which it is more and more difficult to make it emerge. It too leans for support on what is most immediately expedient, and it is protected by the sentinels of common sense. Under the pretense of civilization and progress, we have managed to banish from the mind everything that may rightly or wrongly be termed superstition, or fancy; forbidden is any kind of search for truth which is not in conformance with accepted practices.”

“The imagination is perhaps on the point of reasserting itself, of reclaiming its rights. If the depths of our mind contain within it strange forces capable of augmenting those on the surface, or of waging a victorious battle against them, there is every reason to seize them – first to seize them, then, if need be, to submit them to the control of our reason …. But it is worth noting that no means has been designated a priori for carrying out this undertaking, that until further notice it can be construed to be the province of poets as well as scholars, and that its success is not dependent upon the more or less capricious paths that will be followed.”


(André Breton, “Manifesto of Surrealism”)

Thursday, December 06, 2007

No "One" Like Stein ...

“Each one is one. Each one looking is that one the one then looking. Each one looking and loving is then that one the one looking then and loving. Looking and loving is anything.”

“Any day one being that one is one being that one. Any day is a day. Any one being one is being that one. Any one going on being one is being that one. Any day is a day. Every day is a day. Each day is a day. Each one is one. Any one is one. Any one is the one that one is.”

“If any one were one being such a one such a one as any one is then that one would be one expressing all of that thing and expressing all of that thing would be what that one expressing is expressing. Each one is one. That is enough to satisfy some, each one being one is enough to satisfy some. One being one is one that many are certain is a different one from the ones others are who are not like that one. That one is a different one and being a different one he is the one knowing everything of there being very many who are just like him. That is enough to satisfy him.”

“Each one is one. Each one has been one. Each one being one, each one having been one is remembering something of that thing.”

“Each one is one. Each one has been one. Each one is remembering that thing.”

“Each one is one. Each one has been one. That is something that any one having been one, any one being one is having happen. Each one being one is having it happen that that one is being that one. Each one having been one is one having had it happen that that one has been that one.”

“Each one is one. Any one is the one that one is. Each one is one.”

“This one is one and she is that one. Each one is one. There are many. Each one is different from any other one.”

“Each one is one. There are many. Some of them are loving. Some of them are completely loving. One of them is completely loving. This one is living in loving being existing in that one and loving is existing in that one, completely existing in that one. That one is loving and is completely existing in loving being completely existing in that one and in the one that one is loving and in that one who is the one loving that one. This one is one completely existing as loving is completely existing in that one and one other one.”

“Each one is one. There are many of them. Each one is different from any other one of them. Each one is one being living. Some are ones loving. Some are ones believing in loving. Some are ones believing in loving and marrying and having children. Some of such of them are ones believing in working and believing in every one. Some of such of them are ones working and getting sick then and going on believing in everything in which they have been believing. One being such a one was one loving. She was one believing in something, she was one believing in working and marrying and having children and believing in all that she had been believing. She believed in changing in some things. She believed in something. She was loving. She was working. She was marrying. She was having children. She was believing in all she had been believing. She was one believing in something. She was a sick one. She believed then in what she had been believing.”

“There are very many being living. Each one is one. Each one is one being that one. Each one is like some. Each one is one. There are very many of them. There are many kinds of them. Each one is one. Each one is that one.”

“Each one is one. Each one is that one. Each one is one. Each one expressing an opinion is expressing that thing that opinion.”

“Each one is one. Each one is that one the one that one is. Each one is one. Each one is one some are knowing. Each one is one. One is one many are knowing. One is one not any one is completely certain is completely charming. That one is one being one being almost completely feeling in being almost completely charming. This one is one not completing any such thing not completing feeling, not completing feeling in being almost completely charming, not completing being almost completely charming, not completing being charming.”

“Each one is one, there are many of them. Each one is one. Each one is that one the one that one is. Each one is one, there are many of them. Each one is one.”

“Each one is one. Each one might be one being like every other one if every one was one being like every other one. Each one is one. Each one is one not like every other one. Each one is one. Any one is like any one. Every one is like every one. Each one is one. There are very many of them. Each one is one.”

“Each one is one and is mentioning something of some such thing. Each one has been one and is mentioning something of some such thing. Each one is one and is mentioning something of being like any other one. Each one is one and is mentioning having been like any other one. Each one is one. Each one is one and is mentioning having been, is mentioning being that one. Each one is one. Each one is that one, the one that one is. Each one is one, each one is mentioning such a thing. Each one is mentioning something, each one is mentioning having been mentioning something. Each one is one. Each one is mentioning having been that one.”

“Each one is one. Each one has been, each one is mentioning something. Each one is one. There are many of them. There are many mentioning something. There are many mentioning everything. Each one is one. There are many of them. Some are mentioning something, some are mentioning everything, some are mentioning anything. Each one is one. Each one is mentioning something.”

“She was that one. There are many being living. Each one is one. There are many of them. Each one is one, each one in being one and saying something is saying something in a way, is saying anything in a way.”

“There are many being living. Each one is one. There are many of them. Each one is one. There are many of them.”



(From Matisse Picasso and Gertrude Stein, by Gertrude Stein)

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Parable of the Klee ...

“The artist has studied this world of variety and has, we may suppose, unobtrusively found his way in it. His sense of direction has brought order into the passing stream of image and experience. This sense of direction in nature and life, this branching and spreading array, I shall compare with the root of the tree. From the root the sap flows to the artist, flows through him, flows to his eye. Thus he stands as the trunk of the tree. Battered and stirred by the strength of the flow, he guides the vision on into his work. As, in full view of the world, the crown of the tree unfolds and spreads in time and space, so with his work. Nobody would affirm that the tree grows its crown in the image of its root.… Different functions expanding in different elements must produce divergences. [The artist], standing at his appointed place, the trunk of the tree, he does nothing other than gather and pass on what comes to him from the depths. He neither serves nor rules – he transmits. His position is humble. And the beauty at the crown is not his own. He is merely a channel.”

(Paul Klee, On Modern Art.)

Sunday, December 02, 2007

Being (Not So) Great ...

“The nocturnal glory of being great without being anything! The somber majesty of unknown splendor … And I suddenly feel the sublimity of the monk in the desert, of the hermit in his retreat, imbued with the substance of the Christ in the stones and the caves, which are the negation of the world, empty statuary.

And sitting at the table in my room, I am less despicable, an employee and anonymous; I write words that are the salvation of my soul […] a ring of renunciation on my evangelical hand, the dull jewel of my ecstatic disdain.”


(Bernardo Soares / Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet. Trans. Alfred Mac Adam)