"You're wrong, sir ... The title of poet does not exist. Our poets do not have the protection of any lord, and our poets are masters themselves and if the patrons (which the devil take them!) Do not recognize it worse for them. Here there are no ragged abbots, which the musicians gather in the streets to write a script. Here poets do not go from house to house asking to be helped. In addition, you will probably jokingly said that I am a great poet. It is true that on occasion I wrote a few bad epigrams, but thank God, with Mr. poets I have nothing in common and I want it "(Pushkin's" Egyptian Nights ")
Sometimes I think I understand poetry, writing poetry, as the registration of every day in a journal or as noted in a travel book: seeing things on time ... So I look and so enter the street ... Its Discontents colors ... and also put together the city, home neighborhoods. Writing poetry becomes, then, a deal with the names of things: naming things to keep them, fine writing fragments satiety.
guess writing is like walking because one is intertwined poems, go to the park or neighborhood, it comes out to watch ... and looks to continue ... And in that lonely road, light, climate, are not far away: the nature faithfully accompanying literature that ground-state, maintaining an old romantic, yet related to our times. Then
-time-to-make up the poetry of small own knowledge of glimpses and brief personal statements. And I think what I like reading is the kindness of those sentences true, that we return a little to the warm wisdom of some pictures of some scenes, fragments of a narrative total impossible ... as Barthes is in preparation of the novel .... because for some the novel as a rest or belvedere is not possible, something he wrote in his Daily Pizarnik.
So write sentences is for me to do away safely in every specialty and around the words, some groups of words in a language simultaneous and multiple, as idish, and nearby, also, always, portrait , that of a painter: "What is a school portrait formidable ... It's almost impossible to paint a face. It is a world. How can we approach it, to restore it? "(Balthus, Meditations of a Solitary Walker paint).
The literature I can call right direction ... and I think with these words in some daily painters like Chagall, such as Blackboard. I think travel books on No place to go to Jonas Mekas , in Viktor Shklovsky just books with that syntax busy working with arrows or knives, "the knife was missing", I believe that repeats a poem by Osvaldo Lamborghini, "authors wrote without explanation, juxtaposed words running to the highest regard as the truck died on the horizon beckoning somewhere Zelarayán page. This attempt to chronicle, close the eye that sees and the body that registers, and so get at least something, squeeze at least some, a true act of copyright: bold naturalism, unannounced, transposition extreme, terrible knowledge, beauty accurate. Because that's the point. Jorge Quiroga does suburban bridge where the sentences are what remains .
Poetry, thus, for me, up streets and routes, places themselves: crosses, lively memories hard, strong , as always repeats Raschell-strong -had said Nicholas. Cut scenes, sometimes bankruptcy, stutters, the brief capture the returns to take forever. Wires and strips. So I write and try to walk with little for something is, so the poetry I walk through time, learn to look at the time when what is served is always the space: "pull up time," says Hugo Savino says Mastronardi. Looking at the present time and space, in a bar, a car, the corner or the patio, the real obsession space, as the book of Zelarayán. Walking in the area because I think there is literature but does region, province: "At times we are glad the province, "says Manuel Castilla-so that sentences literature ever composed and a local phenomenon.
Poetry, by this way of lint and ownership, that life is near, anxious, sometimes desperate, that is, multiple and simultaneous: the neighborhood, as in the etchings as Arlt and walked Carlos Correas. A girl living in small failures and disappointments, reminders, to see far ahead, even in the occult, but to remain always near here. From my first pictures cruel, from covetousness to Parque Chacabuco, bustling between there and here, because it is always about "what that is "rather than what changes, no avant-garde as Nicholas Rosa taught me love and unequaled-or no-as learned as Tsvietáieva. Without protections generic without saving Milita distances, as Molina says, "without ratings are only vagrants of letters, historical curtains because as Hugo Savino said:" It is time to accept that great works are heard in one, processed, is like the mouth, invented the look, gestualizan, used to live (and) this activity is its historicity crazy. "
Perhaps all that I get a poetry album soon as , Alles Ding A rope or , precision, fine imprecision of tiny situations taken from some views. And besides, at that intersection is going on brewing time spaces, spaces that sound, in both directions, to listen and fail to succeed, confiscated by writing, by the look. There are authors who listen, there are authors who can see: the Russian formalists had thought of a "philology of the eye 'and its opposite, a reading' handset '...
Poetry allows us also to go beyond us, get out, separate, distinguish ... and compose thoughtful cycles, cycles that do not last, as the real, that are interrupted at different things came over on him, they reach that, as in Tsvietáieva scripts. In this singular way, I think, ensures the poem when we believe the issue is appropriate, staying with things, make them our own, albeit with smaller words. Because things save us. An American critic now in disuse, Lionel Trilling, said the statement has the pleasure of ownership and consistency, partly supplied by the content, in part by the words we caught ourselves ... So I think that the authors real talk written as: speaking, writing in the same quagmire. They give us the pleasure of hearing an assertive voice, literature we are pleased because it is where we agree and, if there is something that we disagree, asks us politely consistency. Literature as a bunch childhood: between the Russian put all the time, Marina Tsvietáieva, and Noemí Ulla.
I think I'll define a poem of just being, like the book Castilla, crossing the northwest winds as Savino's book and trying to know what is the name Transit as his nominated Schvartz Claudia says: "Today I still: nor do I watch or I forget." Also, it is true, cross family Demons, the book of poems by Sosa Diaz Five years or horse Bettina Bonifatti you know that the past does not matter because it could alone. Then the work and it shines even in the interim of a pain that comes and stays tight, as in a picture: there is, because I believe in a poetry that is wise, who lives in the domain of experience, he read that forgot and could, by chance, then write loose. Sellers also confirmed in the vision of a city: "The more I write, the more I see" (New York Vision) - and then make strong writing is the most personal thing and, simultaneously, the happiest, most disturbing, the most interrupted the most persistent .... One thing I can not decide really, but you can not do.
Writing is a terrible misunderstanding with the other permanent. Misunderstanding that is growing and that nothing can dim. Sellers also said ... as if we could ... "No explanation, no complaining." And then I recall the humor comes from the literary scene with me always Héctor Libertella. It is the love of friends, as I once wrote, the more objective, subjective taste, which brought us the time.
Perhaps, for all that, you write like going at any time but at the same time, resisting, hoping that the word itself occurs, recently recovered and I gave Molina-Milita in their memories alive, his melodies Argentine, also hastens scenes, the word 'situs' do not yet know well how to write but Milita told me that the Internet used as a password because no use it ... So I think that writing is meeting another in writing, to endure, as I taught Perla Sneh. An author of literature honestly as I call it-even if it is painful, too, peak Syrup.
Looks: vivid words, the titles of the books I like, as things, as the last drawing of a fabric. And I write portraying a language they do not want to lose, I do not want to let go, so I think I understand writing as the landscape of a voice that must be careful: In the course of my sentences retrieve multi-word the language of my grandparents, provincial or phrases before, which sometimes overlap. Zone words, words of time: because you have to take care of the dog's poem , Damian Rios as he put his book, recalling the poem aptly made Mandesltam murdered.
In recent years, Hebe Uhart mantra repeated a phrase like "it is clear that for me to write is to write his own ballad, a discourse that goes only death ... I had tirelessly Hebe on a trip to the province saw a woman "sitting in favor of the river" ... That statement is worth something huge, beyond measure, that is, with all measures: literature or that phrase up, which is, itself flooding. Write walks to the research of the passage between the smallest and trivial to get the references I want eternal. It seems that poets braided everyday with the historical continuum, without a plan, without comfort, without permission. Also writing is defined by what we can not define, a Russian said "Living is not crossing a field and I copied it ... I copied it to the Russian and I shot him I wanted to quit writing forever ... I think that was the phrase of a letter which is now in a poem of mine because, like him, sad and said sure, "a happy man is always right" ...
But also, I have this, as the poet says grumpy Ricardo Zelarayán, that "the desire to play all the music keys is down" ... So I think that writing is put together but not all ... because bringing a few phrases of poetry becomes words work as when life runs and passes the cloth a beautiful way old, lost or entreperdidos, in forgotten, unusual familiar terms. Poetry is the work of words in the sense that Rosa was reading Nicolás Osvaldo Lamborghini as "a literature of sentences" to assemble a rare books independence, autonomy of a singular life. Work reasons a capture step on the road, heading for worst as Beckett wrote, in that sense of failure or ungrammaticality that gives the most tremendous joy when we found when we say, failure is in the Syntax ordinary, common, not know how to use the subjunctive, but that literature really does succeed, a failure of triumph, then, a real romance, stuck in the words of one. And so I'm
and understand that poetry as a work of words and phrases becomes a direct novel , that few understand in Wind northwest of Hugo Savino, made direct novel short forms, as in Barthes thought Incidents where the author gets only to watch ... and so fascinated could write. I think a poetry or literature in this case is different because poetry is only a phenomenon of concentration or intensity, completely oblivious to the gender difference, such that only reassure critics, ratings that are provided after the author , who is always late, always in the future past that no longer read but still haranguing formulas.
The shortest way glimpse as poetry, as literature, I always return, as in life, cruel irony or terrible holiness, supernaturalism, and the anointing that gripped Libertella Hector in his last books with bits of their own. And so in them was life.
Poetry as a novel direct-repeat, in person, with proper names because they only make a one relationship with things, an unforgivable social frieze, the opposite of polysemy, parody, art, metaphor plowed all spent last stages of procedures as they learned the history formalist criticism but read widely and long tiring to literature without even touching it. So heartfelt poetry is a true limit of the words or the words more performative in the world. Following Frege may be recalled that proper names are like abbreviated descriptions, an assumption that is contrary to traditional theory, where name is earlier described. The proper name is the defining description of the subject ... where the arbitrariness of the sign down. The name is the last limit of the concretion literary style a real person.
work without any project, such as "Letters of a settler" Uhart or Sunday when, in childhood, in Concepción, the route we were going to go see cars. Together and put a number in another, such as semantic Shklovsky said that getting the difference. Appropriate because it is definitely good words and return to them the meaning they have for you. And I repeat to Savino: "I am interested in what exists: the world what I write: if you scored the mix: the portrait on the border with the resemblance."
Laura Estrin
0 comments:
Post a Comment