domingo, 24 de diciembre de 2006
martes, 19 de diciembre de 2006
Reto al olvido
(Juliana Boersner)
El domingo pasado, 17 de diciembre, murió Pálmenez Yarza, una de las escritoras más importantes de nuestro país. Hablé de ella hace unos meses en la ponencia que presenté en Buenos Aires cuando hablaba del tema de la emergencia de la voz autorial femenina en nuestro país. Ella tuvo la osadía, no solamente de decirse autora, sino de ceder su nombre al título de su primer poemario, Pálmenez Yarza (1936).
Hoy sólo atino a transcribir uno de sus primeros poemas, Reto al olvido:
Sé para mi constancia
música de río sin término.
Sé en mi soledad, fantasma,
sé penumbra!
No hagas nunca la noche en mi cielo
sin luna y sin estrellas.
Vete sin irte
como la brisa
Llévame siempre
como una música ausente.
Perenniza tus crepúsculos.
Siempre estaré despidiendo:
Yo en la playa y tú en el barco,
florecido tu pañuelo
y siempre levando el ancla.
No te vayas del todo
alma-fuego de mi higuera.
Aún cuando no te vea
sigue marchitando noches
con tu estío y mi desvelo.
Amárrate bien al alma
con tus raíces tan nuevas,
que son más míos tus sueños!
http://www.espacioblog.com/ciberescrituras/post/2006/12/19/reto-al-olvido
El domingo pasado, 17 de diciembre, murió Pálmenez Yarza, una de las escritoras más importantes de nuestro país. Hablé de ella hace unos meses en la ponencia que presenté en Buenos Aires cuando hablaba del tema de la emergencia de la voz autorial femenina en nuestro país. Ella tuvo la osadía, no solamente de decirse autora, sino de ceder su nombre al título de su primer poemario, Pálmenez Yarza (1936).
Hoy sólo atino a transcribir uno de sus primeros poemas, Reto al olvido:
Sé para mi constancia
música de río sin término.
Sé en mi soledad, fantasma,
sé penumbra!
No hagas nunca la noche en mi cielo
sin luna y sin estrellas.
Vete sin irte
como la brisa
Llévame siempre
como una música ausente.
Perenniza tus crepúsculos.
Siempre estaré despidiendo:
Yo en la playa y tú en el barco,
florecido tu pañuelo
y siempre levando el ancla.
No te vayas del todo
alma-fuego de mi higuera.
Aún cuando no te vea
sigue marchitando noches
con tu estío y mi desvelo.
Amárrate bien al alma
con tus raíces tan nuevas,
que son más míos tus sueños!
http://www.espacioblog.com/ciberescrituras/post/2006/12/19/reto-al-olvido
miércoles, 13 de diciembre de 2006
martes, 12 de diciembre de 2006
Per aquesta senda ningú més que jo aquesta tarda de tardor
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXH986Iz5_k
domingo, 10 de diciembre de 2006
Quizás ya no sea yo cuando me encuentren...
Casiopea (http://www.cancioneros.com/nc.php?NM=248)
(Silvio Rodríguez) [Cancionero de Silvio Rodríguez]
Como una gota fui de la marea
la playa me hizo grano de la arena.
Fui punto en multitud por donde fui
nadie me detectó y así aprendí.
Cuando creí colmada la tarea
volví mi corazón a Casiopea.
Cumplí celosamente nuestro plan:
por un millón de años esperar.
Hoy llevo el doble dando coordenadas
pero nadie contesta mi llamada.
¿Qué puede haber pasado a mi señal?
¿Será que me he quedado sin hogar?.
Hoy sobrevivo apenas a mi suerte
lejano de mi estrella de mi gente.
El trance me ha mostrado otra lección:
el mundo propio siempre es el mejor.
Me voy debilitando lentamente
Quizás ya no sea yo cuando me encuentren.
(Silvio Rodríguez) [Cancionero de Silvio Rodríguez]
Como una gota fui de la marea
la playa me hizo grano de la arena.
Fui punto en multitud por donde fui
nadie me detectó y así aprendí.
Cuando creí colmada la tarea
volví mi corazón a Casiopea.
Cumplí celosamente nuestro plan:
por un millón de años esperar.
Hoy llevo el doble dando coordenadas
pero nadie contesta mi llamada.
¿Qué puede haber pasado a mi señal?
¿Será que me he quedado sin hogar?.
Hoy sobrevivo apenas a mi suerte
lejano de mi estrella de mi gente.
El trance me ha mostrado otra lección:
el mundo propio siempre es el mejor.
Me voy debilitando lentamente
Quizás ya no sea yo cuando me encuentren.
Fascismo del siglo XXI...
Fascismo es represión a las luchas del pueblo y sus organizaciones, control de los medios de comunicación, favorecer a grandes monopolios explotadores, discriminación racial, sexual, uso permanente de la mentira y odio, mucho odio. (En un muro de Oxaca).
http://www.gennarocarotenuto.it/dblog/articolo.asp?articolo=844
http://www.gennarocarotenuto.it/dblog/articolo.asp?articolo=844
jueves, 7 de diciembre de 2006
post de santoka...
http://litbyfire.blogspot.com/2006/05/santoka-again.html
Santoka, again
This from his diary: "I was very patient again today. My begging conduct was not all that bad, though I hit on occasional snags. Despite some unpleasant moments, I managed not to lose my temper."I love the thought of a wandering zen monk who can't help getting angry when he is begging. I would too. He's my kind of monk, just struggling to get along. Struggling, no matter where he goes, only with himself.And some excerpts on his drinking: "For some reason my head feels heavy, stomach and bowels no good. Probably the after effects of the shochu (cheap potato wine) I had last night, first I've had in some time. That's what's the matter, I'm sure. Makes you wonder about yourself." And this: "I stopped at a sake brewery and found the sake very good and cheap--before I knew it I'd had one, two, three drinks. Very tasty, though it doesn't seem to have set very well on my stomach." And: "I no longer need alcohol, no longer need calmotin, no longer need Geld, no longer need a Frau... Well a lie is a lie, but a feeling you have is a feeling you have.""Ah--sake, sake, sake--up to now I've lived for sake, and this is what it's gotten me. Sake--devil or buddha, poison or curative?""I'm walking around with a case of intestinal cramps. If I stopped eating and laid off the sake for two or three days, drank only water and stayed in bed, I could get well--but I'm afraid that's wholly beyond me.""People view all things, all events in terms of what they value in life, with that as their standard. I look at everything through the eyes of sake. Gazing far off at a mountain, I think how I'd like a little drink; I see some nice vegetables and think how well they'd go with the sake. If I had such-and-such sum, I could polish off a flask; if I had this much, I could buy a bottle. You may laugh--but that's just the way I am--nothing I can do about it."***Fell asleep right after dinner, there was no way around it, and of course woke past midnight and was awake off and on all night. I feel good this morning. I wanted this time alone with my mind, conscious, then dreaming, then neither conscious nor dreaming. I had the kind of dreams which, transcribed in the morning, sound horrific and threatening, but I don't think that was their meaning--I dreamed them so calmly, troubled at times, trying to solve their dilemmas. The dilemmas were cosmic--legions of rate coming up from the harbor, a crater in the middle of my land, an acre across, perfectly round and deep, toward which, into which, I was being pulled by some force, some promise. It's a big full moon coming. Often the emotion that dreams carry obscures the message. Especially when the message is strange and strong. Other times, dreams are all emotion. Long day today. After class, the student creative writing awards ceremony, and a reading by Peter Cooley. Hugs and tears all around, then a reception for everybody, then a banquet for the students. I am fond of them; I only wish it could be lunch!
Santoka, again
This from his diary: "I was very patient again today. My begging conduct was not all that bad, though I hit on occasional snags. Despite some unpleasant moments, I managed not to lose my temper."I love the thought of a wandering zen monk who can't help getting angry when he is begging. I would too. He's my kind of monk, just struggling to get along. Struggling, no matter where he goes, only with himself.And some excerpts on his drinking: "For some reason my head feels heavy, stomach and bowels no good. Probably the after effects of the shochu (cheap potato wine) I had last night, first I've had in some time. That's what's the matter, I'm sure. Makes you wonder about yourself." And this: "I stopped at a sake brewery and found the sake very good and cheap--before I knew it I'd had one, two, three drinks. Very tasty, though it doesn't seem to have set very well on my stomach." And: "I no longer need alcohol, no longer need calmotin, no longer need Geld, no longer need a Frau... Well a lie is a lie, but a feeling you have is a feeling you have.""Ah--sake, sake, sake--up to now I've lived for sake, and this is what it's gotten me. Sake--devil or buddha, poison or curative?""I'm walking around with a case of intestinal cramps. If I stopped eating and laid off the sake for two or three days, drank only water and stayed in bed, I could get well--but I'm afraid that's wholly beyond me.""People view all things, all events in terms of what they value in life, with that as their standard. I look at everything through the eyes of sake. Gazing far off at a mountain, I think how I'd like a little drink; I see some nice vegetables and think how well they'd go with the sake. If I had such-and-such sum, I could polish off a flask; if I had this much, I could buy a bottle. You may laugh--but that's just the way I am--nothing I can do about it."***Fell asleep right after dinner, there was no way around it, and of course woke past midnight and was awake off and on all night. I feel good this morning. I wanted this time alone with my mind, conscious, then dreaming, then neither conscious nor dreaming. I had the kind of dreams which, transcribed in the morning, sound horrific and threatening, but I don't think that was their meaning--I dreamed them so calmly, troubled at times, trying to solve their dilemmas. The dilemmas were cosmic--legions of rate coming up from the harbor, a crater in the middle of my land, an acre across, perfectly round and deep, toward which, into which, I was being pulled by some force, some promise. It's a big full moon coming. Often the emotion that dreams carry obscures the message. Especially when the message is strange and strong. Other times, dreams are all emotion. Long day today. After class, the student creative writing awards ceremony, and a reading by Peter Cooley. Hugs and tears all around, then a reception for everybody, then a banquet for the students. I am fond of them; I only wish it could be lunch!
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