Every evening, a hideously painful spasm in the ribs. I read, for a long time, sitting up in bed – the only position I can endure. I’m a poor old wounded Don Quixote, sitting on his arse in his armour at the foot of a tree. Armour is exactly what it feels like, a hoop … More Alphonse Daudet’s house of pain
Our tenacious baroque vocation —the American tendency of looking at words as if they were carnal objects as recent and astonishing as the world they needed to name— and a certain epic spirit in the cultivation of the 20th century aesthetic Left favored that great impetus of the movement founded by Breton. A chapter that … More Juan Sánchez Peláez
A documentary on César Moro. Axé.
Here are some lines from the second poem in this trio. El ojo del crepúsculo desiste de ver quemado vivo el caserío. The entire series is worth studying seriously and this one in particular makes it worthwhile and helpful to have visited Santiago de Chuco. Twice. Afílase lo rudo. Habla escarcela . . . En … More Terceto autóctono
Note: “El escritor argentino y la tradición” is next, so no, you are not free. And it appears that being only seems to exist because time seems to pass. No hay tal yo de conjunto. Grimm, en una excelente declaración del budismo (Die Lehre des Buddha, München, 1917), narra el procedimiento eliminador mediante el cual … More Final nadería
RENOMMÉE DE L’AMOUR L’amour dédicace à l’amour Les jours sans pluie Et comme il convient les beaux jours Pour l’amour et ses préférences Au renom du plus vieil amour À la pluie du mot amour Au seul amour sans regret sans bonheur sans retour À l’avenir des fous Aux fossoyeurs aux gais compagnons du bagne … More César Moro in Paris
Vallejo: Language Itself [I am not sure this title covers it, but a better one is not coming to me, and this has been improved since I posted it … but I am still interested in the question of the title] Borges said Quevedo was a poet of language: “La grandeza de Quevedo es verbal” (“Quevedo,” … More Getting that MLA proposal down to less than 1000 words
El yo no existe. Schopenhauer, que parece arrimarse muchas veces a esa opinión la desmiente tácitamente, otras tantas, no sé si adrede o si forzado a ello por esa basta y zafia metafísica -o más bien ametafísica-, que acecha en los principios mismos del lenguaje. Empero, y pese a tal disparidad, hay un lugar en … More Further nadería
Mérida: my favorite city in Spain and also Mexico, and perhaps one day in Venezuela. Octavio Paz wrote a beautiful essay on it in 1937 and I would like to read this discussion of it on paper. Paz: Mérida, la ciudad moderna, dulce y clara, es el henequén. La vida. La muerte de los campesinos. … More Henequén as social actor: dos lunas en Yucatán
DE UN CAMINANTE ENFERMO QUE SE ENAMORÓ DONDE FUE HOSPEDADO Descaminado, enfermo, peregrino en tenebrosa noche, con pie incierto la confusión pisando del desierto, voces en vano dio, pasos sin tino. Repetido latir, si no vecino, distinto, oyó de can siempre despierto, y en pastoral albergue mal cubierto piedad halló, si no halló camino. Salió … More Góngora 1594
coldhearted scientist وداد 