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unclassifiable writers: the strangeness (second part)

DGD: Landscape 30 (clonografía) 2001

* *

2

* Science speaks of mystery, but it almost always in the tone of what still has not managed to uncover (and added an implied "But there we are") and the latter word is synonymous with winning (hence the phrase as the conquests of science is as usual and festive). Western mentality lists only works if the world and not a real thirst for knowledge but because cataloging equivalent to dominate. It is classified as ordered, standardized, weighed and measured, hence the unclassifiable only be understood as "still has not been pigeonholed in its right place," meaning, "which is on track to be ordained "while it is not, will be watched with a growing distrust (and almost say with growing fear) because it represents the chaos.

The same is true all systems of thought as his positivism encounters prevail areas where the paradoxical, contradictory, ambiguous, the irreducible, these areas are treated as mysteries, enigmas, charades ready to be solved. It happens, of course, in literature, and here we talk about exactly this area uncertain, fleeting, elusive, in which certain writers have sailed, some by fate, others by vocation, almost always out of the channels through which flows so as euphemistically called "mainstream." And although others (some almost impermeable) to the media, from time to time and call them the rescue, which is meritorious, but rarely occurs through an effort of understanding and rescue rather that be done in the same tone in which science speaks of "anomalies" and the religion of "heretical currents, ie, in a word to reinforce the canon.

good example is found in a book published in 1996 titled Atypical in Latin American literature (ILH-CBC Printing Office, UBA, Buenos Aires, 1996, 431 pp.), Edited by Noah Jitrik and joint presentations at a meeting of writers with an aura of "count of the century" every writer invited to this conference talks about some author more or less linked to the strangeness. This "strange literary account of the twentieth century" therefore proposed its own euphemism: "atypical." Among all the items used to refer to the unclassifiable, that is one of the least insulting, but not without its dark area. And is that using the term "atypical" is invoked, automatically, a "local color" as opposed to which we can highlight to the non-typical. Saying "secret writer" implies all those who are not secret, while saying "writer atypical" typical back to everyone else. In reviewing the rate of Atypical in Latin American literature is remarkable that only three of the authors of these trials used the word atypical in their titles, as if the other tests raised a kind of embarrassment, discomfort.

however, why what words have been replaced "atypical"? Sonia Romero Gorski gives your Felisberto Hernández article entitled "Eccentricities at water's edge." Graciela Gliemmo contains the text "We're cool, crazy and dangerous: the Colombian nothingness." Other essayists opt for euphemisms more intricate, well, Ana Maria Zubieta called Arturo Cancela "A best-seller forgotten." But even these texts are included in a book with a specific name that bathes them all, so the reader infers that "atypical" is something between eccentric, brilliant, crazy, dangerous or forgotten.

The volume includes the essay "Antonio Porchia, an inhabitant of the universe" Miguel Espejo, and here, exceptionally, this title produces a curious inversion. Are not we all "inhabitants of the universe", which corresponds to a typical? With that phrase, mirror likes to allude to a simultaneity: the Argentine maestro Antonio Porchia, the most unclassifiable of all authors unclassifiable- Unlike other human beings, living in the universe so ubiquitous, as we knew him his friend and disciple, the Argentinian poet Roberto Juarroz. For a close reading, the title plays with the redundant and obvious in order to rescue the typical and atypical: we are all in the universe, but only a few are really its inhabitants, as was Porchia. However, that finding it enough to single out the text and avoid the cover with the inferences that handle all the others? Is it enough to understand, no need to differentiate Antonio Porchia of other authors anthologized, but that should not be equal to each other through contaminated letterhead?

In the list of authors studied in this book, which like all is incomplete and arbitrarily, it is understood that each of these writers holds a very personal "atipificidad", but still may surprise some readers the inclusion of names as Silvina Ocampo, Elena Poniatowska, Martin Luis Guzman and Juan Gelman, who clearly enjoy the dissemination and prestige that are considered unfairly absent in the other figures studied (the "atypical"). The authors of the respective trials could be argued that, although Ocampo, Poniatowska, Guzman and Gelman are "typical" (ie, within the inference Overall the book are "known"), there are areas where their works that can properly be considered "atypical" within the meaning of parts marginal areas subversive little-known texts that are unorthodox or difficult to understand.

But is not this same reasoning can be applied to any writer "known", and especially the most famous? If accepted "typical writers atypical areas, then why not include Borges, to mention the more immediate example of a celebrity author and typified by unknown on its slopes less studied? Any big name in the literature, therefore, could included in the book. What, then, the "atypical"?

When you say "white" or "black", these concepts are understood as poles of a scale that connects them, are located between "shades of gray" as required by those who reject the "Manichean." The book Atypical in Latin American literature therefore creates a scale that would leave "as at least unusual," but this, instead of arming the reader, inviting and almost forces to establish the scale opposed: the ranging from "most to least typical." Both scales would be connected at a point environment in which writers could be found that are both "less atypical" and "less typical." You can substitute the word and talk about writers' most well-known unknown "," kinder than dangerous, "" more superficial underground "and so on. In that case would Ocampo, Poniatowska, Guzman and Gelman, authors also highlight in an imaginary anthology of the "typical" (anthology undertakes no because then the "typical" is revealed for what it is, a derogatory item.)

But these accommodations are arbitrary in particular cases are examined. Miguel de Cervantes fought to be something more than "the author of Don Quixote ", so did about Michael Ende Neverending Story or Julio Cortázar Rayuela after . Few are the authors 'typical' who have not struggled with the definition (it means to be petrified, boxes, turned predictable), and the result is that the critical uses that attitude with the primary aim of classifying with renewed momentum. Moreover, in the scales of binary thinking every moment increases the understanding that every writer "atypical" necessarily aspire to be established. Is not the term "atypical" most of the criminalization unpunished because it arises from outside, usually on authors who can not defend themselves?

In the world of science, studying the exceptions serve to prove the strength and resilience of the rules, and subsequently to confirm, the same is true when analyzing the literary work of the "atypical." Typically not designed as defined in the dictionary, "characteristic of a type" or "peculiar to a group, country, region, period," but emphatically as the standard . Down with the certainty that only thoroughly discusses the most typical, can be found there a multitude of outliers; there is no exceptions to the rules abound in most monolithic, of no use that heterodoxy is revealed at each step rather than "default" from orthodoxy but as its very foundation. The atypical still looks like chaos, ie the typical threat that is order.

In Atypical in Latin American literature, the presence of Antonio Porchia radiates something that goes beyond casual items such as "atypical" and is translated into something that can only be called strange . Although the text of Miguel Espejo is respectful, choose two brackets: one is the literature other indefinable marginality Antonio Porchia (1885-1968), author of one book, marvelous, called Voices . [1] In the first case, the literary world is seen as a standard that ignores everything that threatens its stability. In the second case with society. In both cases it is an order that is challenged from within by a chaos that can not be understood, and can not be understood because it tends to define the terms of its opposite, order.

In general, all quantities studied in this way suffer large deformations: literature, society, life and work of a particular author. The rule is chained to the "abnormal" the orthodox to unorthodox, rule their defenses, but not in a dialogue, but in a witch hunt. The standard orthodoxy, the rule requiring combat and destroy what questions to finally "mainstream", ie for use as evidence of the strength of the rule, the strength of orthodoxy, the permanence of the established order. The Western mind would collapse if he contemplated the "atypical" independently of the typical, ie with a name that automatically alluded to its opposite. Antonio Porchia's presence in this book, however, pronounce the name: strangeness. And perhaps, even better, estrangement . A stranger who, for once, not measured against the non-strange, but wraps it in the same aura of otherness . Perhaps nothing is more subversive.

* Note

[1] can be seen in this blog, a text devoted to Porchia, clicking here.

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[ Read the third part.]

* *

Places To Get A Brazilian Wax In Worcester, Ma

BLOOD IS FIRE AIR

this canvas has shifting names
this canvas changes everyday
so the dreams I dream today
will soon be faint and fade  

my veins unfold and the single line
describes neither river nor path
but a chain of random thoughts
a feeling flow, a stringing row

and blood is air and air is blood
they’ve tied the tightest bond
and every other solid form of love
is just a heavy soar

bleeding my breath away
breathing in my blood
no waste, no glory, no right, no wrong
just a drop after a drop

a drawing of nonsense
drawn with blood and adolescence  
once in hope, in faith, in lust for essence
a line of the hand:
a line of inheritance.   

a dot, a dot, a line.
life’s in-gravity unfold
this red spill is not a story
it’s self explanatory

and blood is air and air is blood
they’ve tied the tightest bond
no waste, no glory, no right, no wrong
just a drop after a drop

I tie my shoelace every morning
I untie it every night
I tie my shoelace every morning
I untie it every night

Table De Multiplication 100 X 100

NURSES

Start a fire, light a crime,
spend a dime on gasoline.
Skip the blame an rise a flame,
feel no shame to strike the scene.

Burn the shelter, kill the deream,
cut the ties and feed the steam.
Press beyond and break the bonds,
get the heat of what is real.

Fire nurses
take care of everything,
Just dial and get your 
Fire nurses deal.
When nothing's to be said
incinerate your fears.

Start a fire, light a crime,
spend a night on gasoline.
Skip the blame an rise a flame,
feel no shame to strike the scene.

Burn the shelter, kill the deream,
cut the ties and feed the steam.
Press beyond and break the bonds,
get the heat of what is real.

That's the way to show you'll take no more,
that's the step it takes to fall,
that's the way to loose control
of all the words that you've been told

That's the way to show you'll take no more
that's the step it takes to fall,
that's the way to loose control
of all the things that you've been told

Desmume Pokemon Gold Stuck

unclassifiable writers: the strangeness (first part)

DGD: Landscape 11 (Clonografía), 2001

*

Valentina, Erick
*

1

*

One of the characteristics of Western binary thinking is the dialectical trap: it is impossible to conceive the "high" without the "low", the "far" without the "close", the "old" without the "modern." Any adjective implies, in contrast to his opponent. Therefore it is said that power depends on your opponents, and only a mentality binary can say with total conviction, that the exception proves the rule. This mechanism is presented, of course, in the field of art. For example, any understatement that tries to qualify the literature "unorthodox" reaffirmed (or recreated) to the Orthodox. When Ruben Dario used the term "rare" to refer to artists be reduced to formulas or currents, not unaware that the same word indirectly devoted to the opposite: non-rare, namely those that were automatically defined as "normal." Even the phrase "secret writer" seems to stand out automatically, like it or not, what is not is secret, that is, to what is disclosed.

* Otherwise, if the word "secret" is dangerous, not only because it seemed to suggest that it is writers who failed to publish but, worse, they hid themselves from the society. In cases where cheating, called "underground" to this stream (from the English name underground) only strengthen the rule of the superficial, but otherwise there might be termed "transparent" to the strange that the literature is a powerful testimony of the unclassifiable, as irreducible of the paradox of the simultaneous.

*
unclassifiable writers talk about here, those who seem more reluctant or resistant to the ratings, but you need to realize that since the term "unclassifiable writers" is itself a classification, just as they are classified unclassifiable. Since acts of inventory, catalog and rank are inevitable for our mentality, which knows only guided by the categories, labels and definitions summary, I have chosen the nickname "unclassifiable writers" not because it is more correct or more just, but because it is the least calls misleading: it is the only one that contains its own negation, the only one to doubt herself openly. The other two are benign, "secret" and "transparent" are not free of ambiguity, the use should be explained that the writers alluded to are not "secrets" because they have hidden (though some have done so deliberately) but because showed no interest in "get noticed" by your company (in this line is but a step to call them "invisible") and if they qualify as "transparent" should be added that it is not because you could see through of them (though metaphorical level is for many of these writers) but did not play that game because of darkness graduates that is called "socioliteraria life."

* (Due to the nature of the topic at hand, none of the benchmarks used here can be understood as fixed and immutable: all are ambiguous and elusive, and contain more exceptions than rules. For example, refusal to participate in the prestigious game of "culture" is not a determinant in any way, some of these writers expressed a categorical rejection of the self, it is true, but others agreed, each in its own way , play that game.)

* There have been many ways of calling, to allude to this form of the strangeness to which these writers represent and embody. Rubén Darío since called "the rare" is the label most commonly used, undoubtedly due to the prestige of the Nicaraguan poet, but as we have seen, this name is not free of uncertainty and trap, nor are the most common, including "heterodox" and "underground." Almost every critic who is interested in these figures suggests new euphemisms for no one not realize that all these formulas fail when try to refer to these persons sui generis .

*

When any media used clichés like the phrase "writer of repute", jump behind something like an authority that seems completely independent of the media: if something is mentioned with respect (although it is formal and purely procedural), and if these terms are repeated, is raised in the hear an understatement for "For something to be." Any reference about what recognized is always thinking that happens in an abstract world, pure, dispassionate, in which recognition is given by itself, "by own merits, and therefore does not depend, as it actually happens, "an avalanche of social, cultural, political, and especially mechanisms of propaganda and publicity, as in the case of any" product. "

* We know that propaganda and advertising is based on repetition: the more one repeats a name most likely to increase the collective memory to hold it. Repetition generates recognition: the "product" is beginning to be recognized, ie, begins to have prestige, which is what is meant as popularity. The media make us inferred that if a name is repeated is "on merit", and certainly so in many cases, but the accent is not on merit but on the consensus that defines what is meritorious and what is not. And that consensus is very simple: it is commendable that repeats and repeats what is praiseworthy. We, the supposed beneficiaries of the media (in fact we are their customers), we know that the media can not cover everything and make a selection. The funny thing is that, although we suspect that in this selection "nor are all who are or are all those" while we think they are, are , and those not, not deserve to exist (exist is to have the merits necessary to "be in the public eye.")

* We know that information is selective and discriminatory, but we believe sufficient to meet the media for its information: the media can not cover all boast of what is happening in the world anytime, anywhere, and not even try, not understanding that we do not mention what does not exist, but that is not worth that has no merit, that has not been recognized by the consensus. Therefore, we do not mind ignoring everything that does not have enough prestige, that is, lacking the necessary merit to be "in the spotlight." Shine, be noticeable or recognizable is the coveted goal or "success", the flaw involves the dreaded "failure": not being able to emerge from obscurity and anonymity.

* And since anyone can draw attention from the extravagance, or the squalid rant (there is the stereotypical story of Herostratus, allegedly burned the Library of Alexandria in order to achieve the persistence of its name), there are strict rules for the "ascension", ie to demonstrate the merits. Who does not follow that the Decalogue (based on when lust, cannibalism, and the double standard) not get official recognition and beyond the canon .

* There is another inference, even more aggressive: that perhaps the author had a certain prestige in "their" time, but he has lost and therefore no longer "in force", ie no longer belongs to "current affairs" has lost interference in the present, which means it is out of history. Here another greedy commonplace acts referred to progression prestige / fame / glory "is worse having had and lost than never have had."

*

The big word that relates to this is "success." The language of the media and its implications clearly show that when using that word is not spoken of a human triumph, artistic or spiritual, but a victory of the individual's ability to get noticed and convince the consensus of the value and authority of the work personal. The understatement is overwhelming: he does not take that tremendous struggle against anonymity, devoid of all authority (if not claim for itself the roost , nobody is going to grant it, but not if it does not accepted the terms and following the stringent rules set to claim a place in the cultural milieu). And in the rhetoric of power that governs the West, there is no greater contradiction that of an author without authority .

*

can imagine that for every act or event mentioned by the media there are countless events that they do not collect, in this vast body of negligible (which comes with the media, as is understood, it significant ) are, perhaps, many events that could be called insignificant, but also others who could help to redefine the table of values \u200b\u200bdetermined for the media what they mean and what does not. This vast and uncertain territory No Man's Land is the media that ranges from "negligible" to "not significant priority."

* Large inference can be treated here only in passing is that it exemplifies a commonplace among anthropologists: "The happy people have no history." Just story that involves the opposite of "happiness" (as defined deceptively fragile and as is its opposite), conflict, devastation, disaster, tragedy. Not free the link between history and prey (or between happiness and insignificance) and, in fact, it comes from one of the largest media vendetta against the unclassifiable. A shady implied implies that the "happy people" are not developed or evolved and are alien to progress. The word "happiness" in this context, inferred primitivism. In a word, the phrase "happy people" means they are stupid, because intelligence is bitterness and cynicism, or is not. This is the league that is usually done between writers and unclassifiable naive.

* For all this to Henry Miller comes to exclaim:

*

be silent all day, not seeing any newspaper, not to hear any radio, not hear any gossip absolutely and completely abandoned laziness, to be utterly and completely indifferent to the fate of the world, is the finest medicine you can take. Slowly release the book culture, problems melt and dissolve, the ligámenes break, thought, when you surrender to it worthy, it is very primitive, the body is transformed into a wonderful new instrument, is look at the plants, rocks and fish with different eyes, one wonders what led the frantic struggles that men are involved [...]. Newspapers beget lies, hatred, greed, envy, suspicion, fear, malice. We do not need the truth as he serves us the daily press. What we need is peace, solitude and leisure. [ Colossus of Maroussi, 1941.]

* "How irresponsible!" Snapped the man with half , unable to conceive of someone who does not want to be "aware" what happens in the world. But Miller does not talk about irresponsible, quite the opposite: grasping what could be the guy if you get rid of what the media with him (we are not aware of the world but in the current media): only then could truly engage with the world. Miller, the great unclassifiable, know that we are only committed to the media, that is, with the reality they present, that what we call the world is the image built expressly to build the man who must inhabit. Miller's work is testimony to his intense commitment, the impulse that leads incorruptible not narcissistic self-gratification but to the need of redefinition, beginning with the words peace (a waiver of the wars of all kinds which is the daily) alone (a rejection of gregariousness compact needed to keep intact the pyramid of power) and leisure (a claim of interior space and time to which the prevailing image of the world attacks and numbing).

* *

*

[An abbreviated version of this text (fully presented here,

in several parts) was read in the context of XXXII International Book Fair

Palace Mining, March 5, 2011.]

* * *

[ Read the second part.]

* *

Drivers Per Pctv 150e 32 Bit

Metaphor: the rhythm of life

DGD: Landscape 14 (clonografía), 2001

*

* Argentine poet Mario Morales (Pehuajó, 1936), author of Letters to my blood (1958), shared with Robert Juarroz the direction of the magazine Poetry = Poetry to late fifties and early sixties. In number 8 of this magazine, Morales issued a poem to reflect on the making poetry in its highest expression. The untitled poem begins with this stanza:

*

In the rhythm, the rhythm
a look when it breaks
and seeks its chips into sleep.

*
This boot is perfect. Repeating the first verse in the second creates a rhythm, almost like a composer who sets the tempo the beginning of a score. The initial image is thus determined by a rhythm: a look when it breaks in waking and then seeks re dreaming. The original impulse of the poem is so high, powerful and torrential, the poet does not even have time (or less need) to tell us why or how to break a look. This would be another poem officer, a fork that the poet does not drink, seized by the urgent need to be faithful to the lightning that have fallen into. In these three verses is the seed of a whole collection of poems, which will grow into a tree in sight, in waking, the dream of the reader. For even when the image is not developed, the recipient recognizes a clear way, certainly is true that the fragmented wakefulness look at a pace that is complemented when, in the dream, that look looks re . The poem goes like this:

*

The insane pace, pure, a clam
colored deaf, angry,
decapitated with all the juice of the day
his heart still burning sword smoke.

*

Here the poet makes an abrupt change of registration. This second image appears elusive, perhaps a little giddy. We can imagine a color clam deaf and angry, but not how to be beheaded with an insane pace and pure, and even less with all the juice of the day, much less to be beheaded by "burning" (the great danger of gerunds ) "even" (a fake bridge) "the heart of rock and smoke."

* The image of the first stanza, even with all its complexity, was perfectly represented in the reader's mind, but instead, here is a bundle of proposals that fail the crystalline perfection of the three opening lines. Adjectives like insane, pure, dull, angry, do nothing to support as many nouns, rhythm, clams, colors, juice, day, heart, sword, smoke ... The strength of the home is diluted in this sequel whose image is so farfetched, that we spend waiting for it as the following passage illuminates the shadows.

*

unleashed in all the tenderness
in the hair of a sleeping woman.

*
Here the poet, as tired of the inability of the above, go back to simple. Has masterfully used the reader quickly to seek out new rhythms in each stanza. And therein lies the simplicity of the statement: the rhythm of tenderness unleashed in the hair of a sleeping woman. The image is intimate, eloquent, accurate. In the previous stanza, the poet, almost surreal frenzy, requiring us to imagine how a clam could be beheaded, not only that, but decapitated "with all the juice of the day", which somehow burning "heart of sword and smoke. "

*

The immense effort required to imagine that a clam has a heart of rock and smoke, and that has colored deaf and angry, and they make an insane pace and pure in this one verse becomes the opposite: the smoothness of an eloquent metaphor that does not require any mental representation. Although we had never noticed that the hair of a sleeping woman contains a wealth of tenderness unleashed, now costs us no effort or removed (only wonder, only recognition) the realization that this is not only possible but real, everyday.

* (The sharpness of the image transforms to an act and becomes both a symbol and transparency: the same way that a woman sleeping, her hair loose, shedding networks, headbands or barrettes or simply undoing a braid, is freed from all Typical containers wakefulness including clothing and self-awareness day. The naked woman for love as for the sleep-both body and consciousness are unleashed, "and the act secret, invisible by custom, is returned to us in its purity by the sleeper who sees everything and that it restricted during the day, released in more reflective time.)

*

clouds in a tower
exploding in the distance like a blind man.

* In this new verse the poet attains enlightenment and fall. "A bell of clouds" is an image so precise, so amazing, so true, that the reader gasps and stops, stunned and ecstatic: How many times have you seen the clouds, and how many times have you seen a steeple. But the meeting is both a revelation and a shock: the reader almost does not move to keep the discovery of this picture, realizing that the clouds bear sometimes (or always, as we see it) a sacred liturgical church steeple, while concert and call. Clouds like bells ringing ... Mass calling, ie the ritual, communion, unity.

* In four words the poet has become reality and reality has forced us to kneel and mentally, before the liturgy that has been revealed. The reader need not be part of any religion, even the most recalcitrant atheist has felt the beauty of a bell in musical action, on the roll of call. Convey this image to the clouds is given a religious sense of nature, is a call to hear the song of heaven constant and permanent. The poet has reached satori .

* And then the second verse. Again betrayal, contrived image that requires effort, almost sacrifice. What needs to see the bell tower of clouds with the fact that a blind man to break out away? Do blind pop? "Explode in the distance? How far away from what? To explain this image, the reader almost has to forget the satori that the poet has been launched with the first verse. First of all, the league is done through the always dangerous gerund: "exploding." What was a pristine image, almost primal, is chained to something that is alien to him through a gerund that turns dark and impenetrable. Satori The reader is pulled. The bell tower of clouds exploding in the distance like a blind man. A blind man is the one who does not see. The reader did not see, hear the song of the clouds, celestial bells. It is therefore bound to see, then, not to see. And worse, explode in the distance.

* In the first verse, the poet had driven all previous rhythms (the gaze when it breaks, the clam to be beheaded, that of a sleeping woman's hair) to the stratum sacred. With the second verse breaks the pace up and carried away by a murky image, illegible, heavy. Struggle, perhaps, with that immense magnitude that is released as is touched by poetry.

*

Anywhere, instant, things or rhythm,
is the place, time, pace and things of death,
landscapes,
as a circumcision at the height of the words,
like a sponge sleepwalking
founding rate of craft and sign
a still image while dislocating.

*
In this stanza the poet withdraws: not want to know what he did, he becomes angry and deaf, he forgets the findings, carried away by the dark pulse. Write, even evil. He says: "In any place, time, things, or rhythm," as if "any" could illuminate "things" (in this case would be "any"). It begins with "In" when it should delete it if you say "Any place is the place of death." The reader is to understand this anger, this voluntary deafness, and it is said that the poet spoke, therefore, the rate of death.

*

Without attempting an interpretation and based solely on the images, the reader comes to understand, therefore, that the poet but not talking about their break-beats, ie "a circumcision at the height of the words, this fatality that disintegrate to reaching the heights and returns to low. It seems, therefore, the subject of the poem, and so the poet tells us it is like "a sponge sleepwalker" (strange image that parallels that of decapitated clam) "founded" (the gerund mortal again, when should perhaps say "holster") "a craft and pace of sign / a still image while dislocating."

* However, the poet does not seem to stop once entered your subject (the rate of death), at the same time makes clear that pursues, or is haunted by "something else, difficult and painful: a still image which dislocated the time (it release). And here reaches its highest indirect evidence: make us see the whole picture, though it seems still, is actually moving: all photography is film. An image that actually manage to be quiet, dislocaría time. Time is the pace death. All previous images are transformed into two levels. In the first, the look when it breaks, clam decapitated, the hair of a sleeping woman, the bell tower of clouds, containing mobility, ie the rate of death. However, in the second level of transfiguration these images have been immobilized on the verse in a way that dislocates time.

* Faced with the horror that leads to discovery of the rate of death, the poet takes a first image of himself: a sponge sleepwalking, is a sentient being who gets it all, all-absorbing, in fatal insomnia and unfathomable, and I wanted to create "a pace of trade and sign ", ie, a single still image that while dislocated. All runs, including the immobile: the poem could only find a picture has still to disrupt the rhythm of death, which again beats all means life.

*

The poem ends this way:

*

is the death rate
drawing this question, this maelstrom of sounds

accurate for a poem without beginning or
the beginning of a wing still

imaged by the tree one night fell from the white eye of a bird in flight and woke
nails constant of the earth.

*

The poet accepts that even his question ("Is it possible to found a picture has still to dislocate the time?") Is part of the rhythm of death, and the drawing (result) of that pace. Hence the stripping, the poetry that turns on itself: "This sounds swirling exact or to a poem without beginning."

*

The poem concedes defeat: no start on it, ie foundations. Every time you think you begin, what he did was give another version of the same death rate. The second verse of this last stanza contains another fatal gerund: this rate "drawing" to this question of yours, namely that the poet is recognized as spokesman for the rate of death. However, it is marvelous that at once recognizes it as a "whirlwind of sounds accurate." Although recognized as son and spokesman extension rate of death, the poet, in his stubbornness deaf and angry, wanted a glimpse (if found) an other pace.

* So full is dropped onto another image impossible for all the effort required of the reader, "or the beginning of a stationary wing" (note that "the wing still is twin" image quiet ")" imaged by the tree / one night fell from the white eye of a bird in flight / and woke the incessant nail on earth. " And could not imagine without a supreme effort to "color clam deaf, angry, / decapitated with all the juice of the day / your heart still burning and smoke sword" and we find it almost impossible to create the image of a tree imagine a stationary wing while falling white eye of a bird in flight and then awakened to fingernails incessant land.

*

But then the reader, exhausted by forced and terrible journey, he realizes it is perfectly possible to see that image "if the shred. In the final image is the culmination of hubris the poet and the core of the poem: the encounter between the bird and tree. The white eye of a bird in flight (ie the alternative in his eyes) provides a tree which in turn provides the bird and imagine a stationary wing. The image still occurs in both directions: the tree immobilizes the bird in flight, like the bird to the tree viewer.

*

That bird in flight is the tree with its white eye, that is, the whites of your eye ( say, what is not supposed to look), which causes the tree to fall and wake up to the relentless land nails. The latter is a wonderful metaphor for the death rate of the force that seems to draw the living into the low, fatality against which the poet returns. The tree becomes the bird in a still image (a wing stationary), while the bird does the same with the tree. This is not possible in nature, but it is "stately" in the poem (and therefore after the poem is possible in nature ). Deaf and angry, the poet refuses to surrender to the rhythm of death and through a verbal miracle it disrupts: the miracle happens nowhere else in mind, in imagination, in the heart of the reader. The pace of death has been disrupted: the fatality has been reported as conventional transgedible. The poem is the miracle of a still image that establishes the rhythm of life.

* Interestingly, in the same journal in which this poem appeared, Roberto Juarroz published another (later included with the number 32 in the vertical poetry II, 1963) in which he explores the mystery:

*

A mountain of birds
tie the afternoon winds
to sign thinner, but
wind of death is still at large. And choose your banners
round
fair skinned her hair, her laughter
without corners.
And it comes from the bottom of those laughs or hair or flags
to train in the stillness of things,
to invent the cinema of
still and movie longer,
which does not need another projector that a thin body,
as projected in the instant it is filmed.
*
But the wind of death is also seeking a bird,
a body and so fine that it
the film, projection, it finally finished and start another quiet
much more quiet.

*

This poem by Robert Juarroz is more content than Morales and no cholera deaf, images strenuous, but it is an intimate dialogue, a shared pride: as satori two different manifestations. Both poems attempt to "train in the stillness of things," inventing cinema as still "beat the rhythm of death and finally recover other much more quiet stillness : that of the simultaneous (the loose ) . These poets have served the greater hubris: to establish the pace impossible: that of life.

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