19.8.10

Once upon an Autumn (4)

Too lazy to right my own interpretation on Ingeborg Bachmann/Paul Celan Correspondence I recommend this interesting post that I found yesterday

and this article

about the subject...

17.8.10

Hasta el instante de sorprender esos antros de insomnio donde se guardan las apariciones"



Los Trabajos de la Poesía

El lejano bramido de una noche cuya verde coraza se abre como un pescado
La infancia de la lluvia con mejillas de invernáculo errante empeñado por el
vapor de las plantas
Las ligaduras sueltas que dejan cicatrices invisibles
La música de dos cuerpos escogidos por el amor para estatuas del fuego
levantadas en una llanura infinita
O en la sombra de un puerto perseguida por una garra de plata
Con las uñas iluminadas como ventanas de hogares distantes en los que
se ve a una pobre muchacha preparando el alimento para las bestias
del sueño
Los rojos candelabros de palmeras donde silba el exilio
Las agujas de sangre viva los pájaros hacia el fin las nubes los trajes de
lentejuelas marinas
Y el golpe de las pisadas en el extraño planeta llamado Tierra
Hacen el gusto a liquen de los días
La paciencia insaciable de los hombres
La ahogada del invierno arrojada a otra costa por el viento


Ahora veo el país de grandes alas
Limitado lágrima a lágrima por todo aquello que no vuelve jamás
Atravesado por la emigración de las almas arrastrando sus pesados cubos de
sangre y sus utensilios de pasión y de cólera
Habitaciones invadidas por helechos gigantescos en las que acecha la fiera
de aire gris de las mujeres olvidadas
Posando sus zarpas de seda en una sonrisa
Pero el solitario acaricia la cabellera de la distancia cubierta de plumas
centelleantes y estremecida por el horror al vacío
En un reverbero de canciones y faroles en el amanecer de una estación
desconocida torturada por los viajeros
Faroles que brillan con un hechizo venenoso
Como la serpiente de las añoranzas eternas cuyo estuche sombrío
Exhala un olor a mariposas descompuestas dentro de una caja de terciopelo
misterioso envuelta en llamas


Un desván de cenizas


Un hombre avanzando con su fantasma contra la bocanada del sueño
Contra esos torbellinos de plumas engastados en ciertos anillos de pájaro
muerto
¡Oh son los antiguos días!
Los alcoholes terrestres:
Un poco de alimentos fríos en un pan tras un trago de sopa
La momia primaveral en su ataúd de hielo dorado
Un escorpión junto a la llave de la luz en un hotel del trópico
El cáliz de madera y ocio ofrecido a los monos por un pequeño vapor en un
río del trópico
Y esas trenzas abiertas sobre los senos del amor en los parajes indescriptibles
vistos desde lo alto de una caricia
O el tañido de platos extranjeros de los cuales se alimentan algunas mujeres
muy tristes atravesadas por un gemido o un soplo de novela
Y aún desnudas bajo la maldición marina


¡Oh son los antiguos días!
Pasiones miseria y orgullo
Una tienda de antigüedades saqueada por el pájaro de presa y esparcida
al sol
Y en la que sólo vale el oro lívido del tiempo
Con diosecillos tenebrosos crujiendo bajo tus plantas
Hasta el instante de sorprender esos antros de insomnio donde se guardan las apariciones
Con noches en cuyo fondo se ven niñas en llamas
O la enferma sentada bajo la luz del plátano
Cubierta de yeso y de magnolias sombrías sobre su alto trono de tortura que
ha labrado el fracaso
Pero más bella que toda primavera y que toda victoria sobre el mundo
¡La gran ala de plumas inmortales que nace en todo aquello destinado
a la muerte!
Vestidos y rostros y callejuelas anudadas por un mismo suspiro de adiós
desesperado
Para que nunca más te maraville
Un abrazo una garganta o un sollozo de mujer que no aluda a esas hogueras
enterradas
Reclamando las mismas joyas tenebrosas para el mismo esplendor:
La gran aureola de la lejanía
Y esos enigmas de la edad arrastrando pesados trozos insolubles de una
existencia falsa y misteriosa
Con personajes de pulso eterno que laten en la oscuridad
Inalcanzables como toda dicha humana
Y convertidos en el resplandor de las cosas que rozaron poseyeron
o soñaron alguna vez
En carne y hueso
Entre la llamarada de la tierra


Enrique Molina

To be and to become ...



Caroline de Gündorode (1)

en nostalgique je vagabondais par l'infini.
- C. de G.

a Enrique Molina
(2)


La mano de la enamorada del viento
acaricia la cara del ausente.
La alucinada con su «maleta de piel de pájaro»
huye de sí misma con un cuchillo en la memoria.
La que fue devorada por el espejo
entra en un cofre de cenizas
y apacigua a las bestias del olvido.


Alejandra Pizarnik (1936-1072)

Caroline de Gündorode

I wandered through the infinite as one who remember

- C. de G.

to Enrique Molina

The hand of the wind's own lover
caresses the face of the absent one.
With "bird skin bag" she who was deceived
flies from herself with a knife in her memory.
And the one devoured by the mirror
enters a casket of ashes
and soothes the beasts of oblivion.



Translated from spanish by Natalie Kenvin, in Penelope Rosemont, Surrealist Women: An International Anthology, (Austin, University of Texas Press, 1998), p.343


Caroline de Gündorode

"En nostalgique je vagabondais par l’infin"
- C. de G.

A Enrique Molina

La main de l’éprise du vent
caresse le visage de l’absent
L’hallucinée à la « valise en peau d’oiseau »
se fuit, la lame d’un couteau dans la mémoire.
Celle qu’un miroir dévora
entre dans un coffre de cendres
calmant les bêtes de l’oubli.


Rebecca Behar, in Alexandra Pizarnik et Paul Celan ou l'hospitalité impossible...



(1)Karoline (Friederike Louise Maximiliane) von Günderrode (Günderode)(1775/80? - 1806) German romantic poet/writer


Günderrode, Karoline von (also Günderode) (Karlsruhe, 1780-1806, Windel, Rhineland), was only six when her father died leaving the family in modest circumstances. At the age of seventeen she was admitted to the evangelical Cronstetten-Hynspergische Damenstift in Frankfurt, where, however, she enjoyed sufficient freedom to entertain social contacts. Her circle of friends included Bettina von Arnim, who in later life reconstructed their close relationship in her epistolary novel Die Günderode (1840), in which she also recalls Karoline's poetic ambitions. They resulted in the volumes Gedichte und Phantasien (1804), Poetische Fragmente (1805), and Melete von Ion (1806, posth.), and appeared under the pseudonym Tian. Some of her poems belong to the best of poetry reflecting inner experience, which she perceived as the basic requirement of the genre when referring to it as the mirror of the soul (Spiegel der Seele). She impresses by her flexible use of form and rhythm, and especially by the controlled and unembellished language with which she relates dreams of passion nurtured in loneliness and bitter frustration, as in the poem ‘Vorzeit und neue Zeit’ (Des Glaubens Höhen sind nun demolieret, / Und auf der flachen Erde schreitet der Verstand / Und misset alles aus, nach Klafter und nach Schuhen. Last stanza).

Deeply in love with Friedrich Creuzer, she took her own life when Creuzer decided against dissolving his marriage. It was, after Brentano and Savigny, the third time that her dream of a lasting attachment had been shattered. Ill at ease in society, she had emancipated herself from stifling conventions and rejected sexual discrimination obstructing women's self-realization. Christa Wolf has promoted renewed interest in her, both in her fiction and as editor of the volume Karoline von Günderode: ‘Der Schatten eines Traumes’ (1979), a selection of poetry, prose, correspondence, and profiles by those who knew her; she has also edited Bettina's novel Die Günderode (1981).
In


I quote the wise words of Elisabeth Krimmer about Bettina Von Armin and Karoline Günderode correspodence:

[...] Brentano-von Arnim had already given expression to these desires in her epistolary novel Die Günderode(1840), based on her correspondence from 1804 to 1806 with her friend and fellow writer Karoline von Günderrode. In this novel the protagonist’s melancholy springs from a thirst for life which cannot find expression.8 The life of an adolescent girl is compared to a river made of bricks (“ein backsteinerner Fluß”), where the oarsmen attempt in vain to stir up waves. In the Frühlingskranz as well, the young Bettine’s frustration is caused by the fact that the world which surrounds her cannot provide an outlet for her energy, her strength and her courage: To be and to become are two different things, I know it very well, and to become is to feel strength for the real life and to apply it and not just dream of becoming a hero. And this is what often makes me afraid of myself, that I have chosen for myself such a splendid role in the land of fantasy, which I play without danger, but which does not touch reality.—What can I do to be delivered from this exile from reality? (…) For already in Die Günderode the wish to lead a different life was entangled with the wish for a different body. Only an existence as a man or boy could provide Bettine with the means to escape from her unheroic world: “If I should make out your character,” Günderode writes to Bettine, “I would prophesy that, if you were a boy, you would become a hero.”10 In Die Günderode Brentano- von Arnim designs male roles for herself and her friend again and again. She describes Günderode as dominant master and herself as goblin (Arnim 1994: 70). She is the student, her friend the preceptor. Due to a “male” mind, Günderode thinks masculine thoughts: And flames will soar, inspired by the law of your breath, from your soul and ignite in the hearts of youthful generations, who, thinking themselves boyish manly, will never guess that the youth’s breath which lights their breast never came from the mind of man.11

Elisabeth Krimmer, Bettina and Louise: Gender Constructions in Bettina Brentano-von Arnim’s Clemens Brentanos
Frühlingskranz


[Gunderode] hastily opened her gown, and pointed to the spot beneath her beautiful breast. Her eyes sparkled with delight. I could no longer control myself: I broke into loud crying, I fell on her neck, I dragged her down to a seat and sat upon her knee, and wept and kissed her on her mouth, and tore
open her dress, and kissed her on the spot where she had learned to reach the heart.

Bettina von Arnin

· Alejandra read Karoline Günderode poems from a french translation by Armel Guerne: Les Romantiques allemands, (Desclée de Brouwer, 1956 ) .
On September 1972 she committed suicide.
(2) Enrique Molina, surrealist poet, (Buenos Aires, November 2, 1910 - Buenos Aires, November 13, 1997, ). Alejandra Pizarnik's compatriot and friend, he is the author of the poem: "La maleta de piel de pájaro" (bird skin bag). As surrealists poets, they produced disquietlingly, anti-rational poetic images that disrupt positivist and other restrictive ways of thinking and being, thereby provoking all behold them to came to grips with their own inner world and its relation to the external reality.

15.8.10

Kitsch e-cards from Monsaraz (2)





Kitsch e-cards from Monsaraz















James Martin wrote about Monsaraz:

Monsaraz is a walled village in the eastern Alentejo near Evora, on a hill fortified by the Knights Templar--the position ideal to protect Portugal from invaders from Spain. From inside the walls of Monsaraz you can see all across the Alentejo plain, across the Alqueva lakes and the River Guadiana into Spain. The whitewashed Monsaraz is certainly deserving of its title, "jewel in the crown" of the Alentejo region.
Monsaraz offers a delightful medieval atmosphere in a small, tidy village entered through a towered village gate. On the other end of the village is the castle, the interior now used for the occasional Portuguese bullfight or soccer game.[...]

James Martin