Soñando versos con ilusiones de poeta (Spanish Edition)
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Now: I don't write to be imprisoned by other books or the lily's incarnate apprentices but for simple sojourners whose need is the moon and the water, the immutable bases of order, bread, wine, and schoolhouses, guitars and the tools of their trade. He would have his poems: useful and usable like metal and cereal that waits for the plowshare tools for the hand. He would be simple: Simplicity, be with me, assist in my birth, teach me again how to sing a foodtide of virtue and truth, a crystalline victory.
This emphasis upon poetry as communication, as social action, refects a collectivism preached two centuries before by Herder. The notion of poetry as "useful and usable" labor, as a "tool" of the "true and the virtuous," brings to mind the millenial vision of Horace's Ars Poetica, neoclas sical concepts of poetry as a public utility, and the Ameri can romantics of the frst decades of the Independence.
An ethical temper of poetry, of art as action and philosophy as action, characterizes a whole trend of Hispanic tradition Quevedo, Jovellanos, Bello, Unamuno, Antonio Machado that returns in Neruda by the force of its own historic momentum. Neruda also would impose certain limits and obligations on poetry; he would also subject his art to a discipline of reason and will, of order and intelligence.
The degree to which he has achieved his purposes without sac rifcing his lyricism is today a matter of fashionable de bate among Hispanic critics-a quarrel in which political sympathies and antipathies often play a more important role than literature, and in which sweeping judgments of the total stature of the recent work of the Chilean poet are too frequently based on fragments of his oeuvre. All things abound in the Vineyard of the Master; and in the latter books of Neruda it is possible to gather the grapes or the dry sticks, according t0 the taste of each critic.
No one will deny that on many occasions the verse of Neruda is closer to political reportage and homily than to poetry: "I fxed up some food for the kids and I left. To be sure of that one has only to read, in Mr.
Dictionary of spoken Spanish
The ob session with the political position of Neruda, or, if I may be permitted such a word, the politicism that permeates the whole of Hispano-Arerican life, has diminished the scope of Canto general for many readers to the topical and the political. For indeed, both are present. America, for Pablo Neruda, is a perpetual battleground for the forces of men joined and committed in love to their land, and the forces of violent men seeking to rape and possess it. On one hand is the soil of the continent itself, before names were devised for it, with its natural riches, its fertility, and its prototypal people augmented in the course of time by men of all races who felt, or have come to feel, a fame of freedom and charity in their hearts, from Fray Bartolome de las Casas or Alonso de Ercilla, to San Martin, Lincoln, and Marti to the striker jailed in Iquique or an ejidatario from Sonora: all Americans.
The struggle between the two factions, Neruda prophesied, would be resolved in the triumph of the former over the violence of the latter. This is all that many, inside Hispano-America and outside it, have come to see in Canto general, without troubling them selves to probe deeper. This viewpoint is a betrayal of a work of art; for one need not be a sibyl to discover more, ever so much more, in it. Canto general is a work to be read as a cosmogony, a Nerudian vision of the origin and creation of the world and American man.
As teleology or as vision, Neruda has wrought as he must, pursuing the course of creation, reality, and life that is proper and possible to love. If there is a fxed point in Neruda, from his childhood up to the present, it is his immersion of his being in his land, his fatherland, his in stinctual materialism. In Canto general it is water and earth, the air and the primordial slime, self-spawned and begetting the beasts, vegetation, and men of America, that he cele brates, above all. For the content of Nerudian song is life and victory over personal death: altruistically.
Nos vemos en el Zócalo / Meet Us in the Square
Reborn in himself, his renas cence takes new hold of matriarchal matter itself. He is son of that mother; and all natural things-dust, plant, beast, man-are his brothers and mentors. In his darker moments, Neruda had asked of himself: what is man? Only the dead answered; but later, on the "heights of Macchu Picchu," in the heart and brain of maternal America, he came upon his vision.
The corn kernel ascended and descended again; water few and descended again with the snow; colored with clay, his hand left the clay and was one with the clay again; the cradle of lightning and man was the same. By love, by "infnitesimal life winged with the earth," he existed. For this reason Neruda, after writing in "Yo soy" "I am" , "Let me die now," "I make ready my death," announced with equal assurance, 'Tm not ready to die.
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The world Between the Heights of Macchu Picchu and "I Am," Neruda has packed the whole history and life of America, all the politics and myths dearest to him. In Canto general he interprets history according to Karl Marx, writes a new Legende des siecles like Victor Hugo, and prophesies like William Blake: it is one and the same. The truths he en countered were known to him instinctively as a child: "Na ture there [in Temuco] went to my head like strong whisky.
I was barely ten at the time, but already a poet. In the four volumes of Odes he has continued to press for the passionate disclosure of beings and things; and the same may be said for the more technically complex Estravagario He is a son of that New World, surging, creating, and coming to be, in quest of his personal forms and his destiny. It blows from the now outmoded Crepusculario and Veinte poemas, from the "sonatas and destructions" of the Residencias, from his Canto general and the most recent of his Odes.
He has mingled, baroquely or romantically, as you will, literature and life, nature and poetry. He was aware of this when he wrote, in Childhood and Poetry : "We come upon poetry a step at a time, among the beings and things of this world: nothing is taken away without adding to the sum of all that exists in a blind extension of love.
Then came the critics: one deaf, and one gifted with tongues, and others and others: the blind and the hundred-eyed, the elegant ones in red pumps and carnations, others decently clad like cadavers. Oda a la crftica On the other hand, there have been many to remind us that the poetry of Pablo Neruda is in itself a species of translation: time and again, in exploring the Residencias, Amado Alonso1 is led to invoke the analogy of the "transla- 30 lPoesia y estilo de Pablo Nerda: Interpretaci6n de una poesfa herme tica.
Amado Alonso. Editorial Sudarericana: Buenos Aires. Among the poems "shaped like bread or a ring," and those "like a house going up,'' we are urged to take note of eruptive and vegetal processes, intuitional confgurations, images of destruction, and "the melting away of the world. The stature and fascination of his vision lie in a movement of thought keyed to its own impulses and alert to its own intrinsical ity, in which the successions of the verse and the succes sions of intuition are one and the same, and the volume and character of the feelings and fantasy serve an organic mo mentum, an "ascending and descending play of intensity.
It seems to be the fate of the translator always to echo the cry of Rilke's "Ninth Elegy": "Alas, but the other relation! What can be carried across? The poetry of Pablo Neruda, however, is not so easily gratifed. It is "ignorant" and tentative, "oceanic" and vulnerable, precisely because it postulates the enig matic character of the substantive and communicative world. His vision, like Whitman's, is "hankering, gross, mystical, nude," but his art shows the stresses of a more protean identity, the anguish of a more unappeasable com mitment.
The triumph of the oeuvre of Pablo N erudo is to conclude, after two decades of doctrinal idealism in which even the onion and the soup spoon are pressed into the serv ice of dialectic, with, Estravagario "a book of vagaries," and a valediction which must surely concern the translator as much as it does the reader: I pass on to the other side of the page and am never lost to your sight : I vault through transparency, a swimmer of heaven, and return to grow infnitesimal, till a day when the wind bears me of and even my name is unknown to me and I wake to non-being; when my singing shall sound in a silence.
T estamento de otono For all his insistence on the "poetry of the impure,'' the "massing of things, the use and disuse of substances," the theme of the oeuvre repeats Rimbaud's "Je est un autre! Here, it would seem, only the pri mary images of creation-Deluge, Leviathan, and the dis placement of men and events that goes by the name of History-will serve to evoke the shaping purposes of the poet.
Signed, in the concluding lyric, "today, 5 February, in this year of , in Chile, in 'Godomar de Chena,' " it towers above the achievement of Neruda with the accumu lated wealth and detritus of a lifetime. It is, like Moby Dick and Leaves of Grss-whose cadences should convey it to American ears-a progress: a total book which en acts a total sensibility. It moves in a framework of awe as imponderable as the cosmological fgures of Job, and im provises upon the central illumination of a lifetime. It ransacks the commonplace, the topical, the singular, in its search for the generic.
The premise which it seems to have served is that imagination and the political factor, the meditative life and the existential datum, comprise a single reality. In its strengths and its weaknesses, it epitomizes the double mind of messianic romanticism: the passion for the infnite and the empirical, the private fable in apocalyp tical guise.
One is tempted, in casting up the sum of Canto general, to deal in terms of extension alone; for quantitatively, the design of the work is the most extravagant that the poetry of our time has produced. For some, like Amado Alonso, it will call to mind the "frescoes of Michelangelo"; for others, the splendors of Orozco will seem the more exact analogy. It is, in the phrase of Chesterton, a specimen of the "gigantesque.
La Esperanza en Poesías
The history is, to be sure, the American Dream as the norteamericano has seldom been permitted to see it-the Hispanic tradition, with Cortes, Balboa, Magellan, BoHvar, Zapata, and Juarez as its demigods, the pampas and capi tals of Mexico and South and Central America as its theater, the perfdies and restorations of Chile as its fable, and the metamorphoses of the poet-as patriot, fugitive, exile, pro phet, revolutionary, somnambulist, and bard-as its drama.
It concludes, in ffteen books and pages, in a veritable psalter of Isaianic salutations, with a doxology of the "Fruits of the Earth,'' "Wine,'' "Great Joy,'' "Death,'' "Life," "Testaments," "Depositions," and the divinized sign of the "Y S " "I A " ego: o oy : m. A just criticism of Neruda's conception, however, would have to concern itself with less sumptuous considerations, as well. For the Canto general, despite its multinational address, is also a Canto general de Chile. Like Leaves of Grass, it is a work inseparable from a national scene and an identifying personality.
Whatever its continental sweep and bravura, it deduces both the lyrical occasion and the vision which it serves, from the tierra of the poet's birth.
Poema Hivern | Ninots de neu | Xmas poems, Winter christmas, Winter
Despite his hymns to Stalingrad, his styptic denun ciations of United Fruit and Coca-Cola, his early exercises in the crepuscular and erotic French "modernist" geme, his Whitmanese, Neruda remains, in the words of Torres Rioseco,2 "the Chilean Indian from Parral. Arturo Torres-Rioseco. University of California Press. Berkeley and Los Angeles. Yet it is a mark of Neruda's greatness that his poetry does not wait upon historicity to deliver the imaginative and moral splendor of his theme. He transcends both the program matic materialism of his political stance and the histrionics of his attitude.
Along the fraying margins of the "political subject," Neruda moves at will from invective and report age-from "porfristas of Mexico, 'gentlefolk' of Chile, pitucos of the Jockey Club of Buenos Aires, the sticky fli busterers of Uruguay, Ecuadorian coxcombs, clerical lord lings of every party" -to the incandescence of the lyrical occasion. Though he is master of te Goyaesque cartoon "The Dictators" in which compassion bites like an etch er's corrosive, he has also Whitman's capacity for moving from dimension-in-length to dimension-in-breadth-and-depth, opening the stanza to enormous increments of detail and foating the burden of the phenomenal world on the un answerable pathos of a mystery.
Few will deny that the tyranny of the partisan position is apparent throughout the whole of this proud and obses sional book. In the end, however, it is the "other relation" that constantly draws the poet away from the entrenched point and the limited commitment: from "false astrologies," political slogans, and all the apparatus of historical and theoretical positivism, to the "enigmas" which have always been the "general song" of creation. Los enigmas The present translation is ofered in the spirit of this conviction; and the accomplishment may be measured accordingly. If the predicates of the "new method" urged on translators by Mr.
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Stanley Burnshaw in The Poem Itself are correct, the prevailing mood of translation is Parnas sian: it is possible now to be incredulous and close quotes around the translator who imagines he is " 're-creating orig inals' "I In that case, fair warning may be more appropri ate for the conscientious translator than "apology": and the reader is accordingly warned. These translations are tenta tive, illusionistic, and engaged. The myth of the omniscient expositor and the univocal poem has had no part in the shaping of this volume.
Each word of the taxing originals, and their English equivalents, has been prayerfully medi tated; yet commitment has exceeded meditation, in the end-as it must, if the result is to be a translation rather than a quandary.
To keep up my courage under the as sault of an identity which might otherwise have proved annihilating, I have mounted my language on rhythms which enlist the resources of poetry in English as much as they do the poetry of Pablo Neruda: I have worked at objects. The stresses, at times, have carried me further from the originals than I would have wished; and on certain occasions the locutions of English have tidied the syntactical disorders more than is proper.