OLSON vs AUDEN este jueves!

Jose Juan Tablada / Poemas-dibujos- Haikus

EL PAVO REAL


Pavo real, largo fulgor,
Por el gallinero demócrata
Pasas como una procesión...

poetry...

Me Peacock

What's riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three-rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye

William Butler Yeats (1865–1939). From Responsibilities and Other Poems, 1916.

Pavo Real en movimiento...

Aqui va otro pavo real

Aqui va otro pavo real:

Francis Alÿs; "El señor Pavoreal representará al señor Alys en la 49 Bienal de Venecia", 2001

VA de nuez!

Enter the Mystics

Excerpt from the Coplas of Juan de Yepes, a.k.a. San Juan de la Cruz

Entreme donde no supe
y quedéme no sabiendo
toda ciencia trascendiendo.

Yo no supe dónde entraba
pero cuando allí me vi
sin saber dónde me estaba
grandes cosas entendí
no diré lo que sentí
que me quedé no sabiendo
toda ciencia trascendiendo.

De paz y de piedad
era la ciencia perfecta,
en profunda soledad
entendida vía recta
era cosa tan secreta
que me quedé balbuciendo
toda ciencia trascendiendo.

Estaba tan embebido
tan absorto y ajenado
que se quedó mi sentido
de todo sentir privado
y el espíritu dotado
de un entender no entendiendo
toda ciencia trascendiendo.

El que allí llega de vero
de sí mismo desfallece
cuanto sabía primero
mucho bajo le parece
y su ciencia tanto crece
que se queda no sabiendo,
toda ciencia trascendiendo.

Pavo Real

Si algo quiere decir ese

Si algo quiere decir ese
breve manchón (la mosca posada junto al plato)
yo no lo sé: antes creía saber, pero las cosas
pasaron de otro modo.
Ahora digo 'mosca' y es bastante:
ni ella responderá, ni la palabra
se acercará a tocarla
ni yo sabré algo más.
Y aunque esa forma ajena
se vaya volando,
la palabra está acá
llena de pelos, oscura,
intratable.

(Daniel Freidemberg. -de "La Sonatita Que Haga Fondo al Caos")

Lecture 2: The Work of Poetry (Revision & Process—Oppen & Spicer)

“I try one word and another word, reverse the sequence, alter the line-endings, a hundred two hundred rewritings, revisions—This is prosody: how to write a poem”—wrote George Oppen.

And Jack Spicer spoke of poetry as “transmission,” as “dictation,” from the outside, from an “invisible world”—the poet was a crystal set or radio receiving transmissions from outer space, or Mars. Specifically, West Mars.

A poet may begin with the idea of a poem, or a feeling; a poet may begin with poetic material, as for example the stuff of a notebook. From whatever beginning, a poet makes poems—the poem is the end or goal of writing poetry. (Or one end: poets may work in terms of larger structures as well, such as the series, sequence, or cycle—and these may span across many years and many books. And the book is another end of poetry, a constellation of poems in a meaningful relationship.)

What happens from the moment the poet thinks he or she is writing a poem and that moment when they feel the poem is “done”? What is the process of poetry? What is a poem in the context of a series, a book, a corpus, and a life? Why is it that Oppen doesn’t have an idea of what he wants to do when he writes a poem? (A poem is not made with ideas, it’s made with words.)

POUND CON MIRADA DE MAYORGA...

don ezra

Canto CXX

He tratado de escribir Paraíso

No te muevas
        Deja que el viento hable
            eso es paraíso.

Deja que los dioses perdonen lo que yo
          he hecho
Deja que aquellos que amo traten de perdonar
          lo que yo he hecho.

—tr. Laura Solórzano

...por pura curiosidad...

¿ quièn es gemelo malvado?

Fotos de Pound por Avedon

“technique as the test of a man’s sincerity”

Ezra Pound wrote that “I believe in technique as a test of a man’s sincerity.” This is a declaration of faith in art, in the making of the thing as the place of significance, the place where meaning happens.

Williams proclaimed “no ideas but in things.” This is a different kind of declaration, one that suggests a skepticism about art as art.

Pound and Williams came from a common place, Imagism, which praised precision and clear images over abstractions and decoration. From there, they diverge widely.

Here’s a different kind of apology in the following, late Canto by Pound.

Canto CXX

I have tried to write Paradise

Do not move
      Let the wind speak
                that is paradise.

Let the Gods forgive what I
            have made
Let those I love try to forgive
              what I have made.

—Ezra Pound

“rinse the language of ornament and encrustation”

This is Just to Say
 
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

—William Carlos Williams


Solo decirte que

Acabo de chingarme
unas ciruelas
que estaban en
el refri

seguramente
iban a ser
tu desayuno

has de perdonar:
estaban
buenísimas.

—tr. Sergio Ortiz

Bienvenidos

Welcome to the Zapopan Lectures blog!

Let's carry on the conversation.....