The country is burning. A poem by Jaime Pinos. Translated from the Spanish by Elise Dorn

The country is burning.

The worst forest fires of the decade.

Tens of thousands of hectares.

Ancient trees burn under the immense sky of Patagonia.

Large artificial extensions of pine and eucalyptus burn in Bío Bío.

A small ring of fire from the hills and threatens the central coast towns.

 

The fires are intentional.

Who burned, who burns this country?

The government accuses Mapuche communities of starting the fire in Bío Bío.

But the fire started a long time ago there.

The crossfire between communities and forest capital.

The forest devastates crops, cut down native species.

Planted in its place, large artificial extensions of pine and eucalyptus.

Radiated pine grows there almost the double of that in other parts of the world.

That’s a lot of wood. That’s a lot of money.

The radiated pine exudes a resin that inflames to 95 degrees.

The fire consumes first the treetops.

It moves from top to bottom. It falls like a storm over the artificial identical tree extensions like telephone poles.

 

The silent heart of the forest devoured by flames,

the uproar of falling trees

under the firestorm.

 

(The security company guards that worked like brigades for the forestry companies, causing the majority of the conflicts. In some opportunities, we provoked forest fires, we blocked the highways; we filled sandbags to later throw them on the nearby canals of the communities so that the water overflowed and flooded their crops. At night, when the Mapuche communities made their ngüillatunes, brigades cut the rehues)

 

The country is burning.

Who burned, who is burning this country?

When did the fire start?

The fire started a long time ago here.

Perhaps with the Chilean flag made a flame

during the bombing of La Moneda.

Perhaps with the book burning in the streets

during the state of siege.

Perhaps with Sebastián Acevedo as a torch

in the Plaza de Concepción.

Perhaps with Rojas Denegri as a torch

against the military patrol that stopped him.

Perhaps with Eduardo Miño as a torch

against the Government Palace.

 

Trees and people burn

long ago in this country.

 

Living in a country in flames,

in a country that burns,

Living on the edge of a long narrow river of fire.

Living in the heart of the forest,

enduring the crash. Storm.

img_1437

El país se quema.

Los peores incendios forestales de la década.

Decenas de miles de hectáreas.

Arden bosques milenarios bajo el cielo inmenso de la Patagonia.

Arden grandes extensiones artificiales de pinos y eucaliptos en Bío Bío.

Un cerco de fuego baja desde los cerros y amenaza las ciudades de la costa central.

 

Los incendios son intencionales.

¿Quién quemó, quién quema este país?

El gobierno acusa a las comunidades mapuche de iniciar el fuego en Bío Bío.

Pero el fuego se inició hace mucho tiempo allí.

El fuego cruzado entre las comunidades y el capital forestal.

Las forestales arrasan los cultivos, talan las especies nativas.

Plantan en su lugar grandes extensiones artificiales de pinos y eucaliptos.

El pino radiata crece allí casi el doble que en otras partes del mundo.

Eso es mucha madera. Eso es mucho dinero.

El pino radiata exuda una resina que se inflama a los 35 grados.

El fuego consume primero las copas de los árboles.

Avanza desde arriba hacia abajo. Cae como una tormenta

sobre las extensiones artificiales de árboles idénticos como postes de teléfono.

 

El mudo corazón del bosque devorado por las llamas,

el estruendo de los árboles al caer

bajo la tormenta de fuego.

 

(Los guardias de la empresa de seguridad que trabajaban como brigadistas para las empresas forestales, provocaban la mayoría de los conflictos. En algunas oportunidades provocamos incendios forestales, bloqueábamos los caminos; llenábamos sacos con arena para luego lanzarlos a los canales cercanos a las comunidades para que el agua desbordara e inundara sus siembras. En las noches, cuando las comunidades mapuches realizaban sus ngüillatunes, brigadistas cortaban los rehues)

 

El país se quema.

¿Quién quemó, quién quema este país?

¿Cuándo se inició el incendio?

El fuego se inició hace mucho tiempo aquí.

Tal vez con la bandera chilena hecha una flama

durante el bombardeo a La Moneda.

Tal vez con la quema de libros en las calles

durante el estado de sitio.

Tal vez con Sebastián Acevedo como una antorcha

en la plaza de Concepción.

Tal vez con Rojas Denegri como una antorcha

frente a la patrulla militar que lo detuvo.

Tal vez con Eduardo Miño como una antorcha

frente al Palacio de Gobierno.

 

Los árboles y las personas se queman

hace mucho tiempo en este país.

 

Vivir en un país en llamas,

en un país que se quema.

Vivir a orillas de un largo y angosto río de fuego.

Vivir en el corazón del bosque,

aguantar el desplome. La tormenta.

Review: The Espresso between Sleep and Wakefulness / El expreso entre el sueño y la vigilia, by Roberto Echavarren

By Francisco Álvez Francese, la diaria, Montevideo.

echavarren-portada

 

This bilingual edition is a manifesto on translation and on poetry—the essence of its words, its form, its meditated and incandescent construction of senses and rhythms. There’s a crudeness that immediately enters into fierce debate with those baroque approaches which have given Spanish-language poetry its chance at survival. In this way, Echavarren emphasizes the words, and more than ever, it sounds like a discovery, the strangeness fusing into a complete language, the intertext sublimating its borders in the maze of serpentine verses and becoming lost in an all-devouring, poetic tongue. In the imagery of the book, which is read doubly in light of the brevity of a cup of coffee upon its saucer and of the sweep of a train stretching from one end of Siberia to the other, things take place in reality and in dreams, rhythmically and against a shifting scenery of whites and blacks (of days and nights), a poetry of vertigo and surprise, which in two languages roots itself in the viscous terrain of indefinition. (Translated from the Spanish by Ryan Greene).

***

Esta edición bilingüe es un manifiesto sobre la traducción y sobre la poesía. La esencia de las palabras, de la forma, de la construcción meditada y fulgurante de los sentidos y los ritmos. Hay una crudeza que entra inmediatamente en discusión acalorada con los recursos barrocos que han abierto la posibilidad de una sobrevida a la poesía en español. Así, Echavarren pone la vista sobre las palabras y la cosa más de cualquier día suena a hallazgo, la rareza se funde en un lenguaje total, el intertexto sublima sus bordes en el entramado de los versos serpentinos y se pierde en una lengua poética que todo lo devora. En la imaginería del libro, que se lee a la doble la luz de la brevedad del café sobre el platito y de la extensión de un tren que abre a Siberia de punta a punta, se sucede en realidad y en sueño, acompasadamente y sobre la cambiante escena de blancos y de negros (de días y de noches) una poesía como de vértigo y sorpresa que en dos idiomas se asienta en el terreno viscoso de la indefinición.

Art Book Workshop

taller chp

Cardboard House Press’ workshop in Bloomington will meet every Thursday, 6-8pm at La Casa Latino Cultural Center (715 E 7th St, Bloomington, IN 47408).

Join us and learn how to make an art book from recycled materials.

These sessions will include printing, cover design, bookbinding, etc. If you are interested in participating as a volunteer, send us an email to cardboardhousepress@gmail.com

No previous knowledge is necessary.

 

POLÍTICAS DEL VERSO – Taller de escritura creativa y libro arte

A cargo del editor y poeta Giancarlo Huapaya

En la primera parte del taller los participantes desarrollarán proyectos de escritura de poesía en relación a 3 tópicos: políticas, economías y violencias de estado. En la segunda parte, los participantes diseñarán y elaborarán un libro artesanal de acuerdo al concepto de su proyecto poético.

Lugar: Palabras Bookstore (1023 Grand Ave Studio B, Phoenix 85007)

7 sesiones

Octubre 22, 29 / Noviembre 5, 12 y 19, 26 / Diciembre 3
Sábados de 6 a 8:30 p.m.

El taller es gratuito, previa inscripción. Interesados escribir a cardboardhousepress@gmail.com

Vacantes limitadas. Evento en Facebook

 

Giancarlo Huapaya. Perú, 1979. Poeta, editor y gestor cultural. Actualmente es Director Editorial de Cardboard House Press. Es autor de los libros de poesía: Estado y Contemplación/Canción de Canción se Gana (Lima, 2005), Polisexual (Lima, 2007) y Taller Sub Verso (Asunción, 2011 /Lima, 2011 /Ciudad de México, 2013). Sus poemas han aparecido en diversas antologías, entre las que cuentan: 4M3R1C4, novísima poesía latinoamericana (Santiago de Chile, 2010); Cholos, 13 poetas peruanos nacidos entre el 70 y el 90 (Ciudad de Guatemala, 2014); y Aguas móviles. Antología de Poesía Peruana 1978 – 2006 (Lima, 2016). Ha participado en festivales internacionales de poesía en Perú, Chile, México, Brasil, Paraguay, Bolivia, Puerto Rico y Estados Unidos. Como curador, ha organizado exposiciones de poesía visual en San Francisco y Ciudad de México, y fue el director del Festival de Poesía de Lima en sus tres primeras versiones. Como videasta, ha realizado los vídeos-poemas: Es inútil negar las lesiones (coautoría con Alejandro Gómez-Arias. Ciudad de México, 2015), At North Farm/En la Granja Del Norte (Phoenix, 2015) Desintegración (Lima/ Cajamarca/Cuzco/ Bloomington, 2014), José María (Lima, 2008) y La ley del Embudo (vídeo/ performance, Lima, 2005).

FACES – a poem by Isaac Goldemberg translated by Jonathan Tittler


I lived for two years without a face. There are no mirrors in Buchenwald.
EMMANUEL LEVINAS

After a certain number of years, our faces become our biographies.
CYNTHIA OZICK

This is your face
the face of your face
the face of your other face

Your historically oblique nose
is your other face
the other face of your face

Your tattooed forearm is your face
a number plus another plus another
is the other face of your other face

The elongated history of your face
the arithmetic of your forearm
are the erased face of your face

ROSTROS

Desde hacía dos años yo vivía sin rostro. No hay espejos en Buchenwald.
EMMANUEL LEVINAS

Después de cierto número de años, nuestros rostros se convierten en nuestras biografías.
CYNTHIA OZICK

Este es tu rostro
el rostro de tu rostro
el rostro de tu otro rostro

Tu nariz históricamente oblicua
es tu otro rostro
el otro rostro de tu rostro

Tu antebrazo tatuado en tu rostro
un número más uno más otro
es el otro rostro de tu otro rostro

La historia alargada de tu rostro
la aritmética de tu antebrazo
son el rostro borrado de tu rostro

From Dialogues with Myself and My Others

… IU IIIUUU IU … – a poem from Radio by Kyn Taniya, translated by David Shook

LAST GASPS OF SLAUGHTERED PIGS IN CHICAGO ILLINOIS ROAR OF NIAGARA FALLS AT THE CANADIAN BORDER KREISLER RISLER D’ANNUNZIO FRANCE ETCETERA AND THE JAZZ BANDS OF VIRGINIA AND TENNESSEE THE ERUPTION OF POPOCATEPETL OVER THE VALLEY OF AMECAMECA AS WELL AS THE ENTRANCE OF THE ENGLISH BATTLESHIPS TO THE DARDANELLES THE NOCTURAL SCREECH OF THE EYGPT SPHYNX LLOYD GEORGE WILSON AND LENIN THE BELLOWS OF THE PLESIOSAUR DIPLODOCUS THAT BATHES EVERY AFTERNOON IN THE PESTILENT QUAGMIRE OF PATAGONIA THE IMPRECATIONS OF GANDHI IN BAGHDAD THE CACOPHONY OF THE BATTLEFIELDS OR OF THE SUNNY SANDS OF SEVILLE THAT GET FED UP WITH GUTS AND WITH BLOOD OF BEASTS AND OF MAN BABE RUTH JACK DEMPSEY AND THE PAINED SHRIEKS OF THE FOOTBALL PLAYERS THAT KILL THEMSELVES ON TIPTOES FOR A BALL

All this now costs no more than a dollar
For a hundred cents you’ll have electric ears
and you’ll be able to fish for the sounds that sway
in the kilometric hammock of the waves

…IU IIIUUU IU…

 

 

ÚLTIMOS SUSPIROS DE MARRANOS DEGOLLADOS EN CHICAGO ILLINOIS ESTRUENDO DE LAS CAIDAS DEL NIAGARA EN LA FRONTERA DE CANADA KREISLER RISLER D’ANNUNZIO FRANCE ETCETERA Y LOS JAZZ BANDS DE VIRGINIA Y TENESI LA ERUPCION DEL POPOCATEPETL SOBRE EL VALLE DE AMECAMECA ASI COMO LA ENTRADA DE LOS ACORAZADOS INGLESES A LOS DARDANELOS EL GEMIDO NOCTURNO DE LA ESFINGE EGIPCIA LLOYD GEORGE WILSON Y LENIN LOS BRAMIDOS DEL PLESIOSAURO DIPLODOCUS QUE SE BAÑA TODAS LAS TARDES EN LOS PANTANOS PESTILENTES DE PATAGONIA LAS IMPRECACIONES DE GANDI EN BAGDAD LA CACOFONIA DE LOS CAMPOS DE BATALLA O DE LAS ASOLEADAS ARENAS DE SEVILLA QUE SE HARTAN DE TRIPAS Y DE SANGRE DE LAS BESTIAS Y DEL HOMBRE BABE RUTH JACK DEMPSEY Y LOS ALARIDOS DOLOROSOS DE LOS VALIENTES JUGADORES DE FUTBOL QUE SE MATAN A PUNTAPIES POR UNA PELOTA

Todo esto no cuesta ya más que un dólar
Por cien centavos tendréis orejas eléctricas
y podréis pescar los sonidos que se mecen
en la hamaca kilométrica de las ondas

… IU IIIUUU IU …


Radio by Kyn Taniya – Wireless Poem in Thirteen Messages & Uncollected Poems

 

Foreword by William Rowe – Poems Read in London by Magdalena Chocano

Magdalena Chocano’s poetry takes us into a very interesting area where the relationship between utterance, light, and event has no fixed resolution and is always singular, with the result that the poem becomes itself an event among events: ‘only my word dissimilar to the light, | will illuminate, will reveal the shoe’s sign.’ The act the poem refers to – looking at a pair of beautiful red shoes – becomes the made thing which is the act of poetry. Thus ‘poesía alumbra las palabras’ [poetry illuminates the words], as she writes in an essay. Instead of the theological model, where the Word brings light into darkness, ‘unconcealing’ things into their truth, the word that makes the poem conceals and reveals in the same act, which means among other things that the poet exposes the strategies of ordinary discourse, but without substituting another truer one, since what is normally said is not for Chocano a layer which can somehow be peeled away like a wrapping so as to reveal what is behind it.

If customary discourse, like the actions of power which it is, can become – in the poem – semi-visible like breath on mirrors – a favorite figure of Chocano’s – then among the consequences that follow are that the play of revelation and concealment is an occurrence of power relations, and that to read the poems is to be invited into hearing words in that mode. But lest this sound like the dryness of a calculation that obeys a desire to prove something, it needs adding that Chocano’s poetry is unsubmissive to any scheme of belief or routine of resentment. It is guided by necessities of imagination as survival.

Her early poems, published in the book Poesía a ciencia incierta, are inhabited by the figure of a girl whose refusal to submit is their generative soul and life: ‘she plays seriously, | she is cruel, | she dreams, | she waits, | breathes inside me implacable, fierce creature.’ She is at the same time a specifically female resource and a muse, whose mythological connotations include the figure of Athena, maker of war and guardian of the intellect, capable of surviving ‘in the eye of the storm’: ‘I am always looking at a girl | and my eyes shine in the night, | . . . she puts voice in words.’

Another poem gives an account of the education of the poet as one who wanted ‘to grasp the pure notion [noumenon] of things’ but spent endless hours doing geography homework and discovered that looking at windows or drinking cola yielded ‘the most solemn abstraction’ and found the seeds of the poem in old tropes like ‘a dagger shines in the sky’, which would later yield a sense of how unlike things can fuse together ‘in the metaphor | or dark stratagem of the poem.’

In another poem she writes, ‘words have shone | at the mortal extremes | light in light / | shadow in shadow – | freedom is to conceal oneself.’ The ‘severe art’ of concealment is necessary for ‘a girl who plots her future.’ The poems I am quoting from belong to the book whose title, Stratagem in chiaroscuro [Estratagema en claroscuro], refers to the play of light and darkness not as an illusion of luminosity but as the edge of the mind placed before itself. The poems are mysterious and clear at the same time. Search the poem for the poet and you will find only ‘the mortal words simulating that a poet exists | . . . uniting nothingness with the nothingness over which a | thousand eyes echo vainly searching for him’.

Chocano writes in an essay on the Peruvian poet Martín Adán, ‘Poetry rescues the slownesses and speeds which live in the depth of human sensibility, and presents them on a luminous surface as spectacle of the mind before itself. Poetry is, therefore, a risky and extreme adventure of human consciousness.’ Adán is one of the inventors of neobaroque poetry, a tradition which Chocano has been affected by. She is an admirer of Góngora, and in her own work mixes the diction of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries with modern speech. Herself a Peruvian, she writes: ‘Peru is and has been a territory of dreams . . . a country whose present strengthens the suspicion that it has lived every decadence but not a single triumph.’ As a historian who has published work on Peruvian (and Mexican) history, she is deeply concerned with finding ways to break with the rhetoric of ‘what would have happened if . . . ? ‘: the habit of thinking of Peru as an unfulfilled promise which has plagued the writing of Peruvian history with emotional sloppiness. Her own habit of thinking is skeptical, and attentive to actual experience as the test of validity.
What there is of darkness, concealment, and somnambulism in her poems is also accompanied by that skepticism: ‘to be cold and luminous | – to destroy with pleasure that which clouds us’, as she writes in the first poem of the present selection. The result is an unusual intellectual density in the inseparable interplay of emergence and concealment, where the challenge is to take nothing for granted, since poetry is freedom of form, capable of transgressing and changing the one who makes or receives it.

The selection of poems that follows was made by the poet, with the exception of two earlier poems which the translators felt gave a more complete sense of her work. The poems in Spanish and versions in English were read by the poet and translators in May 1995 at SubVoicive. Chocano has a third book, as yet unpublished (Del orden de la niebla en los espejos [Of the order of mist in mirrors]), a number of poems from which have appeared in journals.

William Rowe

 

Poems Read in London

[poem 206]