How do I make my partner not the centre of my world? I love him so much now I depend on his presence because everything is just better by his side.
AGUSTINA, BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA
Dear Agustina,
I have chosen this question not because I have something particularly helpful to say, but because it marks a milestone - the 150,000th letter to The Red Hand Files, all of which, dear people, I have read. I take some pride in being able to say this, and I am grateful for your continued involvement. It is a strange, lovely thing we are doing together, wringing out our hearts.
I am not the one to advise on how to keep love at a sensible distance, Agustina. Against the advice of an army of therapists, analysts, 12-step sponsors, life-coaches, hypnotists and TED Talkers, my wife and I remain committed to full-on emotional enmeshment, a massive dose of co-dependency, some good old maladaptive caretaking, and a fair amount of enslavement. I am a happy planet helplessly orbiting my wife, the sun; I am her vassal, her monkey on a chain, in her thrall, drunk on her, lost to her. I suspect if you asked her, she’d say she’s the planet, and I’m the sun, but that would be her being modest. Whatever the case, we are better together and a mess apart, fully entangled, all in, happily doomed. By the way, there was an eclipse last night, marking, amongst other things, twenty-seven years of our marriage. How thoughtful of the cosmos to have remembered.
I loved your letter, Agustina, the 150,000th, and I think your partner is fortunate to have someone who seems willing to submit to love’s snares and entanglements. To me, the measure of a relationship is not in the distance maintained between the two of you, but whether you want the best for your partner, and your partner wants the best for you. If you have that and can maintain it, you are pretty much there and can let love have its way.
Love, Nick
Glitch, rareza, síntoma
Lo freak, lo extraño, lo raro
lo que hace único a cada ser.
Lo excéntrico de cada uno
es lo que más hay que rescatar,
resaltar. Porque es
tuyo nomás. No te lo pueden quitar.
No lo pueden imitar.
Es propio.
Escuchar eso que querés
que deseás fuertemente
como un fuego, solo tuyo
y quizás por miedo no lo hacés...
No conviene encajar, porque eso
sería todo lo contrario a
ser vos misma/o.
Soltáte el pelo, liberá las tensiones
y vas a darte cuenta
quién (se) reprime
y quién no.
No Second Troy - W. B. Yeats
Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
At the River Clarion - Mary Oliver
1.
I don’t know who God is exactly.
But I’ll tell you this.
I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone
and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking.
Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say,
and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water.
And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying.
Said the river I am part of holiness.
And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.
I’d been to the river before, a few times.
Don’t blame the river that nothing happened quickly.
You don’t hear such voices in an hour or a day.
You don’t hear them at all if selfhood has stuffed your ears.
And it’s difficult to hear anything anyway, through all the traffic, the ambition.
2.
If God exists he isn’t just butter and good luck.
He’s also the tick that killed my wonderful dog Luke.
Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.
Imagine how the lily (who may also be a part of God) would sing to you if it could sing,
if you would pause to hear it.
And how are you so certain anyway that it doesn’t sing?
If God exists he isn’t just churches and mathematics.
He’s the forest, He’s the desert.
He’s the ice caps, that are dying.
He’s the ghetto and the Museum of Fine Arts.
He’s van Gogh and Allen Ginsberg and Robert Motherwell.
He’s the many desperate hands, cleaning and preparing their weapons.
He’s every one of us, potentially.
The leaf of grass, the genius, the politician, the poet.
And if this is true, isn’t it something very important?
Yes, it could be that I am a tiny piece of God, and each of you too, or at least
of his intention and his hope.
Which is a delight beyond measure.
I don’t know how you get to suspect such an idea.
I only know that the river kept singing.
It wasn’t a persuasion, it was all the river’s own constant joy
which was better by far than a lecture, which was comfortable, exciting, unforgettable.
If God exists he isn’t just butter and good luck.
He’s also the tick that killed my wonderful dog Luke.
Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.
Imagine how the lily (who may also be a part of God) would sing to you if it could sing,
if you would pause to hear it.
And how are you so certain anyway that it doesn’t sing?
If God exists he isn’t just churches and mathematics.
He’s the forest, He’s the desert.
He’s the ice caps, that are dying.
He’s the ghetto and the Museum of Fine Arts.
He’s van Gogh and Allen Ginsberg and Robert Motherwell.
He’s the many desperate hands, cleaning and preparing their weapons.
He’s every one of us, potentially.
The leaf of grass, the genius, the politician, the poet.
And if this is true, isn’t it something very important?
Yes, it could be that I am a tiny piece of God, and each of you too, or at least
of his intention and his hope.
Which is a delight beyond measure.
I don’t know how you get to suspect such an idea.
I only know that the river kept singing.
It wasn’t a persuasion, it was all the river’s own constant joy
which was better by far than a lecture, which was comfortable, exciting, unforgettable.
3.
Of course for each of us, there is the daily life.
Let us live it, gesture by gesture.
When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks?
And should we not thank the knife also?
We do not live in a simple world.
Let us live it, gesture by gesture.
When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks?
And should we not thank the knife also?
We do not live in a simple world.
4.
There was someone I loved who grew old and ill
One by one I watched the fires go out.
There was nothing I could do
except to remember
that we receive
then we give back.
One by one I watched the fires go out.
There was nothing I could do
except to remember
that we receive
then we give back.
5.
My dog Luke lies in a grave in the forest, she is given back.
But the river Clarion still flows from wherever it comes from
to where it has been told to go.
I pray for the desperate earth.
I pray for the desperate world.
I do the little each person can do, it isn’t much.
Sometimes the river murmurs, sometimes it raves.
My dog Luke lies in a grave in the forest, she is given back.
But the river Clarion still flows from wherever it comes from
to where it has been told to go.
I pray for the desperate earth.
I pray for the desperate world.
I do the little each person can do, it isn’t much.
Sometimes the river murmurs, sometimes it raves.
6.
Along its shores were, may I say, very intense cardinal flowers.
And trees, and birds that have wings to uphold them, for heaven’s sakes–
the lucky ones: they have such deep natures,
they are so happily obedient.
While I sit here in a house filled with books,
ideas, doubts, hesitations.
Along its shores were, may I say, very intense cardinal flowers.
And trees, and birds that have wings to uphold them, for heaven’s sakes–
the lucky ones: they have such deep natures,
they are so happily obedient.
While I sit here in a house filled with books,
ideas, doubts, hesitations.
7.
And still, pressed deep into my mind, the river
keeps coming, touching me, passing by on its
long journey, its pale, infallible voice
singing.
“At the River Clarion” by Mary Oliver, from Evidence: Poems, Beacon Press.
And still, pressed deep into my mind, the river
keeps coming, touching me, passing by on its
long journey, its pale, infallible voice
singing.
“At the River Clarion” by Mary Oliver, from Evidence: Poems, Beacon Press.
Andar con fé (a mi padre)
(los que a mí más me gusta leer
y escuchar al menos)
son cristianos y lo dicen.
son cristianos y lo dicen.
Que son canales de la palabra
de Dios.
Creo en la Humanidad porque tengo
Creo en la Humanidad porque tengo
fe en Dios, poder superior,
justicia poética, amor.
Agradecida!
The Human Seasons - John Keats
|
Guillermo Roux: El Artista del Tiempo (2016)
Los poetas oficiales - Francisco Madariaga
¿Amoldáis vuestra esfera a lo más íntimo del
porvenir?
Perros enanos entecos, tenéis a vuestro servicio
Perros enanos entecos, tenéis a vuestro servicio
los escribientes nacionales, pajarracos de
la patria.
Canasteros de los frutos del odio, no estoy
arrepentido de tener a mi servicio las joyas
y los frutos del deseo.
Principitos destronados de toda sangre de
composición en la naturaleza.
Eugenios, Equis, Clauditos, perritos de ceniza.
En Las jaulas del sol (1960)
En Las jaulas del sol (1960)
Semántica - Alberto Girri
Cuál
con certeza
es
la palabra sacrificial,
o sea la que enriquece,
cuál,
la cósmica, inicial y final,
cual,
la enterrada, presa,
codiciado venero de las lenguas,
cuál,
la que es fórmula,
no se nos revela
al absorberlas
y decantarlas
pasando como por cribas
sus asociaciones, el vario
rumor de sus desarrollos,
energías y límites.
Nunca conseguiríamos
llegar a la médula,
atrapar
qué significó, exactamente,
Dante con amor
qué quiso Sócrates con areté.
de El ojo (1963)
Techo, pan y trabajo
La dignidad humana debería ser
un derecho incuestionable ya pasado el siglo XX.
Y seguimos debatiendo entre izquierda y derecha...
No puede haber equilibrio así.
No aprendimos nada importante
en las escuelas, si seguimos discutiendo
sin trascender esas cuestiones e ir al hueso
de la cuestión humana que es poder cubrir
las necesidades básicas de todos los seres
humanos vivos.
Es la primera injusticia.
El Infinito - Giacomo Leopardi (1798-1837)
Siempre caro me fue este yermo monte
Y ese obstáculo, que de esta parte
Del último horizonte la vista excluye.
Mas sentado y mirando interminables
Espacios tras él, y sobrehumanos
Silencios, y profundísima quietud
Mi mente imagina; tanto que por poco
mi corazón se asusta. Y como el viento
oigo susurrar entre las plantas, yo aquel
Infinito silencio a esta voz
Voy comparando: y me acuerdo de lo eterno,
Y las muertas estaciones, la presente
viva, y su sonido. Así en esta
Inmensidad mi pensamiento se hunde:
Y el naufragio me es dulce en este mar.
Otra versión:
Amé siempre esta colina,
y el cerco que me impide ver
más allá del horizonte.
Mirando a lo lejos los espacios ilimitados,
los sobrehumanos silencios y su profunda quietud,
me encuentro con mis pensamientos,
y mi corazón no se asusta.
Escucho los silbidos del viento sobre los campos,
y en medio del infinito silencio tanteo mi voz:
me subyuga lo eterno, las estaciones muertas,
la realidad presente y todos sus sonidos.
Así, a través de esta inmensidad se ahoga mi pensamiento:
y naufrago dulcemente en este mar.
Versión de Carlos López S.
Todo pasa - Álvaro Yunque (c.1920)
Todo pasa: glorias, muertes,
revoluciones, miserias,
líderes, credos, proclamas,
martirios, héroes, poetas,
odios, fracasos, victorias,
fes, entusiasmos, ideas,
desolaciones, tiranos,
hazañas, cruces, banderas,
maquinarias, tradiciones,
gritos, puños, sables, fechas,
ruegos, himnos... ¡Todo pasa!
Todo pasa, el pueblo queda.
revoluciones, miserias,
líderes, credos, proclamas,
martirios, héroes, poetas,
odios, fracasos, victorias,
fes, entusiasmos, ideas,
desolaciones, tiranos,
hazañas, cruces, banderas,
maquinarias, tradiciones,
gritos, puños, sables, fechas,
ruegos, himnos... ¡Todo pasa!
Todo pasa, el pueblo queda.
otro San Cayetano sin trabajo suficiente
No soy religiosa pero a veces
siento que no queda otra opción
más viable y cierta que la fé...
Qué miseria este gobierno
en este país.
Qué miseria la nueva derecha
en el mundo.
Qué quedará después de esto...
Cómo pedirle a San Cayetano (esta es su oración):
"Glorioso San Cayetano, aclamado por todos los pueblos padre de providencia porque socorres con grandes milagros a cuantos te invocan en sus necesidades: acudo a tu altar, suplicando que presentes al Señor los deseos que confiadamente deposito en tus manos.
(Aquí se expresan las gracias que se desea obtener)
Haz que estas gracias, que ahora te pido, me ayuden a buscar siempre el Reino de Dios y su Justicia, sabiendo que Dios (que viste de hermosura las flores del campo y alimenta con largueza las aves del cielo) me dará las demás cosas por añadidura.
Amén."
Agosto y Dionisio (notas)
Para los griegos la verdad aparece. La verdad está en el aparecer.
Dioniso aparece. Está en las fibras del vino. Aparece con el vino.
Determinación para que vayamos adelante.
Dioniso es un dios problemático.
Poner unas señales para no perder el camino.
La embriaguez sobria. La dualidad, la ambigüedad.
Si realmente eres Dios manifiéstate como tal.
Relámpago. Fulminó a Semele.
Pluralidad de lo divino.
Si realmente eres Dios manifiéstate como tal.
Relámpago. Fulminó a Semele.
Pluralidad de lo divino.
Cada poeta tiene su versión de Dionisio.
Extranjero, queer y salvaje. Una especie de redención pagana.
Restos de Dionisio en los humanos... Un hallazgo único.
Una imagen de Dionisio crucificado.
La Nemosina (memoria) es la madre las artes, musas.
La Nemosina (memoria) es la madre las artes, musas.
Y para olvidar los males.
El farmakon, veneno y cura. Gorgias.
Farmakon son las palabras.
El farmakon, veneno y cura. Gorgias.
Farmakon son las palabras.
Como el vino, cura o veneno.
Dionisio. El más terrible y el más amable para los humanos.
Inoperatividad. La finitud es el contexto. El momento.
Armonía: Mantener la diversidad en un equilibrio.
Diotima. Holderlin en el Hiperion. Amor y belleza.
Poros, la riqueza y la abundancia. / Penia, pobreza, va a buscar...
Escalera ontológica. La lengua por sí misma es pensamiento.
Subir peldaño por peldaño hasta la verdad.
Lo riesgoso - Constantino Cavafis
Dijo Mirtias (un estudiante sirio
de Alejandría: bajo el reinado
de augusto Constante y augusto Constancio,
gentil en parte, y en parte cristianizado):
“Fortalecido con meditación y estudio,
yo no temeré a mis pasiones como un cobarde.
Mi cuerpo a los placeres entregaré,
a las delectaciones soñadas,
a los más atrevidos deseos amorosos,
a los lúbricos impulsos de mi sangre, sin
ningún temor, porque cuando quiera –
y tenga decisión, fortalecido
como estaré con meditación y estudio –
en los momentos críticos he de reencontrar
mi espíritu, igual que otrora, ascético”.
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