Este breve poemario de Marcelo Damiani tiene la capacidad de evocar un mundo independiente de la realidad. Sin embargo, esta poesía no quiere evadirse de ella. Por el contrario, la evoca y la cuestiona desde un lenguaje claramente intimista: "Solos en la habitación/ el tablero y el caballo arriba de la mesa/ mientras el rey tambalea frente a la dama negra/ tratamos de apresar el sentido del juego". ¿Qué es ese "sentido del juego" sino esa vida misma que nos jaquea constantemente? Dama negra, realidad negra… Un mundo que ha perdido la capacidad de evocarnos la felicidad. ¿Cómo poder situarse más allá? El ocio parece ser la receta con la cual es posible diluir el dolor... vivir el tiempo... "Vagabundeo por un laberinto pautado/ ...estatuido/ en cuyas paredes leo el juego de la mentira/ ...su ilusión/ y los límites de la falsedad". Eso es ser "pasajero" para Damiani.
viernes, 3 de abril de 2009
jueves, 2 de abril de 2009
One Art
By Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last,
or next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
The Spanish version here.
The art of losing isn't hard to master
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last,
or next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
The Spanish version here.
miércoles, 1 de abril de 2009
The lowest activity in human life
By Jerry Seinfeld
On my block, a lot of people walk their dogs and I always see them along with their little poop bags. This, to me, is the lowest activity in human life. Following a dog with a little scooper. Waiting for him to go so you can walk down the street with it in your bag. If aliens are watching this through telescopes, they are going to think the dogs are the leaders of the planet. If you see two life forms, one of them´s making a poop, the other one´s carrying it for him, who would you assume is in charge?
I say, if this is where we´re at after 50,000 years of civilization, let´s just give up. I´m serious, let´s pack it in. It´s not worth it. Let´s just say the human race as an idea didn´t quite work. It seemed good at first, we worked on it for a long time, but it just didn´t pan out. We went to the moon but still somehow wound up carrying little bags of dog doody around with us. We just got mixed up somewhere. Let´s just give it over to the insects or whoever is next in line.
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