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Articles tagged "Spanish Poetry"

Glimpses of Octavio Paz: A Centennial Celebration

This year marks one hundred years since the birth of Octavio Paz, renowned Mexican poet, essayist, diplomat, and Nobel Laureate. On October 6th, as part of a weeklong centennial celebration, the Americas Society, the Mexican Cultural Institute of New York, Poets House, and Instituto Cervantes New York hosted a film screening and discussion with acclaimed writer and translator Eliot Weinberger, and award-winning Mexican poets María Baranda and Coral Bracho. The event took place at...

From the Translator: Standing Stone Souls: My Journey into the Poetry of María Auxiliadora Álvarez

The Yucatan Peninsula has always had a powerful hold on me. I used to say I went there for refueling with every rite of passage. This particular trip had been a surprise. Following my divorce, after a twenty-year marriage that was as difficult as it was long, I had gone to my high- school class reunion. The short version of the story has me flying to Cozumel a few weeks later with a classmate I scarcely knew. He had an interest in Scuba diving and I, well, I was having my midlife crisis,...

Ode to the Andean Cordillera

Once again, from up high, flying over  the sky, you appeared, white and obscure  cordillera of my homeland. Before then, the great airplane  crossed great seas, jungles, deserts. Everything was symmetry, everything was ready on the earth’s surface, everything from above was path, until, in the middle  of heaven and earth, your planetary snow lodged itself, freezing the towers of earth. Volcanoes, scars, caves, ferruginous snows, skinned titanic heights, heads of...

For Antonio Gamoneda

I wanted to write like Antonio Gamoneda, so I went to León and, after visiting the cathedral to ask God to forget me, I arrived at the poet’s house. Maestro, I said, tell me, reveal to me the secret of poetry. I’m no maestro, just a dealer of useless things.  And among these things poetry is like a frigid goddess proffering her gifs. Can you imagine? If you want to write like I do, write and erase and write again. Write like yourself, if you can, or...

For Álvaro Pombo

We are accomplices and accomplices have no reason to embrace or kiss or mourn their own dead or ours.  We live in endless complicity with shameful times that have become scars and ashes in our memory.  Dark days that today are luminous mist in Neuchâtel or in brothels on Las Ramblas whose ceremonies we don’t attend but which we’re familiar with because we’ve lived in brothels and in dungeons and in the incense of basilicas. Accomplices...

For Eugenio Montejo

Serene, Salinas, grows the air and decks itself in beauty and unaccustomed light when consummate music sounds steered by your knowing hand.      Tr. Michael Smith      Fray Luis de León, “To Francisco Salinas” The music without sound, The solitude that clamors The supper that revives us and enamors.        Tr. Roy Campbell      San Juan de la Cruz, “Spiritual...

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