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Articles tagged "Uruguay"

New Voices in Uruguayan Poetry

With only 3.4 million people, Uruguay is the smallest Spanish-speaking country in South America, but it has always been well-populated with poets. The Uruguayan poet Leo Masliah makes this clear in his song “Biromes y Servilletas” (“Ballpoint Pens and Napkins”), which pokes fun at Montevideo, the capital where half the country’s population lives, as the place where “there are poets poets poets” that “claim neither glories nor laurels, laurels,...

I’m not going to talk

I’ll talk about something else never that I’m not going to tell you enough! I’m going to draw this subtle paradise of paper that doesn’t mention lice or dreams a look back at a brief childhood I’m going to talk about hammocks and rosaries I assume you don’t pray and you never slept in a hammock yesterday tomorrow never I won’t keep a tally bruises that go away go inwards to explode again in the faces of children your children and ad eternum...

[the nail fell]

the nail fell, making the floor shriek i aim to fix the hole by filling it with paper wad it up a little and stuff it in it can’t fail i push it in deeper it falls through, into a void i try again but with bigger paper it falls through i write tiny poems and toss them into the new mailbox on my wall i explain the lack of plaster to whomever might see it:   children who fall from bed latent madness the freedom of abandonment...

Linguistics in the Time of Uruguayan Invasion

I Linguistics in the time of Uruguayan invasion. When nobody cared about linguistics, before France, before Saussure, when nobody could have imagined a human being might ever think about             linguistics. II They planted flags. Loyally they defended their country to the limit and far beyond it was linguistics. III Linguistics isn’t a resource that’ll ever carry a nation to             glory. In fact, the glory...

Ne Me Quitte Pas

“I can’t seem to remember her,” the man said in anguish. “I can’t remember her face or her body or her voice—that voice that I once adored. I have this mental image that her voice was pleasing, but the sound isn’t there. Do you understand? How can you be in love with someone whom you can’t seem to remember? We’ve only been separated for six months.” (The psychologist jotted something down in his notepad that passed unnoticed by...

One or Two Landscapes

Graciela entered the bedroom, took off her light overcoat, looked at herself in the dressing table mirror,  and frowned. Then she removed her blouse and skirt and threw herself on the bed. She bent one of her legs, stretched it as much as she could, and suddenly noticed a run in her stocking. She sat down, took off her stockings, and began to inspect them for another run. Afterward, she made a small pile of them and placed it on a chair. She looked at herself in the mirror again and...

To Offer My Heart

The thundering chords of the Ninth Symphony filled a room where the only tapestries were crowded shelves of books and where music mingled with the sound of waves slapping against the terrace. Marcelo Monteroni's home was one of those large old houses in the Punta Gorda neighborhood of Cienfuegos that looked out on the bay. Now, Marcelo, in his old age, was sitting motionless in a wicker chair absorbing every note with the same degree of exuberance—perhaps even more—that he...

Rumors

Toward the end of the twentieth century, rumors about the cities spread. Some people spoke of their demise, others of a strange rebirth from out of the rubble. Clandestine groups would whisper secrets about cities that were still inhabitable, where it was possible to walk, see a bird, explore a museum, or take in the color of the sky. But places like that were few and far between. Gradually, people started talking about Berlin. Not in public, in newspapers, or in social gatherings. The...
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