IN THE MOREMARROW/EN LA MASMÉDULA is the final volume by the vanguard poet of 20th century Argentinian literature. “In the fabled Oliverio Girondo. That first line is beautiful & on one level it seems a sort of how-I-wrote-my-book- and-so-can-you! treatise by Girondo. They are the last 4 lines of. Oliverio Girondo — ‘una libélula de médulauna oruga lúbrica desnuda sólo nutrida de frotesun Oliverio Girondo, En la masmédula.
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We need a new arrangement that fairly represents the old arrangement, but we need entirely new plants. This introductory passage I think offers reasons:. If love is the essence of things, the essence of love is More. In Girondo published Campo nuestroa single long poem. InGirondo was injured in a car accident which left him with diminished faculties. Both the process of writing experimental poetry and the process of translating it — as well as the process of reading it — entail risk, a surrender of certainty and control in favor of trying to know and mean through language in the present in new ways.
Love is the essence.
En la masmédula (Oliverio Girondo) | Literatura que suena
It is not a garden. Taking and then framing a photograph of the Cordon Cacti garden seems tempting, as a compromise and a memorial, but this is igrondo transplanting nor translating. Molly Weigel is a poet, translator, and therapist living near the Delaware River in central New Jersey with her husband, son, and four cats.
His first book, Veinte poemas para ser leidos en un tranviawas published by a small French press inolivfrio Calcomanias was published in Span in The first deals with the subtractive, the distinctive essence ; the 2nd deals with the additional, with excess.
Love for Girondo is a force that howls out. This is a reach, as psychoanalysis is a reach. Every left page gives the original Spanish version of the poem, and the right page holds the translation.
And problematizes; who wants to be an object? Faithfulness may be a practice rather than a result.
But the first two lines of the translation are confusing to me. The majority of the book is such best moments. I notice the Spanish masmecula. It reminds me of constituent elements readying themselves to become compound.
Or is it just turtles all the way down? The heart of the matter, the gist, the meat, the essence where the blood, where the oxygen-carrying vitality is produced. Maybe something about the male poet accepting his anima, that female part of him that is stubbornly there but his machismo stubbornly rejects. A lot of poems end on their own titles, creating a feeling of being in an enclosure.
It ties itself to the Word. A oliveroo is a joint formed by two masmesula whose respective notches are made one for the other, in alternating fashion, so they conveniently fit.
So we make an inference. To undo the dovetails, quite literally.
I know that analysis is a fundamental part of translation. It takes an object.
In the Moremarrow/En la masmedula
A photograph, in this case at least, is not a poem. We have here competing notions: But my love takes partners, too. This is understandable, and this is understandably impossible.
Because it rewrites itself by correcting the mistakes of our World. A garden represents an exercise in duration, it is alive, it is exposed to time, it grows, it shoots new buds, other things flower from it. And if love takes an object, love conducts violence. Who wants to be subject to objectification?
Or grammatically speaking, the definite article v.