September 10, 1968. A day like today puts an end to his life the poet Pablo de Rokha. That is why within the framework of the commemoration of 40 years his death, we decided to publish this article in its report.
"I am not subject to rules, so I have no style"-Pablo Picasso-
The center pages of a magazine now defunct Chilean, show a gray and black photo that reveals a dark story: the exodus of displaced people - refugees arriving from other borders. Are dispossessed and driven from their homes by the inhabitants of these villages. Few have more than their clothing worn and many are sick and hungry. Some have died in the train cars that brought them Anhalter Station, Berlin. They come from Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary .... wander from side to side or hidden in the ruins of the city. Most do not have another way to die of starvation in the European winter ... are Germans in Central Europe on their return are rejected by their countrymen. Is 1945.
Expands scenario uncertainties while fanning the conflicts among the survivors, guilt, responsibility, reasons, failure-which motivates, once again, a re-think and question in the language of effervescence which had already been presented during the pax precarious interlude wars. Citizens, artists, writers, musicians, politicians react to the desolation, which urgently needs a human rearrangement, a welcoming to the cry of a voice that calls answers because "the whole earth is vagrancy footprint"
In Chile, due to its remoteness, the shame he felt less, perhaps could be noted the effect on local trade and imports or the distance between an arrival and a European ship to Valparaiso. The voices of winners and losers did not change largely the dream of our country and that great devastation was due and briefly mentioned in the patterns of international news, and details of guests on a company premiere Santiago or marriage and, of course, Alone reflections on, for example, Paul Valery and Victoria Ocampo.
However, here too there who accused the monstrous dimension of this war ended for the second time, the monotonous story of the systematic extermination and modernized in Mauthausen, Bergen-Belsen or Treblinka ... .. There were many Chileans, some of them grouped in the so-called Intellectual Alliance, created by Pablo Neruda, whose purpose was also to welcome the exiles from Franco's Spain. Chilean men and women, think, work, rethought from his workshop table or canvas, how, to name a few, Peter Wolf, Stella Díaz Varin, Camilo Mori, Juvencio Valle, José Miguel Varas. ... And also Paul Rokha.
The poet was already expressing the anguish of the world since his youth, in the fertile period of the Wars, in his trench, dug with his personal fire and desperate, "finding the smell and taste the pain of the world, facing the unreasonableness of an order which prevails progress and scientism. His language realizes the times that, somehow, are also reflected in Chile. It is also a voice that is ahead of its time in 30 or more years struggling to achieve flow in the spiritual fabric of his country. Long been poorly understood and even accepted less.
Man self-proclaimed "master of conscience" or "cosmic patriarch is a being that life" is scratching the pain of man and the depths of God with the claws. " Incidentally, a God who is not so, because it "poisoned the joy of existence" and whose neglect seems to mock the misery of the human being himself included.
Those black-gray photographs starving and sick beings embarking on a return to their land, allowed to take refuge in it only for 24 hours, are a reflection not only of the passing of a generation and the tragedy of a continent for a period of history, but also the accession of a being and being in the world cracked and scratched. This deeply moved by the poet, recognizing, perhaps, his own despair and unhappiness of modern man. Behold, then, their chaotic and fragmented texts, overflowing and repetitive ... attacked and praised:
"... my pants still broken stripe of the century like a huge
notary office, populated
boredom
the blind jar full of flies will.
"A dead below wandering cries
uninhabited my songs. "
..." I hear snoring death below
world in the manner of snakes, in the manner of
guns pointing at the head, the way
of God that never existed. "
The poet rages in a play of light, contrast and lightning, revealing a bold aesthetic, far from the traditional harness, which extols" poetasters reciting games against chickens fragrant. " It is he who "posed by the fight of its time, reflecting it," a time of Eros and Thanatos, tal como muestran las imágenes en sepia de los desterrados errantes o el lienzo de Guernica, con sus mujeres hechas jirones de piel y espanto. El mundo es una máscara torva de una existencia que no cree en su propia salvación ni en un lugar en el futuro, pero quiere desesperadamente recomponerse, a través de un común, mutuo y renacido lenguaje.
Nuestra propia historia, aún reciente, ofrece una imagen similar, cuya bruma aún nos ciega y extravía.
Guardando las proporciones, en el Chile pre y post guerra había una descomposición similar. Desorientación e incertidumbre; el descontento ciudadano y sus tumultuosas manifestaciones – consolidadas thanks to the mobilization of union struggles from early 1918 - the economic failures and political disagreements, the betrayals, the rudder strokes made by governments or warlords, inflation, unemployment, low wages, poverty .... Paul made emerge in Rokha a voice that seeks to rescue the individual memory and collective time, a self that "he recalls, longing, hate, love, criticism, nostalgia through his own anguish against the inexorable passage of time, but in the same gesture reconstruct its history and of humanity to continue living and projecting the utopias of tomorrow. "(1)
Our poet speaks, writes," sings " on that reality from its remote and Latin American australica particular, while reflecting a universal clamor. Inevitably, it is insistent: the chaos and fragmentation in his poetry and prose, the disjointed fabric of certain texts, the repetition at times, intolerable and burdensome to drive and pass the collected once the heart itself.
"chasing you, sir?, .... You walk, you walk too fast to nowhere, nowhere, nowhere, to nowhere, poets, traders, suplementeros, whores, invested, whores, what you suggest? what? ... what ... beggar ... no, you already are something, you something, beggar, beggar, for you, you, you never intended to guide the universe going, going nomadic machines without sense, and where, where lies your reason for being, your reason be? .... (2)
British historian Eric Hobsbawm, says that "the destruction of the past, or rather of the social mechanisms that link the contemporary experience of the individual with that of previous generations, is one of the most characteristic and strange phenomena of the late twentieth century. "(3)
Paul Rokha, sinking like a great tree at the edge of Maule, sense this phenomenon and becomes obsessed by devoting most of his work to cry over the memory that comes from being, "and bridge crossing the crisis universal time or all times, including ours "(4) An oscillating memory, torn between the memory and uncertainty. Then, as if a window opened to private garden and sings reveals customs, sayings and vignettes of their own complicity while reading becomes current, exquisite, sensual, sexy morsels of words that are body language alive and sacred memory of this, their country.
... "song of the jar and wet with tears of wine" ...
.... "Licantén lies on the edge of Mataquito
contemplating its huge water as wiener with hands full chestnut "...
(about his grandfather and, perhaps, himself ...)" I met several of these souls truly
Castilian following mystics, soldiers,
conquerors, poets , steely souls, tragic, and exalted souls of great purity
though they have universal cruelty of fanatics, but the cruelty
brain politicians "...
..." sunk into the thick atmosphere to fritanga, sweat, chili beast to
chicha , in Litres, are the customary patrons.
are not all thugs and criminals are loafers, orioles, huachucheros,
profiteers, vagrants, outsiders, chusconas, futre poor, cutters,
sacristanes who become informants, that is, spies, cops, saber, thugs and brackets "...
... "the Smallfry pie, spicy, sopaipilla picantoncita and that in the hot bacon
groaned, are blessed between drinks ".... (4)
Eric Hobsbawm's statement on the destruction of the past still standing fiercely. This century began with death and destruction, evaporating towns and souls, memories, stories. The horror has become routine, easily achievable "in situ" by optical fiber, changing our confusion and our language, become negligible. The words have been entered in the absurd and distorted in unconnected babbling of ideological slogans and advertising and the media codes omnivore market service. They are the new ghosts, wandering out of memory, the chorus of this transitional measure, which emerged from the rubble of the pre-post-modernity.
In this progress into the future, gives the sensation of glimpsing the guttural and gesticulating hominid who stalks from his cave.
As happened before, in Chile we hear echoes of this wave that drags somewhere that still remember.
Since its eternal restlessness, Pablo de Rokha roars like a glow on the shadow
"sculpted the myth of the world in metaphors,
the image of the exploited and downtrodden of my time and say vocabulary
being subjected to the infinite power,
crowds and crowds to reflect my voice, poetry, poetry
sublimated expression of all peoples, the anonymous
and decrepit and spoke foundling
tongue and emerged from the grassroots general mythology of colonial Chile and pain
waving his machine gun activist
new language, against my horse headed old language, "...
wanted, because we need, rescue from infinity, where our fleet "cosmic patriarch," some of its main themes: the intimate love for his country, his courage, devotion and rigor of his craft and his uncompromising stubbornness.
adverse opinions or from him, that both have magnified other, as his most outstanding merit, pale in comparison to the flow of thoughts, dreams, lessons, fears, joys and pains that left thousands of pages, such as an earthy, angry prophet.
Read it brings us closer to ourselves, to our own, is a murmur, guess, is the language of Chile oceanic, lacustrine, volcanic, courageous, contradictory, persistent, bad-tempered, crafty, hypocritical, tired, imaginary , nice and deep.
"... if I was not just a poet with broken arms" ...
Written by Neda Brkic
Valparaiso
Citations:
(1) Nain Nómez: Prologue to Paul's Unpublished Works of Rokha, LOM Editores, 1999
(2) Paul Rokha; Epic del Fuego; editions Universidad de Santiago, 1995
(3) Eric Hobsbawm: History of the Twentieth Century, Grijalbo Mondadori, Buenos Aires, 1999
(4) Nain Nómez: Foreword to: Unpublished Works of Paul of Rokha, LOM Editores, 1999
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