SONG OF ELDERLY MALE. By Paul de Rokha
Rokha
Paul, National Literature Prize 1965. Presentation by Jorge Teillier, published in the Bulletin of the University of Chile, December 1965. The poet Paul Rokha, which this year won the National Book Award, is a writer who has to be creative with fifty years of literary work and more thirty books published, all of which gave him plenty of right to the highest literary award in the country. Paul
Rokha
[already included in Selva lyrical, always cited anthology, 1917] Length bursts with a work emergency, Moans [1922]. Since this time the poet does not happen and unnoticed. His contribution was not the failure of free verse [already made by Pedro Prado in 1908 with thistle flowers] or the expression of transforming the world by the image [Huidobro initiated in the mirror of water, 1916], but the amalgamation of a light-hearted verbal momentum to carry all the materials hitherto reputed as-poetic. Burst together 'on clay and roses', saying the then-fledgling poet Pablo Neruda, a critical note of clarity, the magazine of the students. It is a rushing torrent in which a hypertrophied I revealed in a speech at times arduous, but draws in a stream moving the sayings and doings of our land and its people. Rokha Paul has the virtue of commanding the most determined hostility or admiration more exhausted ['this is a poem to be read on their knees', says the poet Mahfud Massis *, his son, referring to male song Elder]. His antiapologistas generally agree on one point: 'a poet whose verses are like finding good-and is-a needle in a haystack, too much talking, always throwing rocks of the same dimension. "
However, if you have access to read his copious work, we see an evolution in spiral. The initial anarchism
[expressed in his book of essays Heroism joyless, 1927] where defines communism as 'a matter of pigs', referred to a popular epic tone through a Rabelaisian character: Writing of Raymond Contreras-who continues in part of his current work. Then feel the impact of communism and joined the political struggle, which is reflected in his work especially from the trenches Canto [1933], culminating in his latest book style masses. On the other hand [and this is a dangerous cliché often where you want to imprison the poet] Pablo de Rokha is the singer of meals and drinks from our land, starting, as he himself said, "that you have drunk and eaten most of Chile. Their nomadic life of their own books seller, has given a detailed knowledge of the country, and has to be transformed, for the vulgar, in a kind of Gargantua. But we think that essentially Rokha Paul is a man of the old central Chile, born in a time still patriarchal in a country that was still 'lead in Latin America', with a strong currency with confidence [was not underdevelopment still complex, stimulated by our underdeveloped economists]. Chile was a Dionysian, which personality is reflected in real originality of Rokha:
And what you tell me a rack of pork with garlic, picantísimo, roasted on a spit of machinery, in June, on the banks of laurel or patagua or boldo that summarize the dramatic atmosphere of evening rain or Quirihue Cauquenes / or goose broth guanaco completely licantenino talquinas or kinship?,
chicha ripe
The bellows in the warehouse as a major sacred cow, / and San Javier Linares and be golden, like a grilled, / the bloody road in April, the guitar / cry fall as the widow of a soldier, / and we will remember everything we did or did not and we had and we wanted to do, like a madman / empty ferris wheel overlooking the village ...
Yes, a great Dionysian, but tortured by the knowledge that this patriarchal world is a world in ruins, and that their must be another way, that leaves this world and the church leaves the teenager who caught [ 'First I grabbed the inside, the Catholic Church, the seminary, his handful paler and gloomy Sunday in ...'], from there to then be incorporated into an interpretation of the contemporary world, about embracing all time All countries, all historical phenomena. In this epic poetry in a major [branded monotone], born sometimes great descriptions like that of the continent Language [1943], whose description of the U.S. do not hesitate to estimate as more intense than that of Allen Ginsberg's Howl, which cause so much commotion in many Latin American poetry circles. Let's look at a piece:
... I looked down to kick the black captain with his decorations / national hero all in mourning since the / trams Washington infernal chess and murder / from pale golds P. Street, in Dupont Circle, / I watched Miami hotels cosmic house gangsters / and Hollywood stars, / bankers, prostitutes, bishops and diplomats, casting with or disgust the man of color, / and eat garbage in New Orleans to the old Jewish / Chicago fleeing harassed by the dogs as unclean wool / drunk the Ku-Klux-Klan, wrapping up the stomach with poems / Carl Sandburg with genital religious delirium Sinai / burning.
But the epic poet also gives sometimes the most beautiful lyrical notes. Remember that oft-quoted poem 'Circle':
you about my life of stone and iron burning / and eternity over the dead / I remember you came and have always existed / woman, my wife mine, all women, / all human species regrets in your bones.
En fin, el Premio Nacional ha venido a señalar a la atención publica
y a dar una suerte de inmortalidad a un poeta que ha recorrido todo Chile con gran amor, y 'ganándose la vida a patadas', como él mismo lo ha dicho. Que ha hecho de su poesía tanto su expresión vital como un arma de combate. Que como la mayor parte de los poetas de Chile, ha vivido con máxima modestia. A un poeta que lo ha sido toda una larga y azarosa vida.
CANTO DEL MACHO ANCIANO. Pablo de Rokha
Sentado a la sombra inmortal de un sepulcro,
o enarbolando el gran anillo matrimonial herido a la manera de palomas
............... que se deshojan como congojas,
escarbo los últimos atardeceres.
Like someone throws a bottle sad book Sea-Ocean
or smoke pouring huge stone but fear the cliffs
...............
history or perhaps a dead bird dripping tears, I throwing rocks
inexorable
past against the black wall.
And since everything is useless,
as infinity locks hinges creak in moldy,
earth attitude full of regrets.
hear the regiment of skeletons of great twilight, twilight
the large heart or demonic, raging maniac the elderly, the trump
accusatory of misfortune accumulated huge
the lowered all flags, the field terribly pale
of the shootings, the anguish of a soldier dying
between tizanas and blankets, five hundred leagues
open battlefield, and sob like a house flag. There are tears of iron
crowded, but
by rises in the winter the fungus infernal personal cataclysm,
...............
cities and disasters are killed and remote dust, howl. Time
dressed
panic in which all lives are meaningless, no destination, no style and sword
,
lack direction, voice, lack
of all red and terrible business or epics or ecumenical experiences,
to justify the existence and danger and a suicide, a huge myth,
wrong rupreste, ruminant
was there, and jackets remain inexorable solo meal, laughter and regret
fall winter excesses,
at that time very old with traces of saint and devil
when I was beautiful like a black bull and was the women who wanted
man and a revolver around his waist. Fail
glands and the male genital intimidated by me angry, it picks up the measure of depression
...............
spider or loss dusk happiness in the rubble;
love caught us and we squeezed like lemons desperate;
I'm licking her tenderness, but it is diluted
in eternity, eternity is confused, is destroyed in
........... .... eternity, but I am because I battle and 'my poetry is my
............... militancy 'eternal
everything around me threatening and shouting from the other side. Seeking
mosses, thrift and stunned, as postpretérito
and difficult, and infinitely plow past of neglect,
dusty and musty as the outfits of yesteryear, like families of yesteryear
......... ...... like old coins,
the angry glare of the coffins,
whinny giant hats dead, or that only that
that is falling in the forms, the self
public figure of being
thunderous who drowns contradictory.
now dominates the female, poisoned, and wine
mocks us as an accomplice of us, getting drunk,
............... when we take the cup to the mouth painful , rounded up and aculatándonos
against ourselves as myths.
We are tired of writing
universes upon universes, and immortality who once both loved the teenage heart, crawls like a poor bitch
aging;
know we can scale all the mountains of literature and the heroic youth ..............
, we hold the spirit
the suicide of reckless courage, and yet I definitely
widower, definitely not alone definitely old, and stabbed
of conditions, running the exploit desperate
overbidding,
the heroic portrait of what society and nature overwhelms me;
what happens to the elderly with their own ex-combatant shadow?
confused with her roaring fire burning and are shade made dream of darkness, the gloom
final and a coffin goes crying shadow in shadow. Living
of memory, nursing
of memory, the memory involves me and return to the great loneliness of adolescence,
father and grandfather, the father of countless families,
scratch the embers and cold ashes of despair
enlarges in which all are dead, killed,
and most beloved women in the tomb rumbles of thunder and
heroes carved with joysticks or bellowing. What
rifles forests skins we hid ourselves out of this fire?
followed because it is terrible to himself when we did everything we wanted it ..............
all, we all and we broke the hands
hands and teeth biting iron fire and now as
terribly down the everyday to the infinite, coffin coffin
melted down like rocks or horse world below,
go with strangers, step by step and stride for stride by measuring the general collapse,
calculator to the damper, and
Then there is the caution that the defeat of the old;
remaining empty bottles, spent
missing shoes and dearest friends, our old time, and your time
, Winette, massive and unrelenting.
All things are following my footsteps, barking frantically, as an accompaniment
funeral funeral biting incident in the world, as
..............
national burial of the ages, and I'm walking dead. Infinitely
tired, disillusioned, wrong, the feeling
me categorically wrong about ..............
executed or wasted or abandoned or run over the avatar of fate
the futility of existence and his great career shattered,
understand and admire the leaders
but I'm the coordinator of the anguish of the universe, the destination suicide
bet the deck
.............. the expressional and won the right to lose lost,
the man who breaks his time and sweeping, gives status and regime, but was shattered
and expectations;
breaking wave of retirements, hammer and stone symbol,
longing and former provincial square
and discussion with the birds, vagrancy and moth-eaten retreat on the outskirts.
's raining, raining, raining, hopefully
always be raining, it rains and gale always rampant
.............. I am whole, is associated with personality
Hurricane popular!
the manner of the railway station,
my situation is filled with goodbyes, and absence, a large angry tears spilled
eagles while sleepy and sad;
evening falls in the literature and did not we could,
when we what we wanted with our skin.
The uninhabited ocean adventurer,
the discoverer, the conqueror, the ruler of nations and the founder of
.............. sprawling cities, as a great captain
frustrated, recalling
I dreamed of as wrong and vile or bartering in derision
vocabulary celestial swords poems, handed over the rotating blade of the dreamer
song that could drag into the universal chest dead, the corpse of
.......... conductor .... peoples
quarterback with his stick broken and throwing flames.
Paul, National Literature Prize 1965. Presentation by Jorge Teillier, published in the Bulletin of the University of Chile, December 1965. The poet Paul Rokha, which this year won the National Book Award, is a writer who has to be creative with fifty years of literary work and more thirty books published, all of which gave him plenty of right to the highest literary award in the country. Paul
Rokha
[already included in Selva lyrical, always cited anthology, 1917] Length bursts with a work emergency, Moans [1922]. Since this time the poet does not happen and unnoticed. His contribution was not the failure of free verse [already made by Pedro Prado in 1908 with thistle flowers] or the expression of transforming the world by the image [Huidobro initiated in the mirror of water, 1916], but the amalgamation of a light-hearted verbal momentum to carry all the materials hitherto reputed as-poetic. Burst together 'on clay and roses', saying the then-fledgling poet Pablo Neruda, a critical note of clarity, the magazine of the students. It is a rushing torrent in which a hypertrophied I revealed in a speech at times arduous, but draws in a stream moving the sayings and doings of our land and its people. Rokha Paul has the virtue of commanding the most determined hostility or admiration more exhausted ['this is a poem to be read on their knees', says the poet Mahfud Massis *, his son, referring to male song Elder]. His antiapologistas generally agree on one point: 'a poet whose verses are like finding good-and is-a needle in a haystack, too much talking, always throwing rocks of the same dimension. "
However, if you have access to read his copious work, we see an evolution in spiral. The initial anarchism
[expressed in his book of essays Heroism joyless, 1927] where defines communism as 'a matter of pigs', referred to a popular epic tone through a Rabelaisian character: Writing of Raymond Contreras-who continues in part of his current work. Then feel the impact of communism and joined the political struggle, which is reflected in his work especially from the trenches Canto [1933], culminating in his latest book style masses. On the other hand [and this is a dangerous cliché often where you want to imprison the poet] Pablo de Rokha is the singer of meals and drinks from our land, starting, as he himself said, "that you have drunk and eaten most of Chile. Their nomadic life of their own books seller, has given a detailed knowledge of the country, and has to be transformed, for the vulgar, in a kind of Gargantua. But we think that essentially Rokha Paul is a man of the old central Chile, born in a time still patriarchal in a country that was still 'lead in Latin America', with a strong currency with confidence [was not underdevelopment still complex, stimulated by our underdeveloped economists]. Chile was a Dionysian, which personality is reflected in real originality of Rokha:
And what you tell me a rack of pork with garlic, picantísimo, roasted on a spit of machinery, in June, on the banks of laurel or patagua or boldo that summarize the dramatic atmosphere of evening rain or Quirihue Cauquenes / or goose broth guanaco completely licantenino talquinas or kinship?,
chicha ripe
The bellows in the warehouse as a major sacred cow, / and San Javier Linares and be golden, like a grilled, / the bloody road in April, the guitar / cry fall as the widow of a soldier, / and we will remember everything we did or did not and we had and we wanted to do, like a madman / empty ferris wheel overlooking the village ...
Yes, a great Dionysian, but tortured by the knowledge that this patriarchal world is a world in ruins, and that their must be another way, that leaves this world and the church leaves the teenager who caught [ 'First I grabbed the inside, the Catholic Church, the seminary, his handful paler and gloomy Sunday in ...'], from there to then be incorporated into an interpretation of the contemporary world, about embracing all time All countries, all historical phenomena. In this epic poetry in a major [branded monotone], born sometimes great descriptions like that of the continent Language [1943], whose description of the U.S. do not hesitate to estimate as more intense than that of Allen Ginsberg's Howl, which cause so much commotion in many Latin American poetry circles. Let's look at a piece:
... I looked down to kick the black captain with his decorations / national hero all in mourning since the / trams Washington infernal chess and murder / from pale golds P. Street, in Dupont Circle, / I watched Miami hotels cosmic house gangsters / and Hollywood stars, / bankers, prostitutes, bishops and diplomats, casting with or disgust the man of color, / and eat garbage in New Orleans to the old Jewish / Chicago fleeing harassed by the dogs as unclean wool / drunk the Ku-Klux-Klan, wrapping up the stomach with poems / Carl Sandburg with genital religious delirium Sinai / burning.
But the epic poet also gives sometimes the most beautiful lyrical notes. Remember that oft-quoted poem 'Circle':
you about my life of stone and iron burning / and eternity over the dead / I remember you came and have always existed / woman, my wife mine, all women, / all human species regrets in your bones.
En fin, el Premio Nacional ha venido a señalar a la atención publica
y a dar una suerte de inmortalidad a un poeta que ha recorrido todo Chile con gran amor, y 'ganándose la vida a patadas', como él mismo lo ha dicho. Que ha hecho de su poesía tanto su expresión vital como un arma de combate. Que como la mayor parte de los poetas de Chile, ha vivido con máxima modestia. A un poeta que lo ha sido toda una larga y azarosa vida.
CANTO DEL MACHO ANCIANO. Pablo de Rokha
Sentado a la sombra inmortal de un sepulcro,
o enarbolando el gran anillo matrimonial herido a la manera de palomas
............... que se deshojan como congojas,
escarbo los últimos atardeceres.
Like someone throws a bottle sad book Sea-Ocean
or smoke pouring huge stone but fear the cliffs
...............
history or perhaps a dead bird dripping tears, I throwing rocks
inexorable
past against the black wall.
And since everything is useless,
as infinity locks hinges creak in moldy,
earth attitude full of regrets.
hear the regiment of skeletons of great twilight, twilight
the large heart or demonic, raging maniac the elderly, the trump
accusatory of misfortune accumulated huge
the lowered all flags, the field terribly pale
of the shootings, the anguish of a soldier dying
between tizanas and blankets, five hundred leagues
open battlefield, and sob like a house flag. There are tears of iron
crowded, but
by rises in the winter the fungus infernal personal cataclysm,
...............
cities and disasters are killed and remote dust, howl. Time
dressed
panic in which all lives are meaningless, no destination, no style and sword
,
lack direction, voice, lack
of all red and terrible business or epics or ecumenical experiences,
to justify the existence and danger and a suicide, a huge myth,
wrong rupreste, ruminant
was there, and jackets remain inexorable solo meal, laughter and regret
fall winter excesses,
at that time very old with traces of saint and devil
when I was beautiful like a black bull and was the women who wanted
man and a revolver around his waist. Fail
glands and the male genital intimidated by me angry, it picks up the measure of depression
...............
spider or loss dusk happiness in the rubble;
love caught us and we squeezed like lemons desperate;
I'm licking her tenderness, but it is diluted
in eternity, eternity is confused, is destroyed in
........... .... eternity, but I am because I battle and 'my poetry is my
............... militancy 'eternal
everything around me threatening and shouting from the other side. Seeking
mosses, thrift and stunned, as postpretérito
and difficult, and infinitely plow past of neglect,
dusty and musty as the outfits of yesteryear, like families of yesteryear
......... ...... like old coins,
the angry glare of the coffins,
whinny giant hats dead, or that only that
that is falling in the forms, the self
public figure of being
thunderous who drowns contradictory.
now dominates the female, poisoned, and wine
mocks us as an accomplice of us, getting drunk,
............... when we take the cup to the mouth painful , rounded up and aculatándonos
against ourselves as myths.
We are tired of writing
universes upon universes, and immortality who once both loved the teenage heart, crawls like a poor bitch
aging;
know we can scale all the mountains of literature and the heroic youth ..............
, we hold the spirit
the suicide of reckless courage, and yet I definitely
widower, definitely not alone definitely old, and stabbed
of conditions, running the exploit desperate
overbidding,
the heroic portrait of what society and nature overwhelms me;
what happens to the elderly with their own ex-combatant shadow?
confused with her roaring fire burning and are shade made dream of darkness, the gloom
final and a coffin goes crying shadow in shadow. Living
of memory, nursing
of memory, the memory involves me and return to the great loneliness of adolescence,
father and grandfather, the father of countless families,
scratch the embers and cold ashes of despair
enlarges in which all are dead, killed,
and most beloved women in the tomb rumbles of thunder and
heroes carved with joysticks or bellowing. What
rifles forests skins we hid ourselves out of this fire?
followed because it is terrible to himself when we did everything we wanted it ..............
all, we all and we broke the hands
hands and teeth biting iron fire and now as
terribly down the everyday to the infinite, coffin coffin
melted down like rocks or horse world below,
go with strangers, step by step and stride for stride by measuring the general collapse,
calculator to the damper, and
Then there is the caution that the defeat of the old;
remaining empty bottles, spent
missing shoes and dearest friends, our old time, and your time
, Winette, massive and unrelenting.
All things are following my footsteps, barking frantically, as an accompaniment
funeral funeral biting incident in the world, as
..............
national burial of the ages, and I'm walking dead. Infinitely
tired, disillusioned, wrong, the feeling
me categorically wrong about ..............
executed or wasted or abandoned or run over the avatar of fate
the futility of existence and his great career shattered,
understand and admire the leaders
but I'm the coordinator of the anguish of the universe, the destination suicide
bet the deck
.............. the expressional and won the right to lose lost,
the man who breaks his time and sweeping, gives status and regime, but was shattered
and expectations;
breaking wave of retirements, hammer and stone symbol,
longing and former provincial square
and discussion with the birds, vagrancy and moth-eaten retreat on the outskirts.
's raining, raining, raining, hopefully
always be raining, it rains and gale always rampant
.............. I am whole, is associated with personality
Hurricane popular!
the manner of the railway station,
my situation is filled with goodbyes, and absence, a large angry tears spilled
eagles while sleepy and sad;
evening falls in the literature and did not we could,
when we what we wanted with our skin.
The uninhabited ocean adventurer,
the discoverer, the conqueror, the ruler of nations and the founder of
.............. sprawling cities, as a great captain
frustrated, recalling
I dreamed of as wrong and vile or bartering in derision
vocabulary celestial swords poems, handed over the rotating blade of the dreamer
song that could drag into the universal chest dead, the corpse of
.......... conductor .... peoples
quarterback with his stick broken and throwing flames.
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