Writing this book has been
the greatest and best challenge I have faced in life.
The chosen ones presents a
brief summary on Uruguayan poets, biographical summary and a personal look of
the authors, each followed by some poems translated from Spanish.
“The major difficulty in
translating from Spanish, I think, is that Spanish is a rhyme-rich language;
English isn’t,” said Ed Ochester, the poetry editor for the Pittsburg Press.
“So maintaining the same ‘tone’ or sound from one language to the other isn’t
easy.”
Certainly one could simply
translate the Spanish “vacio” to the English “empty,” but to do so would change
the texture of the poem, Kercheval said.
“English has words that
come from Latin, but those tend to be words that are fancier,” she said. “In
Spanish, ‘vacio’ means empty. In English we have ‘vacant,’ but a house is
vacant; you wouldn’t really use it to describe a chair. Just the lilting
rhythmic sound of it is really different in Spanish, but the effect [Maia’s]
trying to go for is to use a really simple language.”
Choosing complicated
English words rooted in Latin may be more pleasing to the ear, but would cloud
the poems and spoil Maia’s attempt to make her poems easily understood.
“In general, Americans are
afraid of poetry much more than people in many other cultures,” Orchester said.
“Good poetry isn’t necessarily more difficult than good fiction or non-fiction.
My own view is that poetry should be only as difficult as it needs to be—
anything more is pretension, as it is in any other kind of writing.”
Complicated and subjective
as the process might be, when it’s done right it makes a difference. A
culture—a world—that might previously have gone unvisited by the reader is
opened up to them.
“Poetry is often where any
language finds its fullest expression, where it obtains aesthetic magnitude,”
said Aron Aji, the University of Iowa’s director of M.F.A. in Literary
Translation. “Carrying a poem from one language to another is like
transplanting a mature tree, a difficult operation. If you are successful, then
you have a good translation. But if you can also carry some of the original
climate, the water, the salt in the air, then you have a great translation.”
Without any more preambles,
let us proceed to develop the theme that summons us:
The chosen poets
Mario Benedetti
Benedetti was born to a
prosperous family of Italian immigrants. His father was a viticulturist and a
chemist. At age four the boy was taken to Montevideo, where he received a
superior education at a private school. He was deeply affected by his early
experience of the capital city. Benedetti began his literary career by publishing
poetry, but he soon turned to the short story and the novel. In these he
painted a realistic and critical portrait of the ascendant Uruguayan middle
class, to which he belonged. His most accomplished stories appeared in the
collection Montevideanos(1959; “Montevideans”), a title that recalls James
Joyce’s Dubliners. Like Joyce, Benedetti was enthralled by urban life, and he
became the chronicler of the Uruguayan capital’s bourgeoisie, though, unlike
Joyce, Benedetti often remained at a descriptive level lacking depth. But his
works became best sellers in Uruguay, and by the 1960s his reputation had
spread throughout Latin America. His novel La tregua (1960; The Truce) was
widely read, as was his allegorical novel El cumpleaños de Juan Angel (1971; Juan
Angel’s Birthday). Benedetti had the misfortune of peaking as a writer at the
same time as Carlos Fuentes, Gabriel García Márquez, Mario Vargas Llosa, and
others who brought about what is known as the “boom of the Latin American
novel” and with whom he could not compete.
In 1959 Benedetti went to
New York City on a fellowship, and during the 1960s he traveled a great deal.
Beginning in the late 1960s, he spent lengthy periods in Cuba. A supporter of
Castro’s regime, he eventually based himself in Cuba, where his works took a
more political turn, particularly after the 1973 military coup in Uruguay.
Sometime later he moved to Madrid. Subsequently Benedetti published Despistes y
franquezas (1989; “Errors and Sincere Statements”) and La borra del café (1992;
“Coffee Grounds”). In addition to short stories, novels, and poetry, Benedetti
wrote plays and essays. A collection of his short stories was translated into
English as Blood Pact and Other Stories (1997).
More about Mario Benedetti
A powerful voice for social
justice and the rights of common people, and a long-time opponent of repressive
governments in his native Uruguay and around the world, Mario Benedetti
published over 80 books of poetry, short stories, novels, essays, literary criticism,
and advocacy journalism in over 1200 editions and has been translated into over
25 languages. His song lyrics have been performed by more than 40 singers,
including Joan Manuel Serrat, Nacha Guevara, Los Olimareños, Daniel Viglietti,
Alfredo Zitarrosa, Pablo Milanés, Soledad Bravo, Amparo Ochoa, Laura Canoura,
Rosa León, los Gambino, Eduardo Darnauchans, Adriana Varela, Numa Moraes, Tania
Libertad, Marilina Ross, etc.
He has been on the juries
for film prizes in International Festivals held in Havana, San Sebastian,
Valladolid and for literature prizes in Uruguay, Argentina, Cuba, México,
Ecuador, Panamá and Spain.
The Cuban Council of State
awarded him the Order of Felix Varela prize in 1982 and the Haydée Santmaría
medal in 1989. In 1987 in Brussels, Amnesty International awarded him the
Golden Flame prize for his novel, spring with a Broken Corner. In Chile, he was
awarded both the Gabriela Mistral medal in 1995 and the Pablo Neruda medal in
2005. In 1996 in Uruguay, he received the Bartolomé Hidalgo Prize for his
essays. In 1993 he was awarded an honorary professorship by the University of
Buenos Aires, and in 1996 in Uruguay, he was named Professor Emeritus by the
Faculty of Humanities and Sciences. In 1997, he received honorary doctorates
from the Universities of Alicante, Valladolid and Havana, and in 2004, he
received the same honor from the National University in Montevideo. In 1999 in
Spain, he was awarded the 8th Reina Sofía Prize for Latin American Poetry. That
same year, in Uruguay, the Ministry of Education and Culture awarded him the
National Prize for Intellectual Achievement (shared with Julio Da Rosa). In
1999, the Colombian Chamber of Deputies awarded him the Order of Democracy
Prize at the Gran Cruz level. In 2005, he was awarded the International
Menéndez y Pelayo award in Santander, Spain. In 2007, he received the Alba
Prize for Letters and a first class appointment to the Order of Francisco de
Miranda from the Bolivarian Government of Venezuela, and in 2008, an honorary
doctorate from the University of Córdoba, Argentina. He died in 2009.
Let’s Make a Deal
When you feel your wound
about to bleed
when you feel your voice
about to sob
Count on me.
Partner, you know
You can count on me
Not up to two
Or up to ten,
But count on me.
If sometimes you notice
That I look into your eyes
And a vein of love
You recognize in mine
Don't alert your rifles
Nor think "what a
delirium",
In spite of the vein
Or perhaps because it
exists
You can count on me.
If several time you feel me
Unsociable without reason
don’t think "what a
slack",
the same way you can count
On me.
But let´s make a deal,
I would like to count on
you,
It is so nice to know you
exist,
One feels alive
And when I say this
I mean count
Even though it´s up to two
or even though it´s up to
five,
Not to make you come Hasty
to my aid
But to know certainly
That you know you can Count
on me.
Love in the Afternoon
It’s a shame you’re not
with me
when I look at the clock
and it’s four
and I finish the payroll
accounts and think for ten minutes
and stretch my legs like
every afternoon
and I do the same with my
shoulders to loosen my back
and I fold my fingers and
crack my knuckles.
It’s a shame you’re not
with me
when I look at the clock
and it’s five
and I’m a handle that
calculates interests
or two hands that pounce on
forty keys
or an ear that listens to
how the telephone barks
or someone who makes up
numbers and derives truth from them.
It’s a shame you’re not
with me
when I look at the clock
and it’s six.
You could approach me by
surprise
and say “How are you?” and
we would end up with
me with the red smudge from
your lips
you with the blue soot from
my carbon.
Armored heart
Because I have you and I
don’t
because I think about you
because the night is
wide-eyed
because the night passes
and I say love
because you have come to
reclaim your image
and you are better than all
your images
because you are beautiful
from foot to soul
because you are good from
soul to me
because you hide yourself
sweet in pride
small and sweet
armored heart
because you are mine
because you aren’t mine
because I look at you and
die
and worse than dying
is not seeing you love
not seeing you
because always you exist
everywhere
but you exist better where
I love you
because your mouth is blood
and you are cold
I have to love you love
I have to love you
even though this wound
hurts like two
even though I search for
you without finding you
and even though
the night passes and I have
you
and not…
How Do I Let You Know
FROM THE AFFECTIONS
How do I let you know that
there is always time?
That oneself has to seek it
and give it himself
That no one sets rules, but
life
That life without rules
loses form
That form is not lost when
we open up
That to open up does not
mean to love indiscriminately
That is not forbidden to
love
That you can also hate
That hatred and love are
emotions
That aggression for its own
sake hurts a lot
That wounds heal
That the doors should not
be closed
That the biggest door is
affection
That affection define us
That defining ourselves is
not swimming against the current
That the stronger the
stroke, the more you draw
That to try to balance does
not mean to be warm
That to deny words, is to
open distances
That the encounter is so
beautiful
That sex is part of the
beauty of life
That life departs from sex
That the reason for
children has its why
That to want to know about
someone, is not just curiosity
That to know everything
about everyone is not healthy curiosity
That it never hurts to be
thankful
That auto-determination is
not to do things alone
That nobody wants to be
alone
That you need to give for
not to be alone
That to give, we should
receive prior
That to receive we must
also know how to ask
That to know how to beg is
not to give up on yourself
That to give up on yourself
is not loving
That to be loved we have to
demonstrate who we are
That for someone to be /
there to help (needs to be helped)
That help is to encourage
and support
That support is not
flattering
That adulation is so
pernicious as to turn the face
That things are honest face
to face
That no one is honest
because they don’t steal
That the thief who steals
doesn’t do it for pleasure
That when there is no
pleasure in things you’re not living
That to feel alive you have
to forget that death exists
That one may be dead while
living
That one feels with the
body and mind
That you hear with your
ears
That it costs to be
sensitive and not get hurt
That hurt is not bleed to
death
That to not get hurt, we
build walls
That who sows walls, won’t
get anything
That almost we all are
builders of walls
That it would be better to
build bridges
That on them we reach the
other side and also come back
That return does not mean
go backward
That to go backwards may
mean to advance
That to advance faster does
not mean to raise closer to the sun
How do I let you know that
no one set rules, but life?
Don't Give Up
Don't give up, you still
have time
to reach up and start anew,
Accept your shadows,
Bury your fears,
Free your burdens,
Fly again.
Don't give up, that's what
life is
Continue the journey,
Follow your dreams,
Unstuck time,
Move the rubble,
And uncover the sky.
Don't give up, please don't
give way,
Even if the cold burns,
Even if fear bites,
Even if the sun sets,
And the wind goes silent,
There is still fire in your
soul
There is still life in your
dreams.
Because life is yours and
yours is the desire
Because you have loved it
and because I love you
Because wine exists and
love is true.
Because there are no wounds
that time doesn't cure.
To open the doors,
Take away the locks,
Abandon the walls that have
protected you,
To live life and accept the
challenge
Get back laughter,
Practice a song,
Lower the guard and extend
the hands
Open the wings
And try again,
Celebrate life and take
back the skies.
Don't give up, please don't
give way,
Even if the cold burns,
Even if fear bites,
Even if the sun sets,
And the wind goes silent,
There is still fire in your
soul
There is still life in your
dreams.
Because every day is a new
beginning,
Because this is the hour
and the best moment.
Because you are not alone,
because I love you.
The people I like
I like the people that
vibrate, that don’t need to be pushed, that you don’t have to tell them to do
stuff, because they know what needs to be done and just do it.
I like the people that
cultivate their dreams until those dreams take over their own reality.
I like the people that are
able to face the consequences of their actions, people that risk what’s true
for what’s uncertain to go after a dream, people that allow themselves to run
from “sensitive advice” leaving solutions in the hands of our father God.
I like the people that are
fair with their own people and themselves, people that are thankful for each
new day, the good things existing in their life, people who live every hour
with good enthusiasm giving their best, thankful for being alive, for being
able to give smiles, for being able to offer their hands and help kindly,
waiting for nothing in return.
I like the people that are
capable of criticizing me constructively and up front, but without hurting me.
People with tact.
I like the people with
sense of justice. These are the people I call my friends.
I like the people that
acknowledge the importance of joy and preaches about it.
I like the people that with
jokes teach us to conceive life with humor.
I like the people that
never stop being childish.
I like the people that are
sincere and honest, capable of opposing with reasonable arguments to anyone’s
decisions.
I like the people that are
loyal and persistent, that fight tirelessly for their goals and ideas. I like
people with criteria, that are never ashamed of recognizing a mistake or
recognizing ignorance about something.
People that, when accepting
their mistakes, genuinely make an effort not to make them again.
People that fight against
adversities. People that look for solutions. People that think and meditate.
People that value their equals not by a social stereotype or how they look.
People that don’t judge and don’t let others judge. I like people with
personality.
People capable of
understanding that humanity’s biggest mistake is to try to get out of their
head something that won’t go out of their heart.
Sensitivity, courage,
solidarity, kindness, respect, peace, values, joy, humility, faith, happiness,
tact, trust, hope, gratitude, wisdom, dreams, regret, and love for others and
oneself are fundamental things to be called PEOPLE.
With people like this, I
can commit to anything for the rest of my life, because just by having them next
to me, I consider myself well rewarded.
Impossible to win without
learning to lose.
Impossible to walk without
learning to fall.
Impossible to be right
without knowing to be wrong.
Impossible to live without
knowing to revive.
Glory doesn’t consist in
never falling, but in getting up whenever’s necessary.
AND THAT IS SOMETHING VERY
FEW PEOPLE HAVE THE PRIVILEDGE TO EXPERIMENT.
Blessed are those who have
received with the same naturalness winning or losing, right or wrong, triumph
and defeat.
In defense of joy
Defend joy as a trench
defend it from scandal and
routine
from misery and miserable
from temporary absences
and from definitive ones.
Defend joy as a principle
defend it from wonder and
nightmares
from neutrals and neutrons
from sweet infamies
and serious diagnoses
Defend joy as a flag
defend it from ray and
melancholy
from nerves and rogues
from rhetoric and cardiac
attacks
from endemics and academics
Defend joy as a destination
defend it from fire and
firefighters
from suicidal and homicidal
from vacations and burden
from the obligation of
being happy.
Defend joy as a certainty
defend it from oxide and
dirt
from the famous brushwork
of time
from dew and opportunism
from pimps of laughter
Defend joy as a Right
defend it from God and
winter
from capital letters and
death
from surnames and sorrows
from chance
and from joy itself.
Tactics and
Strategy
Tactics and Strategy
My tactic is to look at you
To learn how you are
Love you as you are
My tactic is to talk to you
And listen to you
And construct with words
An indestructible bridge
My tactic is to stay in
your memory,
I don't know how
Nor with what pretext
But stay within you
My tactic is to be honest
And know you are too
And that we don't sell each
other illusions
So that between us there is
no curtain or abyss
My strategy instead is
Deeper and simpler.
My strategy is that some
day
I don't know how, nor with
what pretext
That finally you need me.
Shopping Basket
Today I went out with my
basket
to stock up on ways to lift
my spirits
but they're not easy to
come by
or come across
the sky is nothing but
clouds
why bother looking up
in the entryways there are
no lovers
in others' gazes no
questions
I'm as lonely as a tiny
isle
where not even castaways
set foot
I've got someone else's
poem for company
but there's a hemistich I
find annoying
and I don't dare replace it
that would be rude
I don't even have a camera
to snap pictures of this or
that hope
other people's of course
I'm face-to-face now
with a print by a favorite
painter
and meekly I inhale its
restful blues
on an almost nonexistent
rack
I spot Vivaldi and Gardel
perhaps in a little while
I'll wake up without my
gloom
then I can rummage through
those shops
but today I can't
I feel almost like a deaf
mute
when it comes to music and
caresses
I look down
at the palms of my hands
and my basket is still
empty
Roster
On my roster of happy
things
just a few stand out for me
/
sparkles in drabness
beauty in ugliness
the pulsing of rocks
and most of all most of all
your steadfast heart
that I touch with mine
Sonata for
Farewell and Flute
You're going off as alone
as ever
you're sure to be missed by
all
our twilight embraces will
miss you
and I and my body and soul
your long shadow is
reluctant
to desert us / albeit
you've decided to take it
with you
whatever the risk
in any case I'd never want
you
to lay your dream to rest
that dream where your love
of no one
was like an all-time first
you're off yet again I
don't know where
and your farewell is an
echo
that lingers and speaks
your name
as a final gesture
you've never kept your
tenderness
for later on like bread
I'm always sure to find it
tucked loosely between your
breasts
you act like you've been
defeated
but I find that hard to believe
you've always won the war
of words
against hatred and fear
who knows what awaits you
out there
in that far-off barren
place
where there are no more
swallows
only winter / only waste
but should you stray off
course at twilight
between your mirror and the
sea
please don't ever forget
that I
and my soul and my body are
here
Moods
A happy
man
is but one more
in the choir
of happy
people
a sad
one
is sad
like
no
other
Heaven
Our torturers are generally
catholic
they believe in the holy
trinity
and martyr their fellow
creatures as a means
of combating the antichrist
but when they die they
don't go to heaven
because murderers aren't
allowed there
their victims on the other
hand are martyrs
and might even be angels or
saints
they'd rather be butchered
than be traitors
but they don't go to heaven
either
because to them there's no
such thing.
My Way
Hope so gentle
so polished so sad
a vow so lightly taken
is not my way
hope so docile
is not my way
rage so meek
so humble so weak
anger so discreet
is not my way
so much sensible rage
is not my way
a scream so precise
when the weather is nice
a howl so genteel
is not my way
so much well-behaved
thunder
is not my way
bravery so mild
courage so half-hearted
rashness so sluggish
is not my way
daring so tepid
is not my way
my way is life
lived fully 'til death
a heart on alert
that is my way
trust gaining ground
is my way
my way is your gaze
so giving yet firm
your silence so guileless
is my way
your exemplary life
is my way
my way is your future
your present freely
changing
your struggle unbaiting
is my way
your undecorated battle
is my way
my way is the modest reach
of your possible pride
your unwavering hand
is my way
your way confidante
is my way.
That Battle
How to reconcile
the devastating
notion of death
with this invincible
lust for life?
How can our horror
of the void that awaits us
contend with the
overpowering joy
of mortal but true
love?
How to defuse gravestones
with furrowed fields?
A scythe
with a carnation?
For all we know man is just
that
that battle...
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