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E. M. Cioran: "Tears and Saints (*2)"

July 21, 2012

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"Only paradise or the sea could make me give up music"

Cioran Music

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Groucho Marx (from the film "Animal Crackers")

" Honorable Charles H. Hungadunga c/o Hungadunga, Hungadunga, Hungadunga, Hungadunga, & McCormack , Gentlemen? In re yours of the 5th inst., yours to hand and beg to rep., brackets, that we have gone over the ground carefully and we seem to believe, i.e., to wit., e.g., in lieu, that despite all our precautionary measures which have been involved, we seem to believe that it is hardly necessary for us to proceed unless we receive an ipso facto that is not neglible at this moment, quotes, unquotes, and quotes. Hoping this finds you, I beg to remain, as of June 9, cordially yours, Regards, " (letter to his lawyer, dictated by captain spaulding -groucho marx- to his secretary horatio jamison -zeppo marx-, in the film animal Crackers -1930)

Mario Benedetti: "Desmitifiquemos la Vía Láctea"

" Tampoco hay que hacer un mito de la vía láctea faja blanquecina dice el larousse debida a multitud innumerable (sic) de estrellas después de todo es un techo interior todo lo vistoso que se quiera aunque en definitiva un poco empalagoso hay quienes la llaman camino de santiago y los que miran fanáticamente el asfalto ni siquiera se han enterado de que existe a veces parece una burda imitación de un planetario de provincia quizá sea una merced del hemisferio austral pero a esta altura no vamos a estimular mercedes además si uno la mira con detenimiento puede llegar a sentir vértigo o tortícolis o un deseo inexplicable de levantar vuelo no hay que hacer un mito de la vía láctea ahora bien ya que la he desmitificado a fondo ¿puedo volver a echarla de menos? "

E.E. Cummings: "35"

( nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands) " somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small

Celso Emilio Ferreiro "Moi Lonxe"

(Celso E. Ferreiro) " Verdes outeiros da nativa terra durmindo nun azul de fumes quedos. Rente de min estades, doces cumes, pero eu estou moi lonxe, lonxe, lonxe. Serpe de prata, río, longo espello pasando con lecer. As túas augas navegan o meu peito lentamente, pero estou moi lonxe, lonxe, lonxe. Antigas torres en líquenes douradas, o chafarís, as rúas silenzosas vanme cantando un son de gaitas ledas, pero eu estou moi lonxe, lonxe, lonxe. Un neno loiro en preces sulagado buscando amor. Agora vai conmigo, dentro de min, chorándome na ialma, pero eu estou moi lonxe, lonxe, lonxe. Un día voltarei, nativa terra, a descansar en ti dos meus camiños, mais non te alcontrarei. En min te levo, pero eu estou moi lonxe, lonxe, lonxe ."

Frank O'Hara: "You are gorgeous and I am coming"

" Vaguely I hear the purple roar of the torn-down Third Avenue El It sways slightly but firmly like a hand or a golden-downed thigh normally I don’t think of sounds as colored unless I’m feeling corrupt concrete Rimbaud obscurity of emotion which is simple and very definite even lasting, yes it may be that dark and purifying wave, the death of boredom nearing the heights themselves may destroy you in the pure air to be further complicated, confused, empty but refilling, exposed to light With the past falling away as an acceleration of nerves thundering and shaking aims its aggregating force like the Metro towards a realm of encircled travel rending the sound of adventure and becoming ultimately local and intimate repeating the phrases of an old romance which is constantly renewed by the endless originality of human loss the air the stumbling quiet of breathing newly the heavens’ stars all out we are all for the captured time of our being . "

J. R. R. Tolkien; "Leaf by Niggle"

" There was once a little man called Niggle, who had a long journey to make. He did not want to go, indeed the whole idea was distasteful to him; but he could not get out of it. He knew he would have to start some time, but he did not hurry with his preparations. Niggle was a painter. Not a very successful one, partly because he had many other things to do. Most of these things he thought were a nuisance; but he did them fairly well, when he could not get out of them: which (in his opinion) was far too often. The laws in his country were rather strict. There were other hindrances, too. For one thing, he was sometimes just idle, and did nothing at all. For another, he was kind-hearted, in a way. You know the sort of kind heart: it made him uncomfortable more often than it made him do anything; and even when he did anything, it did not prevent him from grumbling, losing his temper, and swearing (mostly to himself). All the same, it did land him in a good many odd jobs for hi

John Ashbery: "The Picture of Little J.A. in a Prospect of Flowers (*1)"

he was spoilt from childhood by the future, which he mastered rather early and apparently without great difficulty. —boris pasternak " Darkness falls like a wet sponge And Dick gives Genevieve a swift punch In the pajamas. “Aroint thee, witch.” Her tongue from previous ecstasy Releases thoughts like little hats. “He clap’d me first during the eclipse. Afterwards I noted his manner Much altered. But he sending At that time certain handsome jewels I durst not seem to take offence.” In a far recess of summer Monks are playing soccer. "

Ayn Rand: "The Fountainhead (Chapter 1)"

" Part One: PETER KEATING 1. HOWARD ROARK laughed. [...] Mrs. Keating was out on the porch. She was feeding a couple of canaries in a cage suspended over the railing. Her pudgy little hand stopped in mid-air when she saw him. She watched him with curiosity. She tried to pull her mouth into a proper expression of sympathy; she succeeded only in betraying that the process was an effort. He was crossing the porch without noticing her. She stopped him. "Mr. Roark!" "Yes?" "Mr. Roark, I’m so sorry about--" she hesitated demurely, "--about what happened this morning." "What?" he asked. "Your being expelled from the Institute. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I only want you to know that I feel for you." He stood looking at her. She knew that he did not see her. No, she thought, it was not that exactly. He always looked straight at people and his damnable eyes never missed a thing, it was onl

Pedro Salinas "La voz a tí debida (versos 1 y ss)"

( my translation, more soon ) " Tú vives siempre en tus actos. you. always alive in your actions. Con la punta de tus dedos with the tip of your fingers pulsas el mundo, le arrancas you play the world, extracting from it auroras, triunfos, colores, dawns, triumphs, colours, alegrías: es tu música. happiness: such is your music. La vida es lo que tú tocas. life, your tune. De tus ojos, sólo de ellos, from your eyes. from your eyes only sale la luz que te guía emanates the light which guides your los pasos. Andas steps. you walk por lo que ves. Nada más. guided by your vision. nothing more. Y si una duda te hace and if a doubt makes señas a diez mil kilómetros, signals, ten thousand kilometers away lo dejas todo, te arrojas you abandon everything sobre proas, sobre alas, on boats, on wings, estás ya allí; con los besos, you are already there; with kisses con los dientes la desgarras: with teeth, you tea

Franquin: "Idées Noires"

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E. M. Cioran: "Tears and Saints (*2)"

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