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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There are moments een the middle version, in column 2, that actually appear quite poetic, whether intentional or not. Maybe this is necessary. This introductory passage I think offers reasons:. It is not a garden. Between the two is the center-aligned column, the Middle Version. InGirondo married ollverio writer Norah Lange, and during the mids their house in Buenos Aires served as a meeting place for the younger literary generation, including Francisco Madariaga, Enrique Molina, Olga Orozco, and Aldo Pellegrini.
The first left-indented column is the original Spanish poem. What we have olivegio is Reproduction vs. A garden represents an exercise in duration, it is alive, it is exposed to time, okiverio grows, it shoots new buds, other things flower from it. The writing is self-referential. My Lumy does this, too, at its best moments. Or is it just turtles all the way down?
Variations on a theme of water. In the poem Plexile, the page topography is different. It is more primordial marrow. It hermetically seals itself. There are other people there, straying, erranding.
Love is the essence. I trust it as a mode of writing poems.
In Girondo published Campo nuestroa single long poem. This seems a problematization. The first deals with the subtractive, the distinctive essence ; the 2nd deals with the additional, with excess.
It represents, among other things, a re-envisioning and re-fashioning and renovation of the Spanish language proper. 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.
But once again, very gestural. It is split into two short sections.
En la masmédula (Oliverio Girondo) | Literatura que suena
gidondo A photograph, in this case at least, is not a poem. Action Books has a knack for finding works like this. This seems to be the question at the heart of the book, enacted by its constant linguistic slippages. Everything I do is everything I do, but, at end, shot through with love. I think this book is extremely important. He was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina in Which is, like, incredible.
In the Moremarrow/En la masmedula
The ButMarrow sounds horrific. If love is the essence of things, the essence of love is More. A griondo of poems end on their own titles, creating a feeling of being in an enclosure.
The problem this brings the translator, of course, is how to remain faithful. And if love takes an object, love conducts violence. We have here competing notions: The majority of the book is such best moments.
How to reproduce this verbal rejuvenation in Spanish, how to forge from the English a new poetic language. But my love takes partners, too. Mi lu builds to mi lubidulia.
The shores Girondo sticks his bridges with. Because it rewrites itself by correcting the mistakes of our World. Therefore the recombinations in this book are all still legible, because they adhere to grammar rules but comment on them while deforming them. Who wants to be subject to objectification?
This book is hard to write about, around, through. It reminds me of constituent elements readying themselves to become compound. It ties itself to the Word. The heart of the matter, the gist, the meat, girlndo essence where the blood, where the oxygen-carrying vitality is produced.
Which, in creation myths, sounds like the soul blown into dust to animate a person. InGirondo was injured in a car accident which left him with diminished faculties. This entire book does this, in fact, at its best moments. The most faithful translation to me then embraces failure as a mode of writing.