The Gardener of Thorns
A bronze reliquary guarded, for more than a thousand years, the spoils of a Christian virgin thrown to the Tiber. I had reconstituted a few episodes from her journey in this world by means of short, linear news items from a devoted chronicle.
The church of her rest dominated a deserted way. The relics of the gardens and palaces declared the magnanimous effort of the ancients. I visited the spot in the middle of November, beneath an opal sky, naked and chilled. I stopped at the foot of a tree with unconquered leaves and persuaded them to tranquility by reciting a few augural verses by Virgil.
At that moment I divined one of the prodigies attributed to the martyred virgin. Her illusory image had consoled the days of a middle-aged exile, a sick man tossed far from mankind, impeded in his fern dwelling, and had placed in his hands the harp of Israfel. A Jew of immortal life had revealed to me the name of the first musician in the cortege of angels.
I reestablished myself from a delirious affect assuming a contemplative attitude, struggling to draw the ideal figure of the saint. I was deliberately lost in the solitude of a few burnished mountains and abandoned myself on a trail of stones. A swallow was deserting from its own in the month of the shades of Lent and created in front of me, getting tangled in my hair, the view of the deserted way and of the reliquary church in pontifical Rome.
El cielo de esmalte (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
12.23.2011
Textos del desalojo (fragmentos) / Antonia Palacios
Displacement Texts (fragments)
They’ll take all my belongings, all the offerings. The ones that arrived lifted in garlands and branches, ones that collapsed lavishing themselves, ones that remained in suspense, ones left behind for such long fatigues, ones of learned form, stable touch. They’ll arrive battling on top of things, on top of the old approximations, forgotten approximations, rolling ruins over land, the tangle barely begun, the pearl barely mounted. They will arrive fiercely, they will arrive with hatred, they will arrive with scorn proclaiming the void. They will strip me of everything: point, gesture, voice. They will suddenly appear amid circles, angles and rectangles, hard geometries of agonizing lines, infinite parallels without possible encounters, volumes of blood. They will strip me of everything, of the air, of the reflection, of the form. The hour will be concave, the sky will be concave, the earth will open its concave crater in the final offering.
Who lifts the predictions? Who opens the mysteries? Impotent challenge this non-existent announcement, there inside, there in the depths, endlessly there, miserable precision. Who unfolds the solemn doubt? Treading from one ruin to another ruin, touching its weight, weighing even the void, arriving, arriving barely, barely sustained in the repeated forms. Who investigates the walking, the falling, the dying? Oh seized time. Oh abandonment. Who stretches over the sharp edge, in the body, over the sharp edge, over fear, consumed by fear? Its silence of a space, the spaces of silence, and waiting, listening, breathing, divided until breath, pursued, faster, faster, the tides and the quakes, the crumblings, dust whirlwinds, and the days without substance fainting. Who folds herself, unravels herself, silences herself, in doubt’s fever?
In the center, in the exact center, concentric circles, formless matter, from the center, sharpened matter, there in the center, the contour palpable in vertigo, in the vertiginous instant that leaves the center behind, occult center, protected, in the late suspense of the instant that arrives in a scattering without contour, without a center, in the highest level where shadow nests, remote center. Far from the center the fluting, the fissures, scattered in convergent contours gathered in the center, and dispersed, faded flashes explode in the center, ephemeral flight, fatigued flight battling in the center’s limits, in the center, surrounding the center, oh it’s so heavy, oh how I moan, how I abyss myself in this center that folds over, this center that consumes itself, spiral of the center, oh how it oppresses me, dilated center! In the center, already centered, in the center fixed, fixed in the center, pierced by the center, already outside the center.
Textos del desalojo (1975)
{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
They’ll take all my belongings, all the offerings. The ones that arrived lifted in garlands and branches, ones that collapsed lavishing themselves, ones that remained in suspense, ones left behind for such long fatigues, ones of learned form, stable touch. They’ll arrive battling on top of things, on top of the old approximations, forgotten approximations, rolling ruins over land, the tangle barely begun, the pearl barely mounted. They will arrive fiercely, they will arrive with hatred, they will arrive with scorn proclaiming the void. They will strip me of everything: point, gesture, voice. They will suddenly appear amid circles, angles and rectangles, hard geometries of agonizing lines, infinite parallels without possible encounters, volumes of blood. They will strip me of everything, of the air, of the reflection, of the form. The hour will be concave, the sky will be concave, the earth will open its concave crater in the final offering.
Who lifts the predictions? Who opens the mysteries? Impotent challenge this non-existent announcement, there inside, there in the depths, endlessly there, miserable precision. Who unfolds the solemn doubt? Treading from one ruin to another ruin, touching its weight, weighing even the void, arriving, arriving barely, barely sustained in the repeated forms. Who investigates the walking, the falling, the dying? Oh seized time. Oh abandonment. Who stretches over the sharp edge, in the body, over the sharp edge, over fear, consumed by fear? Its silence of a space, the spaces of silence, and waiting, listening, breathing, divided until breath, pursued, faster, faster, the tides and the quakes, the crumblings, dust whirlwinds, and the days without substance fainting. Who folds herself, unravels herself, silences herself, in doubt’s fever?
In the center, in the exact center, concentric circles, formless matter, from the center, sharpened matter, there in the center, the contour palpable in vertigo, in the vertiginous instant that leaves the center behind, occult center, protected, in the late suspense of the instant that arrives in a scattering without contour, without a center, in the highest level where shadow nests, remote center. Far from the center the fluting, the fissures, scattered in convergent contours gathered in the center, and dispersed, faded flashes explode in the center, ephemeral flight, fatigued flight battling in the center’s limits, in the center, surrounding the center, oh it’s so heavy, oh how I moan, how I abyss myself in this center that folds over, this center that consumes itself, spiral of the center, oh how it oppresses me, dilated center! In the center, already centered, in the center fixed, fixed in the center, pierced by the center, already outside the center.
Textos del desalojo (1975)
{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
12.21.2011
El resfrío / José Antonio Ramos Sucre
The Cold
I have read in my childhood the memories of an artist of the violoncello, deceased far from her homeland, in the coldest spot on the globe. I have seen the image of the sepulcher in a book of stamps. An iron gate defends the accumulation of stones and the Byzantine cross. A hasty gust pours rain in the solitude.
The heroine reposes from a consecutive gallop, fright of the vile fox. The horse was about to perish in the flexible ties of a forest, in the inert mud.
The artist threw from her horse to the sordid Chinese river an ivory cup, held by means of a catch and consumed at the beginning of the cholera in the clumsy lymph. They have captured and consumed some fish that taste like dirt. The heroine used in a preferential mode the distinguished ivory, material of Roldan’s oliphant.
A sulphur sun was traveling along the floor in the atmosphere of a distant desert of sand and a sharp whistle, messenger of invisible darkness, spread a shadow of terror on the immense riverbed.
El cielo de esmalte (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
I have read in my childhood the memories of an artist of the violoncello, deceased far from her homeland, in the coldest spot on the globe. I have seen the image of the sepulcher in a book of stamps. An iron gate defends the accumulation of stones and the Byzantine cross. A hasty gust pours rain in the solitude.
The heroine reposes from a consecutive gallop, fright of the vile fox. The horse was about to perish in the flexible ties of a forest, in the inert mud.
The artist threw from her horse to the sordid Chinese river an ivory cup, held by means of a catch and consumed at the beginning of the cholera in the clumsy lymph. They have captured and consumed some fish that taste like dirt. The heroine used in a preferential mode the distinguished ivory, material of Roldan’s oliphant.
A sulphur sun was traveling along the floor in the atmosphere of a distant desert of sand and a sharp whistle, messenger of invisible darkness, spread a shadow of terror on the immense riverbed.
El cielo de esmalte (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
12.18.2011
El senado / José Antonio Ramos Sucre
The Senate
The pleas of the old men were filling the confines of the building. The open air had covered it with moss and lichen.
No one was able to unfurrow the victor’s brow and persuade him to clemency. The young king was ordering the torture from a seat of stone. He would not be moved before the athletic beauty of the captives.
The executioners were cutting the noble hair and affronting it with their feet. They were enjoying themselves wounding the luxuriant cervix.
The prisoners were offering themselves to death with a proud gesture, and assigning it a semblance of fatidical beauty.
The old men prostrated themselves when the sacrifice ended. The concert of their deep voices was rising in praise of the vanquished and in compensation for invisible justice.
El cielo de esmalte (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
The pleas of the old men were filling the confines of the building. The open air had covered it with moss and lichen.
No one was able to unfurrow the victor’s brow and persuade him to clemency. The young king was ordering the torture from a seat of stone. He would not be moved before the athletic beauty of the captives.
The executioners were cutting the noble hair and affronting it with their feet. They were enjoying themselves wounding the luxuriant cervix.
The prisoners were offering themselves to death with a proud gesture, and assigning it a semblance of fatidical beauty.
The old men prostrated themselves when the sacrifice ended. The concert of their deep voices was rising in praise of the vanquished and in compensation for invisible justice.
El cielo de esmalte (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
12.15.2011
El sedentario / José Antonio Ramos Sucre
The Sedentary One
In the amber morning, the straggling bat returns to the sacrilegious tower of Faust. The reprobate bird of Moses arrives from gathering in the dungeons the threnody of the proselytizers of evil. It invades the chamber through the window faithful to the desert moon and infuses a sudden dread in the image of a man, portent of mechanical art.
Faust dominates the stupor and directs a fistful of dirt at the flying depravity, using the means of geomancy. He conjectures the loss of his soul in eternity when he recognizes the scattering of the dust on the table cloth.
El cielo de esmalte (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
In the amber morning, the straggling bat returns to the sacrilegious tower of Faust. The reprobate bird of Moses arrives from gathering in the dungeons the threnody of the proselytizers of evil. It invades the chamber through the window faithful to the desert moon and infuses a sudden dread in the image of a man, portent of mechanical art.
Faust dominates the stupor and directs a fistful of dirt at the flying depravity, using the means of geomancy. He conjectures the loss of his soul in eternity when he recognizes the scattering of the dust on the table cloth.
El cielo de esmalte (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
12.14.2011
Caracas, 26 de marzo de 1924 / José Antonio Ramos Sucre
Caracas, 26 March 1924
Mr. Lorenzo Ramos
Maracaibo, Agencia Banco Venezuela
Dear Lorenzo,
I received your letter. I read it with the utmost attention and visited Lecuna, who is willing to leave you there and contribute to your prosperity. It is to your benefit if you live within the four walls of your house. I’m taking into consideration what you say in your last letter. I had already written to you saying that you should write with the single adornment of the exact expression and cruelly suppressing whatever might sound like a discourse. The word should always be humble and plain. One should never call attention to oneself. Avoid bad company. There are many alcoholics among them. Live alone, but be polite.
You should have in your property the following books in French versions and in prose, except for the Bible, which should be the Protestant version by Cipriano de Valera:
The Iliad and Odyssey, Plutarch, Virgil, The Edda which is to say Scandinavian Mythology (this last book can be found for you by François Jarrin, Rue des Écoles 48 or J. Gamber, Rue Danton 7), the Divine Comedy, Orlando Furioso by Ariosto, Don Quijote in Spanish, Goethe’s Faust, Telemachus, the Thousand and One Nights.
Read, even if you don’t have them:
English theater (Shakespeare), Spanish theater (Lope de Vega, Calderón, Tirso de Molina, Alarcón), Greek theater (Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides), French theater (Molière, Racine and Corneille). With reading one drama by each author you have enough.
You have enough with one copy of each type of novel: Picaresque novel(Gil Blas). Novel of improbable qualities (Three Musketeers). Historical novel (Walter Scott). Typical English novel (Dickens, George Eliot who is a woman). Typical French novel (Balzac). Typical Russian novel (Dostoyevsky). Typical modern Spanish novel (Galdós, Pedro Antonio de Alarcón, the dramatist is Ruiz de Alarcón).
The best manuals of universal history are the ones by Duruy, and the best history of Venezuela is the one by Baralt which you should own.
The day you’ve read all this you will possess an enormous literary culture. As you see, it’s not necessary to read many books, but rather books that are characteristic of each age.
J. Gamber, Rue Danton 7, is more obliging and active than Jarrin; when you write to him sign your name as Lorenzo Ramos, so he doesn’t confuse you with me. Tell him you don’t want deluxe editions, just decent ones.
You should own: F. Loliée, Histoire Des Littératures comparées.
Edmond Desmolins, À quoi tient la supériorité des Anglosaxons?
Get in touch with J. Gamber, the best agent. He lives in Paris, Rue Danton, 7.
Make sure to read the books I recommend first, and don’t let yourself be guided in that point by anyone else.
I’m willing to serve you with all my powers. Write to me whenever you’d like. Be polite and live alone. Please your fellow human beings and evade them. Make each person you deal with a friend, though not an importune friend but rather a useful friend.
(Unsigned)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
Mr. Lorenzo Ramos
Maracaibo, Agencia Banco Venezuela
Dear Lorenzo,
I received your letter. I read it with the utmost attention and visited Lecuna, who is willing to leave you there and contribute to your prosperity. It is to your benefit if you live within the four walls of your house. I’m taking into consideration what you say in your last letter. I had already written to you saying that you should write with the single adornment of the exact expression and cruelly suppressing whatever might sound like a discourse. The word should always be humble and plain. One should never call attention to oneself. Avoid bad company. There are many alcoholics among them. Live alone, but be polite.
You should have in your property the following books in French versions and in prose, except for the Bible, which should be the Protestant version by Cipriano de Valera:
The Iliad and Odyssey, Plutarch, Virgil, The Edda which is to say Scandinavian Mythology (this last book can be found for you by François Jarrin, Rue des Écoles 48 or J. Gamber, Rue Danton 7), the Divine Comedy, Orlando Furioso by Ariosto, Don Quijote in Spanish, Goethe’s Faust, Telemachus, the Thousand and One Nights.
Read, even if you don’t have them:
English theater (Shakespeare), Spanish theater (Lope de Vega, Calderón, Tirso de Molina, Alarcón), Greek theater (Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides), French theater (Molière, Racine and Corneille). With reading one drama by each author you have enough.
You have enough with one copy of each type of novel: Picaresque novel(Gil Blas). Novel of improbable qualities (Three Musketeers). Historical novel (Walter Scott). Typical English novel (Dickens, George Eliot who is a woman). Typical French novel (Balzac). Typical Russian novel (Dostoyevsky). Typical modern Spanish novel (Galdós, Pedro Antonio de Alarcón, the dramatist is Ruiz de Alarcón).
The best manuals of universal history are the ones by Duruy, and the best history of Venezuela is the one by Baralt which you should own.
The day you’ve read all this you will possess an enormous literary culture. As you see, it’s not necessary to read many books, but rather books that are characteristic of each age.
J. Gamber, Rue Danton 7, is more obliging and active than Jarrin; when you write to him sign your name as Lorenzo Ramos, so he doesn’t confuse you with me. Tell him you don’t want deluxe editions, just decent ones.
You should own: F. Loliée, Histoire Des Littératures comparées.
Edmond Desmolins, À quoi tient la supériorité des Anglosaxons?
Get in touch with J. Gamber, the best agent. He lives in Paris, Rue Danton, 7.
Make sure to read the books I recommend first, and don’t let yourself be guided in that point by anyone else.
I’m willing to serve you with all my powers. Write to me whenever you’d like. Be polite and live alone. Please your fellow human beings and evade them. Make each person you deal with a friend, though not an importune friend but rather a useful friend.
(Unsigned)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
12.08.2011
Consejos de orden intelectual para Lorenzo Ramos / José Antonio Ramos Sucre
Advice of An Intellectual Order for Lorenzo Ramos
Writing well comes down to writing exact expressions. Achieving the exact expression, requires knowing the dictionary quite well. One has to study the dictionary, know the greatest number of words and turns or phrases. Turns or phrases are learned by continuously reading Baralt. Grammar is learned by continuously reading Exposición sobre los casos y oraciones by Eduardo Benot, Hernando bookstore, Madrid, and also by consulting the section devoted to grammar in the Memento Larousse, an indispensable work that is sold at François Jarrin, Paris, Rue des Ecoles 48. Don’t confuse Memento Larousse with other works by the same Larousse. That one has small treatises on matters indispensable to a civilized man.
French is dominated by constantly studying the French Ollendorf composed by Eduardo Benot, Hernando bookstore, Madrid.
One learns English by means of the English Ollendorf composed by Eduardo Benot, Hernando bookstore, Madrid. Each English word is learned with its pronunciation and accentuation according to what is said in the Cuyás dictionary. The words are learned from Spanish for the foreign tongue: pan is bread, and not bread is pan. One has to educate the ear by reading English aloud. It seems to me that one must seek out an American or English teacher after one knows the entire Benot method.
One must read preferring the major authors to minor ones, Virgil to Villaespesa. I recommend the Historia Universal by Juan Vicente González or the manuals by Duruy, who contains the entire universal history in six small manuals about each era (Middle Ages and, etc.).
What is written should have a single adornment: that of exactitude. What is written should not cause an effect, alarm in the reader, the expression should never sound like a discourse, like declamatory and tribunal eloquence. Never, in what is said, done or written, should one call attention to oneself. That principal is the foundation of all social virtues.
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
Writing well comes down to writing exact expressions. Achieving the exact expression, requires knowing the dictionary quite well. One has to study the dictionary, know the greatest number of words and turns or phrases. Turns or phrases are learned by continuously reading Baralt. Grammar is learned by continuously reading Exposición sobre los casos y oraciones by Eduardo Benot, Hernando bookstore, Madrid, and also by consulting the section devoted to grammar in the Memento Larousse, an indispensable work that is sold at François Jarrin, Paris, Rue des Ecoles 48. Don’t confuse Memento Larousse with other works by the same Larousse. That one has small treatises on matters indispensable to a civilized man.
French is dominated by constantly studying the French Ollendorf composed by Eduardo Benot, Hernando bookstore, Madrid.
One learns English by means of the English Ollendorf composed by Eduardo Benot, Hernando bookstore, Madrid. Each English word is learned with its pronunciation and accentuation according to what is said in the Cuyás dictionary. The words are learned from Spanish for the foreign tongue: pan is bread, and not bread is pan. One has to educate the ear by reading English aloud. It seems to me that one must seek out an American or English teacher after one knows the entire Benot method.
One must read preferring the major authors to minor ones, Virgil to Villaespesa. I recommend the Historia Universal by Juan Vicente González or the manuals by Duruy, who contains the entire universal history in six small manuals about each era (Middle Ages and, etc.).
What is written should have a single adornment: that of exactitude. What is written should not cause an effect, alarm in the reader, the expression should never sound like a discourse, like declamatory and tribunal eloquence. Never, in what is said, done or written, should one call attention to oneself. That principal is the foundation of all social virtues.
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
12.07.2011
A Lorenzo Ramos / José Antonio Ramos Sucre
To Lorenzo Ramos
[September 1924]
[...]
by Marden and the ones by Prentice Mulford are much better. Life is like you think it; so, if you think of it badly, you go crazy with desperation. Take great care of your health; don’t get sick. I approve of you writing. For that, every day you will write a thought that is the logical consequence of the one you have printed on the previous day. Always write at the same hour. Compose with the utmost simplicity and the least amount of words. Don’t try to compose without knowing very well what you want to say. Never imitate what someone else has said, because each man is his own world, and moreover each man has within his spirit a mine where he can always find what he needs. Listen to yourself. Read Baralt, Ricardo León, Pardo Bazán, Cervantes, Mariana. Above all read Baralt very closely as though it were a book of prayers. With those authors you will learn how to handle Spanish. Constantly consult the dictionary. You can feel which adjective needs to be applied to the noun, and that’s the one that should be applied. Put original adjectives, suitable to you, that are your own opinion about what you think or see. To be original, it’s enough to listen to yourself, avoiding copying. But don’t forget that beauty comes before originality. Another thing, be very moderate when you write, don’t ever incur in exaggeration, in disproportion. Familiarize yourself a great deal with Baralt, read him every day. Every time you read a book, write your impressions, in a simple style, with least number of words, and with logic, deducing each thought from the previous one.
You need to study in depth the career you have, pay attention to finances, political economy, banks, and write about that. Don’t ever say así fue que, but rather así fue como; allí fue que, but rather allí fue donde; entonces fue que, but rather entonces fue cuando; por esto es que, but rather por esto es por lo que; tan es así, but rather tanto es así.
Writing is a thing of great patience, and it should not be omitted for a single day. One writes every day, without exception. To write well you need to have the greatest number of words and typical phrases memorized.
I repeat that you should choose a writer as a teacher, I recommend Baralt and Ricardo León. More the first.
I’m answering your letter from memory, because I can’t remember where I put it. Tell [...] that the persons he has dealt with have made him too irritable and mournful, which is to say, he practices the two defects that have killed Juan Miguel Alarcón. Tell him that irritation and lamentation can be gotten rid of with exercise. They tell me he eats too much. If you're going to eat too much you need to exercise frequently. But gluttony is always condemned, because it leads to arthritis.
I don’t think I have anything else to tell you.
A hug from
José Antonio
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
[September 1924]
[...]
by Marden and the ones by Prentice Mulford are much better. Life is like you think it; so, if you think of it badly, you go crazy with desperation. Take great care of your health; don’t get sick. I approve of you writing. For that, every day you will write a thought that is the logical consequence of the one you have printed on the previous day. Always write at the same hour. Compose with the utmost simplicity and the least amount of words. Don’t try to compose without knowing very well what you want to say. Never imitate what someone else has said, because each man is his own world, and moreover each man has within his spirit a mine where he can always find what he needs. Listen to yourself. Read Baralt, Ricardo León, Pardo Bazán, Cervantes, Mariana. Above all read Baralt very closely as though it were a book of prayers. With those authors you will learn how to handle Spanish. Constantly consult the dictionary. You can feel which adjective needs to be applied to the noun, and that’s the one that should be applied. Put original adjectives, suitable to you, that are your own opinion about what you think or see. To be original, it’s enough to listen to yourself, avoiding copying. But don’t forget that beauty comes before originality. Another thing, be very moderate when you write, don’t ever incur in exaggeration, in disproportion. Familiarize yourself a great deal with Baralt, read him every day. Every time you read a book, write your impressions, in a simple style, with least number of words, and with logic, deducing each thought from the previous one.
You need to study in depth the career you have, pay attention to finances, political economy, banks, and write about that. Don’t ever say así fue que, but rather así fue como; allí fue que, but rather allí fue donde; entonces fue que, but rather entonces fue cuando; por esto es que, but rather por esto es por lo que; tan es así, but rather tanto es así.
Writing is a thing of great patience, and it should not be omitted for a single day. One writes every day, without exception. To write well you need to have the greatest number of words and typical phrases memorized.
I repeat that you should choose a writer as a teacher, I recommend Baralt and Ricardo León. More the first.
I’m answering your letter from memory, because I can’t remember where I put it. Tell [...] that the persons he has dealt with have made him too irritable and mournful, which is to say, he practices the two defects that have killed Juan Miguel Alarcón. Tell him that irritation and lamentation can be gotten rid of with exercise. They tell me he eats too much. If you're going to eat too much you need to exercise frequently. But gluttony is always condemned, because it leads to arthritis.
I don’t think I have anything else to tell you.
A hug from
José Antonio
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
12.06.2011
Der Alchemist / Eduardo Mariño
Der Alchemist
I don’t long for any recompense. I only watch and wait.
La vida profana de Evaristo Jiménez (2002)
{ Eduardo Mariño, A la salida del fastuoso recital, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2009 }
I don’t long for any recompense. I only watch and wait.
La vida profana de Evaristo Jiménez (2002)
{ Eduardo Mariño, A la salida del fastuoso recital, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2009 }
12.05.2011
Evaristo Jiménez se niega a enterrar su barco / Eduardo Mariño
Evaristo Jiménez Refuses to Bury His Boat
Until the decrepitude of the word I didn’t know I carried such an unusual agony. Even then, I will never be able to convince myself of the futility of so much ocean.
La vida profana de Evaristo Jiménez (2002)
{ Eduardo Mariño, A la salida del fastuoso recital, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2009 }
Until the decrepitude of the word I didn’t know I carried such an unusual agony. Even then, I will never be able to convince myself of the futility of so much ocean.
La vida profana de Evaristo Jiménez (2002)
{ Eduardo Mariño, A la salida del fastuoso recital, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2009 }
12.02.2011
Terraza desde ninguna voz / Eduardo Mariño
Terrace from No Voice
Some hand will nervously seek the nervous company of another hand in the penumbra, one chair will slowly approach another and a silence like forbidden skin will come to swing behind the melody. I loose my eyes toward the door, distant like all doors, disquieting like my own exit, like no exit; I look outside and only guess at the rumor of your barefoot steps disturbing me in the night.
La vida profana de Evaristo Jiménez (2002)
{ Eduardo Mariño, A la salida del fastuoso recital, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2009 }
Some hand will nervously seek the nervous company of another hand in the penumbra, one chair will slowly approach another and a silence like forbidden skin will come to swing behind the melody. I loose my eyes toward the door, distant like all doors, disquieting like my own exit, like no exit; I look outside and only guess at the rumor of your barefoot steps disturbing me in the night.
La vida profana de Evaristo Jiménez (2002)
{ Eduardo Mariño, A la salida del fastuoso recital, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2009 }
12.01.2011
Ynés, 1993 / Eduardo Mariño
Ynes, 1993
The whole house was made of stone. The coffee was sour, the kisses at the door left dry lips, the tired glance as if returning from a thousand cities.
Only your name was a synonym for astonishment.
La vida profana de Evaristo Jiménez (2002)
{ Eduardo Mariño, A la salida del fastuoso recital, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2009 }
The whole house was made of stone. The coffee was sour, the kisses at the door left dry lips, the tired glance as if returning from a thousand cities.
Only your name was a synonym for astonishment.
La vida profana de Evaristo Jiménez (2002)
{ Eduardo Mariño, A la salida del fastuoso recital, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2009 }
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