Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Letters in Poems: Pablo Neruda (I)

Cando tiña 12 anos, miña nai regaloume Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada, de Pablo Neruda (1904-1973) nunha bonita edición de Círculo de Lectores con marxes amplas, letra grande e tapas coloridas. Xa por fóra me pareceu precioso, e os poemas que fun lendo lentamente, aínda máis. Tanto me gustaron que os copiei nun pequeno diario para non estropear o libro. Din algúns que a poesía só se comprende coa madurez, pero eu estou convencida de que se Neruda escribiu unha das súas obras máis célebres con 19 anos, eu con 12 algo, algo... tamén entendín.

Hoxe traiovos un poema deste autor, pero doutro libro, Los Versos del Capitán (1952). Non o lin completo, pero estaba a buscar poemas que sexan cartas, ou relacionados coas cartas e atopei este: "La carta en el camino". Ao parecer, o libro está dividido en 7 partes. As 5 primeras son "El amor", "El deseo", "Las furias", "Las vidas" y "Oda y germinaciones". Logo vén un poema chamado "Epitalamio", que significa "poema escrito para celebrar unha voda", no cal o poeta celebra a unión coa súa amada, que xa pasou previamente polas 5 etapas de noivado descritas en cada capítulo. Despois da unión, este último poema é o da separación, contrapunto necesario a todo namoramento.

LA CARTA EN EL CAMINO

ADIÓS, pero conmigo
serás, irás adentro

de una gota de sangre que circule en mis venas

o fuera, beso que me abrasa el rostro

o cinturón de fuego en mi cintura.

Dulce mía, recibe

el gran amor que salió de mi vida

y que en ti no encontraba territorio

como el explorador perdido

en las islas del pan y de la miel.

Yo te encontré después

de la tormenta,

la lluvia lavó el aire

y en el agua
tus dulces pies brillaron como peces.


Adorada, me voy a mis combates.


Arañaré la tierra para hacerte una cueva

y allí tu Capitán

te esperará con flores en el lecho.

No pienses más, mi dulce,

en el tormento

que pasó entre nosotros

como un rayo de fósforo

dejándonos tal vez su quemadura.

La paz llegó también porque regreso.

a luchar a mi tierra,

y como tengo el corazón completo

con la parte de sangre que me diste

para siempre,
y como
llevo
las manos llenas de tu ser desnudo,
mírame,
mírame,
mírame por el mar, que voy radiante,
mírame por la noche que navego,
y mar y noche son los ojos tuyos.
No he salido de ti cuando me alejo.
Ahora voy a contarte:
mi tierra será tuya,
yo voy a conquistarla,
no sólo para dártela,
sino que para todos,
para todo mi pueblo.
Saldrá el ladrón de su torre algún día.
Y el invasor será expulsado.
Todos los frutos de la vida
crecerán en mis manos
acostumbrados antes a la pólvora.
Y sabré acariciar las nuevas flores
porque tú me enseñaste la ternura.
Dulce mía, adorada,
vendrás conmigo a luchar cuerpo a cuerpo
porque en mi corazón viven tus besos
como banderas rojas,
y si caigo, no sólo
me cubrirá la tierra
sino este gran amor que me trajiste
y que vivió circulando en mi sangre.
Vendrás conmigo,
en esa hora te espero,
en esa hora y en todas las horas,
en todas las horas te espero.
Y cuando venga la tristeza que odio
a golpear a tu puerta,
dile que yo te espero
y cuando la soledad quiera que cambies
la sortija en que está mi nombre escrito,
dile a la soledad que hable conmigo,
que yo debí marcharme
porque soy un soldado,
y que allí donde estoy,
bajo la lluvia o bajo
el fuego,
amor mío, te espero,
te espero en el desierto más duro
y junto al limonero florecido:
en todas partes donde esté la vida,
donde la primavera está naciendo,
amor mío, te espero.
Cuando te digan "Ese hombre
no te quiere", recuerda
que mis pies están solos en esa noche, y buscan
los dulces y pequeños pies que adoro.
Amor, cuando te digan
que te olvidé, y aun cuando
sea yo quien lo dice,
cuando yo te lo diga,
no me creas,
quién y cómo podrían
cortarte de mi pecho
y quién recibiría
mi sangre
cuando hacia ti me fuera desangrando?
Pero tampoco puedo
olvidar a mi pueblo.
Voy a luchar en cada calle,
detrás de cada piedra.
Tu amor también me ayuda:
es una flor cerrada
que cada vez me llena con su aroma
y que se abre de pronto
dentro de mí como una gran estrella.


Amor mío, es de noche.


El agua negra, el mundo

dormido, me rodean.

Vendrá luego la aurora

y yo mientras tanto te escribo

para decirte: "Te amo".

Para decirte "Te amo", cuida,

limpia, levanta,

defiende

nuestro amor, alma mía.

Yo te lo dejo como si dejara

un puñado de tierra con semillas.

De nuestro amor nacerán vidas.

En nuestro amor beberán agua.
Tal vez llegará un día
en que un hombre
y una mujer, iguales
a nosotros,
tocarán este amor, y aún tendrá fuerza
para quemar las manos que lo toquen.
Quiénes fuimos? Qué importa?
Tocarán este fuego
y el fuego, dulce mía, dirá tu simple nombre
y el mío, el nombre
que tú sola supiste porque tú sola
sobre la tierra sabes
quién soy, y porque nadie me conoció como una,
como una sola de tus manos,
porque nadie
supo cómo, ni cuándo
mi corazón estuvo ardiendo:
tan sólo
tus grandes ojos pardos lo supieron,
tu ancha boca,
tu piel, tus pechos,
tu vientre, tus entrañas
y el alma tuya que yo desperté
para que se quedara
cantando hasta el fin de la vida.

Amor, te espero.

Adiós, amor, te espero.


Amor, amor, te espero.


Y así esta carta se termina

sin ninguna tristeza:

están firmes mis pies sobre la tierra,

mi mano escribe esta carta en el camino,

y en medio de la vida estaré

siempre

junto al amigo, frente al enemigo,

con tu nombre en la boca

y un beso que jamás

se apartó de la tuya.


Clic aquí para escoitar a Pablo Neruda recitando o poema

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Letters in Poems: Epistles


Epistolary poems, from the Latin “epistula” for “letter," are, quite literally, poems that read as letters. They can be intimate and colloquial or formal and measured. The subject matter can range from philosophical investigation to a declaration of love to a list of errands, and epistles can take any form, from heroic couplets to free verse. 

Elizabeth Bishop’s “Letter to N.Y.," for example, uses rhyming quatrains:

In your next letter I wish you’d say
where you are going and what you are doing;
how are the plays, and after the plays
what other pleasures you’re pursuing:

taking cabs in the middle of the night,

driving as if to save your soul

where the road goes round and round the park

and the meter glares like a moral owl


The rigid rhyme scheme and structure of the poem belie its mournful, almost obsessive nature. Bishop employs the direct address to express her isolation and longing while maintaining formal distance.


This is counter to epistles that assume the more recognizable conventions of a letter, complete with a traditional opening address, such as Langston Hughes’s “Letter," which begins: “Dear Mama / Time I pay rent and get my food / and laundry I don’t have much left / but here is five dollars for you.” The simple intimacy of the epistolary form gives the poem a familiar ease.


The epistle form dates back to verse letters of the Roman Empire, and was refined and popularized by Horace and Ovid. Ovid’s epistolary explorations were adopted by the courtly poets from the Middle Ages through the Renaissance. The Horatian epistles, however, more deeply influenced our modern understanding of the form. Horace drew on the familiar and confessional nature of letters to tackle lofty moral and philosophical conjectures. It is this tradition that produced what are generally thought to be the greatest epistles written in English: Alexander Pope’s Moral Essays and the Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, an autobiographical defense of satire and poetry written in heroic couplets as an address to his friend John Arbuthnot.

Adapted from https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/poetic-form-epistle


The appeal of epistolary poems is in their freedom. The audience can be internal or external. The poet may be speaking to an unnamed recipient or to the world at large, to bodiless entities or abstract concepts. 


We will present some of these epistolary poems in future entries of this blog

Letters in Music: "Please, Mr. Postman"

"Please Mr. Postman"(1961) is a classic, the debut single by the Marvelettes, and the first Motown song to reach the number-one position on the Billboard Hot 100 pop singles chart. Later on, in  1963, the Beatles made a cover of the song, and so did the Carpenters in 1975.

The song talks about a lady anxiously waiting for the postman hoping he has brought her a letter from her boyfriend, who is away at war. Waiting for a letter and other mail-related storylines were common in songs of this era, when the postal service provided a primary means of communication. In fact, "Return to Sender" was a hit for Elvis Presley the following year and the Marvelettes' follow-up single was "Twistin' Postman", which also continued the story of the woman who waits for a letter from her boyfriend.

Interestingly enough, the Songfacts website explains that this song was written by a postman who helped Dobbins complete the lyrics. His name was Freddie Gorman and his mail route included Brewster public housing where members of The Supremes lived. 





"Please Mr Postman"

Oh yes, wait a minute Mister Postman

Wait Mister Postman



Please Mister Postman, look and see

If there's a letter in your bag for me

Why's it takin' a mighty long time?

For me to hear from this boyfriend of mine

There must be some word today
From my boyfriend, so far away
Please Mister Postman, look and see
If there's a letter, a letter for me

I've been standin' here, waitin' Mister Postman
So, so patiently
For just a card, or just a letter
Sayin' he's returnin' home to me

Mister Postman, look and see
If there's a letter in your bag for me
Why's it takin' a mighty long time?
For me to hear from this boyfriend of mine

So many days you passed me by
You saw the tears, standin' in my eyes

You wouldn't stop to make me feel better

By leavin' me a card or a letter



Please Mister Postman, look and see

If there's a letter, oh yeah, in your bag for me

You know it's been so long
Yes, since I heard from this boyfriend of mine

You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute
You better wait a minute
Please, please Mister Postman
Please check and see, just one more time, for me

You better wait, wait a minute
Wait a minute, wait a minute
Wait a minute, please Mister Postman
Deliver the letter, it's already better

Wait a minute, wait a minute
Wait a minute, please Mister Postman
Wait a, wait a minute, wait a minute


Can you imagine waiting for a letter in the internet era? 


Sunday, March 27, 2016

Emily Dickinson's Letters



"A Letter always feels to me like immortality because it is the mind alone
 without corporeal friend."

-  Emily Dickinson to Thomas Wentworth Higginson,  June 1869 (L33)


"Una carta la siento siempre como la inmortalidad, porque es la mente sola sin el amigo corporal. Deudores en nuestra conversación de la actitud y del acento, parece que hay un poder espectral en el pensamiento que camina solo -me gustaría agradecerle su gran amabilidad, pero nunca intenté levantar las palabras que no puedo sostener"

Emily Dickinson (1830-1866) regarded letters as a “joy of Earth” (L960). Cryptic and allusive in style, dazzling in verbal effects, and sensitively attuned to her recipients, Dickinson was a prolific and gifted epistolary artist. 
Scholars estimate that the printed editions of her letters represent only about one-tenth of the letters Dickinson actually wrote, and there are about a thousand letters to a hundred friends and family members, which constitute an extensive and revealing record of the poet's intellectual interests and emotional journeys.
The existing letters date from 1842, when Dickinson was eleven years old, until the final “Little Cousins, / Called back” letter to Louise and Frances Norcross just before her death in 1886. Her early letters reveal much about her relationships with her friends and family, her changing attitudes toward her religious experiences, and her year away from home at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary.  Her later letters, often more epigrammatic, include condolence messages for grieving friends, notes to her brother's family next door, and, of course, poetry. 
Many of them can be read in The Dickinson Archive, where the Amherst College has made available all of their Emily Dickinson manuscript holdings.

Saturday, March 26, 2016

Letters in Films: 45 Years - A Marriage Ruffled by a Letter


Dolores López, bookworm, writer, film buff, actress, walking encyclopedia, former student and good friend, recommended the movie 45 Years a while ago and I must say I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. Great storyline and impressive acting.

45 Years is a 2015 British romantic drama film directed and written by Andrew Haigh. The film is based on the short story "In Another Country" by David Constantine. Charlotte Rampling won the Silver Bear for Best Actress and Tom Courtenay won the Silver Bear for Best Actor. 

Kate (Charlotte Rampling) and Geoff (Tom Courtenay) are Norfolk retirees awaiting their 45th wedding anniversary. Their lives are cosy and seemingly content – until the past rises to the surface, in a strangely literal sense. A week before the party, Geoff receives a letter from Switzerland telling him that the body of Katya (his lover in the early 1960s), has become visible in a half-melted glacier, miraculously unchanged by the decades. On hearing the news, Geoff goes into shock – throwing Kate off-balance, especially when she discovers that he's thinking of travelling to Switzerland to claim the body.


The action unfolds over a week and through the repetition of mundane events (strolls, cigarette breaks, shopping trips), Haigh builds up a picture of the couple's life and how things stand between them. There's something disquieting about these ritualized repetitions, hinting that habitual gestures can become a "second nature" that leaves the real self unexpressed. The main characters have spent most of their lives together, yet remain further from true intimacy than either might think.

The acting, as I said, is impressive. Rampling is outstanding, what a dramatic presence! Deep-set green eyes, challenging smile, assured walk. Courtenay nails it as her counterpart: a stammerer, unable to meet his wife's gaze, sickly.

The body language counts almost as much as the dialogues, especially their hands: used to reach out or deflect, to convey playfulness or anxiety.

I think it would be interesting to read "In Another Country", the short story by David Constantine, since a real event sparked his short story. Constantine told The Telegraph that, while holidaying in France some 15 years ago, he heard of the discovery of a twenty-something mountaineer who had fallen down a glacial crevasse in Chamonix in the 1930s. Seventy years on, the retreating ice released its hold on the guide's body, which the son he had fathered before his death was taken to identify. The shocking sight of his father - perfectly preserved in his prime, while he himself approached his eighties - tipped the son towards insanity.

Leos Janáçek's Letters

Excuse my ignorance but before my recent trip to Slovakia, I had never Heard of Czech composer Leos Janáçek, contemporary of Antonín Dvořák and Bedřich Smetana. His most famous opera is Jenůfa, which was premiered in 1904, but he is also known for his folkloristic research and studies as a music theorist.

However, the reason for this entry is not his musical talent but his letters. These are the letters of a great love story. In 1917, the Czech composer met Kamila Stösslová while on holiday at Luhaçovice, a spa resort in Moravia. He was sixty-three and locked in a loveless marriage; she was twenty-six, a woman of striking good looks, the wife of an antique dealer frequently away from home. 

After the holiday, Janáçek began writing to Stösslová in what she considered an extravagant prose. She showed no interest in his work and answered with a very matter-of-factly style, in spasmodic replies, most of which Janáçek burned at her request. However, he continued to send her some 700 letters with very occasinal meetings until his death eleven years later. Kamila became his fantasy lover, his grand passion, and the inspiration for some of his greatest music, including his famous Second String Quartet. He inscribed it first "Love Letters", and then "Intimate Pages". As Janácek wrote to her: "In every work of mine there is at least a shadow of your soul..." and, capturing something of beauty he saw in her, "every note will be your dark eye."


(Click here if you would like to listen to an NPR podcast discussing the importance of this piece)

Janáçek had been married for 36 years to Zdenka Schulzová, one of his pupils at the Brno's Teachers Institute. Zdenka wrote about Kamila: "I thought she was quite nice: young, cheerful, one could have a really good talk with her, she was always laughing." She felt the couple "brought action and laughter into our sad quietness."

As for Leos Janáçek, he did, at least, know what it meant to be in love. On March 28, 1928, a few months before his death, he wrote to Kamila:

"Well, love is a wizard. Submit to it faithfully and it gives a person joy. It intoxicates, it envelops, it isolates. It creates fragrance in the air, ardor from coldness, it beautifies everything around it."

Most of these letters were suppressed until changing conditions in Czechoslovakia allowed their full publication in 1990. John Tyrrell edited and translated a comprehensive selection, concentrating on the almost daily letters of the final eighteen months, and including a selection of mostly unknown photographs in the book Intimate Letters: Leos Janáçek to Kamila Stösslová 

If the letters are sometimes so intimate that to read them feels like voyeurism, the fact is that Janáçek  as never unmindful of the chance that they might find their way into other hands. He seems to have regarded them as acts of amorous bravado, like carving lovers' hearts on trees. 'I always think to myself,' he writes in October 1927, 'will some inquisitive person spy on this daily correspondence? And (yet) it's only my conversation with you - when mountains divide us. A conversation without which I couldn't exist.'

Well, I have just ordered the book by John Tyrrell and can't wait to read their "conversations".

Quotes from: http://www.gyford.com/archive/2009/04/28/www.geocities.com/Paris/Parc/9893/leos2.html


Click here to read a New York Times article and here for an article by The Independent.


Friday, March 25, 2016

Vincent Van Gogh's Letters

A few years ago, while looking for an audio file to discuss art in class, I came across this interesting podcast posted by the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York) where actor Kevin Bacon reads some of the letters Vincent Van Gogh wrote to his brother Theo.


If you would like to go beyond the podcast and find out more, you will be happy to know there is a website, Vincent Van Gogh: The Letters, resulting from 15 years of research at the Van Gogh Museum and Huygens ING, which contains all Van Gogh’s letters to his brother Theo, his artist friends Paul Gauguin and Emile Bernard, and many others.

The letters are the window to Van Gogh’s gripping life story and exceptional work: his view of drawing and painting, the goals he set for himself, his self-discipline and his idea of art. Through these epistles, we see that he was right when he said “ (…) great things are not accidental” - he really did work hard until he found his individuality and his own style.

And not only was he a great painter, there has also been broad recognition of the intrinsic qualities of his writing: the personal tone, evocative style and lively language. In fact, poet W.H. Auden, wrote “there is scarcely one letter by Van Gogh which I, who am certainly no expert, do not find fascinating”.