Our same song (the poetry of the Ateneo de la Juventud) 
For Roberto Sánchez Huerta
Tomorrow Morning
poets poets sing in divine
verse that we can not sing those of today: will new constellations
another destination
their restless souls to a new tremor.
Tomorrow will drive
poets absorbed in unknown and strange flowering
and hear our song, with a sudden disdain
cast to the winds our old dream.
And everything will be useless, and everything will be in vain
always be the desire and the same arcane
and darkness within the heart itself.
And given the constant shadow that comes and leaves, collected
dust the abandoned lira
and sing with her our song. ENRIQUE GONZÁLEZ MARTÍNEZ
Enrique González Martínez sent twist the neck of the swan, is a truth so certain that nobody has bothered to question. Or at least, no one has asked what Swan had such bad luck. Or what crime. Only known and complied with, since he had such strong consequences. Although for some reason, there were so many swans in the lakes of Mexican literature. Perhaps one in a poem by Efren Rebolledo, "Spectral Like a swan, the white moon." The swan is the only tricky plumage white note in the middle of the night. Beauty is not known to itself, hence the deception, and hence its mendacity, as it emanates, is manifested is in itself, but the understanding comes from outside. But the subject is asked to understand, to acquire self-awareness and self-talk. No swan that would in any case, a blind force. A fearsome manifestation of beauty that is not learned blinded by reason. And you know, the sublime, as Caso repeat classes in their aesthetic, makes the spirit "warn their inability to deepen the infinite." Behind the eyes of the swan is the awesome and blind nature, as opposed to the placidity of spirit. So the overarching symbol of the owl is able to penetrate with his sights on the world is ready to upholster nature. The owl, González Martínez mentioned in his sonnet, "plays the mysterious book of silent night" and to interpret the world order.
find another swan, in Tablada, after his murder by González Martínez: "The lake, the silence, shadow, / all candor the swan / neck with questions" (One day ..., 1919). But this swan has another meaning, because it is itself the question, has trouble in the middle of silence and why questions, or he is holding the question. Although not ask me why question, because I do not share your anxiety or your question. Or at least, I wonder other things, very different from those of the swan, swan wonder, for example, but you know: the swan does not respond because as I said before, is blind to beauty. Maybe ask for it, but I do not know say. And poets decided to wring its neck. But I have not answered the question, and I will do before the time I twist the neck, I see two places with swans. The respective works of Manuel Gutierrez Najera and Ruben Dario. But if the Ateneo de la Juventud was formed to defend Manuel Gutiérrez Nájera of the "mummies" unable to understand, would it be wise to direct this aggression against his work? Or against Ruben Dario, who was born under its wings the new poetry? Against Darius, who was expected by all the poets of the country in 1910 for the centenary celebrations, which came only to Xalapa, as U.S. government pressure was prevented from arriving in Mexico City? No: this is a swan heritage, need not appear in the literature. Only needs to be conceived as a primordial force style, where there once, in the French magazines of the 1870's, the Swan presided Parnassian aesthetics. When contemporaries of the Paris Commune, poets repudiated everyday life to concentrate visual attention in the great history and nature. Then the swan swam the lakes as a representation of beauty. At some point, it was thought that the swan represents the modern, to be modern was to include the figure or the essence of the swan. As if it had existed at the symbolists, who saw the universe as a creation of God and tried to find the clues to the creation of poetry. No, find no: tried to convey that mystery to the poem and leave it as an oracle which ask for the secret correspondence between human beings, from which the symbols, figures that have a reality behind it harder to understand than the first, leaving untouched the world's first mystery. And as if it had existed at the decadent, these beings who contemplate the stark reality that oppressed them so they went to the Middle Ages in search of refuge naturalist literature. And they saw the rotting body of Christ and the divinity in this decay. For this to restore the realm of transcendence gave way to the devil and his cult, can you believe it, because more than God, man seeks transcendence and where you can take, the hand you see lying as close of their faith. Say that the swan died, as indeed happened, but occurring more things. Amado Nervo still in his poetry he saw the universe as a mass of secret relationships, would be strictly as an occultist, a poet like Baudelaire or a theologian, a world where everything is concerned: the senses with the words, colors, smells and sounds sing. However, while the reality lost importance because of psychoanalysis, positivism and Marxism, the winning poem on independence. The laws of the universe were sealed trapped in the poem, so you do not care much about the problem of external freedom while imprisoned in the poem was the notion of freedom. That, more or less, which according to Isaiah Berlin, is among the ideas of JG Fichte: the possibility of creating a inner freedom without the political or social import, so both aspects are outside the sphere of moral freedom. This explains, for example, that at the time in which González Martínez tweaked his poem "The days of useless" in which a weeping willow sleeping on a lake, a bullet passing through his department Bucareli Street and embedded in the wall, as were the days of the Ten Tragic. Thus, reality breaks into the poet's life and makes out of himself even though the inner life and his ideals are safe within the poem.
call this the Neosimbolismo, being different from the previous symbol from Baudelaire. And I will call so essentially because Marcel Raymond in his book From Baudelaire to Surrealism, note these same features in the poetry published by the magazine since 1906 Phalange, which was read the work of André Breton, Valery Larbaud O.-V. Milosz and André Gide. A detachment of the poem with respect to their reality, a growing interest in psychological and construction of truths only valid in the poem. And I'll call and in opposition to those who have seen the death of the swan over a period of "Postmodernism": a series of moments without a precise definition, a process that poetry be kept and still could not be something new. But poetry has to be something in itself, something defined by what it is and not just a transition, a change, then somehow all poetry is only an intermediate state, regardless of their situation. Inside the bottle with the label of postmodernism is different and even antagonistic elements, neosimbolistas locked in their inner life and provincials who poured their efforts into the creation inspired by the French department and fill their creations in good faith Catholic. But do not talk about the past because the stick had no interest or redeem the province to move to his people as a crane of the proverb. The history of poetry was the work González Martínez an author not understood by his contemporaries, who called the romantic and modernist modernist, romantic. But I had a voice, a set of procedures that may have used the romantic, but did not. Luis G. Urbina, who was born in 1864, who was the first to explore the possibilities of enjambment in a violent cut the lines as he did not Nervo, and Diaz Miron, and Othon. That gave room for silence and meditation. In his poems, all motion is symbolic, not a body turns to another, but seeks to demonstrate the vitality of contemplation: LUIS G.
METAMORPHOSIS
URBINA
Madrigal
romantic kiss was a captive of a hand
love snow
had the appearance of a fainting lily
and the beating of a bird in agony.
It happened one day that hand
of pale soft candle, lily
languor, palpitation
of poultry
came so close to the prison of the kiss,
that could no longer poor and imprisoned
escaped, but, with fickle money, hand
fled to distant border,
and kiss, flying after the hand, breaking
air, sigh again.
1905 (Sunset)
HAPPINESS
Yes I know. Is beautiful. One morning
-wonderfully-
appeared like a white shadow on my path,
and said, "Here I am.
Who are you? I asked.
"The one you expect;
the late
illusion that once one comes, the dream of peace
prodigious a faithful and last love.
(And my soul was gloomy, gray
my hair, my frozen heart now.)
I raised my eyes looked at her. What a beautiful
is happiness!
- Godly mine! You're late, all
in me is always asleep.
I cried for a moment, kissed her hand,
said goodbye ... and let it go.
July 20, 1913
(lamps in agony)
About Ateneo de la Juventud is a strong opinion: it was poetry. Like any strong view that remains stationary in time, is unreliable. According to Gabriel Zaid, prejudice comes from Xavier Villaurrutia, who wrote that the poetry of the Ateneo is reduced to a name, Alfonso Reyes, which in turn is reduced to the promise of "a new collection of poems." He has never been considered a group of poets, even though its first manifestations were in defense of Manuel Gutiérrez Nájera and though all its meetings included the poetry reading. It looks like a trial held to exempt researchers return to a more complicated time-complex. Down to a mine that offers little reward for literary criticism wants his reward. What good is going back to recover what has no value if it is judged in any way. As if losing the continuity of our poetry for years, the continuity of modernism came Diaz and goes on to recover more or less with the strident or the Contemporary. But during the Revolution, the Ateneo was dispersed, and some were Huerta, devoted to forget that period of his life. Luis G. Urbina was a few days in prison for agreeing to lead the National Library under the period of Huerta, González Martínez worked in Education and wrote that thirty years of contrition had not been enough to wash 30 days of working with the usurper, Ricardo Gómez Robelo was under encroachment Attorney was the first to speak against positivism (though do not know what he said) and the first of the stick in studying Poe (although his work has none of his daring) and that overcoming the ugliness itself conquered and Tina Modotti Elena Poniatowska does that say to the photographer: "I find attractive ... maybe for his own ugliness, and it always repeats his only passion is the passion for beauty. Toulouse-Lautrec loves because he is a Toulouse-Lautrec, and Ruben Valenti, Secretary of Education, he fled to Guatemala when Carranza arrived in Mexico City. Valenti was perhaps the first cultivator of the prose poem in Mexico, for his amatory poems were published in 1908. No skill, no effective, but they are texts that lead the stylistic resources to the dissolution of narrative to create a single literary effect. Exiled in Guatemala, while sitting in the balcony on the first floor of his house, drinking with some friends, he fell back and died. With the money he had in his pocket could pay for the funeral, the family says, as if to underscore the aristocracy of this writer Chiapas that although not enough to be distinguished as a poet, did have an importance in the philosophical thought of the Ateneo. During a discussion on the Law School in 1906, Valenti defended the new European anti-intellectual thinkers flying intuition as an instrument of knowledge, with two young skeptics who still considered positivists, Pedro Henríquez Ureña and Antonio Caso. That night, both went home ashamed and willing to read the intuitionism. That discussion with Valenti opened the door to criticism of Positivism. Anyway, by Huerta, Nemesio Garcia Naranjo-Athens-also managed to see adopted its initiative to remake the curriculum of the National Preparatory banishing forever incorporating Positivism and Intuitionism.
is said in the essay flourished Ateneo de Reyes and vigorous prose Vasconcelos, perhaps not to leave, there is talk of thought Case, which although not read, is distinguished. Or maybe it apart so you do not read. So Athens is presented as a vigorous tree, full of life, drawn from the Greco-Latin roots of such strength and force that drew their members each week in the library of Antonio Caso. There, a bust Goethe served hanger for coats from the audience. As has often been said, read Plato, Kant, Homer, Walter Pater, to fill the gaps in education positivist. There he built an imaginary country they called "Greece intimate." Greco-Roman values \u200b\u200bthat formed since then the moral ground of Ateneo helped them cope with their reality, education Positivism restrictive. An education that gave them the certainty of science. Doubted and the ground shook beneath their feet. As Octavio Paz has said in the sons of slime, a love for Greece is a way of entering the central trunk of Western civilization. And the University had this idea central inserted in the center directly. Skipping steps, then what else can you do if you've been late to the banquet of civilization. For this reason, the work of the spirit is to look for its tradition of getting their heritage and in turn leave something to the men. Interestingly, to address this issue, in "outcast" Alfonso Reyes appealed for the first time in Mexican poetry, to free verse, as if to say "Tradition may be the ultimate"
ALFONSO REYES THE
outcast
I rehearse a voice in vain to remind men
something to my soul that he did not have to inherit;
seek in vain, foolish, in waves of the Lethe,
reflexes that we paint the stars we never saw.
As the stray dog, whom each other are cleared
atavisms marks, or as the villain
civilized
-heiress of all, my soul, mestizo unredeemed, whom you had
not inherit.
And the man just wants to hear what their grandparents had,
and storytellers looking
Poetics on the lips of the nurse. He could seduce
simple brevity, clarity elegant
only word that springs from the idea as the
fighter boot on bare feet ...
While the mystery is spoiled, while the mystery was
consented.
my soul, soft accomplice
was not for us the syntax of the whole world we were born
no, no, under the architecture of Luises
of France!
II
Who, when the elf was not to escape the area,
rolling, hand the wise?
death on stilts on stilts
flings himself to take the time, slashing the books that care forgot
in the table.
So we have to escape the machine precision, scales
Language, literature
slippers while we stick to the tie-foot
RRA.
(Y compute the indefinite noise was heard, and the good man gave
devils.
And when she had to dream, have realized that night that
angels - the angels! - Had cooked for him.)
III
San Isidro, Madrid's patron, protector of laziness;
San Isidro Labrador: take away the water, and lay in the sun.
San Isidro, on the handlebar that your hands never touch them
San Isidro: take away the sun, whose light-
ca nit picking the nalla, take away the sun, and lay the water.
If you drag by the hair life, as you drag the
mobster's mistress, she will work
for you.
San Isidro, patron saint of Madrid: Let angels come-
gan to farm,
and get all our will.
IV
Biblical
fatigue to earn a living, thoughtless
fear poverty. Cross
With open arms who turn to wind and weather vane
! Fatigue
earn a living: as Saturn's waist, sticks Need
the world.
Need, master blacksmith, mother
prison bars and the bars of the gates
;
as brutal as the kick ass in the face milling
fresh,
and as majestic as the sky.
hate poverty: to avoid weight as measured by cough-
kilograms of children and servants;
for not educating children in
shortage of toys and flowers for not raising monsters
disheveled, they raise their fists
tomorrow against the nobility all of life.
But it's worth more than a prince without a crown, being a Prince
International
that is broken all
languages \u200b\u200band living for all peoples, from the opulence of their memories?
plants worth more "blistered by the unaccustomed walking
the deaf hands without touching, calloused so eager? Biblical
fatigue to earn a living, thoughtless fear of
poverty.
Alma, do not inherit any-ama office without eco-
crazy economy.
If I buy bread, I'm running;
if you buy oil, I'm running.
bought a straw broom. We
with straw
a ladder.
The ladder has to reach the sky.
And, both climb, we reach one leg forward
always another.
Guadarrama, 1916
This tree vigor Athens, which I referred earlier, had nothing to do with an industry less visible, which then was the lifeblood of poetry. A weak leg, barren, decadent. Poets who were about to follow the path of the victims of modern life, bar regulars and wormwood. Well, that is the other branch of Ateneo. The Dominican Henríquez Ureña, since his arrival in Mexico took seriously their roles as educators, ie violent, to redirect, then proceeded to give meaning to the lives of his closest, particularly Alfonso Reyes and Antonio Caso . Intended to push the locking bar Athens in the research bureau. He made it halfway, but never tired of trying to "decadent" in the Ateneo, the followers of Verlaine and Baudelaire. In 1909, he wrote to Reyes, "Poets (Tablada, Lopez, Parra, Argüelles, etc.). ... Are not able to organize their life, but this is because they are disorganized people around, and the proof is that not take place entirely in poetry. "He was right in part, because I do not think Tablada is a bad example of poetic achievement. Nor do I believe that the lack of personal accomplishment is the cause of their lack of poetic accomplishment. Unless it relates to the significance of his work. Then maybe you see the lack of care that had some of them, who never bothered to collect his work, as was the case of Roberto Arguelles Bringas. On one occasion, the poet and historian Luis Castillo Ledón, walking down the street was found Amado Nervo, who introduced him to a red-haired young man: "This is the future great poet of Mexico." Argüelles Bringas, by his hair and his addiction to the sport (going to the gym with José Juan Tablada) was known as "El Tigre Mixcoac." "In troubled life," wrote Luis Castillo Ledón-tortured by a sick mind, caught in the tentacles of this great monster called neurasthenia, sang like no pain, certainly, has sung in the English tongue. "Unfortunately, no find that pain in his verses. He died at age 40 in 1915 without seeing his work meeting. Only until 1986, Serge I. Zaïtzeff the collected in the volume Lira rude. I do not know if I am found not guilty of pain or pleasure in his poetry, which also lacks something we call force, because I do not know how else to appoint, as its heavy clauses seem to be the image of an eagle unable to trace the summit, as the verse of Diaz Miron: "The Boreas, as a poet is furious that travel / to reach the mountain streams of harmony / your inspiration sparks in the plain weird shade, / en the discrete lymph blue at the bottom of the grove "(" Blizzard ").
is time that appears as a ghost, the ghost of Manuel de la Parra, the Zacatecas Cap, with his stick and slowly. The naive poet who is not even worth the bother, it was immune from jokes, and had a drunken muse impossible-medievalism as Alfonso Reyes, "and it looked like one of the dwarfs in Snow White. He came to the meetings of the Ateneo and sat in the past chairs, always shy. Sometimes disappeared completely. On one occasion, the novelist Carlos González Peña. walking along the Alameda de Santa Maria found him selling chocolates. Lush, used in lower bureaucratic positions, distracted, had the rare honor of being translated into English by Samuel Beckett. Had no aspiration to be considered the most faithful follower of Paul Verlaine:
MANUEL DE LA PARRA MUSICAL TIME
Jesus T. Acevedo
Grande inner peace, as a delicate and subtle essence
as
soft hue, or bird song and perfume spreads
my existence. I feel like
hallárame
presence of deep mystery, in a grave moment,
solemn spirit
Who knows what advertised, what a strange bloom!
And in the gray horizon, where it burns,
single star, an arcane vision, my life
Tramonto, let's wait
remote appearance of my sister.
Who knows if the end comes
afternoon that both waited for the morning!
(distance vision, 1914)
Parrita, the last to get to work and the first to hit the nearest bar. As he ate standing in the street, and laughed with her face flushed as his fellow had a joke, a book stolen from the library office peeked under his vest. The untimely author could not even keep more than two weeks a weekly column in Review of Magazines. "I have no idea what to write." "Write in your stick," said his friends. When Ramon López Velarde wanted to go to President Carranza fled to Veracruz, was quoted in the season with Manuel de la Parra, but it was late, so because of the lateness none of the poets witnessed the death of the president. At the end of his life, completely blind, came to literature classes in high school No. 1 in the streets of Corregidor in the center of the city. Ricardo Tamayo Cortez, a student of such courses, reminiscent of Manuel de la Parra and "its effort to voice strong and compact, snatched from a throat invaded dominated tears." The poet recited his poems from the scandal, dozens of students who shouted without restraint: "I, sometimes, on these evenings Iodine polished magic, like those of June, I wonder if those animals yesterday, today's professionals, pompous titles, offices, cars, petulance, bourgeois formalities, ever feel, when the memory of his class to rise to Literature maestro de la Parra, shame and remorse. "Ah, and I forgot to say, his work had a single theme: the love that is expected and that never comes. Before returning to Manuel de la Parra a place among the dead, I mean that love is here to surprise all of Athens, who said among themselves: "Parrita married!" That must happen by 1919, when he wrote: "As is so beautiful / This love fall / and delicate, I fear / dread the coming overlapping with or sudden rush of a winter / I snatch him, / leaving me in silence, / of despair in the dark / gloomy wilderness. "
But
I leave my topic, trying to keep coming, what was it, oh yeah, the irresponsibility of the poets, they can not solve your life, so maybe Henríquez Ureña were expelled from the Republic as Plato. It does not seem to feel sympathy for them, to their lack of seriousness. Did he lead their peers towards more serious genres such as essays and philosophy? I do not know what All I know is that then, poetry occupied the most prominent place, so one of the most common concerns was unclear who have occupied the main site of poetry. Enrique González Martínez, who had finished with the swan in 1911, was considered the most important poet. Say you had said where not to go, but then nobody knew where to go. So from 1911 to 1915, the experimental poetry of González Martínez occupied the attention of poets. The decisions made regarding his work affected the Athens, but also to the generation of his son, Enrique González Rojo, because those who form the journal Contemporary group would begin their work along the lines of the author of Hidden Trails. Henríquez Ureña wondered then who is the poet of tomorrow? I wanted to echo the voice again: "Alfonso Reyes." But Julio Torri said in an article: "Lopez Velarde is our poet of tomorrow, as it is today González Martínez, and like it was yesterday Manuel José Othon." But to recognize a provincial stubby and poor, was something neither Henríquez Ureña González Martínez and Reyes could not afford. Gabriel Zaid in his seminal essay quoted "Lopez Velarde Athens González Martínez letter mocking "twilight cows" of Zacatecas. Reyes paid to silence criticism that López Velarde received her book The oblique plane, "his writing excels. Such is the case of Reyes, even though I prefer, in short, outside of the lyrical. " Henríquez Ureña, meanwhile, only left a small, dry paragraph about the author of Sweet Land: "Another type of baroque poetry, where the complication and novelty of the images that go hand in hand with a loving tenderness for the things common, everyday, appeared with Ramon Lopez Velarde, who portrayed the colorful life of old cities in central Mexico, and finally drew a brief summary of your soft home country. "None of the Athens interested in addressing the issue of the province, a poetic content which served as a repository of Catholic values. Only one of them, Rafael López Guanajuato marveled at the poetry of Zacatecas. They met in the study of Saturnino Herran and Lopez, easy style camouflage, was impressed by the aesthetic search of López Velarde. Six years after the death of the author of Sweet Land, Rafael Lopez wrote a parody of the style of this poem, dedicated to Chapala, the fashion site Easter holidays, "the great book in which God placed the secret / the sea, are the lyric booklet; / infant crib ebb and flow, / With a breath, a bubble / and the pulse of his wandering heart. / On Easter Sunday, pleasant / and fine beach in your bedroom, / provide leisure citizen your 'flowery water' and your 'hand mirror. " / Your soul fits well moire / the whim of wind and of fashion / luxury surrounds you in silk frivolous / philosophical and fog, in wool. / Perfidious sometimes you do not miss / to be cruel with your love, / who-naturally-have drowned / in the caress of Green your arms. "There is a difference between these works had a certain intersection, unlike Lopez Velarde, Lopez seems to have no Christian guilt despite the use of literary devices such as Christian themes, as seen in his best poem:
SUSPENSE VENUS LOPEZ RAFAEL
Your presence in my shadow is disclosed
as a bird flying scarlet
with a brown evening communion. And your joy
unleashes a loud morning glory upon my life;
is a shearing of crystal and silver
in dead silence shaking
makes me dread Good Friday
the joy of Easter.
Acquitted
the heart of their calamity,
the spell of your spring,
stirs rosy and amaranth.
Thus the cloud-painted on the ship passenger
Burning aurora-
the usual pale flag.
The moment again sees our nomadic
hoping that the day
struggle in securing the anchor of the hour. Back
tune the compliment of the illusion
wonderful song on a violin twilight Hungary.
A spell starts in the throat
to pupils
wave of unrest that opened the evil in your profile saint. The audacity
yell is hidden
and excitement to continue in retirement, because I have only
your beautiful blonde, a tomb
gold
my breath
and a shroud of snow-broken my desire
plane sapphire pitfalls.
In a miracle I am: when I see you get rid
time in a second
as lightning in its sparkle.
life I feel its rhythm, the cinder
interior supports and an unusual call in April
haunts me the world.
Youth, grace, love, is your logo
course, but my delusions insoluble;
want to decipher the plot,
be a gardener, among sweet martyrdom, after an accomplice curtain
of
blushes in your lap with roses and lilies,
over your mouth red hyacinths, and slow
boast summer sun,
lingered in the ivy in your eyes.
And in a span of blue, only your footprints, soothes my twilight
coward,
which the dove of Venus the beautiful,
ledges suspended in the afternoon.
(In Poetry)
El Ateneo de la Juventud which was officially founded on October 28, 1909 in the Lecture Hall School of Law. It was a fortnight space open to the public, where members gathered to read his personal production. As stated by Fernando Curiel, "Ateneo de la Juventud" is a name that while inserted into a Mexican tradition of intellectual associations and suggests the idea of \u200b\u200bgenerational renewal, but above all was a group formed by an elite who aspired to cultural power. With this continued working regularly until early 1914, during the period of Victoriano Huerta. But Athens had been several attempts to form a group before 1909. First, to try to form an independent group of the Modern Review of Jesus Valenzuela. Therefore Savia Moderna magazine formed in 1906 with money from Alfonso Cravioto, son of former governor of Hidalgo. But Cravioto, a few months he left the magazine to go on honeymoon to Europe. The following year, reconvened to repudiate Manuel Caballero, a journalist who tried to resuscitate Guadalajara Blue Magazine Gutiérrez Nájera, but completely non-literary ideas which he had practiced. Young poets had made a march in defense of the Duke Job in shouting "mummy, your graves" and had signed an ad in the saying that Manuel Caballero was not only unable to appreciate the work of the author of "The Duchess Job "but even to understand it. They then organized a tribute to the founder of the National Preparatory School, Gabino Barreda, which is dedicated to combating positivism. One hundred years ago, as a result of that battle won against the old positivists, Antonio Case gave the first class of Philosophy at the University, which celebrated the imminent restoration of religious thought (years later, academic freedom, celebrated the doors of the University were opened to Christ). The poets who had been faithful to Decadence and Symbolism were literally being relegated. Luis G. Urbina, who worked as private secretary Justo Sierra, approached the stand. Thus, his poetry influenced them, revitalizing the sagging decadence of its poets. Among González Martínez Urbina and continuity can be poetic, conversational poetry, the symbol-based construction and personification, tone evening of his work, the notion of the poem as the inner world ... Some of his poems are aware correlation, others show very close literary interests. For example:
-Pain: what you come quietly!
you be the same one day
went
hostages left me a jewel of poetry?
("Ballad of the return of the minstrel," Luis G. Urbina)
Pain, if by chance to knock on my door
arrival, welcome, wide open
the left to enter ... not to disturb the holy
calmness of my spirit ... to contemplate, only the juvenile
swarm of my serene
such a point with trembling departs plant ...
("Pain, if by chance ..." by Enrique González Martínez)
Martínez González's poetry poetry determine the first half of the decade of the Revolution. She found inspiration in authors such as Porfirio Barba Jacob, Rodrigo Torres Hernández and young students from Xavier High School as Villaurrutia and Salvador Novo. Within the University, this influence will continue in the work of Porfirio Barba Jacob. His poem "Song of the inner life seems inspired by a poem by Albert Samain, Fernando Vallejo, Colombian poet's biographer, believes nearest the influence of González Martínez, since the expression "inner life" appears in the famous "Wring the neck of the swan ..." "Avoid all form, all speech / which are not consistent with the latent rate / life deep ... "Forty years of friendship between Jacob Barba González Martínez and was profitable for both, says Vallejo. It was for young writers who saw in the work of González Martínez a way to continue the process of independence of the poem. Finally, another neosimbolista, Leopoldo de la Rosa, Colombian and Barba Jacob, was the last of the poets near Gonzalez Martinez: I was there every week to ask for money. Poet unique throughout the century, it never worked, lived to borrow. Only once was contracted: in 1921, by José Vasconcelos, for winding a clock in the SEP. According to documents Fernando Vallejo: "As always remained standing as the clock, and when he called on Leopold Vasconcelos he answered that there was little the six dollars he was paid daily. Leopold never worked heroically. " Two poems of the two Colombian poets:
Porfirio Barba Jacob
Song profound life
There are days when we're so mobile, so mobile, as
the faint wisps in the wind and random. Perhaps
under another sky Gloria smiles. Life is clear
, undívaga, and open like a sea.
And there are days when we're so fertile, as fertile as in April
the field, trembling with passion: provident
under the influence of spiritual rain
forests soul is bursting with excitement.
And there are days when we're so sordid, so sordid, involving
like a dark dark flint
night surprise us with their profuse lamps, coins pricing
in rutile Good and Evil
And there are days we're so placid, so placid ...
(children in the twilight! Sapphire lakes!)
a verse, a trill, a mountain, a bird crosses,
and even the sentences themselves make us smile.
And there are days when we're so lewd, so lewd,
that lie in vain flesh women:
behind a waist belt and caressing one breast, the roundness
a fruit shake us again.
And there are days when you are so dreary, so mournful, and at night
mournful cry of the pine forest. The soul cries
then under the pain of the world,
and perhaps even God can comfort us. But there also
Oh Earth! one day ... one day ... one day ...
they weighed anchor, never to return ...
One day
inevitable run winds a day when nobody can hold us!
Leopoldo de la Rosa (1888-1964) Nocturne
VI
do not know what hurt me;
but I am sad, tired and
coward ... I do not see my wound, must be very deep because
bring sighs and leave me dry lips a taste of blood. Very
there, deep inside me, I darken
Very few lonely ... in the depths I cry a penalty
skeptical and vague, and hate me
roars, and there is a storm
on a dark sea that never felt;
gold and light I did not know that on my radio, there
very deep, well beyond
...
goes beyond the rhythm of my thoughts ... beyond the soul
...
Hidden Heart: Chest
live resplendent red and tears
chest of memories of kisses: rubies
chest in which they have poured all nostalgia
their lunados opals, where carbuncles
want to turn their evil eyes inflamed blood ;
where they have pomegranate, illusion, sapphires, and the glory solar
topaz;
and where they cried his cry Emerald
marine eyes of hope ...
Hidden Heart: Live
red box:
tarnish your jewelry!
do not know what hurt me ... Very
there, deep within my sadness
crawls and howls, as his den looking
wounded beast. Very
beyond land deep inside I am like a corpse awaiting
,
very night I'm there, sobbing at all. Very
there I hear myself mourn:
well beyond deep wound bleeding ... bleeding ...
Beyond the rhythm of my thoughts ...
Beyond the soul!
In 1910, during the holidays Centennial, a young writer came to the city of Puebla in Mexico to read a poem against Porfirio Díaz. It is said that the president was moved by his poems and approached him to congratulate him. However, Victoriano Salado Alvarez, who was next to Diaz in the time that Nervo first read his poem "The Bronze race," says the president, desperately asked, "What time is just the tune." The youth arrived from Puebla, Rafael Cabrera, came to lead one of the best literary magazines of the time, Don Quixote, and thanks to the distinction that you meant to be in Mexico City, could stay and live here in the guest house of the Misses Garay in Donceles Street, where he befriended several members of the Ateneo de la Juventud, including Efren Rebolledo, Mariano Silva y Aceves and Julio Torri, who remembered him with these words: "It was high, robust, noble appearance. Very white, blood, under the beautiful, pale face, the searching eyes and a penetrating gaze. Very dapper in dress and treatment very fine ... always a bit nervous nervously sick. "At the suggestion of Pedro Henríquez Ureña, Rafael Cabrera and a co-Puebla, Alfonso G. Alarcón, became members of the Ateneo. Torri she recalls, "the painter Jorge Enciso and I ate at same house with our two poets [Cabrera Rebolledo]. Used to come to our table diplomats Bartolomé Carvajal y Rosas and Luis Ricoy, Rebolledo old comrades, and some friends of mine as the philosopher Don Mariano Silva y Aceves ... No doubt the frequency of such good friends woke up and breathed into Rafael tilt by diplomatic life. "
A group of Cabrera, Silva y Aceves, Arturo Alvarez Cortina, Carlos Diaz Dufoo jr. and Torri, came once a week, literary teas "that were held in the rich library of Pablo Martinez del Rio, fresh from Oxford." Interestingly, Athens main authors were interested in the prose poem, the aphorism and the new European prose form a small group within the Ateneo de la Juventud, ie Torri, Cabrera, and Diaz Silva y Aceves Dufoo jr. Poetry in prose: that is to achieve the purpose of prose poetry, the rhythm of thought, ignoring as far as possible and engaging narrative to achieve a single literary effect as suggested by Poe. Although Torri manifest in some of his letters between Cabrera and he was in the literary field a distance of forty years, the truth is that match the interest in poetry in prose that can be found in the book that started this genre, Gaspard de la nuit by Aloysius Bertrand (1807-1841). In some sense short prose of Charles Lamb and Marcel Schwob influenced this small group. In addition to these authors, we must mention Eduardo Colin, literary critic, poet and learner of supermen who get up every day at five in the morning to bathe with cold water before you run, to become an apprentice worthy of Nietzsche. It is no coincidence that see the foreshadowing of Juan José Arreola, Gilberto Owen and Augusto Monterroso in the following prose poems:
Eduardo Colin (1880-1945) WOMAN
Charlotte, flower of Bavaria, lost in Paris in pension and boulevards. ⎯ you came face block, muslins and naive eyes of your wrist ⎯ Protestant church with its green meadows and its large cows calm, to Rome.
You read a letter in a corner of the hall and cried with real tears (which were not in Paris), and passed. A little I knew of your pain, I left to the upper floor, giving my arm. And your life was the one who supported him in that moment.
be useful, good, selfishness enjoyer of Paris, how pleasing! And I took with me. Stop crying. Were fleeing the rasta, splendid Paris, for the quiet neighborhoods, San Sulpicio provincial bourgeois Montsouris with a small theater, any chocolate. And the sky of Paris opened, blank blue ⎯ our idyll proved. Economize in the restaurant, you were faithful, serious kiss, clumsily. Good friend fragrant! ...
Mistinguet passed, Picasso, Marinetti, and you did not know them. Swore love. Loved for three years and three others were offering love.
Only three weeks ... Another letter. Hablábate reconciliation; sick your child. And you left Paris. Next to the portiere
cried again ... A further charge (a charge often female). ⎯ Adieu! And I ran to my course of Lanson. He had lost those weeks.
Why not put it away? I said to myself sometimes. What can you tell of love! We do not know, nor is it known to stop. It is an immediacy, a dot that looked a moment eyes.
There was, in yours, Charlotte. And I went to something else.
(In Women, 1934)
Mariano Silva y Aceves (1887-1937) THE GREAT BUILDINGS
When children go in the city in the hands of their parents, they will draw attention to large buildings. It's very rare that parents do not do this in order to exploit the weakness of the child to make a show of culture.
From the standpoint of the child, the great buildings help to establish very accurate and useful ideas to life. Thanks to them means clearly, for example, the superiority of government. A country whose government does not own the biggest buildings, runs the serious risk of being rejected, early, in the heart of its citizens.
The true sense of the great buildings as the child acquires when he climbed a tower or a rooftop overlooking the city, in times of a public event. For the first time touched by your spirit with a strong emotion and the bells will seem like things full of unique nobility, that poetry will only clear case later given to her in his life. The views on the far horizon will give your feet a very stable equilibrium by lowering feel that his career is over safe. And who would deny that heroism can be born there? Over the life of our Pípila there is not much documentation, but the strong faith that guided him when he attacked the Corn Exchange Granaditas allows us to suspect that had the effect of large buildings. Carlos Diaz
Dufoo jr. (1888-1932) Epigrams
heroics believed that they had no consequences, they were isolated incidents of common life-literary bias current. One day undertook a heroic act, carefully prepared. Sui generis but that act made fruitful in vulgar, grotesque situations in which lower relationships yoked to a loathsome life and inevitable.
* * * * * ONLY
Inconsistency is a defect to the spirits who can not jump. Naturally, they can only be exercised by spirits who can jump.
* * * * *
LIFE AS A remote breath, went through his fingers, intimate and alien. Of his visit was the footprint of the wind that rustled the leaves.
* * * * *
CONCERNS THE SELLER (At the fair of psychological developments. A thousand years after Freud.)
-Come, scientifically manufactured, refined by centuries-old practice of laboratory procedures I offer incredible ability to change your peaceful order by subtle concerns, storm or cruel; concerns that fill no more a moment of life and are then a melancholy remembrance of things that perhaps were not, questions that fill a life and a yoke of hard necessity, concerns make change a world and concerns that curl slightly a spirit with the magic of the useless. Yo I can give the gift of the unexpected and put at your ease the ferment of divinity. I have here for you a little sore and a little grace.
(De Epigrams)
Julio Torri (1889-1970)
A CIRCE
Circe, venerable goddess! I followed your messages promptly. But I did not tie to the mast when we sighted the island of sirens, because he was determined to lose. In the midst of the sea was quiet prairie fatal. It seemed a cargo of purple wandering by the water.
Circe, noble goddess of beautiful hair! My fate is cruel. As I was determined to lose, the sirens sang to me. ANTIGUA STAMP
not sing your expenses, you discover divine pale elegance, nor the breast than in the vagaries of love frees the faint veils, or eyes, gray or pale blue, what environments, chaste, but the link your arm to mine, down the street, when the stars are watching us with mischief, you beautiful whore, and me, old libertine. FUNERAL
Today I attended the funeral of a friend of mine. I had fun bit, as the eulogist was very awkward. He even seemed excited. Concern is the direction that leads the funeral oratory. Nowadays a eulogy seasoned with platitudes about death and incredibly absurd thing! with praise for the deceased. He is almost always the best friend of the dead, ie, a contrite and trembling subject that moves us to laugh with sincere expressions and emotions incomprehensible. The least important at a funeral is the poor man who is in the coffin. And while people do not accept these ideas, continue going to funerals with so few chances to have fun like a theater.
The poem in prose, free verse, are a means to escape from modernism. The stick used them as keys to get out of jail. Although not all succeeded. Until 1935, Antonio Caso continued to write to emulate or Othon Diaz Miron. Modernism, however, did not die. Was displaced. Perhaps even alive, wandering like a lost soul. As its practitioners, as Nervo who traveled through Spain and Argentina, as Tablada by Venezuela and the United States as sour Othón by desert mountains, as Diaz Miron Cuba. If it returns, it is to be read. If he deserves it. I think not. Each footnote is a ball rather than dragging. I do not know if it can be shown to us as a ghost free. The University agreed, but only to confront immediately. Accepted the influence of Othon and Gutiérrez Nájera, to get away from it. Only he did not know how to get away from it, crashed repeatedly with their influences. Also out is true, but came out with some courtesy. Was leaving a party room. Or rather, he was pulling his party invitation. Until there was nothing of the host, or host. Only the fourth of Modernism with its paintings and objects. Everything else is patchwork. Diaspora flight of the stick. Not all were heading to the same place as rivers and resulted in the same sea. Efren Rebolledo emptied himself, as for the casting of a sculpture of a sexual sculpture, which was first displayed before sex to hide in the same way that the precious stones. Luis Castillo Ledón, escaping from the poetry and in 1916 decided to publish a single book of poetry before turning to history. Along with Amado Nervo, was the only one who used the high art of medieval Spain, but in your case to make a poem to try to preserve morality, trips and falls into pedophilia and sacrilege. And Angel Zarraga, painter, poet limited, but that was an important moment because it was the first Mexican poet who knew the work of Apollinaire, the possibility of simultaneous, actually break down into parts and paste them from different perspectives, only to discover that reality does not fit with itself.
As said earlier, a lira fell below the dust, in which the Ateneo sang his song, pick up and play, I am dust. It is best to move towards a hand that more accurately run.
Efren Rebolledo (1877-1929)
Ownership
skies were clouded your eyes, and as a dove
dying
swing your face in my chest, which turned the rosy
the blushes.
Garden lilies and red myrtle
was your Breast morbid and fragrant, and succumb
, beating
opened the ivory gates of your knees. You gave me generous
your burning lips, your sharp tongue which vibrated fine
dart through your teeth.
and docile, limp, as weak
sheet groaning when the whirlwind passes,
gemiste of delight and dismay.
Sappho's Kiss
More polished marble transparent
whiter than white fleeces,
knotted
two female bodies in a group of sculptures and burning. Legs
zebra, snake foreshortening,
combas outright, breast Columbian
a fire purplish lips, and the two hair
a torrent.
Live In combat, the nipples
that rammed, like two pythons
erotic locked in quarrels.
and in the middle of the thighs attached, two roses buds
inviolate and confuse their essences distilled.
Ledón
Luis Castillo (1879-1945)
In praise of the breast
Oh, breasts! ... Albo
vases are satin, turgor, hard, full,
candid shamefully hidden behind the bodices.
nectaries are pompous, short, white or brown, they should be free
, germinate without sloppiness,
air flaunting all their splendid decorations
as far as times in which the worship of those things
all soft light and sweetest lines and contours,
women rose to the rank of goddesses. As roses
shivering in the snow that piled up in the fallow, which
or chilly birds fluttered their feathers, breast
are pristine, are mild chaste breasts,
that the impulse of the breath are raising their lace. Oh precious
marfilina smooth hemispheres!
I would pet them when ever I see,
but I think if I touch your alabaster skin, maybe my
blot stain cult desire. Fluttering
aroused pigeon, pigeons esperezante,
is the womb that overlooks the bow of a neckline resembling
and balloons, white moons waning
that the clouds billowing in the sky make the bud. Breast
white, I love you with the yearning for a lover! Breast
targets that sponges, which are offered and
boast of beauty with its looks rosy glow! Breast
have bathed white white sparklers!
augur
Like the wing of the swan, the breasts are eucharistic Leda,
and so clean and fresh, your breath causes and invites
to be felt ... But the white silk
your not allowed to touch but only with the mouth!
snowy breasts that stand as placid Pompom eurythmic
as magnolias, as flowers of sin:
are beautiful because you decorate these lurid buttons,
because a beautiful heart beats always at your side! I dreamed
see my beloved's breasts under the sun
Hymen lace semi-hidden in its spherical profiles;
throbbing, the influence of a tremor, a tembelequeo,
and yielding to the flattery of children's hands .
View eagerly and greedily like your nipples ruddy,
for a child's lips their juices advantage, and that roughly
oppressed, contacts furious, swift
pour their wounds, instead of blood, milk!
I love you short girls breasts hidden with shame;
tight buds, sharp and distant, firm breasts
novices in the cloister and the choir
renegáis of your sex, your sap fertilizing. Oh
breasts of mothers crowded and bulky: you are two jars
life. You are a sweet drink trough
where many beings worshiped there! ...
How I love you, white breasts, how I love you, how I love you and I respect
!
Angel Zarraga (1886-1946)
ODE TO THE VIRGIN OF GUADALUPE
CANTO I
THE ANGEL
Gate not closed to the muddy water of my word
my throat.
A lump in my throat and a knot
blind in my heart. Dark
my life working underground, where they tied blindly
roots.
motor tremor torn
matrices of delivery impossible. Words ... words written
.
Words ... Words spoken.
Nailed to the tree, between earth and sky,
no more torture, there is something more terrible than the torture-
that delirium of heaven
suprareal.
My steps go,
as heavy as the diver at normal pressure. Angel
bigeye wanted to fly and could not.
inextricable tangle. Architecture
spider web before morning,
on the terrace of Elsinore. Spider's Web
close-up and increased
ten thousand times (I lost the scale and do not know if
to 1 x 10 or 10 x 10 000).
Doctor, is gangrene?
I have a sore left leg
as my patron St. Roch,
as my king Tizoc.
And I was born between the lion and the Virgin.
But on the saint and the king and the lion and the virgin,
crazy flapping bird bound by the left leg
with a thread does not break. Hands
cruel and innocent child that is within me. Transmutation
constant. Retorts and stills.
convoluted, twisted essence of my being.
at inflated and burned with anguish, my eyes reflect
green flame, red flame
,
the blue flame, flames
and three at a time as the Holy Trinity.
Is there a piece of sun in the crucible
or is it just the black sun of my subconscious?
wind is unfolded.
time is unfolded.
And the rooster weather vane spins in the center of an ideal fixed
horizontal circle at 500 miles per hour ... Y
peak does not know where to expect the grain
the millions of rose petals in the wind.
The moon in the sky is tired of clouds. Peace
apparent field.
And war, war, war
between the man who is by my side, dressed only
steel shield,
and the other black and stinking,
and has not been washed and never expected
their time to my left.
Bow of boat that never sailed
or depart a day, forever and ever,
when the strings return to dust, when the anchor
crumble as the stumps in an ancient jaw. Ghost Ship
then Hurricane
noiseless
fixed idea in the vast circular ...
And one after another at the edges
vast horizons successive
eccentric
the Arabian land of possibilities.
Ends of the Earth within the four walls of the room where I write
,
without doors or windows.
Confines of my quarter-circle in a box, "
ends of the earth, three hundred sixty degrees," three hundred and sixty
leaves defoliated, ridiculous and adolescent
(un peu pas beaucoup du tout passionément) and the book
endless browsing, in which each line is an outcome
and I can read as an anagram
or a calligram, and
right to left, left to right
, or as a puzzle. Cruz Oh!
written words on the page
lake (Erie Xochimilco Maggiore Chapala)
a landscape of chromium.
Words spoken from the farthest
barrier in the world, and they do not sound
because last night the wind got the antenna in the garden.
Confines of the world.
Walls, Walls ... Walls
the end of the world, doomsday.
walls of snow, mist, jade.
Walls: a frontal, two parietal, two temporal, one occipital
.
A sign, the sign intact
before the new sign of the times,
the sign only to myself, oh my
Babel
A
hit my hand cuffs -28 phalanges, slaughter
of carpals and metacarpals-
against masonry walls. Ten
chipped nail against masonry walls drip blood
. And my throat
pad in the equatorial zero.
And my heart at the Stone of Sacrifice. My debt
ancient, Huitzilopochtli! And my feet
rag. And my eyes backwards ...
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
eight, nine ...
Out "?
No.
your roses tilma in my blood, Juan Diego!
Paris, 1917
(Lecture delivered at the Sala Manuel M. Ponce of the Palacio de Bellas Artes, December 10, 2009. They read poems and Blanca Luz Pulido Eduardo Langagne. An abridged version appeared in the journal "Tierra Adentro" 161-162, December 2009-March 2010)
