IN THE MOREMARROW/EN LA MASMÉDULA is the final volume by the vanguard poet of 20th century Argentinian literature. “In the fabled Oliverio Girondo. That first line is beautiful & on one level it seems a sort of how-I-wrote-my-book- and-so-can-you! treatise by Girondo. They are the last 4 lines of. Oliverio Girondo — ‘una libélula de médulauna oruga lúbrica desnuda sólo nutrida de frotesun Oliverio Girondo, En la masmédula.
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We cannot simply transplant them, we must translate them. For this reason it is full of neologisms created via new word compounds, new combinations, then recombinations of those prior new combinations: The majority of the book is such best moments. I want to explain.
It takes an object. I think this book is extremely important. It is more primordial marrow. What we have here is Reproduction vs. Because it rewrites itself by correcting the mistakes of our World.
Oliverio Girondo, In the Moremarrow / En la masmedula | Action Books
He was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina in Faithfulness may be a practice rather than a result. He died in Buenos Aires on January 24, So we make an inference. Olivdrio photograph, in this case at least, is not a poem. InGirondo was injured in a car accident which left him with diminished faculties.
But the first two lines of the translation are confusing to me. Or is it just turtles all the way down? Love for Girondo is a force that howls out. I mean, in order to move all the plants from one hothouse to another, one ought to take inventory to ensure that no plant was left behind. The oliverik is self-referential.
The ButMarrow sounds horrific. Or grammatically eb, the definite article v. And if love takes an object, love conducts violence. Variations on a theme of water.
In the Moremarrow/En la masmedula
It is a historical document, a hasty epitaph to something still living elsewhere. And problematizes; who wants to be an object? It reminds me of constituent elements readying okiverio to become compound. The original version of that first line is two. A garden represents an exercise in duration, it is alive, it is exposed to time, it grows, it shoots new buds, other things flower from it.
Every left page gives the original Spanish version of the poem, and the right page holds the translation. This book is hard to write about, around, through.
It is not writing itself according to the essence or the marrow of the source text, which is a sort of axillary re-generation. This too points out something oliveruo me masmedual is disconcerting. Love is the essence. This seems a problematization. We are inside it.
HTMLGIANT / In the Moremarrow / En la masmédula by Oliverio Girondo
nasmedula The third right-indented column is the finished translation. But once again, very gestural. Molly Weigel is a poet, translator, and therapist living near the Delaware River in central New Jersey with her husband, son, and four cats. I know that analysis is a fundamental part of translation. Everything I do is everything I do, but, at end, shot through with love.
A lot of poems end on their own titles, creating a feeling of being in an enclosure. Is there an authoritative, origin-al essence to be mined at the bottom? InGirondo married fellow writer Norah Lange, and during the mids their house in Buenos Aires served as a meeting place for the younger literary generation, including Francisco Madariaga, Enrique Molina, Olga Orozco, and Aldo Pellegrini.
There are moments in the middle version, in column 2, that actually appear quite poetic, whether intentional or not. We have here competing notions: It represents, among other things, a re-envisioning and re-fashioning and renovation of the Spanish language proper. It is this final clause that runs in counterpoint to everything preceding it, but more, that completes everything. How to reproduce this verbal rejuvenation in Spanish, how to forge from the English a new poetic language.
But my love takes partners, too. Who wants to be subject to objectification? It contained the slant of my personality and point of view and present experience, but I made it as big as I could, making myself bigger in the process.
But then again, marrow, or the essence of a thing, is already part of this tension. This is understandable, and this is understandably impossible. I trust it as a mode of writing poems.