I started reading this book for the first poem entitled Cuervo and I said Poe.
reread the famous poem by Poe looking for an echo. Then I looked better in the poem by Rebecca and I noticed the last line: "At the moment the crow is a bird ".
do now? told me. What bird is more than Poe's raven?
Then I went to the final, the last stanza of the last poem in this book Rebecca: "If we shadows. If only souls. If Plato ". This, I said, it was signed by Poe. And Kafka, his great admirer. And Marcel Schober. And Borges.
I read in that key Along days and The house eyed and The act of listening. Then I stood in the absence Assuming that leads into a verse of Gamoneda and ends with a stanza defining:
"Bocas tiny bite cankering goodbye,
time preventing the analgesic function.
Assuming the existence of time to lick wounds.
Assuming the scar as the possibility of injury.
And assuming that the absence clot surrounded by insects. "
There are verses that are worth a whole book. In this stanza are five of them.
Finally when I finished the Coven below and I confirmed my first impressions, I ran into Freudian princess and that made me change the plug.
The Brothers Grimm, I thought. But not just any but the brothers Grimm brothers Grimm's Psychoanalysis Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettelheim.
course, as I remember, Bettelheim never wrote "Loneliness has no antonym / and repetition / is the triumph of frog / about man . To write that is not enough to be a reader and psychoanalyst and worship. It needs to be a poet.
In what follows, of course, incest. Ie , Amstetten. monster daughter. A monster happens and the Terror, or evil: are everyday and banal. Buy bread and the newspaper in our own corner. Elevator and stairs share with us.
A poem that starts again with a precision of chill: "I was devoured by the nest .
and after the monster, the caterpillar, the chrysalis, the insect. For only being "giving birth under the turf track" can be heard " the roots of trees to dig into the earth."
And you have to hear to be known "without a shadow, there just " in a "body breached a thousand times" come "to light in darkness and silence " , wondering if one lives or dies, whether or mirror nightmare, as we face Rebecca.
words, hoping and fearing to get rid of the prison and follow it, "find another hand in finding the switch." That is, not knowing if we find, at last, with the true Other, who is out there and so it can be liberating and not to the predator daily, thick and viscous, which awaits us from his little black mustache.
This poem concludes the first part of the book, no accident, Rebecca has titled "Night of profile " and contains nine poems as powerful as the original, so beautiful as terrifying. So you know, do like me: read it just before bedtime.
And if we were that night, of course, the cosmic cycle and the Unconscious, the prison of the material and mental chains that pull us to the cancellation and madness, in "Before air " take a step to something else.
a difficult, tortuous, but finally happened after all, no one promised us anything, much less that the path to liberation was a picnic. Needless to flee from an oppressive childhood "to a world for air " , we guarantee an outing, a future.
Some poets - I can think of three: Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton and Alexandra whose works Pizarnik Share this book certainly more of a reference - not found. Or at least not in the "should knife of words" as suggested by Rebecca sometime.
Calling things by their name, ie violation of rape, incest, incest monster, the monster even if your father (or precisely because it is) help. Go if it helps. But not enough. Then you have to live with the scar. And the scar, we all know, it contracts and expands with changes in time, it hurts when it's cold and sometimes oozing.
Nor just force the issue to make good poetry. It also require verbal richness, sense of rhythm, imagination, sentiment. And a slow and patient that can build gold jewelry as
"souls who have been tortured
start from further away,
its truth
forks at the beginning "
O as
"dismembered never live
that life without crutches waiting,
far you, full of scratches. "
For every raped child, every woman attacked, all girls and women worldwide. And men who have made the monster and we destroy. For all of them, of course. Y also for ourselves.
For as we have learned, the notion of victim is "inseparable from the idea of \u200b\u200bguilt" and the more advanced "the more you retain the anchor of the executioner" .
Recently these are - thankfully - ideas which are publicized and discussed. With this propensity to banality, unfortunately inseparable from coated paper and theater cathode. But hey: at least discussed.
And yet, what catches the poems of Rebecca is not so much ideas but its form.
In verse - back to Poe - how is the idea and this can only exist, acquire substance, seduce or challenge us in a certain way and not others. The form, as Rebecca made from the first verse, plunges us into a universe, we are surrounded by an atmosphere. And is there in that atmosphere that they built, where the poems of Rebecca aboriginal women its highest expression.
Until, slowly at first, more rapidly later, "are breaking the waters reality, its flow levees burst " and produced this" blast "that we start from childhood, the overwhelming atmosphere of childhood. As Rebecca says:
"Ultimately there are only
red flowers on a grave
and are the beginning of the road "
What happens is that, as postulated " Reprint ", the third and final part of this book, all are becoming aware - if you buy - later. In general, too late. And you're always left with the uneasy feeling that, however much repeat Poe's raven, "Nevermore, nevermore" perched on the bust of Athena, that consciousness is never complete. There is always something more.
Because, for starters, says Rebecca "What do the anger / when you ignore the location of the ashes?"
And second, because despite the time elapsed, and the pain and effort, often "the alien who lives in you / child joins with the balls of your feet" (by the way, great The vodka and misandry, where this verse poem)
O, which is the same, that The aftermath of incest nest in the subconscious during the warmer months as entitled the latter, and in my opinion, one of the most successful poems in the book, the ending, let me repeat:
"If we have no body, if the aestivation
crocodile did not pose a threat.
SI hands
not be a shortcut to the light.
If we shadows. If only souls. If Plato
But not us. Or not alone. And, of course, Plato is better than Prozac. And vodka. And that any crucifixion more or less drunk on any cot. But the last therapy - Freud dixit - is summed up in two commitments: Love and Work.
is so difficult.
It's that simple.
To which I would add a third: Poetry.
As a literary genre, Poetry is probably the worst is explained and the less you need. People who read and hear poetry, we care little what was what the poet meant, or if he meant something. For us, the poem is what I read or heard triggers within us. What each of us feel and live, and is found wanting to feel and live, thanks to him. Which, of course, tends to vary each time you read or hear.
I enabled me to share with you today some of the things that reading Rebecca's first book I have mentioned. In the foreword he has written, Julieta Valero, proposes another evocation, another reading.
That is good poetry, that is inexhaustible because it allows multiple interpretations and proposed.
This book allows them he is good. It is actually very good. And you know how I know? Reading because I felt envy. And I would have liked to have published at the age of Rebeca first book like this. Violent and tender. Beautiful and terrible. Committed, as it must, in the most intimate and profound sense of the word.
I recommend it for real.
Thank Rebecca for having written and dare to publish it.
And thank you very much to Amargord, ie Chema de la Quintana , to launch a collection like Candela and have edited.
Alberto Infante
March 2011
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