Volverán las oscuras golondrinas
en tu balcón sus nidos a colgar,
y, otra vez, con el ala a sus cristales
jugando llamarán;
pero aquéllas que el vuelo refrenaban
tu hermosura y mi dicha al contemplar,
aquéllas que aprendieron nuestros nombres...
ésas... ¡no volverán!
Volverán las tupidas madreselvas
de tu jardín las tapias a escalar,
y otra vez a la tarde, aun más hermosas,
sus flores se abrirán;
pero aquéllas, cuajadas de rocío,
cuyas gotas mirábamos temblar
y caer, como lágrimas del día...
ésas... ¡no volverán!
Volverán del amor en tus oídos
las palabras ardientes a sonar;
tu corazón, de su profundo sueño
tal vez despertará;
pero mudo y absorto y de rodillas,
como se adora a Dios ante su altar,
como yo te he querido..., desengáñate:
¡así no te querrán!
-Gustavo Adolfo Becquer
Lo Fatal
Dichoso el árbol, que es apenas sensitivo,
y más la piedra dura porque ésa ya no siente,
pues no hay dolor más grande que el dolor de ser vivo
ni mayor pesadumbre que la vida consciente.
Ser, y no saber nada, y ser sin rumbo cierto,
y el temor de haber sido y un futuro terror...
¡Y el espanto seguro de estar mañana muerto,
y sufrir por la vida y por la sombra y por
lo que no conocemos y apenas sospechamos,
y la carne que tienta con sus frescos racimos,
y la tumba que aguarda con sus fúnebres ramos
y no saber adónde vamos,
ni de dónde venimos!...
-Rubén Dario
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
What is a good book?
I haven't been on here for a while, what with all the time I've spent at school and at soccer. So far this year's been busy-certainly as I expected it. So, what are my big musing of the evening?
Well, I've just finished reading "Magic Seeds" by V.S. Naipaul. A thought-prokvoking book, certainly, but not my favorite book. Naipaul still retains the talent and brilliant descriptions and insights he had in the first book of his I read (and my all-time favorite) "A Bend in the River." I guess I was slightly disappointed with book. For me, too much of this book was bogged down in the Indian revolution- the endless trudging from village to village, searching for some reason, some meaning behind their fight. Maybe Naipaul was trying to portray it as a hopelessly dull, idle period, and, in a way, he was successful in this as this came across very well in the narrative. Another thing that bothered me was the surrealism of the narrative- every character a philosopher, some profound meaning waiting to be exposed in the dialogue. The New York Times reviewer describes this book as "lazy" and I agree. Naipaul makes too many assumptions of the characters he's portraying, so that they become mere allegorical and symbolic figures rather than functioning profound characters.
My favorite part, and the meat of the book, was the time Willie the protagonist spends in London. Here, the reader meets another man in desperation, his friend Roger, and this is where Naipaul can properly set down his thought- those of purpose in the world, mere existence vs. active participation. Naipaul portrays two weaklings, Willie and Roger, who let the world stomp all over them. The message seems to be that most people in the world are like this (which my experiences, I would say is true).
Naipaul's best chapter doesn't even involve the protagonist, but rather Roger telling the story of his failed relationship with a working class woman. Naipaul did this in a "A Bend in the River" with Indar and that, I thought, was the best single piece of literature I have ever read in the English language. This doesn't quite reach that plateau, but still is great. While in ABITR, the story fits seamlessly with the dialogue, here, it seems slightly tacked on. What I love though is that Naipaul exposes an individual's entire life, his thoughts, his habits, his vices, his virtues- and he just presents them to reader as if to say, "Here are the facts, what do you make of them?" The story is depressing and disheartening, portraying Roger's life as an endless series of short bursts of pleasure followed by long days of boredom (an important theme in the novel). In these chapters, Naipaul completely trivializes this guy's life, almost mocks it, as if to say, "This guy is pathetic- don't live like him."
Overall though, I enjoyed the book and would suggest giving it a read.
I leave you tonight with a stanza from the poem "Death of a Poet" by Welsh poet R.S. Thomas. Like Naipaul, I merely present. You draw your own conclusions.
His tongue wrestles to force one word
Past the thick phlegm; no speech, no phrases
For the day's news, just the one word ‘sorry';
Sorry for the lies, for the long failure
In the poet's war; that he preferred
The easier rhythms of the heart
To the mind's scansion; that now he dies
Intestate, having nothing to leave
But a few songs, cold as stones
In the thin hands that asked for bread.
Well, I've just finished reading "Magic Seeds" by V.S. Naipaul. A thought-prokvoking book, certainly, but not my favorite book. Naipaul still retains the talent and brilliant descriptions and insights he had in the first book of his I read (and my all-time favorite) "A Bend in the River." I guess I was slightly disappointed with book. For me, too much of this book was bogged down in the Indian revolution- the endless trudging from village to village, searching for some reason, some meaning behind their fight. Maybe Naipaul was trying to portray it as a hopelessly dull, idle period, and, in a way, he was successful in this as this came across very well in the narrative. Another thing that bothered me was the surrealism of the narrative- every character a philosopher, some profound meaning waiting to be exposed in the dialogue. The New York Times reviewer describes this book as "lazy" and I agree. Naipaul makes too many assumptions of the characters he's portraying, so that they become mere allegorical and symbolic figures rather than functioning profound characters.
My favorite part, and the meat of the book, was the time Willie the protagonist spends in London. Here, the reader meets another man in desperation, his friend Roger, and this is where Naipaul can properly set down his thought- those of purpose in the world, mere existence vs. active participation. Naipaul portrays two weaklings, Willie and Roger, who let the world stomp all over them. The message seems to be that most people in the world are like this (which my experiences, I would say is true).
Naipaul's best chapter doesn't even involve the protagonist, but rather Roger telling the story of his failed relationship with a working class woman. Naipaul did this in a "A Bend in the River" with Indar and that, I thought, was the best single piece of literature I have ever read in the English language. This doesn't quite reach that plateau, but still is great. While in ABITR, the story fits seamlessly with the dialogue, here, it seems slightly tacked on. What I love though is that Naipaul exposes an individual's entire life, his thoughts, his habits, his vices, his virtues- and he just presents them to reader as if to say, "Here are the facts, what do you make of them?" The story is depressing and disheartening, portraying Roger's life as an endless series of short bursts of pleasure followed by long days of boredom (an important theme in the novel). In these chapters, Naipaul completely trivializes this guy's life, almost mocks it, as if to say, "This guy is pathetic- don't live like him."
Overall though, I enjoyed the book and would suggest giving it a read.
I leave you tonight with a stanza from the poem "Death of a Poet" by Welsh poet R.S. Thomas. Like Naipaul, I merely present. You draw your own conclusions.
His tongue wrestles to force one word
Past the thick phlegm; no speech, no phrases
For the day's news, just the one word ‘sorry';
Sorry for the lies, for the long failure
In the poet's war; that he preferred
The easier rhythms of the heart
To the mind's scansion; that now he dies
Intestate, having nothing to leave
But a few songs, cold as stones
In the thin hands that asked for bread.
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