El maestro que más admiro (ahora más desde que supe que platicó con Ginsberg sobre su poesía) ha estado enfermo y no ha podido darnos clase. Su substituto es un joven (en comparación con 'El Venerable') que estudió en la UNAM. Con él hemos visto la poesía de T.S. Eliot y entre las pláticas sobre el modernismo inglés se ha filtrado el nombre de Ezra Pound. Creo que no es posible tener una buena platica sobre el modernismo inglés sin mencionar el nombre de Pound.
El profesor mencionó los poemas de Pound que están escritos en formas orientales pequeñas (los haikus son un ejemplo, pero el poema que citó no es un haiku) e hizo una pregunta (¡preguntas!) ¿qué quería lograr Pound al escribir en una forma poética tan breve? Dejen les escribo el poema que recito:
In a station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Bello ¿no?
Si les gusta haganse la pregunta que me hizo mi maestro, ¿que quiere lograr Pound con esto?
Yo no respondí nada. Por suerte el maestro respondió su pregunta: capturar un momento. Con poesía Pound atrapa una imagen, una impresión que tuvo en el metro (de Londres probablemente).
9 comentarios:
Hablen no callen,que la crítica alimenta.
en fight club acaba escribiendo haikus y los manda en cadenas de mail. que momento
bello bello
Oda a Marcelo Ebrard????
Capturar instantes. Te tengo un libro de haikus (si, el de Pound no era un haiku) que se que te gustara...
Dato curioso: estoy buscando mi libro de poemas cortos para escribirte un poemita y se abre en una pagina cualquiera. Aparece Ezra Pound con el siguiente poema:
"En una estacion del metro"
Esos rostros que surgen
entre la multitud
como petalos
de una negra rama humedecida
Al lado, esta Cummings con el poema de la hoja que cae. Ese, el que te mencione cuando caminabamos en los caminos felices q van hacia ningun lado
De quien es esto?:
UNA GOTA DE ROCIO
ES UNA GOTA DE ROCIO
Y SIN EMBARGO...
muy bonito
"The Metro" tendría que ser el transporte subterráneo de París. En Londres no se le conoce así (se le dice "underground" o, informalmente, "the tube". Escribió Pound:
"Three years ago in Paris I got out of a "metro" train at La Concorde, and saw suddenly a beautiful face, and then another and another, and then a beautiful child's face, and then another beautiful woman, and I tried all that day to find words for what this had meant to me, and I could not find any words that seemed to me worthy, or as lovely as that sudden emotion. And that evening, as I went home along the Rue Raynouard, I was still trying, and I found, suddenly, the expression. I do not mean that I found words, but there came an equation ... not in speech, but in little spotches of colour. It was just that -- a "pattern," or hardly a pattern, if by "pattern" you mean something with a "repeat" in it. But it was a word, the beginning, for me, of a language in colour. I do not mean that I was unfamiliar with the kindergarten stories about colours being like tones in music. I think that sort of thing is nonsense. If you try to make notes permanently correspond with particular colours, it is like tying narrow meanings to symbols.
"That evening, in the Rue Raynouard, I realised quite vividly that if I were a painter, or if I had, often, that kind of emotion, or even if I had the energy to get paints and brushes and keep at it, I might found a new school of painting, of "non-representative" painting, a painting that would speak only by arrangements in colour.
....
"That is to say, my experience in Paris should have gone into paint ...
"The 'one image poem' is a form of super-position, that is to say it is one idea set on top of another. I found it useful in getting out of the impasse in which I had been left by my metro emotion. I wrote a thirty-line poem, and destroyed it because it was what we call work 'of second intensity.' Six months later I made a poem half that length; a year later I made the following hokku-like sentence: --
'The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals, on a wet, black bough.'
"I dare say it is meaningless unless one has drifted into a certain vein of thought. In a poem of this sort one is trying to record the precise instant when a thing outward and objective transforms itself, or darts into a thing inward and subjective.
"This particular sort of consciousness has not been identified with impressionist art. I think it is worthy of attention."
Ver Ezra Pound, Gaudier-Brzeska: A Memoir (1916; London: New Directions, 1960): 86-89).
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