Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Fake Community Idea's

The beauty of chaos. Two

The Beauty of Chaos. Interview with John Chow .*

By: Tatiana Arguello Vargas **

Above all artistic and literary movement in poetry as in all art, beauty plays a crucial role by becoming a point balance between order and chaos of the universe. Therefore, the search for a true balance, an agreement between the content and form expressed in the poetic beauty, must be one of the most important searches of the poet.

For John Chow (Managua December 10, 1956), the pursuit of beauty is of paramount concern, and the dialectical sense of it than any literary movement. His poetry has many facets: his first book of poetry "Offices of Chaos" (Editorial Nueva Nicaragua, 1986), reprinted under the title "Offices and other versions of Chaos" (Editorial Link 2005), is a work imbued with a noticeable influence surreal, it is evident metamorphosis and transfiguration of emotions and events of everyday life.

On the other hand, in his other poetry collections: The Intelligence of the Scorpion and other boleros (Editorial Liaison, 2001), Rhetoric of Seduction (Editorial Link 2001), Love Opinion (Editorial Link 2004), uses the word in its conciseness view that beauty is to express the essence of language, a brief but sharp aesthetics with core issues of human being: thought, love, loneliness and eroticism.

In this interview, John Chow covers topics about his work and offers us his vision of what poetry is the quality and the future of Nicaraguan poetry.

¿Qué es para usted la poesía?

He oído contestar a algunos que es una necesidad, y a otros, que es un placer; en mí son las dos cosas, escribo por necesidad y placer no me veo haciendo otra cosa.


Su primer libro de poesía “Los oficios del caos”, es una obra con fuerte influencia surrealista, háblenos de lo que significó para usted ese movimiento y sobre esta obra.

Ese libro es para mí como una escuela, en esa época yo tenía entre 17 y 20 años, aquí se hablaba de poesía exteriorista, una poesía que para mí es sospechosa; se pensaba en hablar de lo exterior sin tomar interior, a poetry cardinalist, flat, without metaphors, I was fortunate to surround myself with writers who saw the reality from the subconscious, like the children to dream, and I realized that no interior without exterior and interior without there exteriorism because both are dialectical, and art is a creative recreation, let 'tautology, a creative recreation of reality, not mechanical and I wanted to look abroad, as a black and white photography: the photographer without participation there is no point view or passion.

In his poem "Symphony of Horror" you express "anyone can be a poet in this corner, "What is your opinion if that corner was Nicaragua?

That's not just in Nicaragua but throughout the world, the title of artist is devalued, a poet who is not an artist not a poet. The common root of the poet and the artist is the essence, the catalyst, the artist is something almost divine. Here you get to pretend that the artist is a wrist drop, a drunk, a bum, and some are embarrassed to say that they are poets. There is a poem by Salomon de la Selva that says "everyone has said what they used to be soldiers, what about me? What about me would be that I do not remember? "Poet? No! I would be embarrassed to say. "No give us shame. The struggle for us is to vindicate.
In his critical book, "The mote in the eye" makes a very good review poets like Joaquín Pasos, Carlos Martínez Rivas, Ernesto Mejia Sanchez, Beltrán Morales, Ana Gómez Ilce, etc. . How has influenced his literary work the works of these authors?

These authors are the ones I liked, that I have met, the only requirement is that I have played, I do not care what they say the so-and-such, I do not mind my point of view.

Some say that leaves nothing outside to the imagination, others say the neo-Baroque trends is write in a very made up, and that may tend to obscure surrealism. What does it mean for you as poetry?

is a crucial question in the aesthetic field because poetry does not matter if you are outdoors, surreal, internist, provided there is beauty and well outdoors, surreal and internist, beauty is a dialectic, is inside, is outside flat plane distortion of what is a body, one attains the beauty for talent. The sin of poetry Foreign Office, that sought to eliminate the rest, no opinion poetry of the artist, a photograph black and white, that's not beauty, and art is what is outside and inside. Having a field without interior art is impossible, the best of Ernesto Cardenal does have a base outside but also has an interior support, if you read "zero hour", you feel the emotion, no emotion and that's what fans do not see Ernesto Cardenal, following a Cardinal that is theoretical.

In his later books like "The intelligence and other scorpion boleros", and "Love reasoned," is seen soon in his verses, what is the role for you in his poetry the conciseness of words?

The brevity in this case is compact, ie, things with less number of words, the less you need more beauty is transmitted. You do in a page what others do in 20, Juan Rulfo accomplished in 200 pages with "Pedro Páramo" which García Márquez does in 400 pages with "One Hundred Years of Solitude" and the latter is very flowery when making a world Rulfo more complex. No need to say everything, but all suggest, as I said Carlos Martinez Rivas. It is the skill, precision, harmony.

Of all his work which is most dear to you?

That's like asking someone to save son in a fire, something that you could say because each one of them I have what I can.

wood Is there good poets in Nicaragua? Who?

In this area one should not rush and be fatalistic, because artists will always exist, not clustered in time. Always good artists will emerge in the dialectic of universal aesthetic, the important thing is to have the opportunity. Rubén Darío had the opportunity to recognize the English language, save that it was a dead language. After Ruben Dario, we have a Carlos Martínez Rivas, Ernesto Mejia Sanchez, a Cardinal, so you have to think of a pyramid: Charles the Great, Sanchez Mejia Cardinal's admirable and good. There have been other good poets, like Beltran Morales, Ana Ilse Gomez, and then I think I read poems Farrach Ninfa, Santiago Molina which I found very good, young poets Eunice Shade, Victor Ruiz, I read other poems of other names that have not ubico, not a lot, do not give one hundred Shakespeares in a century, but 1 / 2. If it would give one hundred none is as tomatoes, in large quantities give '.

What advice can you give to young poets?

Other than a few whiners, who walk not looking to blame for their mediocrity, because not will find to blame for their poor talents, no one is responsible for the talent of a person, to be delivered to work as if it were a religion and Jesus gave his rebel movement, art is like a pagan priesthood.

What do you think is the future of poetry in Nicaragua?

The future of poetry is beauty and what is the future and Nicaragua. Dario says that the first law is to create, and the second and third and so on, beauty is a dialectic.

* Nicaraguan poet. Author of one of the most beautiful poems written in Nicaragua "The office Chaos. " **
Nicaraguan poet. Student Language and Literature at the UNAN-Managua.

Monday, February 19, 2007

How Old Do Have To Be To Work At Best Buy

Victor Ruiz

twilight hours


... and then you get rid of the ash. Álvaro
Urtecho

not pronounce the syllables of the name
when the edge in the pustule on the face
night, limp and only, man
not betray or shame or reproach, and impede

twilight of their hours. Do not moisten
su fin tu mirada,
si ves que ella desnuda lo devora
y lo hunde en lo profundo de la nada.

Callada lo verás en deleznable
materia sin retorno que se vierte
sobre escritura sin fin, inefable

del tiempo, en que es ahora polvo inerte,
olvido en la memoria inextinguible
y ceniza en el seno de la muerte.

Nocturno a la escritura

A Tatiana Argüello.

Ni la noche acechando en la ventana
ni la sombra del sueño en la pupila
que atónita del cuerpo se destila
sobre la blanca superficie vana,

sino la escueta letra desvelada,
the pure language and structure of the poem by drawing

writing where your voice is silent.

Absorbed to the shape and sound
feel indescribable pleasure
a word on the eyelid hurt

entering the empty transparent
outside the intelligible matter
and memory of your life, absent

Ovarian Cyst Biopsy Procedure

sonnets Poem Ernesto Mejia Sanchez, a Nicaraguan. Poems

POETRY

1
This restlessness, this word from the heart
comes and stops me in my lips, is not new to me,
but remains, from where my parents live in loving
concrete struggles of the flesh
death to give me the world and grows like me a sea chest,
always changing, angry and inconsolable. It

come a day when so much effort matures
and bleeding, and that stopped
ignored word on my lips break the air like a song and make me happy
lasting name.

4
If the lily is vile in its purity
and hide under the murderer, if the poison
subtle is the way to achieve accurate
beauty;
Deception
my love for the nobility
and confused as to ruin divine, I
folly of sanity, one lie
of my certainty. Nobody gets

triumphant in battle, nor angelic
promise to shield me
or human condition I walled.

against all truth I love you,
infernal balance. I was born naked, you just
conquer death.

Tuesday, February 6, 2007

Overdose On Zopiclone

Romel Cruz, Inter Winner of Poetry, 2006. Prose

Rommel Cruz (Carazo 1985) participated in poetry workshops taught by the poet and critic Ivan Uriarte, the National Engineering University (UNI). Civil Engineering student. Won first place in the poetry contest Interuniversity 2006, organized by the UNAN-Managua. For the first time publish their winning poems.


DREAM Mokuanes

Enigma spooky
the chilamate and stealth,
its trunk, the tumult of snakes
rising one above the other, from the bare root

anchored in mud,
to the branches of which were torn off

languid swing
spitting barbs hypnosis
of tiny mechanical.
is there, the sinister spectacle of my verses, the harem reserved
my fear,
there, clinging to the pale full moon flood
a choir sing a nudist Mokuanes
suspense.
chilamate
A flower melts
perpetual darkness of her hair, deep wave

falling on their skin mahogany swirls
back:
flagelazo weightless

that breaks releasing spells.
Ladies of chilling beauty, her face
:
is a flash without flash, is a question
opening and closing, a look
continuous and recording, ineffable speed

spanning mocking memory.


THE STONE LAKE

The stone reads his stubborn silence
monotonous, inflexible
the collapse of the times, reflecting his black

crushed against the hidden track to be bite
weight,
the inertia mold of loose sand open
volume and delivery. Strength


vigilante disguised as algae, how much blood will

run on this skull
before rolling up his bed,
how many Indians have fallen on his eye
dressing with the waves, how many times Nicarao
,
from here, there will be criticized
defeats his idols deaf. So much history indicha


revolt in this stone now

mixed chemistry of our years,
forgotten until the gray water,
where every evening drowning his shadow
pressed by the weight of his body.


applause


Tonight is a slow applause
falling troposphere
light on and stays around for voracious devil.

vertical will lie in the ways
and his pale flesh creeps weightless

penitent flock of souls in eternal flash
murky death of those who did not know

and hells angels in clouds
and changed into a carbonated
chemosphere hospital
uncomfortable tickling

absurd god who put his butt on kukalcán
neat and stayed in the nerve mestizo of our prayers, drums and whistles
slaving for your pleasure, licking the blood
Indian
not kneel hermaphrodite condition of its hegemony
longeva.

Noche que cae
y yo que me elevo,
me elevo hasta lo profundo
y al subir bajando
barro el ángulo inestable de mis miedos:
veo deidades
cojear entre el polvo irreflexivo
de un asteroide en exilio,
las plumas rotas de Quetszalcoalt
borbotando del tropel de caballos andaluces,
talones ásperos en lava plasmática
bajo un estrato de siglos.
Veo mi tribu
flagelada por un espejo,
llorando su derrota
paralela a la indiferencia
de esta sombra
que es un aplauso cerrado.

COLUMPIO


Al fondo de la pesadilla
entre violácea tersura,
súcubo
languid creepeth indissoluble
despotic throws me numb

insomnia in pregnant savannah sweat. Coming and going


of icy skeleton terrific crucifixion
in bed until invincible iron magnetism

of tartar hot sleazy basement
pulsating sleep
elastic.

Vote Of Thanks Wedding

Juan José Arreola, Mexico.

EVA

He pursued through the library between tables, chairs and lecterns. She ran away talking about the rights of women, endlessly violated. Five thousand years separated them absurd. For five thousand years she had been inexorably vexed, postponed, reduced to slavery. He was justified by a rapid and fragmented personal praise, said in broken sentences and trembling gestures.
he sought in vain texts that could support their theories. The library specializes in English literature of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was an extensive array enemy, which glosses the concept of honor and some of the atrocities of that sort. Young cited
tirelessly to JJ Bachofen, the wise that all women should read, because it has restored the grandeur of his role in prehistory. If his books were on hand, he would have taken the girl to the dark box that civilization, governed by women, when the earth was everywhere entails a hidden moisture and the man tried to rise from her stilts.
But all these things the girl left her cold. That matriarchal period, unfortunately not verifiable historic and hardly seemed to increase their resentment. Always escaped shelf shelf, sometimes climbing ladders and overwhelmed the young in a hail of insults. Fortunately, in defeat, something came to the rescue of the young. It suddenly remembered Heinz Wolpe. His voice was quoting this author a powerful new accent.
"In the beginning there was only one sex, obviously female, which is automatically reproduced. A mediocrity began to emerge sporadically, leading a precarious and barren face formidable motherhood. However, little by little he appropriated certain vital organs. There was a time when it became essential. The woman realized too late that you were already missing half of its elements and felt the need to look at the man, who was a man under the progressive separation of the accidental return to its point of origin. "
Wolpe's thesis seduced the girl. He looked at the young man tenderly. "The man is a child who has misbehaved with her mother throughout the story," he said almost with tears in his eyes.
I forgave him , pardoning all men. His gaze lost brightness, lowered his eyes as a Madonna. His mouth hardened before the contempt, it was soft and sweet as a fruit. He was sprouting from his hands and his Libyan mythological touch. Approached Eve and Eve fled trembling.
And there in the library, in this complicated scenario and negative, at the foot of the volumes of conceptual literature, ancient episode began, like living in the stilt houses.

Monday, February 5, 2007

How To Get Rid Of Overbite Without Braces

Poema de Pedro Salinas, Spain 1891

Quit looking ...

Quit looking
architecture that is drawing the fire of artifice in heaven
August.
vice leads itself to every human creature:

vice not last.
lasts only for a moment the shining
building to see the benefit let
sacred dark night light.

Come ... You should go look for the most durable.
This summer night lights for you
its innumerable lights on top;

shut it and let her talk. And the vain
rocket
only learns to be preparing your divine feet.

Friday, February 2, 2007

Best Receivers Under 500

Sarduy A poem Grafógrafo

LA rod and spoil ...

A
Arturo Carrera
rod and spoil the
as love.
but not hard on the body of writing, not with that injury

finds peace lover. It
enters the body and more willing

increases their joy with their evil.
allegory of our last end:
hieroglyphic morbid.

Thrush And Iron Defficiency



The
grafógrafo

write. I write I write. Mentally I am writing I write and I can also see that I write myself. I remember writing and also seeing that he wrote. And I am remembering that I am writing and I remember seeing myself remembering that I wrote and I write seeing myself write that I remember having seen me write that I saw that he remembered seeing me writing writing writing and writing that I write he wrote. I can also imagine writing that he had written that I would imagine writing that he had written that I imagined writing that I am writing to write.

(Salvador Elizondo, El grafógrafo)

Fleetwood Scorpion Problems

The Poems of Victor Ruiz

Epiphany
meat


endures not only the enjoyment and texture of a moment ...

Sarduy

bed apex lacerated
onrushing muted your figure with all its violent

architecture the body that awaits deployed. He raised flood


revealed the profile of your whiteness open your thighs
denounce in
dark night when we hugged.

Enciéndese your meat on this fire to my blood
that expands in the thick twilight of your sex
restless. Already

silence hangs over the epiphanic inert
assumption that one minute
communicates life to death.


Writing in the body.

A
Sarduy

Inert, abandoned the instrument,
give your body, without a hint of regret
reflecting the beginning of the rite
pleasure in a moment.

undermines my tongue in your ordeal
the dim silence of your torment
blood that flows like a breath
where he enjoyed endless my vice. Leave the field

scalpel wound after a stroke

whining that has been silent, and dying,

you sink into lethargy end.
Sated and cold and your architecture
the other digs your grave here.