Alma Mater Literary Blog

My Favorite Poets (I):
The South Americans

I will now start this brief series in a scatter fashion with my favorite poets from all around the world. In this part, I will cover some of my favorite South American poets.


In my early years, I started reading poetry from verses that my mother had written such that I could recite during mother’s day. But I also think that I had read a few from Benjamin Franklin, such as, "The Cock", which I read during my exploratory readings of the English Language in Hamilton’s book entitled "A Travel through the United States", one of my first English books. I was later quite excited about studying and analyzing French poetry, and perhaps, there is one that I particularly recall entitled "Consolation à Du Perrier" by Malherbe. So, recently, I wanted to reread it, but could not find it on the shelves of the French Institute Alliance Française Library in the City of New York, where books by Malherbe, including his complete works were missing that day and I could not be found anywhere after I asked for assistance. I believe that most of my poetry reading has been accomplished during my first twenty years of life, half of my life, so I had enormously read the French, the German, the British, the Spaniards, but above all the South Americans by then. At the top of those that I could highlight is obviously Pablo Neruda, who is considered by a great number of poetry experts, and arguable to others, as the greatest poet of all times, i.e,. the best poet ever. Indeed, I have read Neruda extensively, step by step, for many years, since my early school years, and have encountered great messages in his poetry from "Veinte Poemas de Amor y una Canción Desesperada" through "Canto General" to "Confieso que he vivido". What is intriguing about Neruda’s poetry is that he recites it with a vivid feeling and sentiment over what happened to him, romantically, socially, and spiritually, which can easily transmit to the reader. This is the greatest value of this Noble Prize. I have read other books by Neruda, and some of his antologies over time, but no other had the impact of his twenty love poems. From Neruda every Latina remembers and likes:

"me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente
y me oyes desde lejos y mi voz no te toca..."

Among the South Americans, I seldom read other poets than the Colombians, such as Porfirio Barba Jacob, Eduardo Carranza, Jose Asunción Silva, and the one that I admired the most Guillermo Valencia, the father of a president by the same name. Barba Jacob had written a poem that everyone loves in Colombia entitled "Canción de la Vida Profunda" where "hay días en que somos tan fértiles tan fértiles que nos depara en vano su carne la mujer", which could be literally translated as "there are days when we are so fertile, so fertile, that the women offer us their flesh in vain". Asunción Silva writes about the pure water by stating "refleja el agua pura su inocencia en la quietud sin peces ni sonido" ("the pure water reflects her innocence for her soundless quietness without fishes."

Besides, I admire Carranza and Valencia beyond their poetry for having my grandfather’s names. I had heard from a relative that my grandfather Hermengildo Carranza Valencia was related to Eduardo Carranza, but I could never corroborate it, and when I personally asked him, when he was already reaching his eigthies, one night that I stayed at his colonial Bogotá home, he just remained silent and gave me no answer, a strange behavior for a strong man at his age. A couple of years ago, I was stunt when I heard about the tragic death of his daughter, María Mercedes, who committed suicide at her home while working for El Tiempo, the largest national newspaper based in Santa Fé de Bogotá. She had written the national best seller "Carranza por Carranza" about her father, Eduardo. Thus, with "Cuando yo digo Francia", Carranza and Valencia are probably the greatest Francophiles in the Colombian literature of all times.

Among the poems that I enjoy the most from the Colombian poets is this one entitled "Las Dos Cabezas" (The Two Heads), by Guillermo Valencia, which reflects all the flavors of his extremely French education. And Valencia is the paradox of his time when relating the beheading of John the Baptist in his poem. But Valencia’s poetry also remains in full the antithesis of his own time, the years that followed him, and the present of other poets’ vision and their styles for generations to come, as I learned in French from Emiscu (rather than in Latin): "…car la vie est un bien perdu quand on ne l’a pas vecu comme l’on a volu." (…for life is a loss asset when we have not lived it in the way we want to…", mostly what Colombian and South American poets reflect in their plural message. Valencia’s poem has an epigraph from a book appearing mostly in Catholic and Orthodox Bible versions, Ecclesiasticus, in Latin, "Omnis plaga tristitia cordis est et omnis malitia nequitia mulieris", which could be translated into English literally as "All vice is sadness to the heart, and all evil is woman-born." Or in contrast as posted on the web at http://www.tldm.org/bible/Old Testament/eccltus.htm: Ecclesiasticus (25:17). "The sadness of the heart is every plague: and the wickedness of a woman is all evil." (The latter translation is questionable.)

From Guillermo Valencia (Colombian Poet)
LAS DOS CABEZAS

"Omnis plaga tristitia cordis est et omnis malitia nequitia mulieris"
( Eclesiástico)

JUDITH Y HOLOFERNES

Blancos senos, redondos y desnudos, que al paso
de la hebrea se mueven bajo el ritmo sonoro
de las ajorcas rubias y los cintillos de oro
vivaces como estrellas sobre la tez de raso.

Su boca, dos jacintos en indecible vaso
de su sutil esencia de la voz. Un tesoro
de miel hincha la pulpa de su carne. El lloro
no dio nunca a esa faz languideces de ocaso.

Yacente sobre el lecho de sándalo el Asirio
reposa fatigado, melancólio sirio
los objetos alarga y projecta en la alfombra...

Y ella, mientras reposa la bélica falange,
muda, impasible, sola, y escondido el alfange
para el trágico golpe se recata en la sombra.

* * *

Y ágil tigre que salta de tupida maleza
se lanzó la israelita sobre el héroe dormido,
y de doble mandoble, sin robarle un gemido
del atlético tronco desgajó la cabeza.

Como en ánforas rotas, con urgida presteza
desbordase en oleadas el carmín encendido
y de un lago de púrpura y de sueño y de olvido
recogió la homicida la pujante cabeza.

En el ojo apagado, las mejillas y el cuello,
de la barba, en sortijas, al ungido cabello
se apillaban las sombras en siniestro derroche.

Sobre el lívido tajo de color de granada...
y fingía la negra cabeza destroncada
una lúbrica rosa del jardín de la noche.

SALOME Y JOKAMAN

Con un aire maligno de mujer y serpiente,
cruza en rápidos giros Salomé la gitana
al compás de los crémalos. De su carne lozana
vuela equívoco aroma que satura el ambiente.

Danza todas las danzas que ha tejido el Oriente
las que prenden hogueras en la carne liviana
y a las plantas deshojan de la déspota humana
o la flor de la vida, o la flor de la mente.

Inyectados los ojos, con la faz amarilla
el caduco Tetrarca se lanzó de su silla
tras la hermosa, gimiendo con febril arrebato:
"Por la miel de tus besos de daré Tiberíades"
Y ella dícele: "En cambio de tus muertas ciudades,
dame a ver la cabeza del Escenio en un plato!"

* * *

Como viento que cierra con raquítico arbusto,
en el viejo magnate la pasión se desata
y al guiñar de los ojos, el esclavo que mata
apercibe el acero de su brazo robusto.

Y hubo grave silencio cuando el cuello del justo,
suelto en cálido arroyo de fugaz escarlata
ofrecieron a Antípas en el plato de plataque él tendió a la sirena con medroso disgusto.

Una lumbre que viene de lejano infinito
da a las sienes del mártir y a su labio marchito
la blancura llorosa de cansado lucero.

Y -del mar de la muerte melancólica espuma-
la cabeza sin sangre del Estenio se esfuma
en las nubes de mirra de sutil pebetero.

LA PALABRA DE DIOS

Cuando vio mi poema Jonatás el rabino
(El espíritu y carne de la bíblica ciencia)
con la risa en los labios me explicó la sentencia
que soltó la paloma sobre el Texto Divino.
"Nunca pruebes -me dijo- del licor femenino
que es licor de mandrágoras que destila demencia;
si lo bebes, al punto morirá tu conciencia;
volarán tus canciones, errarás el camino..."

Y agregó: "Lo que ahora vas a oír no te asombre:
La mujer es el viejo enemigo del hombre;
Sus cabellos de llama son cometas de espanto.
Ella libra la tierra del amante vicioso
y Ella calma la angustia de su sed de reposo
con el jugo que vierten las heridas del santo..."

Please note that Valencia’s perception of women could probably be encountered in some of Baudelaire’s poetry and personal notes or a clear match to Racine’s character Phèdre.