Me moriré en París con aguacero,
un día del cual tengo ya el recuerdo.
Me moriré en París —y no me corro—
tal vez un jueves, como es hoy, de otoño.
Jueves será, porque hoy, jueves, que proso
estos versos, los húmeros me he puesto
a la mala y, jamás como hoy, me he vuelto,
con todo mi camino, a verme solo.
César Vallejo ha muerto, le pegaban
todos sin que él les haga nada;
le daban duro con un palo y duro
también con una soga; son testigos
los días jueves y los huesos húmeros,
la soledad, la lluvia, los caminos…
García Márquez died today, and José Emilio Pacheco earlier this year, and there have been others.
I am reorganizing my files. In my first computer I had a folder called jobmat, i.e. Job Materials, because I was a dissertator on the job market. It was for my vita and all materials for job applications. I had this folder for a long time, but it later morphed into two: one for annual reports, and one for vita versions. Now, however, I have recreated jobmat and it is like recovering a piece of myself.
There is so much synchronicity these past months.
Now, of course, I work calmly on the manuscript I could not so long ago, and this situation has nothing to do with having learned discipline or a method, it has to do with having resolved certain problems. So there is my last rant about Robert Boice and the Boiceans — this weblog having been, at an important time, my shield against inappropriate uses of Boice.
That final rant started because I made an offhand remark about Boice, that started a whole conversation. Really I am just irritated when people throw Boicean writing advice at those who are actually asking how to counter workplace harassment (for example) — I don’t mind his observations or advice per se, and I do agree that research and writing are wonderful shields against many negative things.
But I am calling this post new because there are certain kinds of pain I do not have any more, and am not really interested in talking about any more — and that I do not think it a good idea to stare at any more.
La ambigüedad y el misterio, la insistencia en la raíz doble, el yo dividido, la sensación de ser otro, juntos con cierto indigenismo visible en Los heraldos negros y el creciente interés en la cultura autóctona de los años treinta, han motivado lecturas “mestizas” de Vallejo desde Mariátegui (1928) hasta Jorge Guzmán (1991). Al invocar el mestizaje, estos estudios vinculan la obra del poeta con los proyectos sobre raza y palabra, identidad y nación que se elaboraron en el período de “reajuste cultural” (Osorio 1982) que fue la vanguardia. Vallejo no se une de manera inequívoca a proyectos monumentales de identidad cultural pero sí considera la cuestión. El presente trabajo intentará desenredar algunas de sus posiciones a la luz de la crítica que ha aparecido en el siglo actual, considerando entre otros estudios el de Tace Hedrick sobre género (Mestizo Modernism, 2003).
I do not agree that communicative approaches, those methods referred to as grammar-translation, the direct and natural methods, and so on, are merely teaching “styles” — they have different goals and produce different results. Since we as a group do not have a common approach, the de facto departmental method is that used by those who teach the most sections; therefore, I favor creating as small a group as possible to dedicate to the basic sequence, and starting to use, rather than squelch, the expertise of all faculty, all the time.
Imagine for a moment a world in which all courses were taught for pleasure, not as “service.”
He is wedded to the idea that we and ours are inferior because of projection. Due to projective identification I am the enemy by virtue of being who I am, no matter what I may actually feel or do. There is no direct solution for this.
This is one of his Moscow factories, abandoned but now restored as an office building. He also had a larger, green one at Lenin Sloboda 19, which has been boarded up but not demolished. That man staring at it is my cousin.
The commission on heritage says that as a late nineteenth century wooden structure it should be preserved, although strictly speaking it has little cultural value. It seems made of logs or half-logs, and it has lacy white trim on the eaves.
…of the kind that look bad to me today, but will look good to me in the future.