He is an archipelago.
Trilce is filled with, even structured by fragments of the myth of Inkarrí.
From Los heraldos negros we know that a huaco is
…el pichón de cóndor desplumado
por latino arcabuz
[u]n fermento de Sol;
¡levadura de sombra y corazón!
The poetic subject is a solar being, latent but about to break forth. “Nostalgias imperiales” is an ironic title.
It is time to actually read Anti-Oedipus and the discussions of it from those days, in places like this.
Here is my Vallejo problem: my issue is psychic invasion, and I have a visceral reaction to the idea of subject shattering.
“Then that is a non-liberatory, but binding, shattering,” someone said.
What is fractured subjectivity in and for Vallejo?
Sentimentos em mim do asperamente
dos homens das primeiras eras…
As primaveras de sarcasmo
intermitentemente no meu coração arlequinal…
Outras vezes é um doente, um frio
na minha alma doente como um longo som redondo
Sou um tupi tangendo um alaúde!
De Paulicéia desvairada (1922)
Mário de Andrade
I would like this book and I think I should get hold of it. (I wish we had books in our own library.) But it would be very amusing to read.
I always said the problem I had after Reeducation was loss of voice. And earlier on, it had apparently been difficult to get one. Someone once told me that all those sore throats I used to get as a child–it was my stress reaction–were a sign that I had something to say that I was not saying.
Voice. The colonization of my voice earlier on. The writer’s block after Reeducation. The question of whether it was Reeducation primarily, or whether it had more to do with the earlier colonization. This has to be thought about in relation to the dreams I have, where my public self is hiding my inner self from view so as to keep it from harm.
Colonise la douleur avec ta voix.
I would like to have time to contemplate this essay by Adorno. Here is some commentary:
The artwork, the lyric poem, is not there either to tell us about the paradoxical nature of being, which is something we need already to have felt in order to recognize and enjoy the paradox in the work. Nor can the artwork solve the contradiction, which is impossible, whether by Hegelian Aufhebung of Spirit, technological progress, theocratic takeover, or communist revolution. Rather, the lyric poem, like other kinds of art but with its special focus on language as both sound and sense, helps us live with our inevitable conflicts and contradictions, by imitating their expression in an attitude of play. In the wit and poignancy of this play, the “lyric subject” is not a subject but its very contrary: the opportunity to tease out the contradictions about subjectivity that bother us all the time, in such a way as to make their contradictory parts appear in an aesthetically pleasing whole, pleasing precisely because of the tensions at work to form its unity. As long as we remain human—that is, able to speak and more or less understand language and to think more or less rationally, and able to reflect upon our actions and to consider their implications—we will continue to need, and to create, lyric poetry, the playful imitation of the voice in which conflicts become paradoxes and things of pain become opportunities for the pleasure of a surprising recognition.
Here is the original text, written in 1957, and I am interested first in page 44.
It is a whole world, and I would like to have figured out Adorno and a few related writers long since.