photo from nobelprize.org
On Monday April 20 1998, I was sitting in a classroom, waiting for my teacher,
my book of Octavio Paz’s poetry on my desk.
Our teacher had asked us to read some of Paz’s poems for class, and I was looking forward to learning more about them and more about the poet and essayist in general.
“You may already have heard this in the news,” my teacher began, “but Octavio Paz passed away yesterday.”
“I thought we could have a moment of silence in his honor,” he continued, “as we are here to explore the beauty of his words and his contribution to literature.”
And so we did.
Today, March 31, is Octavio Paz’s birthday (he would have been 99).
So I thought I would take a moment to honor his words once again.
And perhaps to remind myself of that special moment in a classroom many years ago.
“Entre lo que veo y lo que digo” by Octavio Paz
A Roman Jakobson
1
Entre lo que veo y digo
entre lo que digo y callo,
entre lo que callo y sueño,
entre lo que sueño y olvido,
la poesía.
Se desliza
entre el sì y el no:
dice
lo que callo,
calla
lo que digo,
sueña
lo que olvido.
No es un decir:
es un hacer.
Es un hacer
que es un decir.
La poesía
se dice y se oye:
es real.
Y apenas digo
es real,
se disipa.
¿Así es mas real?
2
Idea palpable,
palabra
impalpable:
la poesía
va y viene
entre lo que es
y lo que no es.
Teje reflejos
y los desteje.
La poesía
siembra ojos en la página,
siembra calabra en los ojos.
Los ojos hablan,
las calabra miran,
las miradas piensan.
Oír
los pensamientos,
ver
lo que decimos,
tocar
el cuerpo de la idea.
Los ojos
se sierra,
las palabras se abren.
“Between what I see and what I say”
for Roman Jakobson
1
Between what I see and what I say,
between what I say and what I keep silent,
between what I keep silent and what I dream,
between what I dream and what I forget:
poetry.
It slips
between yes and no,
says
what I keep silent,
keeps silent
what I say,
dreams
what I forget.
It is not speech:
it is an act
of speech.
Poetry
speaks and listens:
it is real.
And as soon as I say
it is real,
it vanishes.
Is it then more real ?
2
Tangible idea,
intangible
word:
poetry
comes and goes
between what is
and what is not.
It weaves
and unweaves reflections.
Poetry
scatters eyes on a page,
scatters words on our eyes.
Eyes speak,
words look,
looks think.
To hear
thoughts,
see
what we say,
touch
the body of an idea.
Eyes close,
the words open.
(from Arbol Adentro – A Tree Within – translated by Eliot Weinberger; the original poem is formatted differently but, unfortunately, I lost the formatting when I published this post so it’s worth having a look at the original when you get a chance)
reading interrupted. 