Este cuento tiene un epígrafe y varias notas al pie. El epígrafe es el siguiente:
"On peut dire alors que, sur la Lune, il fait clair de Terre.” Dictionnaire Encyclopédique Quillet, article «Lune»
Que traducido sería algo como:
"Uno puede decir entonces que, sobre la Luna, se forma un claro de Tierra" (opuesto a un claro de Luna.) (La frase me parece más bonita en francés.)
Las siguientes son las cinco notas al pie; primero coloco el texto del cuento al cual se refieren:
(1)Gracias sean dadas al Señor. [Por qué?]"No temas, Astarté. Tu tragedia será dicha, tu pena y tu nostalgia; pero yo la expondré bellamente, que aquí en el planeta del cual dependes cuenta más la forma que la ética."(1)
¡Al Océano multiforme, de cabezas y senos henchido!(2)(2)Hommage à Hésiode. (Ver Teogonía.)
"Déjame decir esto a los hombres, Selene cadenciosa; aquellas aguas estaban habitadas por una raza celeste, de fusiforme contextura, de hábitos bondadosos y corazón siempre rebosado. ¿Conoces los delfines, lector? Sí, desde la borda del transatlántico, una platea de cine, las novelas náuticas. Yo te pregunto si los conoces íntimamente, si has podido alguna vez interrogar la esfera melancólica de sus vidas al parecer tan alegres."(3)
(3)«Los delfines ejecutan saltos que se prestan a suponerlos altamente juguetones...» (Jonathan Thorpe, Foam and Ashes). «Los delfines, tristes como una boca posada en un espejo...» (Francis de Mesnil, Monotonies) [No he conseguido nada sobre estas dos referencias, Thorpe o de Mesnil, pero tengo la impresión de que no son ficticias.]
"Es esto lo más triste de contar; es esto lo más cruel. Que la corriente colectora olvidase un día la fidelidad a su cauce, que por sobre la fácil curvatura de la Luna creara una húmeda tangente de rebeldía, que se desplazara apoyada en el espeso aire, rumbo al espacio y a la libertad... ¿cómo narrarlo sin sentir en las vértebras un acorde de agria disonancia?" (4)
"La envidiosa Tierra —¡oh, Selene, lo diré aunque te opongas por temor a un más severo castigo!— era la culpable. Concentrando innúmeras reservas de su fuerza de atracción en la cumbre del Kilimanjaro, era ella, planeta infecto, quien había arrancado a la Luna su trenza poliforme. Ahora, abierta de par en par la boca."(5)
Les Chants de Maldoror
Excerpt titled "OCEAN"
Not long ago I saw the sea once again and trod upon the bridges of ships; my memories of it are as lively as if it had all happened yesterday. If you are able, however, be as calm as I am as you read what is to follow (for already I regret offering it to you) and do not blush for the human heart.
O octopus of the silky glance! You whose soul is inseparable from mine; you, the most beautiful creature upon the terrestrial globe; you, chieftain of a seraglio of four hundred sucking-cups; you, in whom are nobly enthroned as though in their natural habitat, by a common agreement and with an indestructible bond, the divine graces and the sweet virtue of communication: why are you not with me, your belly of quicksilver pressed to my breast of aluminum, the two of us sitting here together upon a rock by the shore as we contemplate the spectacle I adore!
Ancient ocean, crystal-waved, you resemble somewhat those bluish marks that one sees upon the battered backs of cabin-boys; you are a vast bruise inflicted upon the body of earth: I love this comparison. At the first sight of you a long breath of sadness that might be the murmur of your own bland zephyr passes over the deeply moved soul, leaving ineffaceable scars, and you recall to the memories of those who love you, though they are not always aware of it, the crude origins of man when first he made the acquaintance of the sorrow that has never deserted him. I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, your harmonious sphere, rejoicing the grave countenance of geometry, reminds me too much of man's little eyes, in paltriness resembling those of the boar and those of the nightbird in the circular perfection of their contour. Yet man has thought himself beautiful throughout the centuries. As for me, I presume that he believes in his beauty only from pride, but that he is not really beautiful and that he suspects this, for why does he contemplate the countenance of his fellow-man with so much scorn? I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, you are the symbol of identity: always equal to yourself. Essentially you never change, and if your waves are somewhere lashed into fury, elsewhere they are stilled in the most complete peace. You are not like men, who linger in the street to watch two bulldogs tearing at each other's throats but who hurry on when a funeral passes; who in the morning may be reasonable and in the evening evil-tempered; who laugh today and weep tomorrow. I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, it might not be impossible that you conceal within your bosom future utilities for man. You have already given him the whale. You do not willingly yield up the thousand secrets of your intimate organism to the hungry eyes of the natural sciences: you are modest. Man praises himself constantly, and for what trifles! I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, the different species of fish that you nourish have not sworn brotherhood among themselves. Each species lives in its own place. The varying temperaments and conformations of each one explain satisfactorily what appears at first to be an anomaly. So it is with Man, who has not the same motives to excuse him. If a piece of land is inhabited by thirty million humans, these believe that they are forced to stand aloof from the existence of their neighbors who are rooted in an adjacent piece of land. To descend from the general to the particular, each man lives like a savage in his lair, rarely coming forth to visit his fellows similarly crouching in another den. The great universal family of human beings is a Utopia worthy of the meanest logic. Furthermore, from the spectacle of your fruitful breasts the idea of ingratitude is suggested, for we think of those innumerable parents ungrateful enough to the Creator to abandon the fruit of their wretched unions. I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, your material vastness may be compared only with the active natural force that was necessary to beget your total mass. A glance is not sufficient to encompass you. To envision your entirety the sight must revolve its telescope in a continuous movement towards the four points of the horizon, just as a mathematician when he resolves an equation must examine various possible solutions before attacking the problem. Man devours nutritive substances and, in order to appear fat, makes other efforts worthy of a better cause. Let the beloved bullfrog inflate itself to its heart's desire. Be calm: it will never equal you in size. At least I suppose not. I salute you, ancient ocean.
Ancient ocean, your waters are bitter. They have exactly the same flavor as the gall distilled by critics upon the fine arts, the sciences, upon all. If there should be a man of genius they make him out an idiot. If someone should have a beautiful body he is called a hideous hunchback. Indeed, it must be that man feels his imperfections strongly (three quarters of which, incidentally, are his own fault) to criticize himself thus! I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, men, despite the excellence of their methods and assisted by scientific means of investigation, have not yet succeeded in plumbing the dizzy depths of your abyss. You have profundities that the longest and heaviest soundings have recognized inaccessible. To do so is granted to fish, but not to humankind. I have often asked myself which is the easier to recognize: the depth of the ocean or the depth of the human heart! Often as I stand watching the ships, my hand to my brow while the moon swings askew between the masts, I have surprised myself, blind to everything but the goal I was pursuing, trying to solve this difficult problem! Yes, which is the deeper, the more impenetrable of the two: the ocean or the human heart? If thirty years experience of life can to a certain degree swing the balance in favor of one or the other of these solutions, I should be allowed to assert that, despite the depth of the ocean it cannot touch, in a comparison on these grounds, the depth of the human heart. I have known men who were virtuous. They died at sixty and the world never failed to exclaim: "They did good on this earth. That is to say, they practiced charity, that is all. They were not wicked. Anyone could do as much." Who may understand why two lovers who idolized one another the night before will quarrel over a single misunderstood word and flee on the wings of hatred to opposite points of the compass, full of love and remorse yet refusing to see one another, each cloaked in lonely pride? This is a miracle that occurs daily and is none the less miraculous for that. Who may comprehend why we delight not only in the general misfortunes of mankind but also those of our dearest friends, while at the same time we suffer for them? Here is an irrefutable example to terminate the series: man says hypocritically, yes; and thinks, no. Thus it is that the wild boars of humanity have so much confidence in one another and are not selfcentered Psychology has a long way to go. I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, you are so powerful that men have learned this at their own expense. In vain they have employed all the resources of their genius... they cannot enslave you. They have found their master. I say that they have found something stronger than they. This something has a name. This name is: the ocean! Such is the fear that you inspire in them that they respect you. In spite of that you toss their heaviest machines around with grace, elegance, and ease. You make them leap acrobatically into the heavens, and you make them plunge into the very depths of your domains: a professional tumbler would be jealous of you. Happy are they whom you do not envelop utterly in your boiling coils, swallowing them into your watery guts without benefit of railroads to find out how the fishes are doing, and more important still how they themselves are doing. Man says: "I am more intelligent than the ocean." This is possible, even more or less true. But the ocean inspires more dread in him than he in the ocean. No proof of this is necessary. That patriarchal observer, contemporary of the first epoch of our suspended globe, smiles pityingly when he contemplates the naval battles of nations. Here are a hundred leviathans issued from the hands of humanity. The sharp commands of the officers, the shrieks of the wounded, the blasts of cannon, all this is a hullabaloo purposely created to kill a few seconds of time. It appears that the drama is over, that the ocean has engulfed everything into its belly. Its mouth is enormous. The ocean must be vast towards the bottom, in the direction of the unknown! Finally to crown the stupid farce, which is not even interesting, some travel-weary stork appears in the air and without interrupting its flight cries out: "This displeases me! There were some black dots down there. I closed my eyes and they disappeared!" I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, O greatest of celibates, as you wander amid the solemn solitudes of your quiet kingdoms you are justly proud of your native magnificence and of the justifiable eulogies I am eager to offer you. Voluptuously cradled by the gentle flow of your majestic deliberation, which is among the greatest of the attributes bestowed upon you by the sovereign power, gloomily, mysteriously you unfold over your sublime surface your incomparable waves with the quiet sense of your eternal strength. They follow one another in parallel lines, each separated from the next by a brief distance. Scarcely has one subsided than another swells to replace it, to the accompaniment of the melancholy sound of breaking foam, warning us that all is foam. (So do human beings, those living waves, die monotonously one after another; but they leave no foamy music). Birds of passage rest upon the waves confidently and abandon themselves to their motion, full of graceful pride, until the bones of their wings have recovered their customary strength and they continue their aerial pilgrimage. I would that human majesty were but the reflection of your own. I ask much, and this sincere wish is a glory for you. Your moral greatness, image of the infinite, is vast as the meditations of a philosopher, as the love of a woman, as the heavenly beauty of a bird, as the thoughts of a poet. You are more beautiful than the night.
Ancient ocean, your material vastness may be compared only with the active natural force that was necessary to beget your total mass. A glance is not sufficient to encompass you. To envision your entirety the sight must revolve its telescope in a continuous movement towards the four points of the horizon, just as a mathematician when he resolves an equation must examine various possible solutions before attacking the problem. Man devours nutritive substances and, in order to appear fat, makes other efforts worthy of a better cause. Let the beloved bullfrog inflate itself to its heart's desire. Be calm: it will never equal you in size. At least I suppose not. I salute you, ancient ocean.
Ancient ocean, your waters are bitter. They have exactly the same flavor as the gall distilled by critics upon the fine arts, the sciences, upon all. If there should be a man of genius they make him out an idiot. If someone should have a beautiful body he is called a hideous hunchback. Indeed, it must be that man feels his imperfections strongly (three quarters of which, incidentally, are his own fault) to criticize himself thus! I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, men, despite the excellence of their methods and assisted by scientific means of investigation, have not yet succeeded in plumbing the dizzy depths of your abyss. You have profundities that the longest and heaviest soundings have recognized inaccessible. To do so is granted to fish, but not to humankind. I have often asked myself which is the easier to recognize: the depth of the ocean or the depth of the human heart! Often as I stand watching the ships, my hand to my brow while the moon swings askew between the masts, I have surprised myself, blind to everything but the goal I was pursuing, trying to solve this difficult problem! Yes, which is the deeper, the more impenetrable of the two: the ocean or the human heart? If thirty years experience of life can to a certain degree swing the balance in favor of one or the other of these solutions, I should be allowed to assert that, despite the depth of the ocean it cannot touch, in a comparison on these grounds, the depth of the human heart. I have known men who were virtuous. They died at sixty and the world never failed to exclaim: "They did good on this earth. That is to say, they practiced charity, that is all. They were not wicked. Anyone could do as much." Who may understand why two lovers who idolized one another the night before will quarrel over a single misunderstood word and flee on the wings of hatred to opposite points of the compass, full of love and remorse yet refusing to see one another, each cloaked in lonely pride? This is a miracle that occurs daily and is none the less miraculous for that. Who may comprehend why we delight not only in the general misfortunes of mankind but also those of our dearest friends, while at the same time we suffer for them? Here is an irrefutable example to terminate the series: man says hypocritically, yes; and thinks, no. Thus it is that the wild boars of humanity have so much confidence in one another and are not selfcentered Psychology has a long way to go. I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, you are so powerful that men have learned this at their own expense. In vain they have employed all the resources of their genius... they cannot enslave you. They have found their master. I say that they have found something stronger than they. This something has a name. This name is: the ocean! Such is the fear that you inspire in them that they respect you. In spite of that you toss their heaviest machines around with grace, elegance, and ease. You make them leap acrobatically into the heavens, and you make them plunge into the very depths of your domains: a professional tumbler would be jealous of you. Happy are they whom you do not envelop utterly in your boiling coils, swallowing them into your watery guts without benefit of railroads to find out how the fishes are doing, and more important still how they themselves are doing. Man says: "I am more intelligent than the ocean." This is possible, even more or less true. But the ocean inspires more dread in him than he in the ocean. No proof of this is necessary. That patriarchal observer, contemporary of the first epoch of our suspended globe, smiles pityingly when he contemplates the naval battles of nations. Here are a hundred leviathans issued from the hands of humanity. The sharp commands of the officers, the shrieks of the wounded, the blasts of cannon, all this is a hullabaloo purposely created to kill a few seconds of time. It appears that the drama is over, that the ocean has engulfed everything into its belly. Its mouth is enormous. The ocean must be vast towards the bottom, in the direction of the unknown! Finally to crown the stupid farce, which is not even interesting, some travel-weary stork appears in the air and without interrupting its flight cries out: "This displeases me! There were some black dots down there. I closed my eyes and they disappeared!" I salute you, ancient ocean!
Ancient ocean, O greatest of celibates, as you wander amid the solemn solitudes of your quiet kingdoms you are justly proud of your native magnificence and of the justifiable eulogies I am eager to offer you. Voluptuously cradled by the gentle flow of your majestic deliberation, which is among the greatest of the attributes bestowed upon you by the sovereign power, gloomily, mysteriously you unfold over your sublime surface your incomparable waves with the quiet sense of your eternal strength. They follow one another in parallel lines, each separated from the next by a brief distance. Scarcely has one subsided than another swells to replace it, to the accompaniment of the melancholy sound of breaking foam, warning us that all is foam. (So do human beings, those living waves, die monotonously one after another; but they leave no foamy music). Birds of passage rest upon the waves confidently and abandon themselves to their motion, full of graceful pride, until the bones of their wings have recovered their customary strength and they continue their aerial pilgrimage. I would that human majesty were but the reflection of your own. I ask much, and this sincere wish is a glory for you. Your moral greatness, image of the infinite, is vast as the meditations of a philosopher, as the love of a woman, as the heavenly beauty of a bird, as the thoughts of a poet. You are more beautiful than the night.
Tell me, ocean, will you be my brother? Roll wildly... more wildly yet... if you would have me compare you to the vengeance of God.
Spread out your livid claws and tear yourself out a pathway in your own bosom... that is good.
Roll your appalling breakers, hideous ocean, understood by me alone, and before whose feet I fall prostrate.
Man's majesty is borrowed; it shall not overcome me. You, yes.
Oh, when you advance, your crest high and terrible, surrounded by your tortuous coils as by a royal court, magnetic and wild, rolling your waves one upon the other full of the consciousness of what you are; and when you give utterance from the depths of your bosom as if you were suffering the pangs of some intense remorse which I have been unable to discover, to that perpetual heavy roar so greatly feared by men even when, trembling on the shore, they contemplate you in safety: then I can perceive that I do not possess that signal right to name myself your equal.
Hence in the presence of your superiority I would bestow upon you all my love (and none may know how much love is contained in my aspirations towards beauty) if you would not make me reflect sadly upon my fellow men, who form the most ironical contrast to you, the most clownish antithesis that has ever been seen in creation.
Spread out your livid claws and tear yourself out a pathway in your own bosom... that is good.
Roll your appalling breakers, hideous ocean, understood by me alone, and before whose feet I fall prostrate.
Man's majesty is borrowed; it shall not overcome me. You, yes.
Oh, when you advance, your crest high and terrible, surrounded by your tortuous coils as by a royal court, magnetic and wild, rolling your waves one upon the other full of the consciousness of what you are; and when you give utterance from the depths of your bosom as if you were suffering the pangs of some intense remorse which I have been unable to discover, to that perpetual heavy roar so greatly feared by men even when, trembling on the shore, they contemplate you in safety: then I can perceive that I do not possess that signal right to name myself your equal.
Hence in the presence of your superiority I would bestow upon you all my love (and none may know how much love is contained in my aspirations towards beauty) if you would not make me reflect sadly upon my fellow men, who form the most ironical contrast to you, the most clownish antithesis that has ever been seen in creation.
I cannot love you, I detest you. Why do I return to you, for the thousandth time, to your friendly arms which part to caress my burning brow, their very contact extinguishing my fever! I know not your secret destiny. All that concerns you interests me. Tell me whether you are the dwelling-place of the Prince of Darkness. Tell me this, ocean... tell me (me alone, for fear of distressing those who have yet known nothing but illusion) whether the breath of Satan creates the tempests that fling your salty waters up to the clouds. You must tell me this because I should love to know that hell is so close to man.
I desire that this should be the last verse of my invocation. So, just once more, I would salute you and bid you farewell! Ancient ocean, crystal-waved... My eyes fill with copious tears and I have not the strength to proceed, for I feel that the moment is come to return among men with their brutal aspect. But, courage! Let us make a great effort, and accomplish dutifully our destiny on this earth. I salute you, ancient ocean!
I desire that this should be the last verse of my invocation. So, just once more, I would salute you and bid you farewell! Ancient ocean, crystal-waved... My eyes fill with copious tears and I have not the strength to proceed, for I feel that the moment is come to return among men with their brutal aspect. But, courage! Let us make a great effort, and accomplish dutifully our destiny on this earth. I salute you, ancient ocean!
- Selene
ResponderBorrarNombre de la diosa de la Luna en la mitología griega. La voz "selene" significa Luz de Luna.
Las fases de la luna, para la mitología griega, son personificadas por:
* Artemis, Luna creciente, simboliza la virginidad.
* Selene, Luna llena, simboliza la madre.
* Hecate, Luna Menguante, simboliza la vejez.
- Endimión: ver el mito de Selene y el mortal Endimión. A Endimión se le concede la juventud eterna y el sueño perpetuo del cual solo despertaría con la llegada de su amada, Selene.
- Astarté
Astarté es una diosa arcana. Representa el culto a la Madre Naturaleza, a la vida y a la fertilidad.
Su caracter muestra una determinación extrema para conseguir sus objetivos sin importarle el costo sobre los demás.
Es venerada como una fuente de fuerza y de empoderamiento personal.
Invocada para pedir curación, protección y la victoria en batallas.
Se la representa en la exaltación del amor, de los placeres carnales, y la guerra.
Se la adoraba con extremados y crueles sacrificios.
Se la representa como Venus, la estrella del amanecer y del atardecer. Es la que luce en la oscuridad.
- Cuál es la tragedia de Astarté?
Tal vez sea, la desaparición de una cultura, en la cual era adorada en sus ritos, debido a la extinción de los selenitas o habitantes de la Luna.
La derrota del poder de la Luna, frente a la fuerza de atracción de la Tierra (desde un monte de altura extrema, el Kilimanjaro) cuando por la infidelidad de las aguas, estas eligen escaparse al espacio en rebeldía y eligiendo una libertad con destino incierto.
En este motín de las aguas, los selenitas son disueltos en un exilio no elegido.
Son castigados, por Astarté, con la transformación en una monotonía de seres mágicos lunares a la metamorfosis en delfines. Simples animales mortales, condenados a una vida contradictoria, debido a la maldad de los hombres (los habitantes de la Tierra) quienes interpretan sus saltos como una actitud alegre. Si los hombres fueran empáticos encontrarían en la profundidad de los ojos de los delfines la melancolía y nostalgia por el paraíso perdido.
La tragedia de Astarté es la desaparición de un paraíso, la extinción de los selenitas, seres de hábitos bondadosos, corazón rebosado, seres tibios y amables. La pérdida de una naturaleza "henchida", plena, rebosante, mares con olas y rocas a su "sinecura", sin preocupación. El final de un mundo donde la Luna era un corazón símil a un "manantial inexhaustible". Nos describe un destino fatal, como delfines, en una tierra infectada con seres de maldad.
Es cuando el tiempo gira sobre su eje, en un cambio sin retorno...
- Qué se quiere expresar con la frase: "Gracias sean dadas al Señor."?
Busqué su similitud con Corintios 15 57:58
Este rezo es dirigido a Astarté. Es un clamor sagrado con la intención de adorar a una poderosa diosa arcana. Declama la promesa de exponer con belleza, "como un deseo iluminado con una luz de plata": en el recuerdo de un paraíso en un tiempo arcano.
Como una alabanza de gratitud por los bienes gozados en otro tiempo.
El corazón de la Luna como un manantial inexhaustible.
Un océano henchido de bienes...
Un pésame por los bienes perdidos y asumiendo el dolor frente a la derrota sideral de la cultura de los selenitas.
Lo realiza, tal vez, intentado mitigar el castigo merecido por semejante destino. Un destino con seres humanos petulantes, devoradores, hipócritas porque sólo les importa la forma y no la ética.
- Delfín
ResponderBorrarEs un símbolo de alegría, trascendencia, dulzura, amistad, amor a la comunidad, sociabilidad, mantener relaciones estables y generosidad.
Reflejan el auto-reconocimiento, el aprendizaje cultural, la comprensión de conceptos abstractos y de los sistemas de comunicación basados en símbolos.
- La Luna
Es un símbolo del mundo de la magia y de las relaciones analógicas y secretas entre las diversas partes del universo.
Identifica un mundo de pureza por excelencia, los sueños, la adivinación, la relación que tenemos con nuestro cuerpo y nuestras raíces.
Las fases de la Luna, dan origen a la idea de las alucinaciones, de los cambios de ánimo de la locura, de las reacciones automáticas de la conducta, de la manera de expresar los sentimientos. De aquí se derivan las numerosas sensaciones que nos envuelven ante la contemplación de un "claro de luna".
La Luna tiene incidencia en las mareas, las corrientes marinas y el eje de rotación de la Tierra. Por ejemplo, en el cuento, cuando las aguas abandonan la Luna por la fuerza de atracción de la Tierra, se supone un efecto en el giro en torno de su eje, y en forma poética describe "al tiempo que cambia el giro en torno a su eje".
- Lotógrafo:
El pueblo "lotófago" ha sido descripto en la Odisea. Son seres que se alimentan con los frutos y las flores del loto y en consecuencia su comportamiento es de pacífica apatía, con un total desprendimiento de sus vínculos afectivos, de sus deberes y obligaciones.
Interpreto que el uso del término "lotógrafo" podría estar describiendo la manera de nadar siguiendo un curso displicente y despreocupado. Marca un comportamiento totalmente fortuito, desmotivado, en un elogio a una actitud ociosa y de placentera disposición.
Homenajes propuestos en una palabra en francés: "Hommage"
ResponderBorrar=========================================================
- Hesíodo: a la "Teogonía".
En la Teogonía se describe al Océano, como dios arcano. Este dios, en un principio, se refería al océano mundial considerado como un enorme río que circundaba el Mundo. Océano representaba a las aguas más desconocidas, mientras Poseidón gobernaba el Mediterráneo.
Invocar al Océano es volver a la memoria de lo arcano. Imaginar un mundo con vasos comunicantes de aguas, ríos caudalosos que se dirigen a un mismo punto de encuentro, una red de comunicaciones a través de las aguas.
- Fernando de Magallanes
Mencionar el nombre de Magallanes, es en sí un homenaje a una de las gestas importantes del hombre, abrirse un camino que ningún navegante había conocido hasta ese entonces. Al igual que las aguas del cuento, con un destino incierto.
Magallanes como un luchador frente al poder de su tiempo, venciendo los inconvenientes que se le fueron presentando hasta lograr su sueño.
Hablar de Magallanes, es dar un ejemplo de la lucha intrínseca en la crítica de las formas vs la ética. Porque el mayor inconveniente ante una gesta, es siempre la ignorancia y la maldad de los hombres poderosos.
Después de atravesar el Estrecho que hoy lleva su nombre, de dificultad extrema por los obstáculos rocosos y su curso sinuoso, y de clima intempestivo, finalmente descubre el Océno más extenso de la Tierra.
- "lo que Magallanes llamó al Pacífico"
en relación con la frase "toda esa agua fluyera hacia la Tierra, quien la recibió con la boca abierta."
Da una imagen de lo vasto y poderoso de la inmensidad del océano Pacífico: "una boca abierta", sedienta de agua proveniente de los cielos.
También me sirve la imagen de Magallanes y sus hombres vistos por los habitantes de esa geografía, los selknam, quienes los pensaban provenientes de los cielos, como legítimos dioses.
Un paralelo con la imagen de los selenitas nadando en las aguas provenientes de la luna y por el otro lado, la imagen de Magallanes y sus hombres navegando en las aguas de un océano al otro.
- al Surrealismo:
ResponderBorrarEl mundo de la poesía nos abre un mundo inédito invitando a escuchar desde nuestra propia interioridad los cuestionamientos con una mirada crítica y creativa y una perspectiva que irrumpe en un lado otro. Elige el mundo del inconsciente, la palabra interior, el poder revelador y transformador de los sueños. Estar en armonía con la propia identidad.
- Lautreamont:
Es el pseudónimo de Isidore Ducasse. Cortazar y Lautremont son figuras que tienen mucho en común. Desde la mirada Rio Platense y de Europa francesa, la experiencia común en ambas geografías y su vocación en las elecciones de una expresión literaria.
El homenaje está en los símbolos utilizados en el cuento y en la crítica a las conductas ser humano.
- Qué quiere decir : "en el planeta del cual dependes cuenta más la forma que la ética"
Tiene que ver con la actitud destructiva, hipócrita y de "maldoror", mal de la aurora...(sin que yo sepa francés me suena a: mala intención, mal olor, mala leche...)
Aquellos seres humanos que utilizan malas prácticas en busca de un beneficio personal. Cuando se dá más valor a los "errores" que a la misma causa de ese mal. Denigran y atacan las imperfecciones de aquellos otros (... cuando es más fácil ver la paja en el ojo ajeno) aún cuando son los responsables de las mismas (porque son falsedades para denigrar).
Es cuando nos preguntamos a quien le sirve? para qué? cuál es el beneficio?
Para impedir el progreso, para impedir el conocimiento, para impedir la belleza...
Es una crítica a la maldad en el corazón humano, seres infectados del mal con hipocresía, con envidia, con violencia y su carácter de depredador de los frutos de la naturaleza.
Se enfoca en la hipocresía, con la doble cara en las acciones del ser humano:
Por un lado, el concepto bello de la "familia humana", por el otro la falta de empatía al buscar el castigo en vez de la compasión, eligiendo la eliminación en vez de la construcción.
El homenaje a Magallanes es una celebración a su determinación a pesar de los diversos avatares que tuvo que vencer hasta lograr la mayor gesta de descubrimiento de la humanidad.
- Du Mesnil. No he encontrado ninguna referencia a Francis du Mesnil en internet.
ResponderBorrar- Jonathan Thorpe, "Foam and Ashes" . No he encontrado ninguna referencia a Jonathan Thorpe en internet.
Encontré un poema con el nombre "Foam and Ashes" escrito por Jan Jacob Slauerhoff (1898/1936)
https://poetassigloveintiuno.blogspot.com/2013/09/jan-jacob-slauerhoff-10573.html
Me llamó la atención que Slauerhoff realizó numerosos viajes, entre ellos a latinoamérica cuando Julio Cortazar posiblemente estaba escribiendo este cuento.
Slauerhoff tiene escritos surrealistas y tiene traducciones de escritores latinoamericanos como: Güiraldes, Gomez de la Serna, Martín Luis Guzmán.
En sus escritos, se describen personajes desde la abulia, arrojados a otros espacios, otros lugares. Realiza un elogio al vagabundo en la necesidad de abandonar sus grises vidas, tan solo para descubrir que el tedio viaja con ellos. Se intuye un honesto deseo de estar en otro sitio, sentimientos de hastío, conglomerado de moralidades, prejuicios, sueños de fuga e insatisfacciones. Admite la muerte o la cotidianeidad como la única alternativa al nomadismo.
- "Curso de Oceanografía"
ResponderBorrarSe hace referencia a la educación, la mirada de la enseñanza, hay maestro y hay lector quien lee el curso para aprender.
En un curso de geografía se puede aplicar la metáfora: "Ser oriundo a otra geografía" como el lugar desde donde uno mira el mundo.
Se nombra el monte Kilimanjaro como extremo de altitud desde donde hay una fuerte atracción de la gravedad.
Se nombra el estrecho de Magallanes, nexo entre dos océanos, estrecho difícil de navegar por su curso sinuoso, fuertes corrientes marítimas y clima ventoso e intempestivo. Se describe la amplitud del océano Pacífico, sedienta de aguas como una boca sedienta.
Es tambien un curso con texto de zoología al referirse a la forma fusiforme de los peces y delfines.
El final del mito (con la desaparición de las aguas y el sitio deshabitado por la extinción de los selenitas) es el deseo de querer explicar
"tal como lo enseñan los tratados" la descripción actual de la geografía de la Luna utilizando mares y cuencas hidrográficas. De ahí proviene el título del cuento: Breve curso de oceanografía."
El uso mismo de la palabra "Hommage" invita a imaginarnos en un curso de literatura francesa, de aquellos que dictaba Cortazar en el momento de crear este cuento.
Qué aporte tan maravilloso Cynthia! Sinceramente es poco lo que se pueda agregar. Te agradezco mucho me hayas iluminado sobre la nota: "Gracias sean dadas al Señor." Esa en particular me intrigó mucho cuando la leí.
BorrarTe agradezco a vos la creación y seguimiento de este blog. Me entusiasma y desafía cada vez que diálogo con este sitio.
Borrar