I wrote! Reader NotesGo to section
We pay tribute to the writer in the best way: reading his poems.
His name was Octavio José Oliverio Girondo, but for everyone it would be nothing more (and nothing less) Oliverio Girondo. He was born in Buenos Aires in August 1891 . His family's good time allowed him to get to know Europe at an early age, where he lived and studied for a few years in England and France. There he met and strengthened literary and friendly ties with poets and artists who introduced him into the various circles of emerging aesthetic currents such as surrealism. His early knowledge of European avant-garde artistic movements led him to investigate a style that would revolutionize Argentine literature
In 1915 he made a brief foray into dramaturgy and premiered The Stepmother, a drama written in collaboration with Zapata Quesada, his great friend of childhood and youth. Together they wrote a second work that never came out.
Girondo was a lawyer. He never exercised. Between 1920 and 1921 he continued to tour Spain, France, Italy, North Africa and Brazil. The result of these trips was printed in Twenty poems to be read on the tram , his first poem , edited in 1922 with illustrations by Girondo himself.
The appearance of this book, a year before Fervor de Buenos Aires, Borges's first poetry book, marked them as representatives of the Buenos Aires avant-garde of that time. Both writers — along with Evar Méndez, Samuel Glusberg, Jacobo Fijman, Xul Solar, Leopoldo Marechal, Raúl González Tuñón and Macedonio Fernández — would focus on the magazines Proa (1922) and Martín Fierro (1924 — 1927) and would be known as members of the “ Florida Group”, characterized by its elitist and avant-garde aesthetic, by meeting at Richmond Confectionery, and by its antagonism with the “Boedo Group”, with which they had a kind of mythical literary confrontation.
Girondo co-directed Martín Fierro magazine with Evar Méndez and wrote his “Manifesto” published in the fourth issue, on May 15, 1924:
“ Facing the hypopotamic impermeability of the honorable public. In front of the solemnity funeral home of the historian and the professor who mummifies how much he touches... Martín Fierro knows that everything is new under the sun, if everything is looked at with current pupils and expressed with a contemporary accent.”
Among his poetry works are: Twenty poems to be read on the tram (1922), Deccomanias (1925), Scarecrow (1932), Persuasion of the days (1942), Campo Nuestro (1946), En la masmedulla (1953). And among the prose ones: Interlunio (1937) and Our Attitude to Disaster (1940).
Girondo died in the city of Buenos Aires, on 24 January 1967, at the age of seventy-five.
It was all love!
It was all love... love!
There was nothing but love.
Everywhere was love.
You could only talk about love.
Love past water, vanilla,
love of bearer, love of deadlines.
Love analyzable, analyzed.
Love of cardboard stone, love with milk...
full of prevention, preventive,
full of short circuits, obstacles.
Love with a big M,
with a capital M,
drizzled with meringue,
covered with white flowers... Sperm
Love disinfected, unctuous
love... Love with his accessories, with his spare parts;
with his lack of punctuality, of spelling;
with his cardiac and telephone interruptions.
Love that sets fire to the hearts of the orangutans,
of the firefighters.
Love that exalts the song of frogs under the branches,
that rips the buttons from the booties,
that feeds on encelo and salad.
Unpostponed love and imposed love.
Incandescent love and unwary love.
Undeformable love. Naked love.
Love-love that is simply love.
Love and love... and nothing but love!
They look, feel, desire,
caress, kiss, naked, breathe,
lie down, smell, penetrate,
suck, suck, fall asleep,
numb, wake up, light up,
covet, palpate, fascinate,
chew, like, drool,
confuse, engage, disintegrate,
letharate, die, reintegrate, disperse, wiggle,
and twist, stretch, heat,
strangle, squeeze, tremble,
repel, energize, feel like,
engage, are linked, interclashed,
they crouch, catch, dislocate,
rivet, graft, screw,
faint, revive, glow,
contemplate, ignite, ignite,
melt, solder, burn,
burn, bite, kill, are
resurrected, sought, they scrub,
they flee, they escape, and they give themselves up.
The cigar does not
the non-unborn the noo
the non-post-sludge of impure zeros noes that noan noan noan and nooan
and plurimono noan to amorphous morb noo
without sex or orbit
the inosseous yert noo in unalone amodulum
without pores already nó I doubt
neither me nor pit nor hole
the macro nor dust
the nothing more all
the pure not
Cry with tears alive...
cry with tears alive...
cry with tears.
Cry the dream.
Cry at the gates and ports.
Cry with kindness and yellow.
Open the gunks,
the gateways of crying.
Soak up the soul,
Inundate the paths and walks,
and save us, by swimming, from our crying.
Attending anthropology courses,
Celebrate family birthdays,
Cry like a cacuy,
like a crocodile...
if it's true
that crocodiles and crocodiles
never stop crying.
Cry it all,
but cry it well.
Cry him with his nose,
with his knees.
Cry him by the navel,
by the mouth.
Cry with love,
Cry in a tailpipe,
in flato, in a weak way.
Cry all the insomnia and all day!
Did I get lost in the fever?
Behind the smiles?
Between the pins?
In the middle of the rust?
Pointed into anguish,
deceit, green?... He was
not by crying,
by the ruthless, above disgust,
adhered to absence,
mixed with ash,
I wasn't with my shadow, I wasn
't with my gestures,
beyond the rules,
beyond the mystery,
in the background of sleep,
He wasn't there.
He wasn't there.
in the air,
in the water,
in the land
uprooted and acidic,
Water is made horse before cloud and rain.
Bulls transformed into submissive pulleys.
Deception without mesh,
The impudious lie showing the butt
in all postures,
in all corners.
The voracious moths of cooked record,
disguised as hyena,
tapir with backpack.
The roofs that migrate in dark flocks.
Windows spitting piano dentures,
my tinder heart,
what we did,
what we did
with our poor hands,
with our winter and summer skeletons.
Unleash the fire.
Applaud the disaster.
on rubber, pustula
Worship the pins
and the dry brains of softened walnut...
As if there were nothing but sweat and disgust;
as if we were only yearning to nourish with our blood
the roots of hatred;
as if it was no longer depressing enough
to know that we are just a pale excrement
is a very intense stream
a lightning to be from bed
a morbid donut wave
a buzzing ebb of anesthesia
a bursting entity
a voracious contractile ajar corolla
and its aphrodisiac dew
alveolo beodo de violo
is the thirst of her and her slow slopes between deaths that
crash and disintegrate
even though God is her belly
but also the chrysalis of an inalada larva out of nowhere
a marrow dragonfly
a lubric caterpillar naked only nourished by rubbing
a succubus mollusk
that drop by drop exhausts mouth to mouth
the much joy
the very total
suffocation the whole shock! after shock!
the complete collapse
is a beautiful syncope with
a moat a cross! of love panther to the tropic plexus
a knock out! blissful technical
if not a terrestrial compound of libido eden hell
the binding sediment of a precipitate of lips
the obsessive residue of an insoluble solution
a radioanimic mechanism
a bipedal therno bullying
a robot! electroerotic female with its transmitter of delirium
and lyrical-dramatic spasms
although perhaps it is a mirage
an appearance of absence
a nonexistent entelechia
the naiad braids of Ophelia
or just an ultraporous piece of reality undeniable
a despotic matter
paradise made meat
a partridge cream.
Publication Date: 17/08/2019
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