O século XXI me dará razão - Roberto Piva

O século XXI me dará razão, por abandonar na linguagem & na ação a civilização cristã oriental & ocidental com sua tecnologia de extermínio & ferro velho, seus computadores de controle, sua moral, seus poetas babosos, seu câncer-que-ninguém-descobre-a-causa, seus foguetes nucleares caralhudos, sua explosão demográfica, seus legumes envenenados, seu sindicato policial do crime, seus ministros gangsters, seus gangsters ministros, seus partidos de esquerda - facistas, suas mulheres navio-escola, suas fardas vitoriosas, seus cassetetes eletrônicos, sua gripe espanhola, sua ordem unida, sua epidemia suicida, seus literatos sedentários, seus leões- de- chácara da cultura, seus pró - cuba, seus capachos do PC, seus bidês da Direita, seus cérebros de água - choca, suas mumunhas empedirnas, suas xícaras de chá, seus manuais de estética, sua aldeia global, seu rebanho - que - saca, suas gaiolas, seus jardinzinhos com vidro - fumê , seus sonhos paralíticos de televisão, suas cocotas, seus rios cheios de lata de sardinha, suas preces, suas panquecas recheadas com desgosto, suas últimas esperanças, suas tripas, seu luar de agosto, seus chatos, suas cidades embalsamadas, sua tristeza, seus cretinos sorridentes, sua lepra, sua jaula, sua estricnina, seus mares de lama, seus mananciais de desespero.

Roberto Piva, Hora Cósmica do Búfalo.

Cântico negro

"Vem por aqui" — dizem-me alguns com os olhos doces
Estendendo-me os braços, e seguros
De que seria bom que eu os ouvisse
Quando me dizem: "vem por aqui!"
Eu olho-os com olhos lassos,

(Há, nos olhos meus, ironias e cansaços)
E cruzo os braços,
E nunca vou por ali...
A minha glória é esta:
Criar desumanidades!
Não acompanhar ninguém.
— Que eu vivo com o mesmo sem-vontade
Com que rasguei o ventre à minha mãe
Não, não vou por aí! Só vou por onde
Me levam meus próprios passos...
Se ao que busco saber nenhum de vós responde
Por que me repetis: "vem por aqui!"?
Prefiro escorregar nos becos lamacentos,
Redemoinhar aos ventos,
Como farrapos, arrastar os pés sangrentos,
A ir por aí...
Se vim ao mundo, foi
Só para desflorar florestas virgens,
E desenhar meus próprios pés na areia inexplorada!
O mais que faço não vale nada.
Como, pois, sereis vós
Que me dareis impulsos, ferramentas e coragem
Para eu derrubar os meus obstáculos?...
Corre, nas vossas veias, sangue velho dos avós,
E vós amais o que é fácil!
Eu amo o Longe e a Miragem,
Amo os abismos, as torrentes, os desertos...
Ide! Tendes estradas,
Tendes jardins, tendes canteiros,
Tendes pátria, tendes tetos,
E tendes regras, e tratados, e filósofos, e sábios...
Eu tenho a minha Loucura !
Levanto-a, como um facho, a arder na noite escura,
E sinto espuma, e sangue, e cânticos nos lábios...
Deus e o Diabo é que guiam, mais ninguém!
Todos tiveram pai, todos tiveram mãe;
Mas eu, que nunca principio nem acabo,
Nasci do amor que há entre Deus e o Diabo.

Ah, que ninguém me dê piedosas intenções,
Ninguém me peça definições!
Ninguém me diga: "vem por aqui"!
A minha vida é um vendaval que se soltou,
É uma onda que se alevantou,
É um átomo a mais que se animou...
Não sei por onde vou,
Não sei para onde vou
Sei que não vou por aí!

José Régio

Populist Manifesto No. 1

Poets, come out of your closets,
Open your windows, open your doors,
You have been holed-up too long
in your closed worlds.
Come down, come down
from your Russian Hills and Telegraph Hills,
your Beacon Hills and your Chapel Hills,
your Mount Analogues and Montparnasses,
down from your foothills and mountains,
out of your teepees and domes.
The trees are still falling
and we’ll to the woods no more.
No time now for sitting in them
As man burns down his own house
to roast his pig
No more chanting Hare Krishna
while Rome burns.
San Francisco’s burning,
Mayakovsky’s Moscow’s burning
the fossil-fuels of life.
Night & the Horse approaches
eating light, heat & power,
and the clouds have trousers.
No time now for the artist to hide
above, beyond, behind the scenes,
indifferent, paring his fingernails,
refining himself out of existence.
No time now for our little literary games,
no time now for our paranoias & hypochondrias,
no time now for fear & loathing,
time now only for light & love.
We have seen the best minds of our generation
destroyed by boredom at poetry readings.
Poetry isn’t a secret society,
It isn’t a temple either.
Secret words & chants won’t do any longer.
The hour of oming is over,
the time of keening come,
a time for keening & rejoicing
over the coming end
of industrial civilization
which is bad for earth & Man.
Time now to face outward
in the full lotus position
with eyes wide open,
Time now to open your mouths
with a new open speech,
time now to communicate with all sentient beings,
All you ‘Poets of the Cities’
hung in museums including myself,
All you poet’s poets writing poetry
about poetry,
All you poetry workshop poets
in the boondock heart of America,
All you housebroken Ezra Pounds,
All you far-out freaked-out cut-up poets,
All you pre-stressed Concrete poets,
All you cunnilingual poets,
All you pay-toilet poets groaning with graffiti,
All you A-train swingers who never swing on birches,
All you masters of the sawmill haiku in the Siberias of America,
All you eyeless unrealists,
All you self-occulting supersurrealists,
All you bedroom visionaries and closet agitpropagators,
All you Groucho Marxist poets
and leisure-class Comrades
who lie around all day and talk about the workingclass proletariat,
All you Catholic anarchists of poetry,
All you Black Mountaineers of poetry,
All you Boston Brahims and Bolinas bucolics,
All you den mothers of poetry,
All you zen brothers of poetry,
All you suicide lovers of poetry,
All you hairy professors of poesie,
All you poetry reviewers
drinking the blood of the poet,
All you Poetry Police -
Where are Whitman’s wild children,
where the great voices speaking out
with a sense of sweetness and sublimity,
where the great’new vision,
the great world-view,
the high prophetic song
of the immense earth
and all that sings in it
And our relations to it -
Poets, descend
to the street of the world once more
And open your minds & eyes
with the old visual delight,
Clear your throat and speak up,
Poetry is dead, long live poetry
with terrible eyes and buffalo strength.
Don’t wait for the Revolution
or it’ll happen without you,
Stop mumbling and speak out
with a new wide-open poetry
with a new commonsensual ‘public surface’
with other subjective levels
or other subversive levels,
a tuning fork in the inner ear
to strike below the surface.
Of your own sweet Self still sing
yet utter ‘the word en-masse -
Poetry the common carrier
for the transportation of the public
to higher places
than other wheels can carry it.
Poetry still falls from the skies
into our streets still open.
They haven’t put up the barricades, yet,
the streets still alive with faces,
lovely men & women still walking there,
still lovely creatures everywhere,
in the eyes of all the secret of all
still buried there,
Whitman’s wild children still sleeping there,
Awake and walk in the open air.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

A SKETCH ON GLOBALIZATION & ETHNOPOETICS

Ethnopoetics as: theory-praxis related to crossing the conventional

borders between the theory-praxis of our culture and

the theory-praxis of other cultures.

Ethnopoetics as: putting into question the way in which our culture

became “our culture”, and putting into question how

other cultures became “other cultures”.

Ethnopoetics as: thinking about the risks of building an International

(paranational) Poetics, when such enterprise could

become a tool to make global homogenization easier.

Ethnopoetics as: keeping away from the danger of conceiving the

“Past” as another opportunity to extend our extreme

consumerism even to where-when we couldn’t.

Ethnopoetics cannot become the intellectual branch of

the Retro spirit.

Ethnopoetics as: the challenge to acquire a glocal

point of view without falling in LiteraTourism.

Ethnopoetics as: the thinking of the language practices of the “Third

World”, the “Primitive” and the “Marginal-Alternative”.

Ethnopoetics as: the thinking of our categories as something we inherited and so, something we always need to put into quotation marks (denaturalize language).

Ethnopoetics as: an on-going revision of the past through the point of

the present (J. Rothenberg).

Ethnopoetics as: the serious development of an imaginary

contemporary ficto-ethnopoetics (A. Schwerner, S.

Sarduy, M. Bellatin).

Ethnopoetics as: the self-consciousness of ethnopoetics; a constant

destruction of the theory-praxis of ethnopoetics in the

past.

Ethnopoetics as: escaping the temptation of looking outside “Western”

literature or the “Mainstream” simply because “our” own

practices have become exhausted, boring or less

attractive.

Ethnopoetics as: preventing that “our/their” practices are not misused

by the “West” simply because the “West” is exhausted,

bored or in market-driven-decay.

Ethnopoetics as: criticism against the use of other-poetic-practices as

a resource to revitalize a dominant (but tired) tradition.

As if poetics from other cultures could be use in the

same pattern as oil or any “natural” or “cultural”

resource from other cultures used for its own good.

Ethnopoetics as: helping to make traditions maintain a real diversity,

with or with out the building of common ground (axis).

Ethnopoetics as: the belief that traditions around the world must be

different, polar, or even incompatible.

Ethnopoetics as: politics referring to the conservation of “nature” or

“city” that made/makes possible the existence of

specific poetics practices in certain communities.

Ethnopoetics as: politics referring to the conservation of the languages

that make possible the existence of specific poetic

practices in certain communities.

Ethnopoetics as: the impossibility of dividing general poetics from

specific politics.

Ethnopoetics as: a reflection on the concept of hybridization, cross-

breeding, etc. in the areas related to languages and

language in general (in general?)

Ethnopoetics as: anthropology + philosophy + Cultural Studies +

Literature + Another

Ethnopoetics as: the study of the poetic practices of “minorities” by

“mayorities”.

Ethnopoetics as: the study of the poetics practices of “majorities” by

“minorities”.

Ethnopoetics as: Counter-conquest (Lezama Lima).

Ethnopoetics as: Anti-translation (Nathaniel Tarn).

Ethnopoetics as: The End of “Orientalism” (Edward Said).

Ethnopoetics as: a radical critique of any attempt to “understand”

(dominate?) the discourse and works of other cultures

without building an effective dialogue in which the

“others” can directly reply to interpretations.

Ethnopoetics as: a study and experimentation of individual or

communal language-combinations such as Frenglish,

Portunhol, Spanglish, etc or the presence of various

languages in a poetic space.

Ethnopoetics as: the study of the combination of several cultures that

“share” “one” language, or use traditionally separated

strata from that “one” language, resulting in a cross-

cultural (ethnopoetic) work “without” having to go

“outside” “one” “culture” (i.e, the work of José Kozer as

using the different Spanish languages around Spain, the

U.S. and Latin America, or the use of different

levels/vocabularies/social classes of English by Bruce

Andrews in the U.S.).

Ethnopoetics as: an exercise of using other (cultures-)languages

(away from Mother Tongue) as an alternative to

becoming “Translated” or “Translating”.

Ethnopoetics as: the study of the shifts in cultural paradigms on the

poetic subject since the explorations of contemporary

ethnopoetics (from the poet as “shaman” to “rockstar”

to “D.J.”).

Ethnopoetics as: a strategy to leave behind “ethnopoetics” as a curious

branch (60’s related) of literature and make it

inseparable of poetics, until the term is useless for being

so obvious and fancy.

Ethnopoetics as: the analysis of the international/global/intercultural

field open by technology.

Ethnopoetics as: a radical exploration of the Internet as an experiment

on ethnopoetics.

Ethnopoetics as: an experiment away from paragraph & line. If

ethnopoetics has deepened the exploration of orality,

the pictoric, other-forms-of-writing, non-page-formats,

etc, as available resources for our own purposes, it’s

necessary to see all those explorations as a first stage

to finally leave paragraph and line behind.

Ethnopoetics as: “ethno” as the permanent prefix of every poetics.

“Ethnopoetics” not just applying to the poetics of the

“Other”.

Ethnopoetics as: the radical search beyond the end of translation.

Heriberto Yépez 

Para atingir a graça

Para atingir a graça (hmm...)
e ganhar em estilo
é preciso pedir licença aos urubus
guardiães desta pousada construída sobre os rochedos
no fim da praia.
E considerar a relevância
de a dona do lugar ser espírita
e ouvir forró bem alto à noite
e berrar quando a bebedeira iniciada ao poente
entra em declínio e inevitavelmente
falha.

Para atingir a graça (ah)
e ganhar em estilo
fazer amor com as portas abertas para o terraço
(vocês estão no melhor quarto porque são os únicos hóspedes)
com certa violência recebendo a brisa
com cheiro de peixe e passos
dos tais urubus no telhado.

Para atingir a graça ( )
e ganhar em estilo
o domingo escorre
por trás dos barcos que balançam como autistas na enseada
aí mandar uns dois ou três sujeitos tomarem no cu
numa pequena série de interurbanos;
envolver-se na escuridão
(e no silêncio, se a dona da pousada o permitir)
e imaginar
por quê pelos demônios
alguém inventou que o nascer do sol
se chamará segunda-feira.

Danilo Monteiro