La musicalidad de la poesía

“Primero me gustaría recordarles que la música de la poesía no es algo que exista independientemente de su significado. Si no, pudiera existir poesía de una gran belleza musical pero carente de sentido. Yo nunca he visto una poesía así. Las excepciones obvias sólo muestran una diferencia en intensidad: existen poemas que nos conmueven por su musicalidad y cuyo significado obviamos un poco; de igual modo existen poemas donde el significado acapara nuestra atención pero cuya musicalidad disfrutamos sin apenas notarlo.”

T.S Eliot

Traducción: Ernesto G.

Eliot y Lezama conversan

Lezama y T.S. Eliot conversan

Preludios (T.S. Eliot)

Así se acaba el mundo

 

Dos científicos chinos han logrado reprogramar células maduras tomadas de la piel de ratones y convertirlas en células embrionarias. Después utilizaron estas células para “crear” ratones.

Este nuevo paso de avance en la ciencia de la clonación nos acerca irremediablemente al día en que la clonación humana se convierta en una realidad y surja además una especie de fascismo genético. Así, los que puedan pagarlo, tendrán hijos genéticamente “perfectos”, sin los genes del cáncer, la diabetes, la artritis y otras enfermedades. Los seres genéticamente inferiores no podrán competir con los seres superiores e irán desapareciendo. Ocurrirá, entonces, un verdadero “GENocidio.”

¿Realidad o ciencia ficción?

Darwin nos advirtió con su “survival of the fittest.”

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

—T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men" (1925)

Eliot también nos advirtió.

Cat Morgan Introduces Himself

I once was a Pirate what sailed the 'igh seas -
   But now I've retired as a com-mission-aire:
And that's how you find me a-taking' my ease
   And keepin' the door in a Bloomsbury Square.
I'm partial to partridges, likewise to grouse,
   And I favour that Devonshire cream in a bowl;
But I'm allus content with a drink on the 'ouse
   And a bit o' cold fish when I done me patrol.
I ain't got much polish, me manners is gruff,
   But I've got a good coat, and I keep meself smart;
And everyone says, and I guess that's enough:
   `You can't but like Morgan, 'e's got a kind 'art.'
I got knocked about on the Barbary Coast,
   And me voice it ain't no sich melliferous horgan;
But yet I can state, and I'm not one to boast,
   That some of the gals is dead keen on old Morgan.
So if you 'ave business with Faber - or Faber -
   I'll give you this tip, and it's worth a lot more:
You'll save yourself itme, and you'll spare yourself labour
   If jist you make friends with the Cat at the door.
                                     MORGAN.

T.S. Eliot

All is well that begins well (Great beginnings)

April is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain

(“The Burial of the Dead”)

_____________________________________

Here I am, an old man in a dry month,

Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.

(“Gerontion”)

_____________________________________

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

(“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”)

_____________________________________

The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf

Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind

Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are

departed.

(“The Fire Sermon”)

_____________________________________

We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

(“The Hollow Men”)

_____________________________________

Because I do not hope to turn again

Because I do not hope

Because I do not hope to turn

Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope

I no longer strive to strive towards such things

(“Ash-Wednesday”)

_____________________________________

Coro VII (T. S. Eliot)

VII (Fragmento)

Men have left GOD for no other gods, they say, but for

no god; and this has never happened before

That men both deny gods and worship gods, professing

first Reason,

And then Money, and Power, and what they call Life, or

Race, or Dialectic.

The Church disowned, the tower overthrown, the bells

upturned, what have we to do

But stand with empty hands and palms turned upwards

In an Age which advances progressively backwards?

The Hollow Men

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but with a whimper

T.S. Eliot - The Rum Tum Tugger

 The Rum Tum Tugger

                                                 por T.S. Eliot

The Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat:

If you offer him pheasant he would rather have grouse.

If you put him in a house he would much prefer a flat,

If you put him in a flat then he'd rather have a house.

If you set him on a mouse then he only wants a rat,

If you set him on a rat then he'd rather chase a mouse.

Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--

And there isn't any call for me to shout it:

For he will do

As he do do

And there's no doing anything about it!

The Rum Tum Tugger is a terrible bore:

When you let him in, then he wants to be out;

He's always on the wrong side of every door,

And as soon as he's at home, then he'd like to get about.

He likes to lie in the bureau drawer,

But he makes such a fuss if he can't get out.

Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--

And there isn't any use for you to doubt it:

For he will do

As he do do

And there's no doing anything about it!

The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious beast:

His disobliging ways are a matter of habit.

If you offer him fish then he always wants a feast;

When there isn't any fish then he won't eat rabbit.

If you offer him cream then he sniffs and sneers,

For he only likes what he finds for himself;

So you'll catch him in it right up to the ears,

If you put it away on the larder shelf.

The Rum Tum Tugger is artful and knowing,

The Rum Tum Tugger doesn't care for a cuddle;

But he'll leap on your lap in the middle of your sewing,

For there's nothing he enjoys like a horrible muddle.

Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--

And there isn't any need for me to spout it:

For he will do

As he do do

And there's no doing anything about it!

The Waste Land (T. S. Elliot)

Les dejo esta joya. Gracias a la maravilla que es YouTube, podemos oir a T. S. Elliot recitando su poemario más conocido. Ningún otro poeta en lengua inglesa (excepto Shakespeare) ha hecho mejor poesía.