Vientos celestiales (Salir del armario) (Spanish Edition)

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To crush with a blow, or with the weight of a thing. Barnacle; an instrument which farriers put upon the nose of a horse, to make him stand quiet. The juice pressed from the aloes. Aloes tree. Harshness, bitterness, displeasure. To put the juice of aloes into any thing; to make bitter. To imbitter, to cause displeasure. The act and effect of burnishing. To polish, to burnish;— vr. To dress in style, to set one's self off to advantage. The act and effect of hitting; a good hit. Con acierto , with effect. Prudence, dexterity.

Chance, casualty. Acclamation, the act of shouting with joy. To shout with joy, to applaud. To cry up. To call in the hawk. To complain, to be aggrieved. To clear from obscurity, to make bright. To illustrate, to explain. To widen; to thin. To clear up, to recover brightness. To brood, to hatch eggs. To murder, to assassinate. To prevent or obstruct the regular course of a suit at law; to hush up. To lean the elbow upon. To lay layers of vines, or other plants in the ground, that they may take root. To square timber. To stimulate, to urge on. To be provoked to anger, to be inflamed with passion.

To double or bend any thing to an elbow or angle. To sink, down under a burthen. Not to be able to fulfil one's engagements. To admit one into our house or company; ta receive. To protect, to give an asylum. To take refuge, to resort to. To make use of a pretext for dissimulation. Reception, the act and effect of receiving.

The concurrence of a multitude of things in the same place. Collection of breeding mares given to the owner of the principal steed, to keep them at a certain price. Temporary admission of flocks into pasture-ground. To cover delicate plants with straw, or any thing affording shelter. To quilt; to put silk or cotton between two pieces of cloth, and stitch them together. Acolyte, acolothist, assistant to a mass priest. An assistant. To attack, to assault. To undertake, to attempt.

To tempt, to bribe. An attack, an assault. Convenient, fit. Rich, wealthy. Fond of accommodation. To accommodate, to arrange things. To put in, a convenient place. To reconcile. To provide, to furnish. To fit, to suit, to be convenient. To conform one's self to the opinion, temper, or capacity of another.

Figurative, metaphorical. Sentido acomodaticio , The figurative sense. Accompanied, attended. Attendance, assistance. To accompany, to attend. To join or unite. To sing or play in concert with others. To hold a consultation, to consult with others. Of a good or bad condition. To dispose, to affect, to constitute. To acquire a certain quality or condition. To advise, to counsel. To take advice, to be advised. To count, to enumerate, to calculate. To prop, or support with props.

To shore. To happen, to fall out, to come to pass. To form a round head in the shape of a cup; applied to trees and plants. To adjust, or fit pieces of timber-work. To settle or adjust differences. To yoke beasts to a cart or plough. To make up matters, to be agreed. To dry up and shrivel from the loss of sap.

To become torpid. Done with mature deliberation. Lo acordado , decree of a tribunal, enforcing the observance of prior proceedings. To determine or resolve by common consent. To remind. To tune musical instruments, to dispose figures in a picture. To deliberate. To agree, to be agreed.

To remember, to recollect. To come to an agreement. To weigh, to consider maturely. To threaten. Conformable, correspondent. Coinciding in opinion. Accord, harmony either of sounds or colours. To measure with a cord; to draw a right line by a wall or street, in order. Sweet-smelling flag, sweet cane, sweet grass. Acorus calamus L. To shut up cattle or sheep in pens. To intimidate. To silence. To shorten, to abridge. To obstruct. To shorten sail. To shrivel, to be contracted 2. To be bashful; to fall back. The act of stretching or lying down.

A certain pay, a fixed salary. To lay down; to put one in bed. To incline to one side, to lie down. To be disposed, to adhere. To approach. To stand in shore. To lie along; to have a list. Acostarse con , To sleep with. To accustom, to use, to inure. To be accustomed. Limit; the act of setting bounds. Annotation, quotation. To limit, to set bounds. To lop off the branches of a tree. To quote, to make annotations. To accept for a certain price. To witness, to attest. To shelter one's self, to obtain safety. To increase, to augment. To assure, to affirm a thing for certain.

To give credit, to procure credit. To prove. To acquire credit. Siftings; the remains of grain which has been sifted. To pierce like a sieve. To molest, to torment. Los acreedores me acribillan , My creditors torment me. To exaggerate a crime or fault. To accuse, to impeach. To aggravate. Sourness, acidity. Asperity of expression, acrimony. Vehemence in talking. To refine, to purify gold or other metals in a crucible. To clear up a thing by means of witnesses and proofs.

Acromion, the upper process of the spine of the scapula or shoulder-blade. Acronical; applied to the rising of a star when the sun sets, or its setting when the sun rises. The highest part of columns or buildings. The superior of the three parts of which the frontispiece of a building is composed. A'CTA, sf. The acts or records of communities, chapters, councils. Actas de los santos , The lives of the saints. The twelfth part of a measure called punto; there are actimos in a geometric foot. Activity, the power or faculty of acting.

Active, diligent. Voz activa , Suffrage, the right of electing. A'CTO, sm. Act or action. Act or part of a play. Thesis defended in universities. En acto , In the act. Actos , Ant. Performer, player. Plaintiff, claimant. Proctor, attorney. To digest. To consider, to weigh maturely. To perform judicial acts, to proceed.

To instruct; to support a thesis. An actuary, register, or officer appointed to write down the acts or proceedings of a court or meeting. Slashed, stabbed. Experienced, skilful by long practice. To cut or hack, to give cuts with a sabre. To murder. To fight with knives or swords. To stimulate, to hasten. To assist, to succour, to support. To yield, to produce; to be docile. To have recourse. La casa quemada, acudir con el agua. To come with the water when the house is burnt down. After meat mustard. Result of the dehberation of a tribunal, assembly, or meeting; resolution, agreed.

Body of the members of a tribunal assembled in the form of a court. Opinion, advice. Harmonyof colours. Ponerse de acuerdo , To agree unanimously. Made in the form of a culverin; applied to cannon which from their lgngth repemble culverins. An officer appointed to file the records of a court. To accumulate, to heap together, to treasure up.

To impute, to upbraid with a fault. To file records. By way of prevention; by way of precaution; jointly. To coin. To wedge, or fasten with wedges. To hoard up money. To accuse, to charge with a crime. To acknowledge the receipt of a letter. To take charge of. To acknowledge sins to a confessor. Sort of stewed meat or fricassee, formerly used by the Jews in Spain. A band of armed men headed by a commander. To love violently. To become as delicate in the face as a lady. Half a drachm, the sixteenth part of an ounce. Out-buildings, buildings on the outside of the town, or adjacent to it.

Anticipated, advanced. Bold, forward. Early, when applied to fruit or plants. Progress; the act of pushing forwards. The dignity of a governor, and the district of his jurisdiction. To advance, to accelerate. To anticipate, to pay beforehand. To meliorate, to improve. To push forward.

To get a-head, to win a race. To take the lead, to get the start of. To excel, to outdo. Farther off; higher up. Henceforward; in future, or for the future. To attenuate, to make thin or slender. To lessen, to diminish. To refine. To discuss with subtilty. To become slender. The timber, or plank-lining, with which the sides of mines are secured. A workman or miner employed in lining the sides of mines with boards. A gesture or motion of the muscles, by which approbation or dislike is expressed.

En ademan , In the attitude or posture of performing something. To bite, to catch with the teeth. Adentellar una pared , To leave toothing-stones or bricks, to continue a wall. Within; inwardly. De botones adentro , In my heart. Ser muy de adentro , To bo intimate in a house. To dress, to adorn.


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To prepare. To clean, to repair. To direct; to dispose. Aderezar la comida , To dress victuals. Act and effect of dressing and adorning. Gum, starch, and other ingredients, used to stiffen cloth with. Aderezo de diamantes , A set of diamonds. Aderezo de caballo , Trappings or caparisons of a saddle-horse. Aderezo de casa , Furniture. Aderezo de espada , Hilt, hook, and other appendages of a sword. A rope, made of rush or a sort of sedge, used for pressing the husks of grapes. Unseasonably, untimely; at irregular hours. Instructed; broke in. On the dexter side of the scutcheon: it is also applied to the principal figure in a scutcheon, on the right of which is another.

To guide, to lead. To teach, to instruct. To perform in a skilful manner. To exercise one's self. To pay duty. To contract debts. To oblige. To be indebted. Alliance, kindred. Adherence to a sect or party. Addition or additament. Remark or note put to accounts. Adicion de la herencia , Acceptance of an inheritance. Addition, the first rule of arithmetic. To distribute. Adir la herencia , To accept an inheritance. Jackal, an animal resembling a dog of the pointer kind. Canis aureus L. To foretell future events. To guess, conjecture, anticipate or divine what is to happen. To unriddle an enigma or difficult problem.

To unite one thing to another. To construct the different parts of speech. Adjetivo , and Aditamento. To increase the power and efficacy of a thing by adding collateral aids. Administration, the act of administering a thing. Office of an administrator. En administracion , In trust; applied to places in which the occupant has no property. To administer, to govern; to take care of. To serve an office. A hymn in Roman Catholic churches in praise of the eucharist, at the time it is reserved in the tabernacle.

Admiration; act of admiring; wonder. Point of admiration. Es una admiracion , It is a thing worthy of admiration. To cause admiration. To admire. To be seized with admiration. To receive, to give entrance. To accept. To admit, to permit. Bien admitido , Well received. El asunto no admite dilacion , The affair admits of no delay. To dress or make any thing up. To pickle pork or other meat.

To cook. To tan hides. To prepare or dispose the mind. Repairing, mending. Pickle, sauce. Paint for ladies. Ingredients for dressing leather or cloth. To be seized with illness. To labour under disease. To produce pain or disease. Adonde quiera , To whatever place you please. A Latin verse consisting of a dactyle and a spondee.

To adore; to reverence with religious worship. To love excessively. To kiss the Pope's hand, as a mark of respect and reverence. A name given by the Spaniards to the temples of idols in America. To cause drowsiness or sleep. To calm, to mitigate. To fall asleep. To grow benumbed, torpid. To grow or persist in vice. To beautify, to embellish. To adorn with talents. A' buen adquiridor, buen expendedor , After a gatherer comes a scatterer. Acquisition, the act and effect of acquiring. Goods or effects obtained by purchase or gift, and not by inheritance. To right. A custom-house. A house much frequented.

Pasar por todas las aduanas , To undergo a close examination. Brothel, receptacle for thieves and stolen goods. Flakes of a coiled cable. A piece of ground which has no particular irrigation allotted to it. To adulterate; to corrupt or falsify. To commit adultery.

Adulterous; begotten in adultery. Adulterated, falsified, forged. To sweeten. Adulzar los metales , To render metals more ductile. Adust; that which is adusted or burnt up. Exposed to the scorching heat of a meridian sun. Their emphasis on virtuosity arose from the necessity of inventing a place for themselves. Octavio Paz evaluates the movement's negations as a positive search for universals and for modernity:. It has been said that modernismo was an evasion of the American reality.

It would be truer to say that it was a flight from the local present reality—which was, in their eyes, an anachronism—in search of a universal reality, the only true reality. The search for universality was indeed a prime motive, with a keen desire for participation in a cosmopolitan world of modernity as much as for timeless universals. The goal of progress, so strong in nineteenth-century thought, was an important motivating factor, although it is a concept difficult to reconcile with a spiritual ideal of timeless unity, or with a cult of art.

The idea of progress for the modernistas was not merely an abstract concept. Increased contact with other nations, growing industrialization, and new immigration from Europe brought an expanded network of communication. Las ideas no hacen familia en la mente, como antes, ni larga vida. Now the trees of the forest have no more leaves than the cities have tongues; ideas mature on the beach where they are learned and, going hand in hand, and step by step.

Speaking is not a sin, but a glory. Listening is not heresy, but taste and habit and custom. Everyone's ears are always open; thoughts barely germinate before they are loaded with flowers and fruits, and jumping onto the paper; they enter everyone's mind like fine powder; the railroads tear down the forest; the newspapers, the human forest.

The sun penetrates the fissures of the old trees. Everything is expansion, communication, flowering, contagion, dispersement. The periodical deflowers grandiose ideas. Ideas don't create a family in the mind, as before, nor long life. They are born on horseback, mounted on lightning, with wings. They don't grow in a single mind but through the commerce of all minds.

They don't delay in benefiting, after a difficult emergence, a small number of readers; rather, as soon as they are born, they show benefit. Like leaves falling from a tree, ideas are dispersed and lost even as they are born. Yet such an analogy illustrates some of the paradoxical spirit of cosmopolitismo embraced by the poets of the moment.

Although exalting a common language of beauty and universal rhythms, at the same time this mixed analogy rejects the rootedness of a national past profile and the boundaries imposed by strong national identity. Spiritual universalism and a mystical aestheticism combine con-. It is a hothouse flower, a strange and pampered vegetation that could scarcely arise from the venal explosion of wild sap which the youthful vitality of American thought has poured out until now, sometimes channeled into coarse and robust trunks that endure like brutal forms, but dominators of our Nature; and more often diffused in babbling, tropical vines, whose remains enrich the ground with vegetal earth, useful for future flowerings.

It is balance and harmony for which Nature strives, allowing for the occasional orchid, ruby or diamond, swan or pheasant. As they reject the referential emphasis on language and turn away from "realism" and civic poetry, the modernista poets idealize poetry as a striving toward beauty and the ideal. The cult of the exotic, the emphasis on sonority, the enrichment of poetic meter, the delight in verbal play for its own sake, helped create for the modernistas a self-containment for poetry, setting it off from the everyday, communicative functions of language.

By attributing conscious moral decisions to each artistic gesture of its practitioners, critics have either condemned, defended, or condoned the modernista production with its context of "modernization. If we analyze modernity and modernismo not as separate and parallel systems, but as exchange systems, we may examine how such new systems of production are entwined with new systems of representation. In the midst of the shifting systems of representation and the fascination with the new products of science and industry, the modernistas encountered a perplexing situation.

Exposed, by means of greater communication to the images of modernity, nevertheless, it is clearly apparent that the Spanish American did not share fully in the production of such novelties. If Spanish America is new by autonomy, how can modernity be founded without history, without the density of the past and the evolution required for the "breakthrough"? The most striking characteristic of modernity in Spanish America is its awareness of its falseness. If modernity, according to Octavio Paz, is synonymous with criticism and is identified with change, then modernity in Spanish America is characterized more by its fragility, of which it is aware.

Todo artificio es producto, no naturaleza; producto, no proceso. Things proliferate, but precisely because they appear not in a net of relations which reflect reality, but in an immediate, poetic code which joins them together. The thematic hypostasis of this phenomenon is found in the scandalous artificiality of setting created by modernismo.

Every artifice is production, not nature; product, not process. Given concrete historical circumstances, it must be noted that such references to new technologies were often part of stylistics rather than a reflection of local realities, since the industrialization and modernization of Spanish America was by no means consistent in different countries. Far from being innocent consumers of a European series of productions valued more highly because of their origin , these poets, sharing in the critical tradition of philology and science, offered up their own literary productions as an affirmation of this "Yo organizador" that sought to integrate, within a new aestheticism, the multiple strains of both mythic and scientific inheritance.

Striving toward an eclecticism of several foreign cultures and literary movements, they also reordered scientific information. The critical stance of the modernistas was more encompassing than is generally believed. They sought to refound literature in its vital connection with the natural world and to discover its secret basic harmonies, its underlying organic structure.

From all over Spanish America writers circulated ideas and formed a network of exchange by means of the many literary magazines founded during this period, in addition to those that combined political statement as well. The two most important centers of publications were Mexico City and Buenos Aires. Despite their insistence on being the enemies of utilitarianism and other manifestations of positivist thought, the manifesto clearly shows a dialectic between the ideals of an art striving toward pure form and an awareness of the role of the artist in society.

This crusade, despite its direction toward realms of art and regions or dream, retains a sense of place, time, and political motivation. Although stressing the merits of innovation to revive poetic traditions deadened by lifeless imitation, the possibilities of the "Nuevo Mundo" are inextricably linked with a past, though partly buried, tradition. According to most of the modernista generation, the responsibility to develop or mine these treasures is in the hands of the intellectual aristocracy, the group formed within a strong poetic tradition.

Instead of a break, this change in poetic process is to involve a new focus. Significantly, the direction of the crusading impulse is inward-turning, to better recover elements from a distant past, as well as the outward turning to exotic realms of legend and history. The notions of mission and combat—the holy crusade—are constants in the poetic manifestoes of the modernistas.

They view their role not as visionaries who have chosen isolation but as prophets who have been forcefully removed from certain spheres by their enemies, the forces of utilitarianism and bourgeois conservatism. In our Latin republics, the wind of mediocrity blows over the Creole spirit. Our recently formed societies don't take care of the spirit; Art cannot have life where Religion is losing ground, and where Profit and Politics swell up their enormous bellies more every day. Despite modernismo 's connections with the legacy of romanticism, a closer look shows a refusal of many of romanticism's values.

This legacy is more in the spirit of the monstrosity of Victor Hugo, in the suspended time of Baudelaire, than in Wordsworth's or Coleridge's attempts to mingle mind and nature. It singles out oddity, distorts organic form, and exalts discontinuity. The spatial dimensions of modernista scenes give an idea of the rearrangement of values that romanticism linked with organic form. The mountain and the abyss are more likely to appear in miniature form perhaps enclosed in a Parnassian literary landscape painting with their scale reduced to manageable terms.

Single figures draw the focus, rather than panoramic scenes. A distinguishing feature of modernista aesthetics is the inclusion of all the arts in theories of artistic creation. The creative function can express itself through music, the plastic arts, and literature, especially poetry. Creative power is bestowed on certain individuals as a mysterious gift, enabling them to perceive the series of concordances between nature, humanity, and divinity.

From this concept arises the belief in the natural aristocracy of the artist. The modernista concept of the artist as one who is divinely inspired and who possesses the gift of perceiving the interrelationship of nature and spirit, has its roots in romanti-. Many of the social doctrines of romanticism, received quite differently in Spanish America at an earlier stage, were partially incorporated along with later doctrines. The doctrines of romanticism were a primary factor in the later development of the concepts of the poet and poetic function, and the work of Victor Hugo was central to this development.

In Hugo, then, all the romantic convictions and themes are summarized: organic, evolving nature, the view of poetry as prophecy, the view that symbol and myth are the instruments of poetry. In Hugo the reconciliation of opposites, the stress on the grotesque and evil ultimately absorbed in the harmony of the universe, is particularly clear even in his early aesthetic theories, as in the preface to Cromwell. Victor Hugo's work, so important for later poets, has a long history in Latin America.

The call for liberty, the allegory of nature, and the role of the poet as prophet [62] had a special meaning in the years of the formation of national entities. As will be shown in the discussion of Lugones' early work, Hugo's ideas on the function of poetry left an important and unmistakable stamp on Lugones, as well as on other modernista poets. Romantic writings on the controlling principles of poetic creation and interest in the symbolic power of mythology showed a tendency to create an allegory of the spirit by means of natural and mythological symbols.

In romanticism, a secular theology of language joined with concepts of human creativity and genius. The artist was to be not only artisan but a force for human-. The particular turns of these doctrines in different historical contexts have been explored in the European context. Wellek compares the German movement to its French counterpart and notes that romanticism in Germany was far more pervasive than in other countries, affecting all human endeavors: "Romanticism was more completely victorious in Germany than elsewhere for very obvious historical reasons.

German romanticism, more so than English and French, was the movement of an intelligentsia which had loosened its class ties and hence was particularly apt to create a literature remote from ordinary reality and social concerns. Of particular importance is the redefinition of the position of the individual subject with regard to language, sexuality, and the group:. This situation of the bourgeois State determined in the last instance the libertarian, anti-state and anti-nationalist aspect of the French avant-garde since that period, whatever the variations of its concrete political positions across the established parties and movements, from the liberals to the anarchists.

Kristeva's remarks are particularly relevant for a discussion of the exaltation of art itself in modernista practices. If one accepts her explanation of the fetishization of art as a reordering of the hierarchies of discourse patterns, larger meanings associated with the exaltation of art and the preference for aristocratic models emerge:. Hierarchy is then necessary in order to maintain the conflict [the contradiction: the sole producer of a free subject who "stands upright".

In the same way, the adoption of often conflicting symbolic systems of natural and mythological imagery creates contradic-. Yet within romantic and modernista doctrines, such contradictions are to be resolved through the particular visionary power of the poet. By controlling language, poets might return to the source of thought by creating increasingly complex metaphors. The transmission of the metaphors would have a shaping force on a reading public's personal systems of analogy. With their special gifts, such poets were to transmit radically different ways of perception.

The romantic analogy of progress and light, favored by many of the modernistas, was rejected by others. The spirit of the decadents—largely transmitted by the writings of J. The exotic underworlds of the spirit, usually tinged with satanism, threatening eroticism, and the macabre, presented an alternative to the didactic or sentimental type of poetry offered by the modernistas' Spanish and Spanish American predecessors. By turning to another realm of the spirit, the modernistas avowed their transgression of public standards of morality, asserting at the same time the primacy of interiority over outwardly established canons of conduct and taste.

Baudelaire's exaltation of the dandy and the cult of self found many followers, for example Julio Herrera y Reissig, while for Amado Nervo, religious symbols provided access to a mystical realm. The modernistas generally renounced the goal of material progress and turned away from explicit nature references to a stylized allegorical realm. Combining the symbolist theories of language and music with the Parnassian concern for form, they sought to obtain the perfect mingling of form and content. The subtle shadings of color, the focus on symmetry, and the attention to details of objects replace the significance of the objects themselves, and much more attention is given to nonnatural imagery.

Objects and scenes described are chosen from a special range of scenes that are weighted with codes of meaning. Natural phenomena such as sunsets, lakes, and reflections on ancient monuments are stylized according to established procedures. This precept led away from the extended poem to shorter sketches, like those of Verlaine's landscapes. Seeing the preceding generation's interest in the past as a conservative tendency, it is not surprising that the modernistas would turn away from those models, since their social values were not aligned with those of the previous controlling classes.

Many critics of the period saw the inclination toward Europe as a betrayal of an indigenous line of evolution, a series of copying, rather than of original inventions. He saw such admiration as another step in a long line of cultural dependency:. What value could there be in its brusque injection into Spanish literature, which has not [yet] suffered the ten evolutions previous to the French one, and still lives on little more than imitations and reflections, sometimes its own, sometimes foreign?

American art will be original—or it won't exist at all. In modernista theory and practice, newly revived poetic theories are tempered by local realities. There are not two clear stages of modernismo, one being an idealistic, escapist stage, and the other a sudden awareness of the potentialities of the American idiom. For the modernistas, the preoccupation with formal beauty involves a notion of the projection of these ideal forms onto the structure of society by means of language.

Attention to innovative form is the one characteristic of modernismo that is clearly distinguishable in its main practitioners. Whether based on symbolist precepts of synesthetic correspondence or on a desire for experimental surprise and innovation, formal dexterity constitutes an indispensable characteristic of modernismo. Su soporte, su esclarecimiento, su compostura. And the acquisition of a form or of a kingdom is situated inside the absolute of liberty. Only the events of kings are related, the Bible says; that is, those who have achieved a form, a unity, the kingdom. Form achieved is the symbol of the permanence of the city.

Its base, its merit, its dignity. Attention to form, above all, innovative form, and the importance assigned to the nature of poetic language are the two concerns that occupy central place in modernista poetics. Like other aspects of the movement, the changes in poetic theory arise from an expanded percep-. A constant in the poetics outlined by its exponents is the insistence on the specific nature of poetic language as opposed to language of everyday use. The reading public is perceived as humanity in general, as a brotherhood, and the poet as its redemptive voice.

The romantics had stressed the primacy of imagination in poetry, and other artists seized on this concept of the power of sensory freedom as a way to knowledge. The improbable figures and visions presented by the painters of the latter half of the nineteeth century are linked to some of the same sources that poets drew from, and have their origins in much of romantic art.

The Swedenborgian vision that inspired William Blake in the latter half of the eighteenth century also influenced many others. In contrast to the civic, outwardly directed messages found in Spanish and Spanish American romanticism, modernismo, in its rediscovery of the romantics and the discovery of the symbolists, focused on human interiority, which is seen to be physiologically and spiritually connected to an outer reality. In discussing the poets of modernismo Amado Nervo emphasizes the special nature of the poet and the role of introspection in learning to see the interrelationship of outward things:.

Pero los sentidos de la especie, singularmente los sentidos del poeta, que es el ser representativo, por excelencia, de la humanidad, se han ido afinando y hemos empezado a ver "hacia dentro. But the species' senses, singularly the poet's senses—who is the representative being, par excellence, of humanity—have been refined and we have begun to look "within. That, ultimately, all things have a special physiognomy, a soul, a very powerful life; that it is necessary, in the system of the spirit, to place one's ear to the vast breast of the earth to listen to the hundred thousand heartbeats of its hundred thousand hearts; and that to continue singing to the sea, to the mountain, to the sky in that way, in a rough manner, without contemplating their tenuous and infinite marvelous structures, their extremely varied modes of being, their innumerable shades and the miraculous intertwining of their secret affinities, is to offend the sky, the sea and the mountain.

Poetry is to be estranged from all other forms of writing, by virtue of not being used as a measure of exchange. The poet, by using as his material the world's form of exchange, enters into a problematic and paradoxical relationship to it. The poet deals with worldly materials but seeks to transcend them. On a certain level, this refusal to use words for their practical exchange value, or communicative usage, deprives the poet of an active participatory function in external reality. Edgar Allan Poe is often quoted by the modernista poets in support of their poetic ideals.

He stresses the nonreferential aspects of language, comparing poetry to music rather than to other denotative systems:. It is in Music, perhaps, that the soul most nearly attains the great end for which, when inspired by the Poetic Sentiment, it struggles—the. I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the Rhythmical Creation of Beauty. Its sole arbiter is Taste. With the intellect or with the Conscience it has only collateral relations. Unless incidentally it has no concern whatever either with Duty or with Truth.

Not only was Poe's poetry influential, but his theories of poetry were in wide circulation. Defined by Poe, poetry owes no acknowledgment to the outside world for its aims; as in romantic definitions, the role of the poet is bestowed by carpicious destiny. Unlike some romantic ideals, however, for Poe the poet's responsibility does not extend outward toward a greater public. Baudelaire, whose work almost all the modernistas adapted and admired, emphasized the higher powers that are an attribute of the poet:.

In the word, in the Word, there is something sacred that prevents making it into a game of chance.


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  8. To handle a language wisely is to practice a type of evocative sorcery. Poetry is a sacred rite. Deriving from an inner source, its practice and message are not to be judged by utilitarian standards. To narrate, point out, even to describe is fine, and for exchanging human thought, perhaps it would be sufficient for each one to take or put a coin silently in the hand of another.

    The elemental use of discourse communicates the universal reportage in which all genres of contemporary writings, with the exception of literature, participate. In contrast with an easy and representative numeric structure, as the masses treat it in the first place, speech, above all dream and song, recovers in the poet its virtuality, by the necessity of an art dedicated to fictions. The art of poetry, of evocation, is a gift, a superior gift bestowed by grace, not by a set of circumstances or an application to cultivation of forms:. No simplemente como signo, puesto que no hay antes nada que representar.

    Et verbum erat Deus. In the beginning is the word as sole representation. Not simply as a sign, since there is nothing beforehand to represent. In the beginning is the word as manifestation of infinite unity, yet already containing it. El verbum erat Deus. The word in itself is nothing more than a sign, or a combination of signs; yet it contains everything due to its demiurgic virtue. Poets such as Lugones and Her-.

    They break with a world view profoundly influenced by romanticism and its artistic legacy. Lugones too points out the superior, sacred nature of language and its powers of symbolic expression. But it is its use-value that determines its sacred or profane powers, not its inherent qualities: "Sagrada prenda es la lengua. But it is at the same time a vile instrument that beheads and poisons, when the spirit that moves it has descended into rage against the ideal".

    For Lugones, language being an instrument, its use can be cultivated. A richly expressive language can be acquired not only by natural gifts but by incessant study. Verbal equivalents for all emotions may be found with proper application:. Una lengua rica, y sobre todo, una lengua propia. PL [] in "Negro y oro". One must possess, above all, a rich language, superlatively rich, to such an extreme that no emotion remains without its real and true expression. A rich language, and above all, one's own language.

    This emphasis on the necessary richness of poetic language, the belief in the possibility of extracting the exact expression to express any given emotion, best characterizes the nature of Lugones' poetry. It is also the quality in this verse that has attracted the attention of his most fervent admirers and critics. By directing attention to language as a technical instrument, Lugones initiates a dissonant trend in modern Spanish American poetry.

    The literary productions and public activities of Leopoldo Lugones are vast in scope. He wrote eleven volumes of poetry, and his work in prose—novels, histories, biographies, short stories, journalistic prose, translations, and philological studies—is even more diverse. In addition to his writing career, he was a public school official and librarian. In politics he was active as a socialist in his youth, but he later moved from the left to fascism, defending an authoritarian state based on militarism culminating in his now infamous speech, "La hora de la espada.

    An overview of the poetic works of Lugones produces amazement in many readers at such producitivity, virtuosity, and technical skill. At the same time there arises a certain distrust for the craftsman who could house so many different types of creation beneath one roof. Lugones' eager acceptance of other literary models, his frequent borrowings or copyings from other writers, and their displacement in different contexts combines to make his work seem willfully contrived. In addition, the sometimes grudging acclaim accorded Lugones results not only from his multiple literary poses but also from his rapidly changing ideological stances.

    The diversity of the poetry of Lugones raises the question of the proper critical viewpoint. Is there a unifying personality behind the creative process, or is his work merely a succession of very skilled copyings and reworkings of the material offered to Lugones by his epoch? These questions have been posed ceaselessly by his critics since the first publication of his works.

    Yet perhaps this is the wrong approach, that is, the concept of a single unifying presence of author throughout. These texts instead may be analyzed as the productions of a. Different codes are combined, transgressed, and transformed by a series of acceptances and rejections. The work of Lugones is best studied within the context of his epoch, by noting the reception of his work and the network of mutual influences. For a writer such as Lugones, who delights in the mysterious aspects of poetry and who wholeheartedly accepts the daimonic powers attributed to its execution, the principles and practices of the code of modernismo are a garden of delights.

    Avidly striving to extend to its limits each convention he adopts, he manipulates modernismo 's varieties of symbols into a series of experiments within a hothouse atmosphere. In his crossing of different strains of poetic inheritance, Lugones creates strange hybrids. Like the self-generating process of growth, Lugones' productions point back on themselves, reflecting not only their origins but their differences from their models. Among the new productions are creations of exceptional concision and beauty, as well as mutations that seem grotesque by their heightening of certain features, such as rhyme, to the exclusion of others.

    In choosing model texts from different contexts and rearranging them within other contextual system, modernista poets did not adopt the total array of meanings associated with a particular sign. In the move from one language to another, from one culture to another, and from an immediate literary text to another, many associations clustered around a particular image or ideogram are lost or rearranged, and new ones emerge. For example, certain groups of images in Lugones' early work function as automatic signs, signaling a previously established thematic function. These signs operate not only within his particular aesthetic system but relate as well to the conventions of a total cultural system.

    In tracing the sign system of Lugones to previous and coexisting ones, as well as tracing the pattern of perception and rearrangement of these sign systems, it must be remembered that certain signs may be emptied of their original content and forced to function as different signals in a different context. It is the pattern of rearrangement and displacement of previously coded signs and not the continuous presence of the signs themselves that reveals con-. The presence of certain codes of imagery is not necessarily the mark of an organically evolving individual system.

    Always eager to create an impact with his writings, Lugones sought out culturally approved models, particularly foreign ones, on which to pattern his own productions. Exaggeration and elaboration of given patterns are his favored methods for achieving novelty, and he often seems to unwittingly destroy his own foundation by ranging too far from his starting point.

    Rather than overt self-expression, one finds in Lugones' poetry a type of ritualized expression. Speaking from the vantage point of first one platform, then another, the succession of stances creates an aura of impersonality. Lugones' writings have provoked a body of criticism that is astounding in the extremes of its passionate acclaim or derision. Appraisals of his work reflect the contradictory impulses that led to his disconcerting mixture of all the models available to him.

    Impersonality, virtuosity, and farce are the characteristics most often attributed to Lugones' work. Although his work has undeniably influenced many other writers, his readers have often labeled him as a gigantic misdirected talent. Roberto F. It is a difficult question to answer due to the simple fact that he lacks one". Other con-. There is not an artist whose soul is not dynastic, and for each one we can trace a genealogy; influences are mutual, they are shared, intertwined, joined together. Although we are influenced by one another, we continue to develop our own personality.

    Lugones' personality is powerful, the most powerful in our America. Why concur in the childish petulance of analyzing his readings? He has read it all; the outside influences, the variety of reminiscences, the trivial and intimate suggestions of sages, poets, anti artists clash in his soul with his own and diverse ideas.

    Like Nervo, he considers Lugones' work as evidence of a new spirit in the young generation of Spanish America. The bonds of a mutually supportive fraternity of artists are as evident as his critical viewpoint when he records his first impressions of Lugones in He is one of the "modems", he is part of "Young America". He and Ricardo Jaimes Freyre are the two most forceful talents to follow the new banners of the continent. He follows the banners due to his temperament of a pure artist, his violent and vibrant spirit, his evident and invincible vocation to suffer under the power of some Pilate of mediocrity.

    Ghostmates

    Many writers, however, have not seen these same traits united in Lugones' poetry. Lugones has always been that way, denying unconsciously in his work the dominant and secret impulses of his soul. We see him change and contradict himself, but we never see him express himself with absolute sincerity. The fact that different generations see Lugones so differently has, obviously, much to do with his political activity and his polemics with other writers.

    Yet the different criteria applied are also reflections of a differing perception of the poetic function and a changing attitude toward the notion of individuality and the necessity of its expression in poetry. For contemporaries of Lugones, his verbal excesses create an impact lost to later readers. Lo evi-. Lust that is like a design at once detailed and integral in its purpose, like that in the fold of a skirt that lets one see a foot lightly covered by a stocking and through the stocking a rhythmic, serpentine vein on the instep.

    Winks, fluttering, eyelashes, twistings, postures. Our emotion is like a dark lantern that pierces, untimely, the cubic blackness of rooms. A novelesque instant, from a centripetal novel. We only ever refer to it like this, and no one has 2 any trouble remembering which year we mean. It can act as a symbol for separation or duality, knew something was wrong. His teary eyes also antagonism or charity. Man thinks in gave it away, especially since he, trying to be a dichotomies, and opposition often comes typical patriarch, never cries.

    The I received the wisdom of both my mother morning before her hospitalization, my dad and my father—a mother who locates all brought my brother and me into her room the smallest details and painstakingly finds to hug her goodbye before we left for school, meaning in them, and a father who can see and we all tried to ignore the subtle smell a solution before most people even finish of sweat in the room and the oiliness of my considering the problem. Watching her was like staring at humor of my father My mom has tried to my reflection in a shattered mirror, and all I tame it in both of us, to no avail.

    I took photos of the quiet chaos to any of them again. Of course, when I wanted. It is a beginning, and it comes before all else. Unlike other digits, one is written the same in every language. The universal language is why. It is nothingness waiting to become— something out of nothing. It is the purity of meaning and the emptiness of chaos.

    El Filibusterismo (Original Spanish Version)

    And so on in a perfect circle. Give me that spoon. Turn that bottle upside down. My blood is screaming at me rusty iron tarnished copper maybe then you will learn to run. I crave the sweetness that will eat holes in my heart till the blood runs out sticky-thick between my fingers. I saw my reflection in the glass last night my soul has turned molasses black.

    The loneliness wrapped on my wrist tells the hour. I am traveling on a solid loneliness a drowsy terminal, then I close the book of lined loneliness and smile at the distant hills. I put on the loneliness and walk into the gale, I raise my face to the bright loneliness shining on my brows. I pour the spicy loneliness into the goblet toasting the dim lamp.

    I hit the play button to let continuous loneliness reverberate inside the mirror. In September of , iOS 8 introduced predictive text into my iPod touch, and since then—despite broken screens and on-again, off-again relationships with social media—my big data has followed me, has learned from me, has grown like me. The line above the qwerty line on my keyboard features three innocuous gray rectangles with holy white words.

    Apple claims typing as we know it might soon be a thing of the past. But I fear for the future when I think of the past—of Mary Shelley scholars who write essays after reading her diary. But her name is still there, in the middle of my screen, every time I happen to type its first three letters.

    I just worry; we never predict which words we will want to forget. For example, if I. But I remember learning to type4 with orange sleeves covering the keys, and I wonder how it will be, to be born with a new device that tells you how to write. For now, the code is descriptivist It only learns from my habits and suggests that I keep them.

    Will we even be able to notice? The only thing we know is that ai will improve. Oscar Schwartz talks. People have made programs that produce poetry that has been chosen by people to seem more human than poetry samples from Gertrude Stein or William Blake.

    The Dissonant Legacy of Modernismo

    At least for now, he says, they can only make models of poetry from the samples we give them. And it is, it really is, forever. Suggested Reading 1. John Berean Study Bible. Apple, Shelley, Mary. The Project Gutenburg eBook, Type to Learn. Sunburst Digital, Schwartz, Oscar. Can a Computer Write Poetry? TEDxYouth Sydney, I wear a soft white dress, and a gentle breeze swirls my long hair around my face.

    A woman whose features I never can seem to remember approaches me and tells me in a warm voice that I look beautiful. I open my eyes to weak sunlight, waking from one of those lovely dreams and stretch languidly in the sheets. I turn on my side and stare through sleep-heavy lids at the black dress hanging on the door of the hotel closet. Gabrielle Zweifel, University of Utah just above my knees. I bought it only two days ago, and I know it looks nice. I considered wearing something looser, something less youthful looking, something less flattering.

    It might be for the best if I did. But I want her to see me as I am today; I want her to see me in that dress. I sit up slowly, toss back the blanket, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet brush the scratchy, cheap carpeting colored a dull forest green.

    I stand and make my way over to the bathroom. I pass through my usual morning routine almost thoughtlessly, brushing my teeth, washing my face, cleaning up, and getting ready for the day. I grab one of the bottles of prescription pills on the counter and pop off the lid. I swallow a pill with a sip of water. Next I open the other bottle, withdraw a tablet, and place it under my tongue, allowing it to dissolve as I go back into the bedroom to get dressed. But I know the pattern will show through the fitted black dress, so I choose a plain one with a smooth surface and hook it on.

    Next, I unzip my new dress and slip into it. I examine myself in the full-length mirror. Yes, it still looks nice. I go back to the bathroom.

    Natalia Arnedo (nataliarnedo) on Pinterest

    I run a comb through my long, smooth, dark hair and spend several long minutes applying my makeup. I choose a light, peachy-pink eye shadow, almost undetectable on my lids, and a similar color for my lips. I want to look soft and natural like I do in my dreams. I his eyes widen. Can I was lucky to be born with a small frame touch them? He and a pair of low black heels. I grab a black looks like David and me, but older, with streaks coat and my car keys and head out the door.

    He smiles at me, crinkling the take long. The town is as small and plain as I heavy bags under his eyes. The lot of the funeral home is on, his eyes seeming to darken. A sign out front with her name edges betrays his sadness. I had to be here because Mom front of the room. On that dais, surrounded by never saw me in a dress. Only this face is framed the way I look in my dreams. So I had to come. I raise front pew. I sit down and fold my hands in my an eyebrow and wait.

    David blinks. His breath lap as the pastor begins to speak. Mom gets I stare at Mom in her casket, knowing she was bulldozed by some crackhead in a pickup neither of those things. I wanted to be like those pretty been able to stand up to her. She thought I was into a thin red line, and I knew what she was looking at the men in fine suits who danced with going to say before she said it. I me out of my memories.

    Dad is looking at me, used to laugh so much when she did that. The pastor is to smile, not understanding why it mattered done talking, and now we need to walk up to the that she thought I wanted to be a gentleman. The ladies on TV seemed to dance the same I follow him and David up the steps.

    He walks away. I think the gesture is meant to stands from his seat. Neither David nor I be tender, but he looks too relieved for me to believe wanted to speak today, but Dad knew that that. When he finally walks away, I take his place. He ascends the three The mortician really went all out on Mom.

    She steps to the podium. He takes a deep breath, and then he begins to speak. I make an effort to listen to his speech, at least, but before long my mind is wandering again. He gets through his whole speech without shedding a tear. He returns to his seat amidst I ever saw her wear this much. Then again, she weak, half-hearted applause.

    An older woman died from a head-on collision with a truck takes his place. I think her twice the size of her own car. Maybe all that name is Victoria. I glance at Dad. He gives me another one of They curled her hair, too, and I frown at that. David notices. He frowns. I remember what she but no one in our family has curly hair. She stared at me in silence, the way David, at least.

    Dad had never told me he loved me before. Dad liked to say things like I turn away. Mom from that dais and bury her myself. He was happy. He was surprised, he the cemetery to put her in the ground. The told me, but strangely glad. I always it. Stand it. Dad and David let me go. I walk away, out the doors of the funeral home and A few weeks later, Dad invited David and into the cemetery. My heels sink into the grass me out to dinner. The night was pleasant; as I make my way through the tombstones.

    I everyone was getting along. Then Dad took can see a freshly dug grave ahead of me, not yet me home—I was staying in my own little filled, with a sleek new headstone at the front apartment by then since Mom had kicked of it. I stop in front of that grave, and read the me out of the house. And when I got out of inscription on the stone. They make us sound like an everyday family who had an everyday response to the death of one of its members. I sit down on the grass and dangle my legs over the edge of the burial pit.

    The sun is right above my head now, rays strong and bright. I close my eyes and run my hand over her tombstone, tracing the letters of her name. I thought she was sleeping. Her soft chubby hand slack in mine and her dream-breaths sounding through the darkening room like waves on a shore. With slow practiced motion, I slide from the sheets and turn for the door.

    Then turn back slowly as she rolls toward me. Green eyes wide and dreamless awake and curious as the day she left the ocean of my body. I equalize and descend into memory, breaths steady to conserve my limited oxygen, a prayer to stay in the cold ocean of my youth as long as the present permits. I am six meters down now, trying to move fast enough, trying to catch this crab, to hold it for my daughter, but I am inexperienced, and my dexterity is impaired.

    When I surface again, I tell her about the chitons, the sea stars, and the nudibranches that still cling to the substrate of memory. I tell her about the anemones the size of sunflowers, who shrank from my touch like a young boy brushed by the one he loves. Her eyelids begin to droop. Though I vowed to protect this place as I stared at the velvet burgundy anemone the size of a dinner plate, somehow, I am trapped in a terrifying present. Somehow, I sit beside my sleeping daughter, knowing that I allowed her ocean to be stolen from her.

    Tonight her goodnight kiss is a prayer for forgiveness. Saline as sorrow, or amniotic fluid, or the sea. Eating sets the preferable scene, but sometimes all you need is to have a pie or cake within your field of vision, no eating required. Then, the viewer either of the dessert or the dessert eating, whichever.

    You remember the laughter as they do it. The listener will then being scared, terrified. But inside this but think of where it came from. Your mother brings home a funny. And the next day, because this is understandable. And you still think that she was in the wrong, once again, your mother gives you pumpkin pie for dinner. By now, the already low-quality but can you blame a person for acting out confection is dry and hard and tasteless, and under extreme duress?

    You comfort her. She cries, and your brothers refuse to eat, and suddenly, your mother is a and you spend the next hour reassuring her. You love her. Happiness, dread, anger, guilt, answer. She hit her. This her as fast as it is, but alcohol makes it worse, all passes in an instant and you answer the phone and your mother will not stop drinking, and begin the useless, repetitive small talk that is no matter how much you insist. But you the entirety of your relationship.

    On this occasion, gently remind her once again that you she has news from her therapist. Now we know how you kids ended up the seems and how proud she is of you. When way that you all did. You decide not to look it up. Bony corrugations: cottonwood trunk. There, feast. The leaves a chattering song, long cotton shreds a-dance across the evening light.

    The hum of summer nights: crickets in the siding, whitetail deer sidling to the haystack, fox kits tripping through the field. Let this night bruise like berries in the hedge, tattoo across my tongue and leave me harvest moon silent. Let old speech bud and flourish in my hush. Everything for granted. Changing of the seasons. We remained hopeful until the harvest came and the fruits of our labor were dead stalks and thirsting soil.

    We tried to laugh. With no crops, my family took to eating years-old grain stored in molding barrels. Supper was whatever my wife made with water, salt, and oats. Everything he touched was torn to shreds—his clothes, his books, even his first dog. The boy stayed unhappy for a long time and never got his happy ending, because who does?

    She was fast asleep, so I finished humming my song to no one in particular— not her, not me, not the empty, black sky. My daughter, born sickly, deteriorated in the following weeks. Her voice became brittle, as did her body. Her hair was the hue of trampled dirt. She stopped asking so many questions and spent more time gazing at the sky, lost. Their names are Deborah and Erin, and I wait for them.

    I wait for the clouds to bring back my dreams and for my family to return to live those dreams. There are others who wait with me, and like dogs we stand outside, licking the air for moisture or hope. I hate how beautiful and blue the sky is here. Following a young man in his bathroom provides glimpses of what we often interpret as monotonous and, at times, uncomfortable tasks.

    Nonetheless, the professional cinematography creates a dynamic exploration of human intimacy and vulnerability. That was why it was so absurd that Helen Burgman—of all people—should wear it. Burgman, however, listened to these hints and complaints with irritating tranquility. Helen never calls on anybody! She figured she could always get rid of it when she got to Big Caper, and no one would know any better. Helen was nineteen years old and a reputed spinster. Truth be told, Helen was quite pretty. Her steely eyes, even now, sometimes expressed the particular sweetness that had once radiated from their soft lashes.

    Her hair slipped out of nearly everything she put it in but was silky smooth and nutty brown. On top of this, she had the prettiest mouth that anyone had seen in Kirk for a long time. Sam Leehart had once tried to kiss her over the bough of the Burgman cherry tree during the cherry harvest. So that had been the end of that. At first, she was eyes to a hard glint. She was going to the city, too busy learning her new duties.

    Then she was where all the other independent, important, so preoccupied with each day that she forgot. She made just sweetheart to hold her back. In between she mostly slept, ate, or walked about the streets. They were business people, the people of Big Caper. Helen would never have admitted it as she sat stiffly before her typewriter or walked with her chin defiantly raised through the So off she went to Big Caper in her ornamental streets, but she was lonely.


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    Her uncle was also cherry hat. As to her old without your hat. However, it was unexpectedly raining from anyone but her own mother. Still, be advertised in any hat shop. She even wrote a letter The next morning, the hat was so wrinkled back once. And she looked forward—almost and sorry looking that Helen was determined to unwittingly—to Christmas, when she would leave it on the first cab she rode, proper or not.

    Almost as soon as she stepped out, however, a The holidays came in a blast of twinkling voice called after her. Her hat, only to fall back in astonishment. The hat, which was in a rather dilapidated state, she man was Sam Leehart! Even so, when she stood at last beside graver. But there could be no doubt. Helen, angry to be caught off guard, It was a candy party.

    The best candy factory had snatched the hat, which he extended, and, brought in boxes of chocolates, which had been. A couple factory workers in blue fit. You take them. Are you going home for overalls were moving in and out of the kitchen the holidays? For five days. I wish I could get off, too. They the plump chocolates roll onto a large platter. Say She was very hungry, and she loved cordial hello to the cherry tree, would you?

    By that Helen retreated to the wall and closed her time it was too late. She went home without it— eyes, savoring the delicious richness of the and she did say hello to the cherry tree and to her candies. She so very sweet and happy for a moment was surprised how happy she was to see them all that one of the factory workers stopped to and to sit at the old piano and curl up by the old glance at her as he entered with a box in his hands.

    The glance turned into a stare, fire. What was more, she had a mild cold, and it was a relief not to go to work. By the time she stepped and he addressed her. How do you do? Helen, having thought that no one was in the room, came very close to choking on her second cordial cherry. When she had enough air to look up after the factory worker had pumped her on the back a couple times , she was not at all consoled to see that he was none other than Sam Leehart.

    Helen, turning to leave. Helen, red months. How are you? What brings you here? She had longed for a good conversation for so long that the invitation was tissue in one hand. She blinked in surprise. She tried to be as stiff as she could to It was Sam Leehart, a bottle under one arm. Sam had a bring you this. He held out the bottle, which read Sam replied: Medicinal Cherry Cordial. Her face stream of deep, rattling coughs that shook began to glow with new life and vigor, and she her shoulders and made her shift her weight was always thinking what she might leave for against the door frame.

    She straightened. It said: Helen did and, after a few days, began to feel Meet me by the lamppost downstairs at better. But her hat was already on, and her feet Get well soon. Helen stowed away the chocolates, surprised and He was waiting by the lamppost, just as grateful for the gift. The note read: neck. His eyes, which were watery with Are you better yet? He told her about working The next Wednesday, she left a note of her own: in the candy factory, all the places he liked to Quite well. Thank you for the cherries.

    The answering note said nothing but: They went for strolls every Wednesday. Sometimes he brought the cordial cherries. Spring and after bringing the box of cordial cherries was coming; soon the parks were in bloom. Sam in, she went to buy knitting needles and yarn. Stay warm. Then you can pick cherries. Then she went home and cried. She was angry at Sam for leaving. No—she was angry at him for not taking her with him! Perhaps she can Helen went out that evening to the chocolate make a pie. The next They walked together down to the cherry tree. The small cherries black umbrella.

    Helen was just starting to get had gained her popularity in her building, down from the old ladder when Sam stopped her. An old, working. He held it out to her. You left it in the kitchen at Christmas. I brought it to your mother, and then she sent me to you with the cordial. Her mother wrote again. Helen bought Helen took the hat, a little shyly, and put it on, herself a summer city dress and worked more battered though it was. Sam thought she looked feverishly than ever. What Then, one day, a telegram came from Kirk: he did say was: Meet at station July 4.

    Will bring chocolate. Helen was working on an important review. Helen blushed. He was red from a couple completely the wrong way. A couple weeks later, Sam and Helen were married. It was done beside the cherry tree, and Mrs. Burgman made a ruby-red pie just for the occasion. Nonsense or no nonsense, that little bonny hat, that sweet little cap with ornamental cherries on it which had once seemed so unlikely a fit for her sallow face, was perched upon her soft, wispy head.

    And everyone had to agree it suited her exactly. I i want to lie in bed and watch the rain with you just two in blue sheets your steady hammer heart both lullaby and alarm clock II the power flickers out and we rediscover fire like our cavemen fathers we breathe, breathe, breathe lightning exhale inhale: a thunderous, quaking warmth III raindrop teeth clatter against tin roof we breathe just two in blue tick.

    There was no hope or future left for us in the Above Ground, and there was no one to blame for it but ourselves. We failed to heed the words of our grandparents and greatgrandparents when they warned us of what pride could do to a people. We should have listened. We knew that then because of the rain. THE And the children. I was only eleven when my father handed my six-year-old brother to me and told me I must leave with the other kids. He said they were going to take us away to a safe place where the sky was blue and the poppies were red and there were lights that hung in the sky that were not powered by the Generator.

    I knew, of course, that he was lying. The sky was gray—it had always been. Sometimes the kids in the schoolyard would make up these fantastical tales about a sky that could be a million different colors splattered across a vast canvas, a mixture of vibrant hues so beautiful it could not be duplicated by any work of man. As wonderful as these stories sounded, I could not allow such juvenile fantasies to linger in my mind. I had a responsibility to my father and my brother, even though the latter was much too young to understand the cross I carried. I knew he was lying because the color red shaded one thing and one thing alone—I had seen enough of it to last me a lifetime.

    I hated the color. I hated all that it represented and all that it meant. If there were more red things where we were going, to hell with it. I would take no part in it. I had made a promise to my mother. I knew I would see the color red more and more in the future, but I had no intention of seeking it out for myself. It would come in its own time.

    I knew he was lying because there is no such thing as light. The Generator is not a source of light. The Generator creates nothing—it only takes. It takes our energy, our resources, our families—all so that it may take away the darkness. If there truly were lights that hung in the.

    They were takers, of that I was certain. But when my father looked at me, holding my brother and me close, I could not bring myself to tell him I knew the truth. He had such hope that we would make it out. I could see it in his eyes. The faith he had in me was immeasurable and unreasonable. I knew my promises to him were futile, but I could not hold my tongue. I knew my words would calm him, reassure him of our fates. I promised to protect my brother, as I always had. I promised we would be safe; I promised we would think of him and Mother often.

    I did not tell him I knew the truth. My father smiled sadly and ruffled my hair.

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