Music for a Melancholic Monday

I dedicate this one to my former students at BYU, who knew what the Cold War was (University of California fail).

"La suma"

http://www.davidokane.com/doppelgaengers.html

"La suma"

Ante la cal de una pared que nada

nos veda imaginar como infinita

un hombre se ha sentado y premedita

trazar con rigurosa pincelada

en la blanca pared el mundo entero:

puertas, balanzas, tártaros, jacintos,

ángeles, bibliotecas, laberintos,

anclas, Uxmal, el infinito, el cero.

Puebla de formas la pared. La suerte,

que de curiosos dones no es avara,

le permite dar fin a su porfía.

En el preciso instante de la muerte

descubre que esa vasta algarabía

de líneas es la imagen de su cara.

Jorge Luis Borges

Los conjurados 1985

Music for a Melancholic Monday

Today's track in the "Music for a Melancholic Monday" series is a personal favorite, "In a Silent Way/It's About That Time" by Miles Davis. I discovered this during my short tenure as a student at Berklee College of Music. I was drawn to the synesthetic name of the album and I wanted to learn how music could be silent. Who better to teach me than the great Miles Davis? I listened to the album a few times in the Berklee Music Library, they had just about everything a guy could ever want to listen to, it was pretty close to heaven for a music junkie. Since the library eventually closed for the night, I decided that I liked In A Silent Way enough to buy it. This track (the second track on an album that only has two tracks) helped me through some tough times while I was living in Beantown.

Though I'm no expert, I can tell you that In A Silent Way (1969) comes from the beginning of Miles's more experimental era and this album would probably be classified as jazz-fusion. This was one of the recordings that helped launch guitarist John McLaughlin's career. I tend to be more of a fan of the bop and hard bop era, but this is one of the handful of fusion albums that I really like. If you need to grade a stack of papers or do some other mindless task, put this on and give it a listen. Or if you just want to stare out the window at grey skies, this track is the perfect accompaniment, I'm thinking of you East Coast friends.

Melancholic Music for Mondays

"Recado a Rosario Castellanos"

Jaime Sabines (Chiapas, Mexico 1926-1929) was a well known and beloved poet of the people. His colloquial style, use of swear words, and his quotidian subject matter make him very accessible to readers of poetry, as well as those who may not read or even like poetry much. A public reading by Sabines would draw large crowds. He once read at the Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City and the turnout was such that large screens and projectors were put outside so that all who came could see and hear the poet read his verse. The poems of Sabines are visceral, they are felt more then they are read or heard; he has a way of finding poetry in the saddest circumstances and expressing the human experience in such a way that the reader cannot help but feel identify with him, or feel that he identifies with them. Much like the works of Ruben Bonifaz Nuño (Mexico, 1923), his poems create solidarity with the reader, they seem to say, "I understand. It's okay, I've felt this way too.We're in this together."

Though not his best work, "Recado a Rosario Castellanos" struck me as a good introduction to Sabines as it captures his poignant style.  The poem is an extended apostrophe in the form of a note to his dear friend and fellow poet, Rosario Castellanos. While serving as an ambassador to Israel, in August of 1974, Castellanos died tragically. While some think that it was a suicide, most believe she accidentally electrocuted herself by turning on a lamp while drying off after a shower (Sabines is among this group). In the first and third lines of the poem, Sabines calls Castellanos a "tonta," which means fool, or stupid. It may seem harsh, but as the poem continues his love for Castellanos is apparent and it is obvious that his use of the word tonta is more of a term of endearment said lovingly in a way that only a close friend or family member could after such a terrible accident. There is a translation in English below (beware the swears if you're offended by strong language).

If you enjoy this poem I highly recommend reading what is probably his best known poem, "Algo sobre la muerte del mayor Sabines," which is a beautiful poem about the death of his father. 

"Recado a Rosario Castellanos"

Sólo una tonta podía dedicar su vida a la
soledad y al amor.
Sólo una tonta podía morirse al tocar una lámpara,
si lámpara encendida,
desperdiciada lámpara de día eras tú.
Retonta por desvalida, por inerme,
por estar ofreciendo tu canasta de frutas a
los árboles,
tu agua al manantial,
tu calor al desierto,
tus alas a los pájaros.
Retonta, rechayito, remadre de tu hijo y de
ti misma.
Huérfana y sola como en las novelas,
presumiendo de tigre, ratoncito,
no dejándote ver por tu sonrisa,
poniéndote corazas transparentes,
colchas de terciopelo y de palabras
sobre tu desnudez estremecida.

¡Cómo te quiero, Chayo, cómo duele
pensar que traen tu cuerpo! —así se dice—
(¿Dónde dejaron tu alma? ¿No es posible
rasparla de la lámpara, recogerla del piso
con una escoba? ¿Qué, no tiene escobas la Embajada?)
¡Cómo duele, te digo, que te traigan,
te pongan, te coloquen, te manejen,
te lleven de honra en honra funerarias!
 (¡No me vayan a hacer a mí esa cosa
de los Hombres Ilustres, con una
chingada!)
¡Cómo duele, Chayito! ¿Y esto es todo?
¡Claro que es todo, es todo!
Lo bueno es que hablan bien en el Excélsior
y estoy seguro de que algunos lloran,
te van a dedicar tus suplementos,
poemas mejores que éste, estudios,
glosas,
¡qué gran publicidad tienes ahora!
La próxima vez que platiquemos
te diré todo el resto.

Ya no estoy enojado.
 Hace mucho calor en Sinaloa.
Voy a irme a la alberca a echarme un trago.

Original:
Jaime Sabines. Poesía, nuevo recuento de poemas. México: Joaquín Mortiz, 1977.

Translation:
Jaime Sabines. Pieces of Shadow: Selected Poems. Trans. W.S. Merwin. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2007.

Soliloquy

Tonight, on the fourth night, your absence feels almost permanent,
our son, rather than ask for you, asked for his stuffed animal.

Tonight, making my usual mate and sipping it alone

feels more melancholy than ever.

I wonder if this is what years of solitude feel like,

I wonder if my face echoes that of this man.

Content to forever cebar his mate for one,

alone, a life unfallowed.