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What is Literature

L A literature and s the word art, nothing more. is not something else. (If you understand this, okay.)

... Now, what is the art ?, Art is the expression of beauty, plain and simple, and the beauty is the perfect harmony between the parts of a whole or, in the words of Valle-Inclan "Beauty is the intuition of the unity ..." And the unit, I say, is an essential condition of art ... Already the great Oscar Wilde was careful to note, once, as follows: "There is no art without style and no style where lack unity, and unity belongs to the individual ... "(From this it follows further that all artistic creation is true, of necessity, highly personal.)

Let's talk, in this moment, Gertude Stein , American writer, who pose for Picasso said: "Bello has come to mean just beautiful, no common praise and duller." Of course, Gertrude Stein was a woman ugly: well we dismiss completely, your opinion ... Consider, rather, a phrase spoken by Voltaire: "Beauty is relative: for example, to the toad as Sapa is beautiful. "Question for the astute reader: toads have a say?, myself and I do not think beauty is not relative people are just bad taste ... And what is good taste (perhaps some will be tempted to question), the taste is like love: it does or does not have and when you have not asked for it.

Let us return to the literature: what criteria are needed to determine if a book is worth anything? ... It takes only three things: culture, intelligence and sensitivity: a broad and vast culture, a thin and sharp intelligence and an exquisite sensitivity, that's all.

What are the best books? John Ruskin, who was a mentor of Oscar Wilde at Oxford, he asserted that "the best books are those that have been posted in the countryside, far from cities." But I'm not really sure this is true. Borges, whom I hate (by the way), stated: "Great books are travel books: ... Iliad, The Odyssey, The Icelandic sagas, The Adventures of Sinbad the Sailor, The Divine Comedy, Don Quixote, Gulliver's Travels, Robinson Crusoe, Moby Dick, Alice in Wonderland ... " (And many more that I refuse to list ... Oh, and Lolita . Borges it does not, but I include myself.)

back to Ruskin, it added that secondly had to read books that were rhythmic, ie itself with good music . This criteria is for me one of the more reasonable. The Greeks believed that literature was in itself, but an art of narrative, to refer simply . Good books, must know, are aimed primarily ear.

Sea, what kind of books should we avoid? ... All kinds of books with political overtones or propaganda of any kind or that pursue social demands, are pamphleteers and therefore bad, not pure literature are ... All kinds of books that pursue educational or non-moralistic and work of a great thinker and writer ... Finally, the successful books: books that appeal to the majority tend to be invariably bad.

... "Three authors rare and perfect?: Khayyam, Saadi and Hafiz ... You have to read the Persians ... Goethe once confessed to a friend Ambassador, that the Persians had only seven poets who had considered as true masters, but even among those who had rejected, had better than him ... (Which, of course, completely true: Goethe, who wrote one of my favorite books, The Sorrows of Young Werther not escaped what Nietzsche blamed on German writers: heaviness, something that then suffers, also, the philosopher.)

Finally, what is the picture of the current literature?, idiots books written by idiots, for a public idiot. The appreciation of good books has fallen sharply and the intelligence of the writers as well.

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The magician of words

É L was a great poet, often with great tact he chose the most beautiful and difficult words that dazzled his audience, but then did not know exactly what he meant. And why, had an audience that admired him and considered him truly great: because they could not understand anything .

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About language and other things

notes for a eulogy of English

... B OR GES was a bad writer, it was too baroque, too affected, and, despite himself, was pedantic ...

He himself considered a bad writer and, no doubt, was right.

note in his work, can not fail to be noticed, as I read the poor man ... That is a serious flaw ... But I'm not going to wear today, to discuss their creations ...

The other day, leafing through a Monterroso, an author fairly medium. He spoke briefly, but commendable, the Argentine.

What came to surprise me was that Monterroso said that for him (as for many other Latin American authors of his generation), Jorge Luis Borges had restored confidence in the possibilities of English and then extended by telling that language "so tight, so concise, so elegant ..." Borges - "through his travels around the English and German" - remade.

But I never doubted the greatness of English, and I have no qualms whatsoever in asserting the superiority and grace of my language.

... Is English?, What I can say in English?, is a language I do not like. I remember as a child, I objected strenuously to learn, years have passed and I managed to stay triumphantly ignorant of English.

... Is German?, German I think something worse: it is ... too guttural ...

ever felt a desire to learn Arabic, as is known, had and still maintains a significant presence in English.

.... In any case, back to what this: I have never doubted the greatness my language, that people do not know about is something else.

Based on the foregoing, we, the American-born Hispanic, who were more stringent and we should be careful about it, as we are exposed to contamination from common English. (And being as we are now, who dictate the rules of language.)

Do not get me wrong, linguistic loans forzozamente not bad, sometimes even (I grant) is required, more is a serious mistake to use any foreign word (whether it comes from English or other language) the equivalent existing in Castilian. (Aside from being the worst taste and custom of ignorant generally believed to be sophisticated, taking possession of phrases and turns of others ...)

I finally leave the following quote on English:


"I speak English with my dog \u200b\u200bin German to my horse, my soldiers Dutch, Italian men and women in French, but English, English is to talk to God. "

C ARLOS I OF PAIN V E OF GERMANY * A

__________ * Born in Ghent, Flanders (now Belgium), the future Charles I of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor, on arriving at the possessions he inherited from his grandfather Fernando de Aragon, better known as Ferdinand the Catholic, with his large Flemish guard if he could speak only English ... Was to learn later.

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Remembering Lolita

M I good friend Roman was kind enough to send this text I play, the Latin American writer Otto Wolf. Unfortunately, there are very few data available to me by this author, except that, in addition to being short-story writer and essayist, is a sharp critic of art. The text in question is a tribute to Lolita, Nabokov's celebrated work. In this sense, I can not recall a similar short work due to the pen of no less celebrated and always controversial Salvador Dali, who once wrote a short story entitled "Dulit »..., it is the publication of this latter for later.

Karen

By Otto Wolf

A N ABOKOV

E STA is the story of Karen ...

Karen is a girl, you should now have eleven or twelve years ... He was nine when we met, was then when I fell in love ... what how many years I have ...? I'll meet twenty-seven ...

still have a letter I wrote. Saved from the pages of a book, that letter and a white ribbon in a drawer of my desk are the only memories I have left the girl. She may no longer remember me. But I often think about it ...

now is night as I write, and through my window, I see the rain fall. It was sweet to be at his side ... I used to narrate stories ...

- "There was once a poor Prince," he began, This however, was handsome and charming enough (it seemed to me)-added, as so he could marry (Karen laugh) ... and marriage was what he wanted. There were, of course, hundreds of princesses who delighted in life would have married him. The prince, however, had noticed the emperor's daughter, do you think that the emperor's daughter did so?, Okay?, Right?

"Then let's see ..."


This was one of our favorite stories ... I remember once I had to accompany her to a neighbor's house to keep message from your mom. Karen entered the house whose fence was open while I waited outside. I heard that the neighbor questioned. "What did he say?" He asked out. "He told me who you came," he answered. "Surely you answered that with a handsome prince," I replied. "You're not a handsome prince," she said. "Who could doubt it?" I said. "You're not a prince ... you're so stupid."

* * *

We were good friends: I wanted to be with me at all costs. Hube of displeasing when I said we could not be much time together as she would have wanted. It was a kind and loving girl. And so pretty, as only a child can be. I remember his face lit up when he saw me coming and I corresponded with a smile as she stroked her hair as a greeting. Once ... cried in my arms.

I went to Karen's house to teach him music was my student. He had a sister named Christina, was also my student. Both took the class separately. Cristina was sixteen and was quite attractive: white, thin, black hair, regular features, his appearance was provocative. I liked (I liked). In fact, once I asked her out (unsuccessfully). However, later, end up feeling mostly attracted by the younger sister, Karen was ... a charming creature.

What, what is special about girls? ... Someone once wrote, that are made of sugar and cinnamon ... Yes, indeed: girls are "sugar and cinnamon '...

Go! I forgot: the same Cristina, on one occasion when we were alone, he said, "Did you know that my sister likes you?" I shrugged my shoulders, she would never know what I felt for Karen.


... Remember, Karen, that time you asked me a kiss? "Cristina was present, and were her friends. "Come on, Karen ... that bold!" (The words we hear.) I went to you and kissed your cheek you blush and smiled, then (alone) would have to become much more daring ...

And remember that other time when you give me a dead leaf? ... In few words she had written, probably before, that the sheet was dry and again, therefore, brittle. It was an affectionate phrase ... I kept that piece ... until it turned to dust ...

* * *

's sweet love a child, but also painful, is clinging to a love hopeless. And yet ... how not to love youth and laughter, unconsciousness and happiness? ...

Karen was beautiful, I do not think I emphasized that enough ... light brown, black hair like her sister, with a fringe on the forehead, black eyes too bright, liquid ...; the snub little nose , lips gently curved, white teeth ... he smiled, he did dimples ... It was, indeed, a delightful little girl ...

Overall, I think that almost all girls are lovely, or at least to me, so it seems . On the other hand, I welcome the girls: I tell fantastic stories, I make drawings, hug, kiss, silly songs taught them ... In short, I feel adored and fun. I indulged and petted a lot of my little friends rather than Karen. And, surely, cuddle and caress to many others after it. Still, this is the first time I encourage you to have written the story of a of my friends ... what, why do it? Well, this story had a sad ending ... but not get ahead ... What if I have not been in love with a woman? ... Oops ... I will not talk about it now ... I prefer to speak to Karen ... girls are so pretty! ...

Did Karen know that I liked? ... What if ...! At this point, my mind travels to a picture that I keep hidden in a folder in the company of many others. The piano was over, until I decided to hide it. (After all, it's safer: you never know). I took myself, a few months ago. This is another of my students: Ana María small (Eight years old). Take classes in my modest apartment. His mother is very confident. It's a pretty nice creature ...

One day, not recently, as we took a short break, I said while stroking his face, "You know, Ana Maria, who are the most beautiful of my students ?...» "Why ?...» teacher says" Because it's true. "" Tell a story ... 'And the lesson ?...» "Oh, the lesson later ..."

* * * Karen

I spoke to you: "Tell me a story," he said. "Humm ... in As the class ends, I tell ...; better we will play that piece of Bach ... and you learned the minuet? ... "


Ah, Karen !..., and think that I will not see ! ... I remember once I came to your house. Your mother told me I was going to have to suspend the class: I was invited to a party. She had tried in vain to reach me by phone to cancel the visit. "In any case, talk to her," he said and disappeared. At that time you came down the stairs, carrying a white dress and shoes the same color, wore their hair in a bun. I waved and smiled, obviously satisfied, that I saw you so well composed and arranged. I could not help me and I took her by the waist to kiss alzándote on edge: ... were so beautiful! ... I deposited on the floor, feeling your waist slip under my hands: they touched your chest, ah, Karen! ...

* * *

Then it would end. It could, of course, continue making in these pages my wistful memories, but ... why go? ...

happened one evening when, as usual, we were together. Although actually, I should of it coming from long ago.


... Since that time, when trying to caress as he always did, I turned it down abruptly. "Leave me alone, why you're always patting me?" Such were the words you told me. Never have I felt so hurt. It took a few weeks, and neither you nor I felt comfortable in the presence of each other. One day I said that they no longer wanted me, wanted a cessation of classes. I could not say anything. I talked to your mother about it, I told him I was tired of taking the lessons, on the other hand, had long since your sister had abandoned and I claimed some chores. That's what I said. Never again, from that moment, see you again. Some time later, was to meet with Cristina on the street. He approached me, as usual in it: mocking, provocative ... I said to myself: 'Do you know what you did to my sister? "" What do you mean? "I said. "My sister does not stop talking about you, in love, die for you" "What nonsense!" I replied. "She asked me not to return to your home." "I know," replied Craig. "My sister does not want to see you anymore. Says you're an old man and can not marry ... and, if so, she would prefer not to see you again ... "


Cristina would not see it either, those were his words ... Outside, the rain continues to fall ... I know tonight go to sleep.

__________
Image: author's archives.