El tema central de este Blog es LA FILOSOFÍA DE LA CABAÑA y/o EL REGRESO A LA NATURALEZA o sobre la construcción de un "paradiso perduto" y encontrar un lugar en él. La experiencia de la quietud silenciosa en la contemplación y la conexión entre el corazón y la tierra. La cabaña como objeto y método de pensamiento. Una cabaña para aprender a vivir de nuevo, y como ejemplo de que otras maneras de vivir son posibles sobre la tierra.

jueves, 31 de enero de 2013

La cabaña de la poeta y activista Anne Waldman

Anne Waldman
(b. 1945)

The author of more than 40 collections of poetry and poetics, Anne Waldman is an active member of the Outrider experimental poetry movement, and has been connected to the Beat movement and the second generation of the New York School. Her publications include Fast Speaking Woman (1975), Marriage: A Sentence (2000), and the multi-volume Iovis project (1992, 1993, 1997). 

Her work as a cultural activist and her practice of Tibetan Buddhism are deeply connected to her poetry. Waldman is, in her words, “drawn to the magical efficacies of language as a political act.” Her commitment to poetry extends beyond her own work to her support of alternative poetry communities. Waldman has collaborated extensively with visual artists, musicians, and dancers, and she regularly performs internationally. Her performance of her work is engaging and physical, often including chant or song, and has been widely recorded on film and video. 

Born in Millville, New Jersey, Waldman grew up in Manhattan on Beat poetry and jazz. Early encounters with Leadbelly, Pete Seeger, and Thelonious Monk drew her attention to the full range of musical possibilities in poetry, as did her reading of poets such as Allen Ginsberg and Gertrude Stein. She was educated at Bennington College, where she studied with Howard Nemerov, Bernard Malamud, and Stanley Edgar Hyman. 

In 1965 she attended the Berkeley Poetry Conference, where the Outrider voices she encountered inspired her to commit to poetry and to found Angel Hair, a small press that published an eponymous magazine and numerous books. Upon graduation she returned to New York and became assistant director, and then director, of the St. Mark’s Church Poetry Project, a role she continued for a decade and where she found support for her own work from poets such as Ted Berrigan, Allen Ginsberg, Diane di Prima, and Kenneth Koch. In 1974, with Ginsberg, Waldman founded the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at the Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colorado. 

Her honors include grants from the Foundation for Contemporary Performance Arts, the Poetry Foundation, and the National Endowment for the Arts. She has had residencies at the Civitella Ranieri Center, the Emily Harvey Foundation in Venice, and Rockefeller Center’s Bellagio Center, and has received the Poetry Society of America’s Shelley Memorial Award. She has twice won the International Poetry Championship Bout in Taos, New Mexico. She was “poet in residence” with Bob Dylan’s famed concert tour, the Rolling Thunder Revue, in 1975–76. Waldman has also edited several anthologies, including The Beat Book (1996). She co-founded the Poetry Is News collective with writer/scholar Ammiel Alcalay in 2002.
Fuente: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/anne-waldman

(Anne Waldman, “Cabin” from Helping the Dreamer: Selected Poems, 1966-1988)
eviction people arrive to haunt me
      with descriptions of summer’s wildflowers   
            how they are carpet of fierce colors
I bet you hate to see us they say and yes
      I do hate to have to move again especially from here   
            destruction brought to place of love
the uneven smiles that win she’s a business woman   
      blond tints that glow at sunset as profits rise   
            alas what labor I employ
but to ensure a moment’s joy
      sets branches trembling & arms chilled   
            dear one long returning home, come to
clammy feverish details, muffed sorrow
      I turn to throw a tear of rage in the pot
            never remorse but hint of scruples I’d hope for
it is error it is speculation it is real estate
      it is the villain and comic slippery words
            the work of despotic wills to make money
I scream take it take your money! make your money   
      go on it’s only money, here’s a wall of dry rot
            here’s an unfinished ceiling, just a little sunlight
peeks through this (lark, no luminance! exquisite St. Etienne   
      stove doesn’t work icebox either too hot or frozen   
            firescreen tumbling down
kitchen insulation droops is ugly & a mess
      ah but love it here, only surface appearances   
            to complain of, nothing does justice
to shape of actual events I love   
      but a fight against artificiality
            its inherent antagonism, bald hatred of moving
and problem of thirsty fig tree in Burroughs
      apartment wakes me I don’t want to go down there yet   
            & how to orchestrate the summer properly
the problem of distress & not denying pride from it   
      too atomized to make pleasure of melancholy
            & an uncontrollable enthusiasm for throne & altar
I want to sit high want simple phalanx
      of power independent of everything but free will   
            & one long hymn in praise of the cabin!
it is a confession in me impenetrably walled in   
      like aesthetics like cosmos an organ of
            metaphysics and O this book gives me a headache
dear Weston La Barre let’s have an argument   
      because I see too clearly how rational I must be &   
            the kernel of my faith corrupted
because you have no reliance on the shaman & outlaw   
      or how depth of mind might be staggering   
            everywhere except in how important science is
science? no he won’t he fooled by visions
      whereas I wait for dazzling UFOs they announce   
            will arrive high in these mountains
I repair the portal even invite stray horses in   
      have a little toy receiving station   
            that sits by the bed
at the edge of night all thoughts to place of love   
      all worries to this place of love   
            all gestures to the place of love
all agonies to place of love, thaws to place   
      of love, swarthy valley sealed   
            in wood, log burst into flame
in home of love, all heart’s dints   
      and machinations, all bellows & pungency   
            antemundane thoughts to palace of love
all liberties, singularity, all imaginings
      I weep for, Jack’s sweet almond-eyed daughter to   
            place of love, & heavy blankets
and terracing & yard work & patch work   
      & tenacity & the best in you
            surround me work in me to place my love
dear cirques, clear constraint, dissenting
      inclinations of a man and a woman, Metonic cycle   
            all that sweats in rooms, lives in nature
requiems & momentum & trimmings of bushes   
      dried hibiscus & hawks & shyness   
            brought to this place of love
trees rooted fear rooted all roots brought
      to place of love, mystery to heart of love   
            & fibers
and fibers in sphere of love a whole world makes   
      spectators of slow flowering of spring
            & summer when you walk to town for eggs
and continuous hammerings as new people   
      arrive & today we notice for first time
            a white-crowned sparrow out by the feeder
with the chickadees & juncos & I missed   
      that airplane-dinosaur in dream nervous   
            to travel again, miss buds pop open
to shudder in breeze, their tractability   
      makes sudden rise of sensibility you are   
            shuddering too & your boy laugh
comes less frequent now you’re drawn into   
      accountability, will I return to find all   
            stuff tidy in silver truck
ready to go? it’s you in this place I lose   
      most because it’s here in you I forget
            where I am, this place for supernaturals
perched high in sky & wind, held by wind in stationary   
      motion as bluebird we observe over meadow or caught   
            up with jetstream dipping in valley’s soft cradle
power & light & heat & radiance of head it takes
      power & light & heat & radiance of head it takes to   
            make it work while
down there someone building replicas of what
      it feels like to be a human multitude, fantasy   
            molded clumsily, spare my loves
and love of glorious architecture when you really put   
      outside in, the feeling of cloud or mountain   
            or stone
having developed an idea of idyllic private life   
      & sovereignty of spirit over common   
            empirical demand
I tell you about renunciation, I tell you holy   
      isolation like a river nears ocean to   
and cabin becomes someone’s idea of a good place   
      discretion you pay for it wasn’t mine either   
            but sits on me imprints on me
forever splendor of fog, snow shut strangers out   
      gradual turn of season, ground stir, pine
            needle tickle your shoulder, peak curve, fresh air.


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