Author Archives: neko smart

Week 4 – Neruda’s “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair”

I am choosing, for my own sake, to not respond to the possessive manner Neruda describes (and objectifies) the AFAB body, and the violence which undertones it. It’s hard for me to separate the art from the artist, particularly when it’s related to sexual violence. Clearly I hadn’t explored his work deeply enough (or these themes were less present/obvious in his later collections, or it went over my head), otherwise I probably would have selected the other book. But for the sake of this blog post, I am going to identify other aspects of his writing I either enjoyed or found irritating.

There are clear threads that run through the poetry in this collection; In particular, Neruda tends to lean into extended metaphors and imagery related to weather (eg. “Within you thunder plays sweet melodies and / within me it’s pouring rain” [Oh Sea of Pines, 11]. He also seems to be especially fixated on the word ‘twilight’ as it appears in most of his poems, sometimes more than once (eg. “Your eyes contain the fighting flames of twilight” [I Remember You, 23], “We have lost this twilight” [We’ve Lost, 39], “In my twilight sky, you are like a cloud” [In My Twilight Sky, 65]). I wonder to what degree the translation influences some of these patterns, and if perhaps I did not enjoy this collection as much as Neruda’s other ones (besides the obvious) because I didn’t connect with this translator’s work. Honestly, if one were so inclined (and of the legal age of course), the frequent use of the word ‘twilight’ could lend itself to the creation of a formidable drinking game. This counts as ‘play’, right?

It’s clear how much Neruda’s writing matured throughout his lifetime, and as mentioned, I connect more with his later works than his earlier ones. Still, the emotional depth with which he writes at, what, twenty years old? is impressive. I admire his vulnerability, his willingness to place all of his cards on the table. “Tonight I Write” (81) is my favourite poem of this collection, and the line “Tonight I can write the saddest lines. / I loved her, and at times she loved me too” is honest and evocative. I often wonder how much magic a translation removes from a poem. Poetry is all about intentionality, meaning every word is carefully curated, arranged in just the right order and cadence. You remove a word, or shuffle the poem around, and it disrupts the entire flow of the piece. I understand the importance of translating poetry so it can be enjoyed in many languages, but it is a shame (albeit inevitable) that it has to be shifted, even slightly, to do so. A translator’s work must be gruelling and headache inducing, but hopefully rewarding as well? That said, how do you think the translation impacts the quality and rhythm of the poetry? I realise this may be hard to respond to if you don’t speak Spanish (I don’t), but give it your best shot? 🙂

Week 3 – Campobello’s “Cartucho”

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I read a small portion of this novel when I took SPAN 280; I enjoyed it then and I enjoyed it even more after having read the entire work, after thoroughly immersing myself in the universe of the young narrator. There is something incredibly satisfying about reading a book comprised entirely of vignettes—it’s easier to pick the book up on a logical part of the novel after having put it down for a bit. It’s also a great bus read.

I realise I keep harping on the poeticism of these novels, but I will continue to do so because Campobello especially has a knack for unique descriptors. A few of my favourites were, “it smelled of urine and was so narrow it made our feet sad” (32), “The night was so dark it seemed like a wolf’s mouth” (38), and “No one was surprised, but the lampposts were question marks” (41). I think part of what renders her writing so authentic and evocative is because it’s all coming from a child’s perspective who, as was spoken so eloquently in the lecture video, “is barely graduated from her mother’s knee”.

The vignette, “The Death of Felipe Angeles”, is a solid example of a moment in which we are firmly planted in the narrator’s mind; she, as a child would, is struggling to remember/decode the words spoken around her (eg. “This, that, and the other, he said, and he mentioned New York, Mexico, France, and the world. Since he was talking about artillery and cannons, I thought his cannons were named New York, etc.” [43]). This vignette showcases the child as an unreliable narrator, yet an important one. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think there are many works exploring the viewpoint of a child during the Mexican Revolution, or perhaps any major revolution? Cartucho’s narrator has grown up entrenched in such bleak of a backdrop, she is desensitised to the violence shadowing her childhood, and perhaps even a little comforted by it in some instances? One line that stuck out to me is, “That night I went to sleep dreaming they would shoot someone else and hoping it would be next to my house” (37). Such a powerful statement that, were it not coming from a child interlaced in needless death, could easily be misconstrued as callous.

In the lecture video, the possibility of Campobello being fifteen to nineteen at the height of the Mexican Revolution was discussed. Depending on how autobiographical Cartucho is intended to be, I wonder if it’s possible she chose to age the narrator down as a sort of coping mechanism. In response to trauma, some people revert to childhood, to a headspace that feels most comfortable to them. It is also worth noting that children tend to live in the moment. Children are kind of like vignettes themselves in this way. In comparison, adults are generally at least one step ahead of themselves. Adults are linear, children are not. Though I may be reading too far into this. If we are to believe Campobello was a teenager at the time of the revolution, why do you think she chose to age the narrator down?

Week 2 – De La Parra’s “Mama Blanca’s Memoirs”

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This book was interesting. The writing is quite poetic; A couple of my favourite lines are, “A prayer that was swallowed up in the dark night of unnoticed things” (88) and the idea of being “silent with grief, though bursting with questions” (98). De La Parra wrote, “like poets, we discovered secret affinities and mysterious relations between the most diverse objects” (89), and this is certainly what she accomplishes.

I found the sections of the novel dedicated to significant characters in the author’s past to be both enticing and cumbersome. It took no time at all to conclude that “Cousin Juancho—an unbound Larousse, with all the pages loose and half of them upside down” (46) is contending with severe ADHD, Vicente Cochocho “one of the tutelary friends of [their] childhood” (62) is tragically underappreciated, and Daniel who “worked zealously all through the week, and on Saturday afternoon presented to Papa a perfectly balanced, carefully doctored statement” (94) is a damn genius. Did these narratives need to stretch on for pages and pages? Likely not, but I get the feeling this novel is De La Parra’s invitation for readers to immerse themselves in this particular world and leave once they’ve gotten what they came for. I guess we’re all bound to garner something different from this tale.

I also appreciated the narrator’s brief, albeit meaningful, exploration of the transference of insecurities from parent to child, as is exemplified in the statement, “thanks to the principles that Mama without realizing it had inculcated in me at the tender age of five, my honor, contrary to prevailing concepts, had its seat in my hair and in no other part of my person” (37). It’s at times baffling what remains ingrained in us from childhood. If you treat a child as if their hair is their single most important quality/feature, obviously they’re going to internalise it. Mama places so much weight in the appearance/illusion of her daughter’s hair, it’s as if the hair is its own character in both the novel and in the narrator’s mind.

De La Parra, or at least the translator, employs extremely long sentences (eg. “Those which remained in their customary place, on an occasional head, city-fashion—or as in the case of Violeta so she could have her hands free—such a one, perched on a head, I repeat, immediately lost its center of gravity” [107]) I got lost in frequently. However, I enjoyed the playfulness of her writing, such as “the republic of the cows” (91) and the names for said cows (eg. Sad Widow, Bleeding Heart, Never Leave Me… [92]). Moreover, the tumultuous themes of sisterhood are both real and relatable, though the ending seemed a little abrupt. What do you think the author was trying to communicate through the conclusion of the novel? Because, honestly, I’m stumped.

Hey!

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Hey there! My name is Neko Smart and I am a third year Creative Writing Major from the traditional territories of the lək̓ʷəŋən People (Victoria BC). I live in East Van with my roommate and cat, Gremlin. I am a spoken word poet trying my hand at playwriting for the first time. I am also an avid music lover—myself, my guitar, and my ukulele can often be found procrastinating in one another’s company. It is my first year in the Creative Writing program and I’m loving it so far; It’s been really cool exploring different genres of writing. Even so, I’m glad to be taking a class that isn’t strictly writing related because, well, my brain hurts and I have too many tabs open on my laptop.

I took RMST 202 last year and thoroughly enjoyed it. I think contract grading is an excellent mode of assessment, and being graded for reading books is kind of my dream. I don’t often have time during the school year to read for pleasure, so I jump at the opportunity to delve into interesting reads for class. I was also enrolled in SPAN 280 in my second year; It educated me on aspects of Latin American culture and literature, so I am looking forward to the array of novels and knowledge available to us in SPAN 312. Moreover, RMST 202 introduced me to beautiful novels and talented writers I’d never even heard of, and I expect no less this semester. I also appreciate the poetic elements of Romance languages, their translations, and the manners in which they influence my own writing. I am especially eager to explore Pablo Neruda’s work.

Anticipating my capacity and holding myself accountable is an important practice, another bonus of contract grading. It is pretty daunting at the beginning of the semester, but as long as I plan my time accordingly and trust myself in the process, I am optimistic and confident I’ll be successful this term.

Anyway, that’s me. Can’t wait to get to know you all this semester!

Question: Did relaxation over the break render you more prepared for the new semester?