Atelier Balbec, Revista de Artes y Letras, Número 5. En nuestro último número de primavera, nos enorgullece presentar un poema del poeta y expatriado irlandés John Jaazaniah Carraway, que denuncia ácidamente el estado actual del país; también, Alejandro Ehrenberg responde a una adorable crítica de la poetisa Dorotea Bloom; por su parte, nuestro querido emigrado portugués Cipriano de Guimarães hace una reseña del libro de Aldous Huxley Los demonios de Loudun; en esta ocasión, Andrés Ordorica presenta el cuento “The Song of the Satyr”, así como una disquisición sobre la sombría y decadente arquitectura urbana de nuestros tiempos en “A Tangent on Grim Architecture”; finalmente, nos alegra mucho volver a incluir ilustraciones originales del escultor Marco Kalach y de los diseñadores Daniel Farah y Brigita Antoni. Disfruten la lectura. www.atbalbec.com Atelier Balbec, Arts & Letters Magazine, Issue 5. In our final spring issue, we are proud to present a poem by the Irish poet and expat, John Jaazaniah  Carraway, a scathing denunciation of the present state of the country; also, Alejandro Ehrenberg addresses a rather endearing criticism by poetess Dorotea Bloom; furthermore, our esteemed Portuguese émigré, Cipriano de Guimarães, returns to review the The Devils of Loudun, the 1952 non-fiction novel by Aldous Huxley; this time, Andrés Ordorica presents the tale “The Song of the Satyr”, as well as discussing the sombre decaying urban architecture of our times in, “A Tangent on Grim Architecture”; last but not least, it brings us much joy to present once more original artwork from artist and sculptor Marco Kalach and designers Daniel Farah and Brigita Antoni. Enjoy the reading. www.atbalbec.com _____ Imagen / Image: Marco Kalach (2012), “As cores de maio”

Atelier Balbec, Revista de Artes y Letras, Número 5.

En nuestro último número de primavera, nos enorgullece presentar un poema del poeta y expatriado irlandés John Jaazaniah Carraway, que denuncia ácidamente el estado actual del país; también, Alejandro Ehrenberg responde a una adorable crítica de la poetisa Dorotea Bloom; por su parte, nuestro querido emigrado portugués Cipriano de Guimarães hace una reseña del libro de Aldous Huxley Los demonios de Loudun; en esta ocasión, Andrés Ordorica presenta el cuento “The Song of the Satyr”, así como una disquisición sobre la sombría y decadente arquitectura urbana de nuestros tiempos en “A Tangent on Grim Architecture”; finalmente, nos alegra mucho volver a incluir ilustraciones originales del escultor Marco Kalach y de los diseñadores Daniel Farah y Brigita Antoni.

Disfruten la lectura. www.atbalbec.com

Atelier Balbec, Arts & Letters Magazine, Issue 5.

In our final spring issue, we are proud to present a poem by the Irish poet and expat, John Jaazaniah  Carraway, a scathing denunciation of the present state of the country; also, Alejandro Ehrenberg addresses a rather endearing criticism by poetess Dorotea Bloom; furthermore, our esteemed Portuguese émigré, Cipriano de Guimarães, returns to review the The Devils of Loudun, the 1952 non-fiction novel by Aldous Huxley; this time, Andrés Ordorica presents the tale “The Song of the Satyr”, as well as discussing the sombre decaying urban architecture of our times in, “A Tangent on Grim Architecture”; last but not least, it brings us much joy to present once more original artwork from artist and sculptor Marco Kalach and designers Daniel Farah and Brigita Antoni.

Enjoy the reading. www.atbalbec.com

_____

Imagen / Image: Marco Kalach (2012), “As cores de maio”

A Tangent on the Saddening Effects of Grim Architecture

About fifteen years ago, I was riding in the backseat of my parents’ car in a part of a city that had these massive, solid and yet completely bleak and somewhat sinister-looking residential buildings that at once prompted my father to point out to them and shout to no one in particular, “That is Hell!”. My mother simply took a look and agreed in the manner that pensive wives usually do, and then went back to reading her book. Yet I could see that my father was still looking at the buildings with caution long after anyone in the car had stopped caring about them. He stared as if not wanting to get too close to that which he considered to be a monstrosity in par with eternal damnation.

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Apto para el deleite de los malvados


Aldous Huxley, Los demonios de Loudun, Editorial Sudamericana, 1996

De manera bastante restrictiva, al autor británico Aldous Huxley (1894-1963) suele asociársele a sólo dos de las obras que escribió en su prolífica carrera: por una parte, la novela distópica Un mundo feliz (1932); por la otra, el ensayo Las puertas de la percepción (1954), acerca de sus experiencias bajo la influencia de la mescalina. Esto ha provocado que hoy, en varios círculos, se le recuerde como poco más que el abuelo de los movimientos contraculturales de los años 1960, predecesor aristócrata de Leary o de Ginsberg. Sin embargo, Aldous Huxley fue un hombre de letras comprometido profundamente con la tarea de corregir la maldad y estupidez humanas, y me cuesta trabajo pensar en una frase que él hubiera detestado con más vehemencia que aquel slogan hippie, “Turn on, tune in, drop out”. Un ejemplo brillante del ecumenismo del sr. Huxley, y de una de las mejores prosas del siglo XX, es el libro de 1952, Los demonios de Loudun, que investiga uno de los escándalos olvidados de la cristiandad.

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(Source: supruntu, via humanlanguage)

SARCASTIC (MEOW)Why, yes! Let this country live long and then prosperEnough that in twenty years it finds itself whereIt was first found and spotted by countries that fosterNo deep seated respect for a country that wearsItself out when it thinks that there’s no loosened bolster,Like all other countries whom we could compareTo at this moment; allow me then to be now quite candid,For I have just started to take off, not landed.So, yes! Ring the bells and proclaim from an altarThat we should be proud of a battered pieceOf land that is ruled by the very same people who falterTo ever deliver the calmness, the joy and the peaceThat they promised. The one which would readily alterAll peoples condition for the better, at least —But of course not, for we rather be deafened by hearingThe chimes of the bells since they sound more endearing.And, yes! Let our cups be raised up high to toast nowOur country, this nation, the salt which the earthHas been jarred on; and, please, let us not sulk nowOn all its shortcomings for, “we’re at the birthOf a brand new era.” And, of course, there’s no loss nowIn weight since we have but expanded our girthBy our monumental efforts to make of this nationThe envy of every malnourished and despondent Haitian. _____ By: John Jaazaniah Carraway Image: Daniel Farah (2011), “Utopia”

SARCASTIC (MEOW)

Why, yes! Let this country live long and then prosper
Enough that in twenty years it finds itself where
It was first found and spotted by countries that foster
No deep seated respect for a country that wears
Itself out when it thinks that there’s no loosened bolster,
Like all other countries whom we could compare
To at this moment; allow me then to be now quite candid,
For I have just started to take off, not landed.

So, yes! Ring the bells and proclaim from an altar
That we should be proud of a battered piece
Of land that is ruled by the very same people who falter
To ever deliver the calmness, the joy and the peace
That they promised. The one which would readily alter
All peoples condition for the better, at least —
But of course not, for we rather be deafened by hearing
The chimes of the bells since they sound more endearing.

And, yes! Let our cups be raised up high to toast now
Our country, this nation, the salt which the earth
Has been jarred on; and, please, let us not sulk now
On all its shortcomings for, “we’re at the birth
Of a brand new era.” And, of course, there’s no loss now
In weight since we have but expanded our girth
By our monumental efforts to make of this nation
The envy of every malnourished and despondent Haitian.

_____

By: John Jaazaniah Carraway

Image: Daniel Farah (2011), “Utopia”

The Song of the Satyr

A Fantastical Story in One Part

Near a tiny red cobblestone path, in the midst of a garden filled with mazes and ponds, sat on a bench of stone a girl of ten and two. She on her hand had got hold of a flower and was looking at it admirably when the sound of the satyr’s pipe could be heard from a distance, then suddenly nearing closer. It was high noon, before any of the satyrs left their dens to spook the visitors of the garden back into their cottages or houses though, inexplicably, the little girl was found not to be shaken by the music nor by the thumps of the satyr’s hoofs that would cause the ground to shake violently. She looked up, stood perfectly motionless, gazing only for a moment from side to side in search of the wayward satyr. A wind suddenly picked up, and the garden turned quiet, and, without making a sound, a satyr approached.

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Dorotea querida,

Gracias por tus perspicaces críticas y comentarios, llenos de buen gusto y de agudeza felina, acerca de mi ensayo sobre la ociosidad. Te confieso, sin embargo, que estaría más agradecido si hubieras desgarrado mi ridículo escrito como sólo tú eres capaz de hacerlo. Seguramente, la elegancia que te caracteriza te impidió decirme lo que yo ya sentía en el momento en que evoqué el cuento aquel de la hormiga y la cigarra: todo marchaba relativamente bien, pero de repente, las cosas se me cayeron sin estruendo de las manos, como un pan que aterriza del lado de la mermelada. Coincidirás conmigo en que mi error principal fue la inconsistencia. Algunos párrafos son tan sólidos como el aburrimiento, y otros, tan ligeros como un mal chiste. Por lo demás, no me cabe duda de que el intento de silogismo al final hizo que Cicerón se revolcara en su tumba, y admito que la cita de Whitman al principio fue fácil y pretenciosa. ¡Y para qué diablos tenía yo que meter en el asunto a personajes tan odiosos como Lutero y Calvino!

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