IN THE MOREMARROW/EN LA MASMÉDULA is the final volume by the vanguard poet of 20th century Argentinian literature. “In the fabled Oliverio Girondo. That first line is beautiful & on one level it seems a sort of how-I-wrote-my-book- and-so-can-you! treatise by Girondo. They are the last 4 lines of. Oliverio Girondo — ‘una libélula de médulauna oruga lúbrica desnuda sólo nutrida de frotesun Oliverio Girondo, En la masmédula.

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How to reproduce this verbal rejuvenation in Spanish, how to forge from the English a new poetic language. This seems a problematization. Is there an authoritative, origin-al essence to be mined at the girond Perhaps, then, this is not so foreign.

We are exposed to its symptoms. For this reason it is full of neologisms created via new word compounds, new combinations, then recombinations of those prior laa combinations: He died in Buenos Aires on January 24, His first book, Veinte poemas para ser leidos en un tranviawas published by a small French press inand Calcomanias was published in Span in It contained the slant of my personality and point of view and present experience, but I made it as big as I could, making myself bigger in the process.

So we make an inference. Action Books has a knack for finding works like this. A garden represents an exercise in oluverio, it is alive, it is exposed to time, it grows, it shoots new buds, other things flower from it. Not only is this acceptable, but it seems this book argues it is the marrow of existence.


Molly Weigel is a poet, translator, and therapist living near the Delaware River in central New Jersey with her husband, son, and four cats. Both the process of writing experimental poetry and the process of translating it — as well as the process of reading it — entail risk, a surrender of certainty and control in favor of trying to know and mean through language in the present in new ways.

Who wants to be subject to objectification? Between the two is the center-aligned column, the Middle Version.

Quote by Oliverio Girondo: “una libélula de médula una oruga lúbrica desnud”

A lot of poems end on their own titles, creating a feeling of being in an enclosure. It is hard to say what stubborn female couplings refers to. A dovetail is a joint formed by two pieces whose respective notches are made one for the other, in alternating fashion, so they conveniently fit. Taking and then framing a photograph of the Cordon Cacti garden seems tempting, as a compromise and a memorial, but this is neither transplanting nor translating.

The writing is self-referential. We are inside it.

In the Moremarrow/En la masmedula

My Lumy does this, too, at its best moments. It hermetically seals itself. It takes an object. It reminds me of constituent elements readying themselves to become compound.

And problematizes; who wants to be an object? Or grammatically speaking, the definite article v. The first left-indented column is the original Spanish poem.

The heart of the matter, the gist, the meat, the essence where the blood, where the oxygen-carrying vitality is produced. But the first two lines of the translation are confusing to me.


Mi lu builds to mi lubidulia.

The ButMarrow sounds horrific. InGirondo married fellow writer Norah Lange, and during the mids their house in Buenos Aires served as a meeting place for the younger literary generation, including Francisco Madariaga, Enrique Molina, Olga Orozco, and Aldo Pellegrini.

What I mean to say is this. Or is it just turtles all the way down? It is a historical document, a hasty epitaph to something still living elsewhere. But the essence of the instrument is water.

Born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, on August 17,Oliverio Girondo studied and traveled widely in Europe as a young man, serving as a European correspondent for Argentine literary magazines including Girindo ultra and Caras y caretas and establishing close friendships with writers and artists who introduced him to surrealism and other vanguard movements.

It ties itself to the Word. This seems to be the question at the heart of the book, enacted by its constant linguistic slippages.

If love is the essence of things, the essence of love is More. We have here competing notions: To undo the dovetails, quite literally.

I know that analysis is a fundamental part of translation. Faithfulness may be a practice rather than a result. We need a new arrangement that fairly represents the old arrangement, but we masmedulz entirely new plants.

A photograph, in this case at least, is not a poem.

I think this book is extremely important.