The Gloves
Thursday, September 19, 2024
 | Rosa 'Queen of Sweden' 19 September 2024
|
“Creo que no te quiero, que solamente quiero la
imposibilidad tan obvia de quererte. Como el guante izquierdo enamorado de la
mano derecha.” Julio Cortázar
“I believe I do not
love you, that I only want the impossibility so obvious of loving you. Like the
the left hand glove in love with the right hand.” My translation
I have been looking at this pristine pair of Rosemary’s
white gloves for months. They are there when I go downstairs to feed my cats
their breakfast. Today I decided I had to write about the gloves. I had the
idea of scanning them in conjunction with a white rose. The only rose in bloom
today was Rosa ‘Queen of Sweden’. It
is small and dainty just like my Rosemary. It will do.
Beautifully Self-Evident
Sunday, September 15, 2024
“Solo
los dos sabemos la falta que nos hacemos” - Mario Benedetti
“Only we two know how we need each other.” My translation
It is a pity that in the Anglo/Central Canada and the
United States we have little knowledge of some of the writers and poets south
of us.
I have a love for two Uruguayan writers, Mario Benedetti
and Eduardo Galeano. What is it about Latin American authors who write about
self-evident stuff in a way that when I spotted the above I marvelled at its
beauty?
Every day, every moment of my present existence since
Rosemary died on December 9, 2020 is one that confirms what Benedetti wrote.
Her absent presence is comforting in that I know I need her and somehow she is
around because of my thoughts.
Today when I took Niño for his walk around the block (no
leash) I thought about what Benedetti wrote and how now Niño, Niña and I feel
(they must!) this closeness of needing each other.
For those who might not know about Latin American
geography I can reveal that tomorrow is Mexico’s Independence Day. The correct
name for the country is Estados Unidos Mexicanos.
Uruguay is not plain Uruguay. They are La República
Oriental del Uruguay. Because they are on the Eastern side of the River Plate,
oriental is inserted in their name. Argentines are called orientales (we do not
capitalize nationalities in Spanish). To me, personally, I can reveal that my
first girlfriend in Argentina, Corina Poore was Oriental as she was born in
Uruguay.
A Uruguayan politician in the 30s promised that if he were
elected he was going to build a highway from the capital city of Montevideo to
the seaside town of Colonia that was going to be downhill both ways.
He lost.
My Heart is Laden
Wednesday, September 04, 2024
 | Rosa 'A Shropshire Lad' 4 September 2024
|
With Rue My Heart is Laden – A.E.Houseman
With rue my heart is laden
For golden friends I had,
For many a rose-lipt maiden
And many a lightfoot lad.
By brooks too broad for leaping
The lightfoot boys are laid;
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping
In fields where roses fade.
Today is September 4, 2024. It is a lovely sunny day but
as always my heart is melancholic as I remember my Rosemary gone on December 9,
2020. I especially remember her and not quite smile when I see the wonderful
English Rose, Rosa ‘A Shropshire Lad’ that blooms and blooms in my back lane
garden.
It was almost recently that I began to connect our roses
with the fact that Rosemary’s name is about a rose.
I found myself forced to scan the blooms and fortunately
I knew of this lovely poem by A.E. Houseman that fits the bill perfectly.
Ever since many, many years ago when I first heard Gerry
Gilbert read his poetry and a tad later Susan Musgrave, I have been keen on
poetry. From those two I went back to Argentines Jorge Luís Borges, Julio
Cortázar, Alejandra Pizarnik, Alfonsina Storni and the Americans Emily
Dickinson, William Carlos Williams, Robert Frost and many others. I found it
fun to combine my plant scans or photographs with the poems of the above.
Somehow after 28 years of blogging I have memorized many of them.
My absolute favourite is a line from the Borges poem La
Lluvia that cannot be properly translated:
Le
reveló una flor llamada rosa
Y el
curioso color del colorado.
Here is all of it:
La
lluvia – Jorge Luís Borges
Bruscamente
la tarde se ha aclarado
Porque
ya cae la lluvia minuciosa.
Cae o
cayó. La lluvia es una cosa
Que sin
duda sucede en el pasado.
Quien la
oye caer ha recobrado
El
tiempo en que la suerte venturosa
Le
reveló una flor llamada rosa
Y el
curioso color del colorado.
Esta
lluvia que ciega los cristales
Alegrará
en perdidos arrabales
Las
negras uvas de una parra en cierto
Patio
que ya no existe. La mojada
Tarde me
trae la voz, la voz deseada,
De mi
padre que vuelve y que no ha muerto.
Mujer
Sunday, September 01, 2024
Desde que
mi Rosemary falleció el 9 de diciembre del 2020, mi interés por las mujeres se ha
disipado a un mínimo. La única mujer que me interesa está muerta.
Ahora veo a
las mujeres en una forma objetiva, sin olvidarme, que en un charla que presencié
con Rosemary hace muchos años en México, el antropólogo Santiago Genovés nos dijo, “No nos debemos olvidar
que la objetividad es un invento subjetivo del hombre.”
En los años
1962/63, en la Mexico City College en CDMX, mi profesor de filosofía, Ramón
Xirau, me convirtió al platonismo. Sí existe la perfección en su mundo de ideas. Lo que nosotros vemos de esa realidad es una mal copia.
Soy un fotógrafo
que por muchos años se especializó en el retrato. Ahora he seleccionada tres de
mis retratos de mujeres, que al verlas a la vez, de alguna manera representan la
perfección platónica de la idea de una mujer.
Para mí, la
letra Mujer, de Agustín Lara acompaña a perfección estos tres retratos.
Y claro
la memoria de mi Rosemary en mis entrañas es perfecta.
Mujer –
Agustín Lara
Mujer,
mujer divina,
Tienes
el veneno que fascina
En tu
mirar.
Mujer,
alabastrina,
Eres
vibración de sonatina pasional.
Tienes
el perfume de un naranjo en flor,
El
altivo porte de una majestad.
Sabes de
los filtros que hay en el amor
Tienes
el hechizo de la liviandad.
La
divina magia de un atardecer
Y la
maravilla de la inspiración.
Tienes
en el ritmo de tu ser
Todo el
palpitar de una canción,
Eres la
razón de mi existir, mujer.
La
divina magia de un atardecer
Y la
maravilla de la inspiración.
Tienes
en el ritmo de tu ser
Todo el
palpitar de una canción,
Eres la
razón de mi existir, mujer.
Not Alone on My Birthday
Saturday, August 31, 2024
 | August 31, 2024 photograph by Ian Galsworthy
|
Being alone on my birthday is saddening. That was almost
the case this year. My eldest daughter Alexandra had a dental implant on
Thursday 29th, and on Friday and Saturday (my birthday) she was not
well. She was cared for by her sister Hilary. I was resigned to spending the
day without company. At 4:15 I went out for a walk with Niño and ran into my
neighbours Ian and Kathleen Galsworthy who were walking their dog Chunky. They
wished me a happy birthday and invited me for dinner. I declined but added that
tea would be fine. They told me to come back at 5:15. They had set up a table
in the garden and on it was a small chocolate cake with a candle. Imagine this pleasant
surprise! Their daughter Isobel who is about to go to study in Wales was present. I had good company.
At his point I would like to stress that through the years I
have photographed many of our family birthday parties. But Ian’s photograph is
my first for blowing a candle.
Thank you Kathleen and Ian. Isobel good luck in Wales.
|
