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A review by jimmylorunning
Save Twilight: Selected Poems by Julio Cortázar
4.0
Cortázar isn't known for his poetry, but his poetry is pretty good. This is a very charming, soft book. It has the childlike playful quality of his prose, and the rhythms of a dream, and can sometimes be endearingly simple without being simplistic.
Every day we're more, we who believe less
in so many things that made our lives more full,
Plato's or Goethe's highest, most indisputable values,
the word, its dove above history's ark,
the work's survival, the family line and our inheritance.
The translator notes in the preface that Cortázar wrote poems his whole life, but never published until the last year of his life. The result was a 339 page book of poems that he insisted be read in a random manner. He didn't want to impose an order to them at all. It's as if he feels uneasy calling it a finished product, to be appreciated in a certain way.
Which isn't to say we fall with the fervor of neophytes
for that science landing its robots on the moon;
the truth of the matter is it leaves us cold,
and if Dr. Barnard transplants a heart
we'd prefer a thousand times over that anyone's happiness
be the exact, essential reflection of life
until their irreplaceable heart might softly say enough.
He injects prose-pieces in the middle of the poems as well as "found graphics and amusing asides on the process of making his selection." Unfortunately for English readers, this has been edited into a 167 page bilingual edition (which means only half that amount of pages in English). I would have loved to see some of those found graphics, since I think that kind of playfulness is integral to appreciating Cortazar's unique aesthetic, but none of them have been included in this smaller version.
Every day we're more, we who believe less
in the utilization of humanism
for the stereophonic nirvana
of mandarins and esthetes.
Still, a lot of his personality comes through in these poems, not only because they are personal, but because the prose pieces put a refreshing light on his thought processes. Cortázar does not hide behind his art. I like to imagine him forever the way he is sitting on this book cover, completely absorbed in communication paw-wise, he looks so at home, so open and relaxed, as if he had just woken up from a long dream refreshed. Many of the poems have this feel too (the prose poem 'Background' about insomnia and dreams is fantastic).
Which doesn't mean
that when there's a moment's peace
we don't read Rilke, Plato or Verlaine,
or listen to the clear clarions,
or look at the trembling angels
of Angelico.
Incidentally, I just learned that his cats names are Calac and Polanco, which suddenly adds charm to those recurring characters who keep resurfacing and inserting their chit-chat in almost all his books.
Every day we're more, we who believe less
in so many things that made our lives more full,
Plato's or Goethe's highest, most indisputable values,
the word, its dove above history's ark,
the work's survival, the family line and our inheritance.
The translator notes in the preface that Cortázar wrote poems his whole life, but never published until the last year of his life. The result was a 339 page book of poems that he insisted be read in a random manner. He didn't want to impose an order to them at all. It's as if he feels uneasy calling it a finished product, to be appreciated in a certain way.
Which isn't to say we fall with the fervor of neophytes
for that science landing its robots on the moon;
the truth of the matter is it leaves us cold,
and if Dr. Barnard transplants a heart
we'd prefer a thousand times over that anyone's happiness
be the exact, essential reflection of life
until their irreplaceable heart might softly say enough.
He injects prose-pieces in the middle of the poems as well as "found graphics and amusing asides on the process of making his selection." Unfortunately for English readers, this has been edited into a 167 page bilingual edition (which means only half that amount of pages in English). I would have loved to see some of those found graphics, since I think that kind of playfulness is integral to appreciating Cortazar's unique aesthetic, but none of them have been included in this smaller version.
Every day we're more, we who believe less
in the utilization of humanism
for the stereophonic nirvana
of mandarins and esthetes.
Still, a lot of his personality comes through in these poems, not only because they are personal, but because the prose pieces put a refreshing light on his thought processes. Cortázar does not hide behind his art. I like to imagine him forever the way he is sitting on this book cover, completely absorbed in communication paw-wise, he looks so at home, so open and relaxed, as if he had just woken up from a long dream refreshed. Many of the poems have this feel too (the prose poem 'Background' about insomnia and dreams is fantastic).
Which doesn't mean
that when there's a moment's peace
we don't read Rilke, Plato or Verlaine,
or listen to the clear clarions,
or look at the trembling angels
of Angelico.
Incidentally, I just learned that his cats names are Calac and Polanco, which suddenly adds charm to those recurring characters who keep resurfacing and inserting their chit-chat in almost all his books.