La casa de cartón

La casa de cartón[PDF / Epub] ☁ La casa de cartón By Martín Adán – Oaklandjobs.co.uk Published in 1928 to great acclaim when its author was just twenty years old The Cardboard House is sweeping kaleidoscopic and passionate The novel presents a stunning series of flashes — scenes moo Published in to great acclaim when its author was just twenty years old The Cardboard House is sweeping kaleidoscopic and passionate The novel presents a stunning series of flashes — scenes moods dreams and weather— as the narrator wanders through Barranco then an exclusive seaside resort outside Lima In one beautiful radical passage after another he skips from reveries of first loves La casa PDF/EPUB ² South Pole explorations and ocean tides to precise and unashamed notations of class and of race an Indian woman “with her hardshiny damp head of hair—a mud carving” to a gringo gobbling “synthetic milkcanned meat hard liuor”Adán’s own aristocratic family was in financial freefall at the time and as the translator notes The Cardboard House is as “subversive now as when it was written Adán’s uncompromising poetic vision and the trueness and poetry of his voice constitute a heroic act against cultural colonialism”. The Cardboard House is a gallery of exuisite vignettes that are as colourful and bright as the talented impressionist’s miniatures of the world of himself of human beings of loveBeyond the fields the sierra; before the fields a creek lined with alder trees and women washing clothes and children all the same color of indifferent dirt It is two o’clock in the afternoon The sun struggles to free its rays from the branches into which it has fallen captive The sun — a rare hard golden lanky coleopteranEvery vignette is a flowery often extravagant embroidery created out of the vivid poetic imagesIn the bewitched mirror of the rainy street — a drop of milk the streetlamp’s iridescent globe; a drop of water the sky above; a drop of blood one’s self with this foolish joy at winter’s unannounced arrival I am now that man with no age or race who appears in geography monographs with ridiculous clothes a somber face his arms spread wide as he arranges India ink pastures and charcoal clouds — the engraving’s sparse ragged landscapeEvery vignette is an iridescent tessera and all those brilliant pieces add up to a fantastically beautiful mosaicA nighttime stroll We have found a street hidden from the sky by dense serious foliage Now the sky does not exist; it has been rolled up like a rug leaving barren the floorboards of space where the worlds walk high society slowly silently fastidiously Now I love you as I have never loved you — truly painfully I don’t know how Walking through the street that returns our footsteps and our voices to us as in a cavernIn the strange way Martín Adán even augured his tenebrous future “Life is not a river that flows life is a puddle that stagnates” It must have something to do with the presence of the paragraph That which makes it obvious that one isn’t reading poetry The paragraph distinguished from those lines of eneven lengths which may or may not rhyme The presence of paragraphs that tell me just maybe I’ll be able to understand what I’m preparing to read Wonderful wonderful paragraphsBut there are those damned prose poems Those deceptive paragraphs which may or may not yield up meaning or understanding or anything that a reader who’s almost exclusively drawn to prose might expect hope for? The familiar made alien by inclusion in the prose poem And sometimes sometimes the familiar made alien is exactly what one wanted without knowing it Exactly what was needed at a particular time ExactlyperfectIn Martín Adán’s The Cardboard House readers are treated to the sensations memories reflections of a narrator whose family vacationed in the Barranco section of Lima once a seaside resort recently like the fortunes of the narrator’s family fallen into disrepair It’s the story of first loves friends friendly rivalry tourists loss and so so much Minus of course the story which is only suggested hinted at revealed in its absence A story the way a poet might tell itThis afternoon the world is a potato in a sack The sack is a small white dusty sky like the small sacks used for carrying flour The world is little dark gritty as if just harvested in some unknown agricultural infinity I have gone to the countryside to see the clouds and the alfalfa fields But I have gone almost at night and I will no longer be able to smell the smells of the afternoon tactile that are smelled through the skin Out of its dusty whiteness the sky—affiliated with the vanguard—creates round multicolored clouds that at times look like German balls and at others really like the clouds of Norah Borges Now I have to smell colors And the road I take turns into a crossroads And the four pathways born to the road screech like newborn babes they want to be rocked and the wind turns into a swinging young dandy after nightfall and does not want to rock roads the air puts on oxford trousers and there is no way to convince it that it is not a man I walk away from the sky And as I leave the country side surrounded by urbanizations I notice the countryside is in the sky a flock of fat fleecy clouds—award winners at the Exposition—romp about in the green sky And this I see from far away so far away that I get into bed to sweat colors Norah Borges’ clouds Not for everyone perhaps but certainly one for the poets out there or the poetry inclined or the poetry tolerant those like myself who can occasionally muddle through any type of writing as long it’s beautiful; and this is Five stars enthusiastically given just for you maybe if you’re of a mind to Adán's words work like memory not a long and spooling high def replaying of people and events but razor sharp fragments that can injure if mishandled The sea is a soul we once had that we cannot find that we barely remembered as our own a soul that is always different along every esplanadeThis book is a proem a masterful use of language that tells a story that isn't a story It is un put down able It can be devoured in a sitting But it has the heuristic timbre of a millennium old devotional that is intended for daily ingestion a single section to be read silently on one's knees at sunrise recited to the wind at noon and sung as an aria to the stars in the evening Your star is nothing but a star that no doubt views things as you do and its flickering is nothing but fatigue at having to look in a way that has nothing to do with its feelingsWhat 18 year old writes like that? Not just one sentence but hundreds and hundreds like it? At 18 I had the high score on bert at DJ's Pizza in Kingwood Texas I had that going for me Because one's own life is a puddle but the lives of others are faces that come to look at themselves in it the only prose work from martín adán the cardboard house la casa de cartón was originally published in 1928 when the peruvian poet was twenty years young set in the barranco district of lima the cardboard house came to be an influential work preceding the latin american boom nearly plotless the story follows a young narrator around the city's resort area as he makes fragmentary observations about the intriguing sights and individuals he encounters along his way with rich descriptive and melodious prose the cardboard house is a thoughtful and beautifully written work sadly it appears that none of adán's collections of poetry have ever been translated into englishgraywolf press first published the cardboard house in a slightly different translation in 1990 but it uickly went out of print in this new edition katherine silver aira sada castellanos moya et al revisited her previous translation updating it with minor revisions an uncovered fragment omitted from the original book and an accompanying autobiographical poem written blindly composed in reply to correspondence seeking information about the poet and his life in the bewitched mirror of the rainy street a drop of milk the streetlamp's iridescent globe; a drop of water the sky above; a drop of blood one's self with this foolish joy at winter's unannounced arrival For those curious about Clarice Lispector’s Agua Viva or Viscount Lascano Tegui’s On Elegance While Sleeping get this instead; I wish I did Instead sheer luck ordained that I’d stumble across it at my new local library – a tiny clapboard place near the beach in a sleepy town that's hardly the Barranco but isn't too dissimilar – only a week or so after Mike Puma's review What is it? A kind of prose poem or a series of them or a prose piece made of fragments that often ascend to poetry At times it’s like the physical descriptions from The Book of Disuiet without the Soaresian philosophy At times it’s near indecipherable like Agua Viva but less grandiose At times like On Elegance While Sleeping it’s the everyday outpourings of a perceptive youth funny random seeming but unlike Tegui never flippant or glib What does it ‘mean’? Apparently Adan said he’d written it to practice the rules his grammar professor gave him and while at times I doubted the wisdom behind it I never found it callow or vainglorious which for the work of a man of twenty so indifferent to novelistic tradition is impressive In the back cover blurb Vargas Llosa calls it ‘profoundly realist’ and in a way I agree It’s as if the young Adan took to wandering with a notebook taking it out to note the interplay of his thoughts with the places he discovered and the interplay of the act of writing with those thoughts and places too Even his metaphors seem to come direct from whatever surrounds him as he writesMy life is a hole dug with the hands of a truant child in the sands of a beach – a malignant and tiny hole that distorts the reflections of gentlemen who scold truant children the image of respectable gentlemen who come to the beach and infest the sea air – so clean so brilliant – with their horrible office odours Such is my life – a little puddle on the beach – so now you see why I cannot be sad The high tide undoes me but another truant child digs me again at the other end of the beach and I cease to exist for a few days during which time I learn always anew the joy of not existing and the joy of resuscitatingWho knows why this book gives me pleasure? For a while I felt repulsed by these novels without plots; none of them I felt came close to Pessoa But there’s something in this one – the freedom the way of seeing – that cheers me despite the occasionally too jarring angularity or self indulgence of the writing Contrast it with Agua VivaI struggle to conuer deeply my freedom of sensations and thoughts without any utilitarian meaning I am alone I and my freedom And I think I see the problem Lispector describes what Adan does There is no manifesto in Adan or if so it’s hidden His is a natural and spontaneous outpouring Deeply felt it may or may not be but it’s real Not – like the Viscount Tegui whose book in its repulsive Dalkey edition irritates me just to look at it or the earnest Lispector – a piece of theatre Why make these contrasts? Maybe because I’ve been looking for something like this and not knowing it and had despaired of finding it Only now do I notice a similarity in the cover blurbs of Tegui and Lispector ‘A hidden genius of Argentine literature’ says Le Monde of Tegui; ‘One of the hidden geniuses of the twentieth century’ says Colm Toibin of Lispector Sure we all want to uncover those ‘hidden geniuses’ and on the strength of The Cardboard House I can’t definitely say Adan ualifies But boy he has potential Six poetry collections were published by this notorious recluse in his lifetime – treasures waiting to be discovered? Anyone who wants to do a two for one swap get in touch This is a book I’d like to have with me to turn back to Review to come A remarkable first book written by an eighteen year old kid I have trouble believing he did not have help either with the original publisher or translator of the time The distinguished and mature sophistication exhibited was unbelievable for a kid that age and my bull shit radar was smoking from being over worked Nonetheless credit is due this beautiful work Reading like a long prose poem the images were dreamlike and lyrical however there was no character or event I ever connected with There was plenty of place setting in the poem and its raw beauty was stupendousHannah Alpert Abrams has written a review of the novel which can be found here is possible I shan't have much to say on the matter other than this rating above and my previous reading progress reports This is outstanding Every sentence combines words in ways we never employ in daily life but make imaginative sense here Adan describes his world in the Barranco suburb of Lima in the 1920s Surreal essential wild bitter erotic youthful a wonderful book An ice cream vendor’s trumpet drew attention to a nocturnal howling of dogs symphony of tin and moon rip roaring from the beginning a rip that exposed black canine palates bristling with taste buds as hard as calluses If their singing could be musically annotated it would have to be done on a temperature scale on graph paper with a dotted line with odd numbers Musical skeleton Forty two degrees Fahrenheit a fatal fever A whirlwind of light and dust rises to the sun from a nearby field surrounded by thick adobe wallsMartín Adán 1908 – 1985 was a Peruvian poet who published his only novel The Cardboard House when he was twenty years old The book meanders through page long vignettes of life in Lima surrounded by sky sea and city Adán’s work in general is described as hermetic metaphysical deep full of symbolic metaphors That may be so but from a superficial literary standpoint—were there such a thing—in Cardboard House he excels at lyrical descriptions of the commonplace seaside scenes In particular Katherine Silver the translator renders Adán's prose exuisitely This is a book for any connoisseur of the rich poetic image and anyone hoping to polish up their own writing Adán employs most figures of speech—the ones usually treated as rhetorical tricks—and he does so with such unpretentiousness and nuance we'd all do well to learn from himTo be savoured and reread The slope of the cliff plunged into fig trees moist earth trenches moss vines Japanese pavilions from top to bottom from the parish church to the beach Suddenly the sinister rampant road twisted And riding a covered sled — on one side light; on the other a make believe cavern and an invisible madonna and a miracle of candles that stay lit under drips — it fell onto the platform 27This afternoon the world is a potato in a sack The sack is a small white dusty sky like the small sacks used for carrying flour The world is little dark gritty as if just harvested in some unknown agricultural infinity I have gone to the countryside to see the clouds and the alfalfa fields But I have gone almost at night and I will no longer be able to smell the scents of the afternoon tactile scents that are smelled through the skin 45

La casa de cartón PDF/EPUB é La casa  PDF/EPUB ²
  • Paperback
  • 128 pages
  • La casa de cartón
  • Martín Adán
  • English
  • 20 March 2015
  • 9780811219594