Iracema e América. Uma é mulher, e a outra, terra: relação anagramática estabelecida por José de Alencar no popular romance epónimo de 1865, entre o nome da "virgem dos lábios de mel" (do tupi) e o continente chamado pelo nome do cartógrafo e navegador Vespucci. Aliás uma metáfora tão velha quanto Eva - o útero da mulher é terra que dá frutos. Daí no romance de Alencar o continente indígena explorado é femenino, e o explorador europeu, masculino. O fato de ela ser virgem é indicativo de que os europeus ignoraram, às vezes sem querer, os descobrimentos feitos pelos próprios indígenas enquanto às características do meio ambiente deles. Por isso Iracema é também sinónimo da utopia (América), imaginada, desejada antes de procurada pelos marinheiros do velho continente, masculinos na grande maioria. Eles imaginaram também as Amazonas; desejo deles de serem os conquistados?
Então, qual fêmea é quem? Quem tem seios e quem montanhas? Quem tem sistema fluvial e quem fluxo menstrual? A equivalência alegórica une campos semânticos e os confunde, um contendo o outro e vice versa, sugerência que resulta do arranjo anagramático dos dois As, um C, um E, um I, um M e um R nos nomes delas. São quase as mesmas letras que conformam o nome do filho, MOACIR, fruto de Iracema e do guerreiro português Martim. Na sopa de letras de "Moacir" só falta é mesmo o O de "Iracemo" ou "Américo."
Uma pergunta: seria o caso que a mulher pode ser a exploradora, e o homem--o "Iracemo"--a metáfora da terra? Existe uma possível interpretação desse motivo no Popul Vuh, "Conselhos da Comunidade" dos maias quiché. A intrépida garota Ixquic recebe na mão a saliva da boca do Han-Hunahpu, cuja cabeça cortada pendura duma árvore depois de sacrificado pelos Senhores da Morte. Pela saliva ela fica grávida com os gêmeos, Hunahpu e Ixbalanqué, que convertem-se em heróis do povo. E da mesma Pindorama, terra de Iracema, temos um exemplo das Estórias do Vovô Pajé por Emil de Castro: "A Serpente que Foi para o Céu." Coisa parecida ao caso quiché: um cabelo do homem, colocado num ovo que a mulher chupa, impregna ela. Depois a saliva masculina que enche uma sorva fala, e nasce uma serpente que, como os heróis gêmeos, sobe ao céu e converte-se em presença natural benévola ao fim do conto.
Estamos vendo que, de jeito autóctone ou de maneira européia, a metáfora fica inalterável: da terra sai o fruto e da mulher sai o filho, seja ele serpente, herói, ou a personificação romântica da mestiçagem. "Iracemo" parece ser uma alegoria pouco frutífera mesmo, a não ser ele, como sugerido anteriormente, outro aspecto anagramático de Moacir como filho de dois sangues e fundador de um povo mestiço!
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Medidas del Sol Azteca
Diecisiete de diciembre,
mil setecientos noventa:
bajo el Zócalo de México,
mientras cavaban la tierra,
unos obreros hallaron
un disco enorme de piedra
que pronto quedó apodado
como el Calendario Azteca.
Así renació Tonatiuh,
surgido de esa manera
sorpresiva, polvoriento,
con mueca de boca abierta
y con sed de sangre nueva.
Cerca de doscientos veinte
fueron los años so terra.
Siglos enteros de olvido
como los de las cuatro eras
anteriores: unos mundos
apagados como estrellas.
Un poco más de dos siglos
para serpientes gemelas
que, viéndose cara a cara,
circundan la periferia
de cola a cola encendidas:
Queztalcóatl y su cuate Ehécatl
sacan chispas de las lenguas.
Tres metros y medio mide
el diámetro de la rueda.
Los íconos de los días
forman, en aro, veintena:
lagarto, viento, más casa
e iguana el ciclo comienzan;
serpiente, muerte, venado,
conejo; luego agua, perra,
mono, hierba y caña; siguen
jaguar y águila, de guerra;
buitre, temblor, pedernal,
lluvia y flor el aro cierran
para contar las trecenas.
Veinticuatro toneladas
de basalto el astro pesa,
pero su imagen pesada
luce leve en la moneda.
¿Aguila o sol? preguntamos
cuando un buen volado se echa:
tan sólo por un instante
Tonatiuh a girar regresa,
colgado en el aire breve,
garras crispadas, hambrientas.
¿Sacrificio? ¿Destino? No:
opciones que se revelan,
caras y artes descubiertas.
mil setecientos noventa:
bajo el Zócalo de México,
mientras cavaban la tierra,
unos obreros hallaron
un disco enorme de piedra
que pronto quedó apodado
como el Calendario Azteca.
Así renació Tonatiuh,
surgido de esa manera
sorpresiva, polvoriento,
con mueca de boca abierta
y con sed de sangre nueva.
Cerca de doscientos veinte
fueron los años so terra.
Siglos enteros de olvido
como los de las cuatro eras
anteriores: unos mundos
apagados como estrellas.
Un poco más de dos siglos
para serpientes gemelas
que, viéndose cara a cara,
circundan la periferia
de cola a cola encendidas:
Queztalcóatl y su cuate Ehécatl
sacan chispas de las lenguas.
Tres metros y medio mide
el diámetro de la rueda.
Los íconos de los días
forman, en aro, veintena:
lagarto, viento, más casa
e iguana el ciclo comienzan;
serpiente, muerte, venado,
conejo; luego agua, perra,
mono, hierba y caña; siguen
jaguar y águila, de guerra;
buitre, temblor, pedernal,
lluvia y flor el aro cierran
para contar las trecenas.
Veinticuatro toneladas
de basalto el astro pesa,
pero su imagen pesada
luce leve en la moneda.
¿Aguila o sol? preguntamos
cuando un buen volado se echa:
tan sólo por un instante
Tonatiuh a girar regresa,
colgado en el aire breve,
garras crispadas, hambrientas.
¿Sacrificio? ¿Destino? No:
opciones que se revelan,
caras y artes descubiertas.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Procyonidae
I'd be sure to let out a whistle
if ever I saw a cacomistle,
but the fact is, regarding nomenclature beastly,
the original pronunciation is tlahcomiztli--
not to be confused with the ring-tailed cat,
whose name simply isn't as fancy as that,
but whose markings are similar
just the tail rings are dimmer,
and not nearly as bushy as on the raccoon,
rinsing her meals by the light of the moon.
Now, for sunshine frolicking, the only procyonid
is one who frolics more than any old lion did--
the one with the snout, the playful coati,
whose antics make zoogoers laugh a whole lotty!
Rarest to see is the elusive olingo
whose stench lingers on as he lets a slow stink grow,
but my favorite of all is the kinkajou.
It's got a wonderful thing or two--
one at each end: a tail that's prehensile
and a sticky pink tongue that's as long as a pencil.
Slender-tailed cat-like mammals Neotropical,
with mask-like markings, and plantigrade walkers all:
these are the animals that zoologists qualify
in the caniform carnivore family, Procyonidae!
if ever I saw a cacomistle,
but the fact is, regarding nomenclature beastly,
the original pronunciation is tlahcomiztli--
not to be confused with the ring-tailed cat,
whose name simply isn't as fancy as that,
but whose markings are similar
just the tail rings are dimmer,
and not nearly as bushy as on the raccoon,
rinsing her meals by the light of the moon.
Now, for sunshine frolicking, the only procyonid
is one who frolics more than any old lion did--
the one with the snout, the playful coati,
whose antics make zoogoers laugh a whole lotty!
Rarest to see is the elusive olingo
whose stench lingers on as he lets a slow stink grow,
but my favorite of all is the kinkajou.
It's got a wonderful thing or two--
one at each end: a tail that's prehensile
and a sticky pink tongue that's as long as a pencil.
Slender-tailed cat-like mammals Neotropical,
with mask-like markings, and plantigrade walkers all:
these are the animals that zoologists qualify
in the caniform carnivore family, Procyonidae!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Music from Spain to Latin America
The Tulsa Symphony Orchestra closed its "Around the World" 2009-2010 concert season on May 1 with a night of "Music from Spain to Latin America" conducted by James Bagwell. The fact that the previous concerts in the series all focused exclusively on one country--Germany, Italy, "America" (the United States), England, and France--whereas this concert slides from one side of the Atlantic to the other and back again:
(a) provides for a nice change of pace
(b) allows for a sensational range of pieces
(c) reinforces the perception that all Spanish-speaking (and Portuguese-speaking?) countries are the same
(d) all of the above
The answer is D! It was a terrific concert, just weakly contextualized. The concert series brochure features photos of iconic landmarks, one for each concert page (such as Neuschwanstein Castle for Germany); the featured photo for the "From Spain to Latin America" concert is Pão de Açucar (Sugarloaf Mountain) in Rio, even though no Brazilian or even Brazilian-inspired music appears on the program."Latin America" is a continent-plus sized area of which Argentina, Mexico, and Cuba are featured in the program; surely a better icon could have been selected. And so, in spite of Brazil's internationally famous musical traditions (and the opportunity to include at least Villa-Lobos!), the evening's pieces ranged from a Frenchman's composition about Spain (Chabrier's España) to a Mexican's composition based on a Cuban poem (Revueltas's Sensemayá): I have no complaint about artists finding inspiration anywhere they like, but for a series focused on nationalities, this particular hodgepodge does little to explore the nuances of most people's general understanding of "Latin" identity.
And maybe that's just fine--after all, it's about listening to great music, which this all certainly is. And even by the unrealistic measure of composer nationalities matching national inspirations, four of the six pieces are by composers taking on the styles of their own countries: de Falla's El sombrero de tres picos in Spain; Moncayo's Huapango in Mexico--something of an unofficial national anthem in that nation; and Piazzolla and Ginastera in Argentina, the former's Oblivion and Libertango and a suite of four dances from the latter's Estancia.
Rich Fisher's interview with James Bagwell on Studio Tulsa (KWGS) was very helpful in clarifying early 20th-century composers' experimentation with national identities in music, in all parts of the Americas, and identified the cross-border interest among the French and Spanish, for example. The program notes in Intermission offered insightful information on the composers and their creations as well. But the guest conductor, in his introductions to the compositions during the concert, twice used "Latin American" to mean "Spanish."
I should emphasize that I'm proud of TSO and how they rose from the ashes of the previous symphony organization. I have thoroughly enjoyed every one of their concerts this season. Stand-out performances from this particular concert, in my humble opinion, included their renditions of España, Huapango, and Libertango. And I am glad they brought attention to classical music in Latin America, no matter how obliquely. But I hope that sometime they can offer a concert featuring simply Argentina, Brazil, or Mexico (for example) on its own, equal weight with "America."
The Latin American outlook for next season is mixed, in more than one way: one of the announced concerts is titled "Broadway to Buenos Aires" (January 29, 2011) but with little evident connection to the Argentine capital other than Anderson's Blue Tango and the mythologized figure of Evita Perón through Webber's music. However, I also note that one of the announced guest conductors for next season is Uruguayan Gisele Ben-Dor, known especially for her promotion of works by Ginastera, Revueltas, and Villa-Lobos, among other Latin American composers. On March 12, 2011, she is slated to conduct compositions by Liszt, Prokofiev, and Brahms. It's all in the mix. ¡Viva TSO!
(a) provides for a nice change of pace
(b) allows for a sensational range of pieces
(c) reinforces the perception that all Spanish-speaking (and Portuguese-speaking?) countries are the same
(d) all of the above
The answer is D! It was a terrific concert, just weakly contextualized. The concert series brochure features photos of iconic landmarks, one for each concert page (such as Neuschwanstein Castle for Germany); the featured photo for the "From Spain to Latin America" concert is Pão de Açucar (Sugarloaf Mountain) in Rio, even though no Brazilian or even Brazilian-inspired music appears on the program."Latin America" is a continent-plus sized area of which Argentina, Mexico, and Cuba are featured in the program; surely a better icon could have been selected. And so, in spite of Brazil's internationally famous musical traditions (and the opportunity to include at least Villa-Lobos!), the evening's pieces ranged from a Frenchman's composition about Spain (Chabrier's España) to a Mexican's composition based on a Cuban poem (Revueltas's Sensemayá): I have no complaint about artists finding inspiration anywhere they like, but for a series focused on nationalities, this particular hodgepodge does little to explore the nuances of most people's general understanding of "Latin" identity.
And maybe that's just fine--after all, it's about listening to great music, which this all certainly is. And even by the unrealistic measure of composer nationalities matching national inspirations, four of the six pieces are by composers taking on the styles of their own countries: de Falla's El sombrero de tres picos in Spain; Moncayo's Huapango in Mexico--something of an unofficial national anthem in that nation; and Piazzolla and Ginastera in Argentina, the former's Oblivion and Libertango and a suite of four dances from the latter's Estancia.
Rich Fisher's interview with James Bagwell on Studio Tulsa (KWGS) was very helpful in clarifying early 20th-century composers' experimentation with national identities in music, in all parts of the Americas, and identified the cross-border interest among the French and Spanish, for example. The program notes in Intermission offered insightful information on the composers and their creations as well. But the guest conductor, in his introductions to the compositions during the concert, twice used "Latin American" to mean "Spanish."
I should emphasize that I'm proud of TSO and how they rose from the ashes of the previous symphony organization. I have thoroughly enjoyed every one of their concerts this season. Stand-out performances from this particular concert, in my humble opinion, included their renditions of España, Huapango, and Libertango. And I am glad they brought attention to classical music in Latin America, no matter how obliquely. But I hope that sometime they can offer a concert featuring simply Argentina, Brazil, or Mexico (for example) on its own, equal weight with "America."
The Latin American outlook for next season is mixed, in more than one way: one of the announced concerts is titled "Broadway to Buenos Aires" (January 29, 2011) but with little evident connection to the Argentine capital other than Anderson's Blue Tango and the mythologized figure of Evita Perón through Webber's music. However, I also note that one of the announced guest conductors for next season is Uruguayan Gisele Ben-Dor, known especially for her promotion of works by Ginastera, Revueltas, and Villa-Lobos, among other Latin American composers. On March 12, 2011, she is slated to conduct compositions by Liszt, Prokofiev, and Brahms. It's all in the mix. ¡Viva TSO!
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