Flee, thought, across the distance.
runninflyinrunniflyscootrunflyflyscootrunningrunningfly
I will catch you.
And the catching of you will be the knowing, the naming of you.
Because a name you must have.
name thing name signifier name word name name
The speed of the whirling dust in your wake as you pursue the horizon,
cloud of plumes scooting at an attainable height,
I will match with my gallop.
Let your name be... ñandú.
ñandú ñandú ñandú rhea
And mine will be gaucho.
And with my shoulder I raise my arm, I swing that with which
I will apprehend you:
three weighted ropes of different lengths, joined at one end.
ora bolas bolas bolas
With these I will capture you.
I will attain and retain and ascertain you,
thought with the heft and hurl of a
rhea.
Even as you flee I have cast my stones:
ora bolas bolas bolas
one to circumscribe you quickly
your legs
patas
step no more
while the second wraps further round to categorize you
tight
tighter
and the third, the longest, encircles you repeatedly to characterize and contextualize you,
tightest
thought brought down for analysis,
quick squeeze succulent
for dissection
and digestion.
But sometimes you thoughts are best, and most enticing,
when unfettered, scattered
clouds of plumes plumes clouds plumes clouds of plumes
across the pampas
and I
can only perceive you
remotely
with longing for your form.
Yes, that's often best.
Knowing you are out there in space
potential not kinetic
is another way of naming,
of imagining.
Flocks of thoughts roam free
and live and die unknown
until the hunt.
Showing posts with label Argentina. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Argentina. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Europe Syrup
There's a kind of a sticky-sweet pap that pervades Latin American cultural discourse: a syncretic residue, patina of questionable glories, that many accept at face value. It is a treacle preferred worldwide, and its main ingredient is Eurocentrism.
A majority of us in the Americas speak and write European languages, but try as Neruda might to declare that the barbarism of the Spanish conquest was forgiven by the wondrous gift of the Castilian language, European languages merely replaced indigenous ones. Many of these were already quite complex, and although they did not have, at the time of European contact, the chirographic and even typographical advances that some of the European languages had so recently developed themselves, they were rich in other ways, including synesthetic picture writing in Mesoamerica, and the tactile essence of the Andean quipus as well as the stelae of several cultures. In the case of Nheengatu, the língua geral of colonial Brazil, the vocabulary of an indigenous language (Tupinambá) was grafted onto the syntax of a European one (Portuguese). The happily wed pidgin functioned fine, far and wide, over several centuries and is still spoken today.
It is telling that nouns are the part of speech in which the indigenous languages most greatly enriched the European ones. Flora, fauna, and objects unfamiliar to the Europeans were either assimilated via their indigenous signifieds (often mispronounced or "adapted" to European pronunciations) or misnamed to fit European experience (i.e. tigre for jaguar). But verbs, as in ways of doing and being and thinking? Precious few. And yet certain cultural practices and cognitive processes persist in the Americas, evident in behavioral preferences. For example, why does traditional Mexican pedagogy continue to focus so intensely on penmanship, to the detriment of content, in the instruction of writing skills? Perhaps it is the result of a double legacy: the Mexica tlacuilos--scribes whose job was to copy words as objects, not produce new sequences of them--and the colonial New Spanish Catholic focus on teaching Latin, more than Castilian, as a language already set in stone, a language to memorize in inalterable prayers.
Inquisitorial proscriptions (among other factors) delayed the establishment of printing presses in the Iberian colonies.Yet in the Lusophone world today, Brazil dominates the publishing industry as well as film and television production. Huge and powerful Brazil is the "gigante acordado"; however, in the Spanish-speaking world, the majority of the main publishers are now Spanish-owned, despite strong growth in the publishing industries of Mexico, Argentina, and Chile in the late 20th century. Nonetheless, this imbalance pertains only to print. The Spanish American countries, and Brazil, compete very well with Spain and other countries in terms of television and film output. Such video productions often aim to promote, say, Mexican tourism or Brazilian landscapes, foregrounding contemporary interpretations of the autochthonous for viewers both domestic and foreign.
It is perhaps surprising that so many manifestations of autochthonous lifeways survived the Iberian invasions. But I find it more surprising that there still exists, in the 21st century, so much deference to Europe. European writers, especially theorists and philosophers but even creative writers, continue to be more widely studied in Latin America than their homegrown counterparts. But those European theorists and thinkers have so much to say, and they've said it so well, and produced so much over a longer period of time in the language, and it's so widely discussed!, one might object. Well, one thing leads to another, doesn't it? I would suggest that the underlying assumption is that certain kinds of thinking don't happen outside Europe or the Anglo West. As much as we like to think about how the expressions of a given language can shape (and thus limit) thought in that language, to assert that philosophy has not and cannot be expressed in a non-European language is absurd. The challenge is to not just take for granted that philosophy is all about the Germans or the French.
In Larry Baxter's novel The Mayan Glyph, the cure for an unknown epidemic hinges on the deciphering of classic-era Mayan glyphs that show that at least one Mayan scientist was on the track of the periodic table of the elements. The visual design of his discovery had been expressed in a way unfamiliar to Western convention. The premise is fictitious though not implausible, given how much we know about Mayan advances in math and astronomy. One wonders just how much can be recovered, or rediscovered, regarding American indigenous and also African attainments in the various fields of knowledge, including definitions of (or variations on) epistemology itself. It all comes down to language: visual, oral, even tactile.
Hold the syrup.
A majority of us in the Americas speak and write European languages, but try as Neruda might to declare that the barbarism of the Spanish conquest was forgiven by the wondrous gift of the Castilian language, European languages merely replaced indigenous ones. Many of these were already quite complex, and although they did not have, at the time of European contact, the chirographic and even typographical advances that some of the European languages had so recently developed themselves, they were rich in other ways, including synesthetic picture writing in Mesoamerica, and the tactile essence of the Andean quipus as well as the stelae of several cultures. In the case of Nheengatu, the língua geral of colonial Brazil, the vocabulary of an indigenous language (Tupinambá) was grafted onto the syntax of a European one (Portuguese). The happily wed pidgin functioned fine, far and wide, over several centuries and is still spoken today.
It is telling that nouns are the part of speech in which the indigenous languages most greatly enriched the European ones. Flora, fauna, and objects unfamiliar to the Europeans were either assimilated via their indigenous signifieds (often mispronounced or "adapted" to European pronunciations) or misnamed to fit European experience (i.e. tigre for jaguar). But verbs, as in ways of doing and being and thinking? Precious few. And yet certain cultural practices and cognitive processes persist in the Americas, evident in behavioral preferences. For example, why does traditional Mexican pedagogy continue to focus so intensely on penmanship, to the detriment of content, in the instruction of writing skills? Perhaps it is the result of a double legacy: the Mexica tlacuilos--scribes whose job was to copy words as objects, not produce new sequences of them--and the colonial New Spanish Catholic focus on teaching Latin, more than Castilian, as a language already set in stone, a language to memorize in inalterable prayers.
Inquisitorial proscriptions (among other factors) delayed the establishment of printing presses in the Iberian colonies.Yet in the Lusophone world today, Brazil dominates the publishing industry as well as film and television production. Huge and powerful Brazil is the "gigante acordado"; however, in the Spanish-speaking world, the majority of the main publishers are now Spanish-owned, despite strong growth in the publishing industries of Mexico, Argentina, and Chile in the late 20th century. Nonetheless, this imbalance pertains only to print. The Spanish American countries, and Brazil, compete very well with Spain and other countries in terms of television and film output. Such video productions often aim to promote, say, Mexican tourism or Brazilian landscapes, foregrounding contemporary interpretations of the autochthonous for viewers both domestic and foreign.
It is perhaps surprising that so many manifestations of autochthonous lifeways survived the Iberian invasions. But I find it more surprising that there still exists, in the 21st century, so much deference to Europe. European writers, especially theorists and philosophers but even creative writers, continue to be more widely studied in Latin America than their homegrown counterparts. But those European theorists and thinkers have so much to say, and they've said it so well, and produced so much over a longer period of time in the language, and it's so widely discussed!, one might object. Well, one thing leads to another, doesn't it? I would suggest that the underlying assumption is that certain kinds of thinking don't happen outside Europe or the Anglo West. As much as we like to think about how the expressions of a given language can shape (and thus limit) thought in that language, to assert that philosophy has not and cannot be expressed in a non-European language is absurd. The challenge is to not just take for granted that philosophy is all about the Germans or the French.
In Larry Baxter's novel The Mayan Glyph, the cure for an unknown epidemic hinges on the deciphering of classic-era Mayan glyphs that show that at least one Mayan scientist was on the track of the periodic table of the elements. The visual design of his discovery had been expressed in a way unfamiliar to Western convention. The premise is fictitious though not implausible, given how much we know about Mayan advances in math and astronomy. One wonders just how much can be recovered, or rediscovered, regarding American indigenous and also African attainments in the various fields of knowledge, including definitions of (or variations on) epistemology itself. It all comes down to language: visual, oral, even tactile.
Hold the syrup.
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!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Al concierto con Cortázar
Nadie como Julio Cortázar para narrar la música. O, más específico: para narrar el desconcierto de un concierto. Precisamente por su dominio tan acertado del flujo temporal de la narrativa, o sea todo relativo al ritmo, al suspenso, al muy medido conteo silábico para llegar al final de una oración o un párrafo, el tema de la música le viene como guante a la mano. Es innegable el gran interés que tenía Cortázar por el jazz, tema de "El perseguidor" y motivo de Rayuela, entre otras obras. De hecho, Rayuela se puede entender como una meditación musical, tanto por su estructura de rapsodia como por el tema musical, un constante en el texto. Y sin embargo, a pesar de la mayor relevancia temática del jazz en la novela, como sistema subversivo de improvisación y connotación, con su parentesco al juego lingüístico del glíglico inventado por los personajes, es la presencia más tradicional de la música clásica, sistema de denotación, que Cortázar explota para lograr una oposición entre proceso y producto, sean musicales o sean narrativos. Por ejemplo, llama la atención el recital de piano, en París, de Berthe Trépat, una pieza ultramoderna de puros acordes llamada "Tres movimientos discontinuos":
El abismo cómico entre las serias expectativas del público y la realidad banal del recital abre este espacio de 'desconcierto,' una profunidazación del aspecto temporal, inevitable como dimensión artística en la música tanto como en la literatura. Semejante es la reacción del narrador incauto en "La banda," ante un concierto insólito y sin previo aviso, de una banda de mujeres, donde unas pocas de ellas tocan sus instrumentos de veras (y mal), mientras que la mayoría tan sólo juguetean con los instrumentos.
Claro que la simultaneidad de condiciones contradictorias, o aun estados opuestos y ostensiblemente irreconciliables, es una marca registrada de la narrativa del maestro argentino.Tal vez el mayor 'desconcierto' sea el que emerge, no sin presagio pero sí con una fuerza sorpresiva, al final del concierto en "Las ménades." El narrador esnob, que no entiende ni disculpa el desenfrenado entusiasmo de los demás, paulatinamente se da cuenta de lo que está presenciando. En medio de un párrafo largo describiendo el final de la Quinta sinfonía de Beethoven, que remata el concierto:
Los gritos se multiplican, acompañados por movimientos bruscos de varios entre las plateas, hasta que al tocar los útimos acordes, el director y los músicos son atacados por un público abandonado al frenesí orgiástico del título (las ménades eran las seguidoras de Dioniso que se descontrolaban en ritos violentos). El narrador / testigo, que nos provoca por lo mucho que deja sin decir, al salir por fin del teatro se topa con la que parece ser la jefa de las ménades:
Con esa repetición muy adrede de "se pasaba la lengua por los labios" termina el cuento, y los lectores quedamos intrigados, perplejos, maravillados ante el desatado poder emotivo de ese movimiento a través del tiempo que es la música, y también la narrativa.
Entre los acordes 7 y 8 restallaron toses, entre el 12 y el 13 alguien raspó enérgicamente un fósforo, entre el 14 y el 15 pudo oírse distintamente la expresión 'Ah, merde alors!' proferida por una jovencita rubia.
El abismo cómico entre las serias expectativas del público y la realidad banal del recital abre este espacio de 'desconcierto,' una profunidazación del aspecto temporal, inevitable como dimensión artística en la música tanto como en la literatura. Semejante es la reacción del narrador incauto en "La banda," ante un concierto insólito y sin previo aviso, de una banda de mujeres, donde unas pocas de ellas tocan sus instrumentos de veras (y mal), mientras que la mayoría tan sólo juguetean con los instrumentos.
Tenía al mismo tiempo ganas de reírme a gritos, de putear a todo el mundo, y de irme.
Claro que la simultaneidad de condiciones contradictorias, o aun estados opuestos y ostensiblemente irreconciliables, es una marca registrada de la narrativa del maestro argentino.Tal vez el mayor 'desconcierto' sea el que emerge, no sin presagio pero sí con una fuerza sorpresiva, al final del concierto en "Las ménades." El narrador esnob, que no entiende ni disculpa el desenfrenado entusiasmo de los demás, paulatinamente se da cuenta de lo que está presenciando. En medio de un párrafo largo describiendo el final de la Quinta sinfonía de Beethoven, que remata el concierto:
Casi nadie oyó el primer grito porque fue ahogado y corto, pero como la muchacha estaba justamente delante de mí, su convulsión me sorprendió y al mismo tiempo la oí gritar, entre un gran acorde de metales y maderas.
Los gritos se multiplican, acompañados por movimientos bruscos de varios entre las plateas, hasta que al tocar los útimos acordes, el director y los músicos son atacados por un público abandonado al frenesí orgiástico del título (las ménades eran las seguidoras de Dioniso que se descontrolaban en ritos violentos). El narrador / testigo, que nos provoca por lo mucho que deja sin decir, al salir por fin del teatro se topa con la que parece ser la jefa de las ménades:
[...] en ese momento asomaron al foyer la mujer vestida de rojo y sus seguidores. Los hombres marchaban detrás de ella como antes y parecían cubrirse mutuamente para que no se viera el destrozo de sus ropas. Pero la mujer vestida de rojo iba al frente, mirando altaneramente, y cuando estuve a su lado vi que se pasaba la lengua por los labios, lenta y golosamente se pasaba la lengua por los labios que sonreían.
Con esa repetición muy adrede de "se pasaba la lengua por los labios" termina el cuento, y los lectores quedamos intrigados, perplejos, maravillados ante el desatado poder emotivo de ese movimiento a través del tiempo que es la música, y también la narrativa.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Iconos de la geografía latinoamericana
Los siguientes íconos sintetizan formas geopolíticas e ideas culturales de los países latinoamericanos. Se los ofrezco a mis estudiantes, con algunos significados sugeridos para cada ícono, en espíritu didáctico.
México pirámide por su simbólica presencia cultural mesoamericana; semejanza topográfica al país en relieve / cornucopia por su semejanza al mapa bidimensional; símbolo de la abundancia del país (en varios sentidos)
Centroamérica volcán por la presencia volcánica en casi todas las naciones del istmo / plátano por la forma del istmo y el papel protagónico de su cultivo en la zona
Cuba lagarto por su forma en el mapa, basado en el poema de Nicolás Guillén con su verso del "largo lagarto verde"
Haití, República Dominicana puños en oposición por su forma en el mapa, compartiendo la isla de La Española, y por su historia de agresiones mutuas
Puerto Rico cofre de tesoro por la riqueza implícita en su nombre y por su forma casi rectangular
Venezuela corona por ocupar la corona de Sudamérica en el mapa; por la corona de estrellas en su bandera; por la "industria" del certamen Miss Universo (6 ganadoras desde 1971)
Colombia espiral por su forma en el mapa; por recordar las imágenes de novelas colombianas La vorágine y Cien años de soledad (la tormenta al final)
Ecuador bola de helado por el frío de las alturas andinas, derritiéndose hacia el este con el declive hacia el calor de la selva amazónica, sugiriendo la falta del cono que acompaña el helado, que sería un territorio de forma cónica hacia el este, fuera de su territorio actual, que Ecuador reclamaba
Perú cabeza de cóndor por su parecido en el mapa (con su pico hacia el noreste) y por representar de esa manera uno de los máximos símbolos espirituales de varias culturas andinas, incluyendo a los incas
Bolivia corazón por su ubicación central y la expresión popular, "corazón de Sudamérica"
Chile termómetro por su semejanza bidimensional; porque la gama de sus climas refleja los cambios en el mercurio, desde el frío de la zona sureña hasta el calor del desierto de Atacama en el norte; por ser El Mercurio el nombre del diario principal de la nación
Paraguay cancha de fútbol por la popularidad del deporte y por asemejar el país los dos lados, divididos por el Río Paraguay, de una cancha de futból en un momento de acción en el lado oriental, donde está la gran mayoría de la población
Argentina bombacha el pantalón suelto típico de los gauchos, por su forma en el mapa y por representar el gaucho, como del célebre poema Martín Fierro, símbolo de lo argentino
Uruguay cuña de queso por su creación como estado-tapón literal entre Brasil y Argentina; por evocar la gran población de ganado
Brasil piraña por su semejanza a la imagen cuando visto desde el norte en el mapa; por evocar el acto de devorar, acto clave simbólico en el concepto artístico de Oswald de Andrade, la antropofagia / amuleto por sugerir la forma de un muiraquitã amazónico o una figa afro-brasileña
México pirámide por su simbólica presencia cultural mesoamericana; semejanza topográfica al país en relieve / cornucopia por su semejanza al mapa bidimensional; símbolo de la abundancia del país (en varios sentidos)
Centroamérica volcán por la presencia volcánica en casi todas las naciones del istmo / plátano por la forma del istmo y el papel protagónico de su cultivo en la zona
Cuba lagarto por su forma en el mapa, basado en el poema de Nicolás Guillén con su verso del "largo lagarto verde"
Haití, República Dominicana puños en oposición por su forma en el mapa, compartiendo la isla de La Española, y por su historia de agresiones mutuas
Puerto Rico cofre de tesoro por la riqueza implícita en su nombre y por su forma casi rectangular
Venezuela corona por ocupar la corona de Sudamérica en el mapa; por la corona de estrellas en su bandera; por la "industria" del certamen Miss Universo (6 ganadoras desde 1971)
Colombia espiral por su forma en el mapa; por recordar las imágenes de novelas colombianas La vorágine y Cien años de soledad (la tormenta al final)
Ecuador bola de helado por el frío de las alturas andinas, derritiéndose hacia el este con el declive hacia el calor de la selva amazónica, sugiriendo la falta del cono que acompaña el helado, que sería un territorio de forma cónica hacia el este, fuera de su territorio actual, que Ecuador reclamaba
Perú cabeza de cóndor por su parecido en el mapa (con su pico hacia el noreste) y por representar de esa manera uno de los máximos símbolos espirituales de varias culturas andinas, incluyendo a los incas
Bolivia corazón por su ubicación central y la expresión popular, "corazón de Sudamérica"
Chile termómetro por su semejanza bidimensional; porque la gama de sus climas refleja los cambios en el mercurio, desde el frío de la zona sureña hasta el calor del desierto de Atacama en el norte; por ser El Mercurio el nombre del diario principal de la nación
Paraguay cancha de fútbol por la popularidad del deporte y por asemejar el país los dos lados, divididos por el Río Paraguay, de una cancha de futból en un momento de acción en el lado oriental, donde está la gran mayoría de la población
Argentina bombacha el pantalón suelto típico de los gauchos, por su forma en el mapa y por representar el gaucho, como del célebre poema Martín Fierro, símbolo de lo argentino
Uruguay cuña de queso por su creación como estado-tapón literal entre Brasil y Argentina; por evocar la gran población de ganado
Brasil piraña por su semejanza a la imagen cuando visto desde el norte en el mapa; por evocar el acto de devorar, acto clave simbólico en el concepto artístico de Oswald de Andrade, la antropofagia / amuleto por sugerir la forma de un muiraquitã amazónico o una figa afro-brasileña
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