Book file PDF easily for everyone and every device. This Book have some digital formats such us :paperbook, ebook, kindle, epub, fb2 and another formats. Because of his longevity and his continuous literary output up until the very end of his life, he lived to see himself rediscovered.
Many of his early works were long out of print, but were released in new editions during the early and mid s. Estaciones and the literary workshops In addition to his work as poet, Nandino is also recognized for his work as editor and publisher. The journal attracted critical attention in the U.
These reviews also noted the importance of the journal to young writers. His attitude toward young people was very radical; he gave them the books and journals that they would need. Here he continued his work with young writers including Jorge Esquinca. These workshops continued, with some interruption, until when he settled permanently in his home town of Cocula and established similar workshops there. Because of his continued dedication to helping establish young writers, the National Prize for Young Poets was named in his honor.
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I left forgiven and both of us ended up crying However, beginning with Eternidad de polvo Eternity of Dust, continuing with Cerca de lo lejos Close to Faraway, and culminating in Erotismo al rojo blanco White Heat Eroticism, , Nandino began to write his way out of the literary closet as well. There is a high price on maintaining erotic dissidence; with the hostility and taunts, one needs to adopt a language that is seemingly neutral, one that continuously describes the most personal life experiences and offers them as an intense abstraction.
The earlier language of the physician is still obvious, but the veiled, coded language has given way to simple, direct expression. His work is generally described as accessible and unadorned. His long life allowed him to explore these themes throughout his writing career. Cerca de lo lejos, , showed a radical change in style for Nandino. The long, formal nocturnes had been replaced with short, free-verse poems. Nearly deaf and blind, he lived alone, in a private world.
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He rose at and retired by in the evening, and wrote, as he pleased, in between. He ignored phone calls from Mexico City and declined all invitations to attend literary events Hernandez. He did, in fact, live his life exactly as he wanted, writing his poems until the very end. Personal interview. Cocula, Jalisco, Mexico. July 8, Aguilar, Enrique. Cohen, Sandro. Foster, David William. July 11, Montelongo, Daniel.
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Sandro Cohen, ed. Cerca de lo lejos. Erotismo al rojo blanco. Juntando mis pasos. Guadalajara, Jalisco: Ayuntamiento de Guadalajara, Por ella fui lascivo y no he dejado puro ni un poro de mi cuerpo. In my lust for life not a single pore of my body remains pure. In the absence of hands, a new touch will spring forth to graze the intangible presence of our bodies. An oblivion of words will form a precise language to understand the glances of our closed eyes.
Sleeping here in bed, our bodies will be like children huddled together as fear approaches Keep sleeping without seeing me, awake here beside you. Y en el azul que esconde la evidencia yo descubro tu faz inolvidada, y sufro la presencia de tu ausencia. And in the blue that hides the proof I discover your unforgettable face, and suffer the presence of your absence. You are in me, a fervent pulse of my trembling nervous system, in my veins of stormy instinct, in the oceans of insomnia in my head. You are outside of me, like the slope of vague voices, of sobs, of edges of dark secrets, and the touch of absent caresses.
You cover and uncover me, leaving no space without your presence, no atom without trace of your breath. Further than the names and touches, than the gray spider of the pubis, than the red mollusks of tongues. Further than voice and vice, than strong chains of heredity, than the clock of age, of innocence. Further than the terror of shadows, than the luminous pulse of stars, than the subterranean scream of blood.
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Further than the torture of torsos, than the sea waters of kisses, than the blue waves of remembering. Further than the prison of embraces, than the eternal clamor of hope, than the smell of earth and branches.
Further than frankness and cynicism, than the corporal tree surrounding around us, than the unquenchable thirst that defeats us. Tan lejos me distancio de mi mismo cuando estoy a la orilla de tus ojos que en la carera de mis pensamiento lo olvido todo Tan lejos es el mundo que me inspiras, que tengo miedo de seguir volando por sendas de dolor y de misterio y quedarme solo Es mejor que te quiera y no te piense, cuerpo a cuerpo vencidos por la llama del amor que encadena nuestras vidas.
Muy cerca Es mejor que me quede emparedado en tu abrazo carnal que me destroza, en tu instinto animal que me consume. Further than the network of senses, than the exciting poison of hysteria, than the sweet bitterness we feel.
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Further than where my thoughts roam when I forget the presence of your form and I shape you in the air of my dreams. Almost at the cosmic border of beginning, in the mind of God, in the disturbing unease of light and silence. I travel so far from myself when I am on the shore of your eyes, that my racing mind forgets everything So close I no longer want to escape my body, or turn you into my dreams.
Si arrastro lo que soy y lo llevo por el fuerte declive del silencio sin poder descansar con mis palabras. Si me pesa la vida y ya no puedo la piedra de mi historia acumulada. If I drag myself down the steep slope of silence without resting with my words. If life weighs me down and I can no longer carry the stone of my long history. I have no hands, I am incapable of caresses and touching, I am thaw of forgotten snows, I am man without name I am phantom They can destroy your sweet-smelling vessel and turn your blood into bitter water like my blood Look for the peak on the blue wings of your dreams, and reach for the highest branch to pick the sweetest of fruit.
You are with me — maddening hell — trembling beside this charred body that does not feel the light of your look or your sharp, burning touch. Indifference — the death I feared — separates me from the your sobbing passions begging for my caress. Prisoners in this knot of agony, we are the echo of a distant love and we both cry together. You and I are no longer what we were together.
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We are someone else on this hidden cross — trembling, lifeless, weeping. Indifference erased what we dreamed of and the knot of our souls has become an anguish that buries us both.
click here Me das la brisa que en tu boca anida y no puedo embriagar mi desconsuelo porque tu llama incita mi deshielo y me quema la hoguera de tu vida. You give me a breeze from deep inside. The essence of your dream is not mine. Soy demonio que crece en tu sonrisa, el cielo asesinado en tus pupilas; la tragedia que amarga tu saliva con el raro sabor de mis instintos.
I am the senile nest where your form is shaken — fuel of my fever — igniting the obsession of my desire and my envy of April in your cheeks. I climb the summit of your restlessness to lower your modesties, naked, and wrap them with a skillful, ardent touch until they return with the hunger that hounds me. And you are, you must be, I feel it: the human lily who expires in my night with the spasm of my agonies and waves of amorous phrases Quiero ser el cadalso de tu fuerza; tu sombra, tu tristeza, tu fantasma; el gustano que muerde tu memoria y siempre te pronuncie mis palabras.
Pero Santo o Demonio, soy tu centro; el amor con el odio de beberte; el viento que desata la marea en el desnudo mar de tu pureza. Y tengo que vivir de tus anhelos, sangrar tu boca, y contagiar mi sombra en la luz infantil de lo que esperas y en la cruda verdad de lo que gozas.