Today
Friday, October 22, 2010
Homely Heriones Meens Boobs
Today
Baquero's house
Under the snow, the Iberian tour continues and goes to the cemetery where the tomb of Walser. Take a few pictures. And memorable places has come before the European literary history: the Odeon Café, where they were James Joyce and Francis Picabia, and where ever danced Mata Hari, the Cabaret Voltaire, the starting point of the Dada movement and later the surrealists cave. Voltaire
close, had his home a famous Russian political activist, after ascending the regicide charge rail kepi the speed category of attire, from whom he reportedly played a game of chess with Tristan Tzara in Zurich same street now covered by the English novelist.
Someone says the vicissitudes of the Cabaret Voltaire over the last two centuries: greasy restaurant in the twenties, room decorated like a country house in the thirties, a nightclub of ill repute in the seventies, gay bar in the eighties, acquired in 2002 by a Swiss bank and then occupied by youth self-titled neodadaist graffiti that filled the walls.
At the end of your trip, we round the idea of \u200b\u200bdisappearance, understood as the possibility of collapse in world common.
Weeds and debris
At some point in their life journey, the Cuban writer, that being constantly punctured by the need to take sides, you should ask from which handles will rebuild its past, that is, propose a "non-disappearing", perhaps deciphered this as a reunion with himself and cancellation of the inability to move forward.
At the country level, we know, Cuba has tested the topic of the prison which caught the attention of Michel Foucault, the place in which "power is not hidden, not masked, shown as tyranny led to the smallest details. " However, what will happen to those writers who have been missing by an expressed desire for power? How to begin to recover, beyond the partial or symbolic, that piece of memory loss that reveals the work of an author denied?
A young journalist travels to Cuba Gibara on the trail of Guillermo Cabrera Infante. Discover that hardly anyone left who knows who he is. What remains of the old family house is a clumsy tackle on walls covered with cement blocks, which have added doors, windows and a roof in any way possible. Someone lives there today, but we will not stop asking.
time later, another young journalist moved to Banes, now in order to find out what was left of the house Gaston Baquero in town. And all is ruin your lens collects and weeds, walls that are shaken, they bid to stay upright, a yerbazal unpunished. Does not even have complete certainty that the house is searched, the former home of the poet's family. And as if the lyrics of a bolero old they were, who to ask if anyone can answer.
The natural state of a system like Cuba is destruction. His locus is the moor. The man in the street as well as understand and digest. Then ask you not to cooperate with the memory of a moment that has stayed behind. It has no known Cuban writer why other than the man in the street. Neither has memory to worship, not have their Cabaret Voltaire, even the photo of walking through a meadow Baquero anyone. No such thing as William Blake, quoted by George Steiner in The Idea of \u200b\u200bEurope has called "the sacredness of the smallest detail." What you have before you is that history has behaved like a fool.
What we in no way should seem trivial is the use we make of these spaces stolen from the memory of a nation, those sites that have been a reminder of the destructive capacity of the individual vested with power and ideological assumptions of a process manager, such that willingly and without tremor of panic had demolished the Capitol with the sole aim of assumptions underpinning.
In now's Cuba may be possible to aspire to put a kiosk with snacks and beaten on the porch of the ramshackle house, and since this will be a test to the edge of what we already know, the complete failure of this aberration called Revolution fifty year , but to try to reconstruct, from such debris, the handles of a besieged memory take us too many decades and perhaps fix it for the final effort in futility.
Photo: Ruins of the house of the poet Gastón Baquero in Banes. Daniel Alejandro taken in Facebook.
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