Today we're just going to appreciate some beautiful words, written in Spanish. I'm going to cheat a little bit, though: the author of these words is Pablo Neruda, who is from Chile. So he's notSpanish. But I wanted to share these verses because they're some of my favorite ever written, in any language. Really this poem doesn't have anything to do with Spain, except that I read it for the first time here. Anyway, I think it's important, too, to learn to appreciate works in other languages :) (I'll also be practicing my translation skills!)
Excerpt from Poema 20 by Pablo Neruda (Spanish)
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.
Excerpt from Poema 20 by Pablo Neruda (English)
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, the ones of then, are not the same.
I no longer love her, it's true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched for the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, it's true, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, and forgetting is so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms.
My soul is not content having lost her.
Even though this is the last pain she'll cause me,
And these are the last verses I'll write her.
Unfortunately, English doesn't do the poem justice. It's gorgeous in Spanish :)
One of the biggest differences between the U.S. and Spain is the concept of the home. In the States, it seems that most of the middle to upper class lives in a house located in the suburbs of some large city or another.
Not so in Spain.
Here the vast majority of people live in a piso, a small apartment with a tiny kitchen, living room/dining room, bathroom, and maybe three bedrooms, each smaller than the average college dorm room. Not spacious at all, but it's all that's needed. The home is a family space, meant primarily for sleeping and eating, so friends don't often come over to hang out. No slumber parties, no movie marathons. The majority of social activities occur en la calle, or "on the street."
Our kitchen. Since food is bought for the day, and that's it, there's no need for a pantry.
That's why cities and towns are filled with plazas, which serve as outdoor living rooms. That's where friends can meet up and hang out, and why public drinking isn't quite as frowned upon as it is in the States. (I believe it's still illegal, but the Guardia Civil pretends it isn't.)
WRITING
Have you ever read a book in which the building(s) were extremely memorable? Hopefully, since the Hogwarts castle is amazing with its moving staircases and talking portraits. Another one that comes to mind is I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith, in which the castle is a constant presence. The narrator, Cassandra, is always telling the readers about the gatehouse, and the moat, and the towers, and the dungeon.
I always like when I feel a special attachment to a place I've never actually been. Like Hogwarts. The last book pained me for many reasons, but it was torturous to read how my beloved Hogwarts, which felt like home to me, was crumbling under an onslaught of Death Eaters. And how about Tara, from Gone with the Wind?
Setting is big for me, which is why I like to emphasize specific places, especially in short stories. Places of historical importance. Places from my childhood. Places I'd love to visit.
What about you? What are you favorite fictional places?
I love Dalí, but I'm not sure if I love his paintings, or if I just love him. He's one of those figures who is so ridiculous, you just can't help but like him. Also, his gravity-defying mustache makes him a winner.
After Pablo Picasso, Dalí is probably Spain's most famous artist, best known for his work The Persistence of Memory, often referred to as "that painting with the melting clocks." There was a giant mural of it in my high school, so after seeing it every day, it's one of my favorite paintings. Do I have any idea what it means? Nope. But the melting clocks are fascinating.
The Persistence of Memory, completed 1931
Dalí was a surrealist, so he was into abstract ideas and images that weren't grounded in the real world. A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to visit the Dalí museum in Barcelona, Spain, where I got to see (and even touch, when it came to sculptures) some of his lesser known works.
To the left, you'll see Automobile Giving Birth to a Blind Horse Biting a Telephone. (Sorry for the poor quality photo, but photography isn't my strong point). Not sure what it means, if it means anything at all, but I think the title is hilarious. Also, very straightforward.
Look familiar? Dalí had quite a few obsessions, or so I gathered from my visit to the museum: horses, rhinoceroses, and melting clocks. The melting clocks are definitely what interest me most. Time melting away…Very cool. Also, interesting tidbit: the 20s (during which Dalí worked) marked the beginning of the world's obsession with time and prolonged youth (think works like Twilight Sleep or Tender is the Night). It's when time phrases became an essential part of our vocabulary: kill time, keep time, out of time, etc. So I have to wonder if Dalí, who finished ThePersistence of Memory in 1931, was commenting on this phenomenon.
He was also fascinated by horses, apparently. An entire room of the museum was dedicated to his paintings and sculptures about horses, many of them from famous stories. This painting features Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.
There was also a little hall dedicated rhinoceroses. When I saw Midnight in Paris, I didn't realize that he was, actually, a little obsessed with rhinoceroses. But alas, I was mistaken. Enjoy this awesome scene from an awesome movie, featuring Adrien Brody as Salvador Dalí:
WRITING
Picture prompts?
One of Dalí's paintings would be awesome inspiration for a picture prompt. I would love to read a story, or even a full length novel, based on The Persistence of Memory. Even just a world based on it. Who knows? Maybe one day I'll try my hand at writing it.
So I love history, and especially Latin American history, so instead of talking about Catalonia or comida or las Carlistas or a million other topics that begin with C, I'm going to share a little bit about one of Spain's most famous historical figures, Hernán Cortés.
Assuming you've taken some sort of history class, you probably know Cortés as the conquistador behind the fall of the Aztec Empire in Mexico. You might also know him as that guy from The Road to El Dorado (which is a great movie, by the way):
Right. So a Spanish version of Johnny Bravo. (Can you tell I'm a 90s kid?)
Anyway, history at its most basic will say that Cortés marched through Mexico to Tenochtitlan, the capital city of the Aztec Empire, and with only a few hundred men and some horses, took down thousands upon thousands of natives, largely due to the smallpox they brought with them.
But that's not what makes him interesting. Conquests had been going on for centuries, and though it's interesting that the Aztecs might have believed him to be a god (though there's a lot of speculation about that), it's not what intrigues me.
Hernán Cortés
Nope, I'm fascinated by this little anecdote:
In 1518 the governor of Cuba, Diego Velázquez, sent Cortés on an expedition to conquer Mexico, but soon changed his mind, and revoked his permission. Cortés ignored that, and when Velázquez arrived on the mainland in person to tell Cortés off, he replied with, "Sorry, gotta go," and quickly fled. He then founded a town and made himself leader, which hypothetically excused him from being under the Governor of Cuba's authority. Hypothetically.
Of course, some of his men had doubts. Cortés didn't exactly have experience leading an army, and who was he to defy the governor of Cuba? Cortés, sensing that many of his men wanted to desert, scuttled every ship except one, which he sent back to Spain, literally trapping everyone on mainland Mexico, with no choice but to proceed.
To me, this little anecdote is what makes him most interesting. Are these admirable actions? No, definitely not, especially considering that it led to the deaths of thousands of natives. But it was ridiculously courageous--and certainly insane--to scuttle his own ships, stranding himself and some 600 men in a place that very few Europeans had ever visited.
Don't get me wrong: by no means do I condone his actions. In fact, he's ranked pretty darn high on my list of historical jerkwads. But there's no denying that he was, well…a badass, at least in some respects.
Here in Spain, you'll find quite a few paintings and statues dedicated to him. The General Archive of the Indies in Seville is filled with them. It's definitely interesting, since in the U.S., his history is always tinted with negativity: "Hernán Cortés, a bad guy." Since being here, my opinions about that haven't changed--Cortés and the conquistadores brought a lot of misery--but it's strange to see memorials to them. But it goes both ways: Why is Andrew Jackson, the man behind the Trail of Tears, commemorated every time we pull out a twenty?
WRITING
There are two sides to every story.
America doesn't like Cortés. To most, he's a mass murderer. But to Spain he's technically a hero, even if nowadays a lot of Spaniards don't exactly approve of his actions. His conquest of Mexico was the beginning of Spaniards taking over the rest of mainland Latin America, save Brazil. Keep in mind that Spain only became one unified country in 1492, so how awesome must it have been for this brand new country to 1) "discover" the New World, and 2) exploit its resources until it was one of the richest nations around, which enabled it to have an armada to rival the British Navy. In less than a century, it went from being a cluster of very divided kingdoms, largely controlled by North African Arabs, to the most powerful empire in the world. An evil empire, according to the French and British, who felt both jealous and threatened. C is for Competition, right?
Spains rise to power, which has a lot to do with Cortés, reminds us that there are two sides to every story. A villain isn't a villain to everybody, and the same goes for heroes. The best characters are those whose good/evil alignment isn't clear, and it all depends on your point of view. The one that immediately comes to mind is Ben Linus from ABC's Lost. Three years after the end of the show, I still have no idea whether to consider him a good guy or a bad guy. ABC is doing it again with Once Upon a Time: Where on the scale does Rumplestiltskin/Mr. Gold lie? (Interestingly, these characters also tend to be the best actors).
Ben Linus, played by Michael Emerson, from ABC's LOST
How about Javert from Les Miserables? He is the "bad guy" of the novel/musical/movie, but if you look at the story from his perspective, he's doing what society normally approves of: attempting to stop a wanted thief. If Les Miz were not fiction, but was a true story playing out in our own modern society, we would probably applaud Javert for seeking a potentially dangerous criminal.
"Of course not," you might say. "Jean Valjean is a really good man."
"Yeah," I'd reply. "But how often to you stop to chat with the criminal about his emotions, morals, dreams, family life, etc? You don't."
But because Les Miz gives us Jean Valjean's PoV, we view him as the hero, while Javert is stuck being the villain.
So keep that in mind when writing! To some, your bad guys might not actually be bad guys--and those kinds of characters tend to be the most interesting.
When you think Spain, chances are you think bullfighting, though it's also practiced in other parts of Europe and Latin America. At its most basic, the "art" consists of baiting a bull, then killing it in the arena, known as a bullring.
Bull statue in Ronda.
Believe it or not, bullfighting is considered an art, not a sport. The matadors, locally referred to as toreros, train from an early age, developing their own rhythm and style, for which they're known around the country, and sometimes the world. As Hemingway wrote, "Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter's honour."
Bullring in Ronda.
It's a practice that dates back thousands of years (pre-Rome), but it's often compared to the more well-known gladiatorial competitions. However, modern bullfighting, which involves fighting on foot (rather than mounted on a horse), staying within inches of the bull, and using the red cape, came about in the 18th century.
Nowadays there's a lot of controversy about bullfighting. My host mother, Isabel, is very against it, for example. When I asked her about it, she threw up her hands and said, "¡Qué barbaridad!" The autonomous community of Catalonia (where Barcelona is located) actually banned bullfighting, and animal rights activists are trying to get the rest of Spain to follow suit.
Honestly, it seems that nowadays bullfighting is more for tourists than for Spaniards. People come from all over the world and pay darn good dinero to see it. Don't get me wrong: there are indeed Spaniards who are bullfighting fanatics (the kind who get season tickets), but not nearly as many as there used to be. But Spain is all about cultural tradition, so I highly doubt it's going to get the boot.
WRITING
Confession: Hemingway is a historical crush of mine. For his writing, for his adventurous spirit, for his love of Spain. (All right, his looks, too).
You know who liked bullfights? Ernest Hemingway, whose novel The Sun Also Rises is all about bullfights in Pamplona, complete with a twisted love triangle (rectangle? pentagon?) involving a matador. He goes into great detail describing the bulls, the bullfights, and the style of Pedro Romero, the matador remembered for his ridiculously tight pants. (Though really all matadors have tight pants, but his are notable since they help to contrast him with protagonist Jake Barnes. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you can read all about it here--or better yet, read the book because it's great).
In both Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises and Esteban Echeverrías The Slaughterhouse (El Matadero, in Spanish), bulls are stand-ins for the human characters. Symbols, if you will, usually of immense honor and courage.
Symbols are always fun to write. They're like secret codes: you know them, and your readers have to figure them out. Though since I don't generally write literary fiction, most of the time I don't realize I included a symbol until I go back and revise. Then I'm like, "Hey. That works. Good job, subconscious."
What's your opinion on bullfighting? Approve or disapprove? Have you seen a bullfight? Read The Sun Also Rises? Thoughts on symbols?
And because I can, how about a Spanish song? B is for "Bulería," by David Bisbal, who happens to have very bouncy hair :) There may or may not be a bullring in this video.
Ladies and gents, I give you my new catchphrase: "arte como arma," or in English, "art as a weapon". If you're wondering why it's in Spanish, it's because I first read it in Spanish. No, unfortunately I can't take credit for it :(
I'm enrolled in a course at my university called "Seville and the Community." Essentially, it's a class about social and political issues in Spain: homelessness, poverty, poor education, etc. This week I gave a fifteen-minute oral presentation on "arte como arma," and in the middle of my powerpoint, realized, "Hey, this isn't just for a grade. I actually have something interesting to say about this."
Before I begin, what exactly do I mean by art? Well, everything: painting, sculpture, drawing, carpentry, fashion, music, dance, poetry, prose…
My basic argument: art is great for recreation, but it can also be used as a weapon against hardship, whether that hardship is poverty, depression, social exclusion, unemployment, etc. Of course, it isn't going to do away with these issues:
Art is a spiritual expression, an activity that generates joy, entertainment, and knowledge. A poem, a song, a play, surely cannot change reality or defeat misery, but it can act as a tool through which people can express their experiences, their stories, and aspire to better lives. This is what's called social art. - La Gaceta[translated from Spanish]
OK, social art. Basically, it's a way to cope with suffering: through self expression. However, I'm not sure if I completely agree with the above quote. Is it true that art cannot change reality or defeat misery?
I asked this question during my presentation and it generated a little bit of debate. Most people argued that art itself cannot change reality, but it can inspire people to change reality.
Well, of course. If people start munching on oil paintings in an attempt to end hunger, then we have a bigger problem than we thought.
I asked for some examples of art that has changed reality. Unfortunately, we were a little short in this area, so maybe La Gaceta has a point. But how about Uncle Tom's Cabin, which changed the United States' view on slavery leading up to the Civil War?
Whether art changes reality or not, it's still a way to lessen the pain of hardship:
Art is a solution. It's a sign of culture, and culture is what gives comfort in the face of the certainty of chaos and the forcefulness of the horrors that have been occurring for a long time. Culture is an analgesic, not an anesthetic. Culture is what provides serenity in the face of disaster. - Laura Fleischer, El arte como herramienta de intervención social[translated from Spanish]
So, culture to cope with disaster. Sounds about right. We were able to come up with more examples for this, like:
The Golden Age of Hollywood - The Golden Age of Hollywood began in the late 1920s, around the same time as the Great Depression. Though people struggled to put bread on the table, they didn't often begrudge a trip to the movies. The escapist films of the 1930s offered comfort to a society in crisis.
"A Modest Proposal" - Jonathan Swift's satiric essay deals with poverty and famine in Ireland during the early eighteenth century (the potato famine came later). He uses grotesque humor to point out society's problems, and if there's any one way to cope with hardship, it's humor. If you're interested, you can read the whole text here.
Guernica - Arguably Pablo Picasso's most famous painting, Guernica came as a result of a bombing during the Spanish Civil War. It was put on display at the 1937 World's Fair, thereby bringing the War international attention.
Slave culture - Slaves in the Americas used song and dance, usually with African or Native American influences, to help cope with the hardships of slavery and preserve their own cultural identity.
Guernica, by Pablo Picasso
But it's not just that art provides a coping mechanism; rather, there are tangible results, believe it or not. A twelve-year national study showed that underprivileged students who are involved in the arts generally have a higher success rates: they achieve more after high school graduation, they do more volunteer work, and they participate in politics.
So why did I choose this topic? And now, it's not because, as a writer, I strongly believe in the power of words (though that's true, too).
It's because of Polígono Sur, the neighborhood in which I teach English. Essentially, Polígono Sur is a chabolismo, or as we would call it, a slum. As one of the poorest areas in Sevilla, it has a reputation for crime, a reputation that's only augmented by its large gypsy population.
This fence in Polígono Sur is very close to my English class.
But damn, does Polígono Sur have art!
I'm talking flamenco. Not touristy flamenco, either, with the main goal being to entertain. No, this isn't some sort of spectacle. It's intensely personal, an expression of human emotions through music and dance; yet at the same time, it's communal. It brings people together, and as long as the flamenco lasts, those people are one cohesive group. They celebrate together, struggle together, survive together.
It's how they cope with poverty. With drug abuse. With the stigma associated with their community and their culture, especially if they're gypsies. By pouring their emotions into flamenco.
If you're interested in seeing flamenco in Polígono Sur, you can check out this documentary. Even if you don't know a lick of Spanish, you'll be able to see what I'm talking about within the first ten minutes:
Now to wrap up, I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes:
We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering…These are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love…These are what we stay alive for. - Dead Poet's Society
What do you think? Can art be used as a weapon against hardship? Can art change reality? Can you think of any examples in which art has changed reality? How about when culture has helped cope with disaster?
That's Spanish for "Hello! If you don't already know, I am in Seville, Spain." We arrived last Tuesday for our semester abroad, and so far, it's been excellent. The food, the flamenco, the winding streets…
Nowadays, lots of college students will spend some time abroad. At many schools, studying abroad an unspoken expectation. No doubt it's a valuable experience for everyone, but it's especially awesome for writers.
Sure, it's great to play the part of "expatriate artist," like Hemingway or Fitzgerald, and sit in a bar or café while penning the next Great American Novel--but let's also be honest with ourselves. What with challenging classes (sometimes in another language), endless social activities, and all the excitement of a foreign city, our writing time is probably going to significantly decrease. I know mine has.
Yet at the same time, I'm considering this entire semester as writing research. Here I am in a completely new setting, surrounded by a new culture, and it's the perfect opportunity to absorb an atmosphere that could easily end up in a story. Personally, my favorite books all have unique settings: the little Colombian town of Macondo, or the streets of Pamplona, or the plantations of Georgia (One Hundred Years of Solitude, The Sun Also Rises, and Gone with the Wind, respectively).
I'm sick of New York. I'm sick of London. I'm sick of L.A. Give me some place exotic. I read for experiences I can't have in my real life, so the less likely I am to travel to a certain setting, the better.
Take Daughter of Smoke and Bone, for example. While I'm not big on paranormal romance, I loved the two main settings: Prague and Marrakesh. Would the plot have changed much if Laini Taylor set her novel in London? No, not at all. But seriously, I've read so many stories set in and around London, I feel like I vacation there every summer. Prague? Marrakesh? Now those are entirely new.
One of the reasons I chose to study in Seville was the setting. As an English major, it makes much more sense for me to go to England. In terms of classes, it would probably be better. But Seville, while crawling with Americans, is a city unlike any I've ever visited. Narrow streets, lively plazas, a beautiful river…My writer's mind is running wild! No lie, in this past week alone, I've figured out ways to include a flamenco dancer, gitanas (gypsies), and the city itself in my WIP.
Also, if you haven't already realized, I'm big on setting, so expect more posts about it :)
For now, enjoy these photos of Seville, Spain :)
A calle (street) in Seville.
Look at that bridge! (I've yet to cross it.)
The gardens of the Alcazar (a palace). If you're a fantasy person, and write about palaces regularly, why don't you try this: Instead of the usual "Cinderella's Castle" or Gothic fortress, give it some pizazz. I'm talking bright colors, arches, and tropical gardens like this one.
