EXTRACCION DE LA PIEDRA DE LA LOCURA ALEJANDRA PIZARNIK PDF

Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems – by Alejandra Pizarnik Alejandra Pizarnik, La extracción de la piedra de la locura y otros poemas. 4 likes. Revered by the likes of Octavio Paz and Roberto Bolano, Alejandra Pizarnik is still Por cómo acabó, la poesía no le sirvió para extraer su piedra de la locura . Aportes para la extracción de la piedra de la locura: vida y obra de Alejandra Pizarnik ; Deseo y destino: contribuciones para un psicoanálisis de la.

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Light, forbidden wine, vertigoes, whom do you write for?

Extracting the Stone of Madness Quotes

She died from an ostensibly self-administered overdose of barbiturates on 25 September If you could see in your memory the one sleeping without you in a garden in ruins. Inimical colors unite in tragedy.

To ask other readers questions about Extracting the Stone of Madnessplease sign up. His hands, grasping at his locurx of ill-ominous bones, are hurting. Speak, but over the ashen stage; speak, but from the bottom of the river where death is singing.

In the dream the king was dying of love for me. VII The night of aldjandra both scattered with the fog. A year out from her seconal overdose, Pizarnik cuts all the bullshit, as though asking, ‘You want the show? I share her fear of very young animal in the first night of the hunting season.

And what can you do? I would like to see the bottom of the river, I would like to see if that thing opens, if it bursts and blooms at my side, and it will or will not come, but I can sense its struggle.

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The true parties take place in your body and in dreams. Huella azul en la pared. Carry alejandrra like a little blind princess, as when slowly and carefully autumn comes over the garden. He smiles and I am a minuscule pink marionette with a navy blue umbrella I go in through his smile I build my little house on his tongue Ve live in the palm of his hand he closes his fingers a golden dust a little blood goodbye ;iedra goodbye.

Pero el silencio es cierto. Little paper doll, I cut her out in navy blue, green, red paper, and she remained on the ground, in the utmost lack of relief and dimensions. Yet, you cry your terrible fate and evoke your madness and even wish you could extract it from yourself as if it were a stone, this she-insanity, your only privilege. The extracxion of losing yourself in the image foreseen.

I rose from my body and went out in search of who I am. The bad light has lodged itself and nothing is certain.

Extracting the Stone of Madness Quotes by Alejandra Pizarnik

At the edge of dawn your bones were hurting. And in my dream a circus cart full of dead pirates in their coffins. XII But silence is certain. Sounds of what the wind destroys. The word is a thing, death is a thing, a poetical body that draws breath at the site of my birth.

There is someone here who is trembling. And that voice, that elegy to a first cause: I wanted to enlighten myself to the light of my lack of light. Black water, animal of forgetfulness. Nov 20, Jeremy rated it liked it.

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To have died in the person you were and in the one you loved, to have al not to have turned around like a thundering and, at the same time, celestial sky. Lost by extraccon own design, you have renounced your kingdom for ashes. Now for your remains, picking them up one by one, such nuisance, where to leave them.

It is music, it is death what I wanted to say in variegated nights like the colors of the forest.

Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems – by Alejandra Pizarnik

Yvette Siegert did fine work here, but I found Cecilia Rossi’s older translations to be a bit more musical. I wished for a perfect silence. Este poemario es nuestro.

II But you, I want to look at you until your face escapes from my fear alfjandra a bird from the sharp edge of the night. XVII Something was falling in the silence.

Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962 – 1972

Nov 30, Caroline Mao rated it lovura liked it Shelves: Inside her song there is a blue dress, there is a white horse, there is a green heart tattooed with the echoes of the beatings of her dead heart. Estoy sola y escribe. And it is without grace, with no halo, with no truce.

Who lunges snapping with a paper mouth?