If the soul and the ego were objects we could look at, the soul would be a translucent heart beating.
—
George Condo
Octavio Paz Sees the Name Born by Hernán Bravo Varela
- Julie Mehretu by Lawrence Chua
- Bruce Mau by Kathryn Simon
- Brad Cloepfil by Stuart Horodner
- Constant by Linda Boersma
- Robert Antoni by Lawrence Scott
- Kiyoshi Kurosawa by Jim O’Rourke
- Roscoe Mitchell by Anthony Coleman
- Pearl Abraham by Aryeh Lev Stollman
Interviews
- Lou in the Moonlight by Trinie Dalton
- In Love Blood Shall Follow
- Lake Hollywood by Jacob Forman
- Opening Her Text by Kimiko Hahn
- A Chinese Folktale by Mei Chin
- Three Poems by Alexander Theroux
- Three Poems by Joy Katz
- Three Poems by Sidney Wade
- Contranatura by Sergio Valero
- Octavio Paz Sees the Name Born by Hernán Bravo Varela
First Proof
- Whitfield Lovell by Tom Otterness
- Danica Phelps by Christine Hill
- Adam McEwen by Angus Cook
Artists On Artists
- Phillip Lopate and Vincent Katz’s Rudy Burckhardt by Rackstraw Downes
- Lucrecia Martel’s The Holy Girl by Carlos A. Gutiérrez
- Kate Simon’s Rebel Music: Bob Marley & Roots Reggae, Photographs by Betsy Sussler
- Aesop Rock’s Fast Cars, Danger, Fire, and Knives: The Living Human Curiosity Sideshow by Nick Stillman
- Lydia Cabrera’s Afro-Cuban Tales by Jaime Manrique
- Steve Erickson’s Our Ecstatic Days by Robert Polito
- Hardy Blechman & Alex Newman’s DPM: Disruptive Pattern Material by Jon Caramanica
- Minna Proctor’s Do You Hear What I Hear? Religious Calling, The Priesthood and My Father by Victoria Ludwin
- World Psychedelic Classics 3—Love’s A Real Thing: The Funky Fuzzy Sounds of West Africa by Peter Margasak
- Rob Mazurek’s Mandarin Movie by Elliott Sharp
Editor's Choice
Octavio Paz Sees the Name Born
In the water, rock and salmon acknowledge each
other, wrap the name with sand that lips have
sought with timid signs, murmurs.
The name is a thorn that scratches
whiteness, and spreads to assume itself like
heaven forewarned of torment.
The night cloudy, lips are placed between
the nests and leaves, throw the gathered water to
the ground. Unfolding without pause, they bind
the hour of dawn by coming.
Deluge and thunder descend, duties of a
blind belonging; they stanch and link the pages
of the world.
Between their commissures, between the
branches that define the totality of the woods,
the name has been born. Temple in the original
silence, autumn in the voice never falling.
In the realm of the name, one awakens,
celebrates the division of the waters and the
land. While God rests upon the last tree
standing, lips sustain an olive branch, a prayer.
A dove rests on the shoulder of the wind.
Translated from the Spanish by Michael Dietz.
—Hernán Bravo Varela has published poems and articles in his native Mexico and throughout South America, Spain, and the United States, and has translated works by Shakespeare, Keats, Oscar Wilde, Charles Olson, and Mark Strand. His books include Comunión (2002), Nueve poemas (2001), and Oficios de ciega pertenencia (1999), which will be reissued this year in recognition of the 30th anniversay of the Premio Nacional de Poesía Joven de México.
Related
She was coming out of the library when she saw him. Their paths had crossed a couple of times before. Three, to be exact. More or less under the same circumstances. He was riding an orange bicycle, and a little girl was standing behind him on the pannier rack.
El Salvador’s foremost living poet reflects on a long career, from his involvement in revolutionary literary activities of the ’60s and ’70s to grappling with today’s political and educational crises.
We are street people. Nomadic by nature. We are the grandchildren of poor, adventurous strangers. Our living radicalizes their legacy.
Originally published in
BOMB 91,
Spring 2005
Featuring interviews with Constant Nieuwenhuys and Linda Boersma, Julie Mehretu, Alexi Worth, Pearl Abraham and Aryeh Lev Stollman, Robert Antoni and Lawrence Scott, Kiyoshi Kurosawa and Jim O’Rourke, Roscoe Mitchell and Anthony Coleman, Brad Cloepfil and Stuart Horodner, and Bruce Mau and Kathryn Simon.
