martes, 2 de junio de 2009

SWF




Pasó el Sydney Writers Festival y yo la pasé en la cama con gripa y fuertes resecas ethílicas.

Bueno en realidad no me perdí de mcuho, desde semanas antes había leído el programa ycon desaliento me dí cuenta de que sólo un par de eventos me interesaban: una platica con J.M. Coetzee, ese gran escritor sud-africano-australiano, autor de novellas como Disgrace, Life and time of Michael K…

El otro evento era –y a ese sí asistí porque yo era parte de él- Metaphores of Space, evento
convocado por la editora de Mascara Poetry, la poeta indo-inglesa residente en Sydney, Michelle Cahill en colaboración con Welch+Major, jóvenes arquitectos interesados en la interacción de la poesía con los espapcios arquitectónicos.

Valga decir que -aparte de que después de una semana entera de lluvia gélida y oscura, esa tarde del domingo 24 de mayo fue un verdadero regalo de los últimos dioses y diosas que nos quedan en el ya tan traqueteado olímpo – esa tarde llovió sol, dorada y radiante lluvia de cálido sol- ah, sí, el evento salió bastante bien y con promesas de repetirse en otras locaciones (no creo que haya muchos lugares en Sydney tan interesantes y atractivos como los viejos muelles de Walsh Bay).




Esta es una imagen de la instalación kirigami, una ‘interpretación’ que los arquitectos Welsh & Major hicieron de mi poema Casa Efímera. Al respecto me escribe David Welsh: “ Hi Mario: […] We thought the kirigami installation worked well with your work- we are keen to expand the idea and do a larger outdoor version with projected imagery rather than stills…..

Kind regards….." David Welsh

***
Casa Efímera

Mario Licón Cabrera

Before the renovation of the ex-convento began, Don Salvador, the doorman, allowed me to spend as much time as I liked wondering around corridors, chambers, terraces and gardens of the almost five-hundred-year-old building.

Bypassing the first patio with its dry octagonal fountain I was surrounded by almost one-meter-wide adobe walls and arcades - thick and high- ending in concave ceilings filled with cracked patterns.

In fact there were patterns everywhere - clusters of patterns showing off under layered dusty patina. Patterns and symbols relating to the ORDO PRAEDICTARUM.

I wasn't there seeking Saint Dominc’s protection but seeking a place – different, as far as possible, to my ordinary house. And there it was. I felt more than protected and isolated from the outside world by those fresh and aged walls and doors, deeply sunken into a tempting silent penumbra.

Though the entire space had seduced me, over the turn of days I had found three favorite spots:

A very small look-out-like chamber with a half-open stone wall framing the entire valley spreading out –and far beyond, the two volcanos, calling at you with their icy-ashed voice.

Opposite to the look-out – at the end of a long, low, tunnel-like corridor there was a wooden door with heavy iron-work that lead to a flat roof layered with blackened broken tiles, at the end of this extended roof there was the mountain - a mysteriously sculpted ancient wall.

Downstairs in the back garden, I used to lean against a big black rock and from there watched the huge back wall of the chapel: patched with strokes and spots of dark-greys, old-whites, ochres, pieces of bricks, stones, plaster and large strips of metal and timber holding together long and deep gaps. The rounded top of the wall breaking through the deep blue.

The first toll for the Angelus was the signal for me to go away from my ephemeral house.

2 comentarios:

isabel dijo...

leiste esto ?
no lo habia visto antes..
me gusta mucho...

Mario Licón Cabrera dijo...

merci beaucoup, mon ami isabelle/don't forget the vodka...

elmariotonic