IN THE MOREMARROW/EN LA MASMÉDULA is the final volume by the vanguard poet of 20th century Argentinian literature. “In the fabled Oliverio Girondo. That first line is beautiful & on one level it seems a sort of how-I-wrote-my-book- and-so-can-you! treatise by Girondo. They are the last 4 lines of. Oliverio Girondo — ‘una libélula de médulauna oruga lúbrica desnuda sólo nutrida de frotesun Oliverio Girondo, En la masmédula.

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But my love takes partners, too. I know that analysis ooliverio a fundamental part of translation. It is this final clause that runs in counterpoint to everything preceding it, but more, that completes everything.

It reminds me of constituent elements readying themselves to become compound.

It is simply a record of a static moment. It contained the slant of my personality and point of view and present experience, but I made it as big as I could, making myself bigger in the process. The writing is self-referential.

But the first two lines of the translation oliveruo confusing to me. The ButMarrow sounds horrific. The problem this brings the translator, of girodno, is how to remain faithful. Born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, on August 17,Oliverio Girondo studied and traveled widely in Europe as a young man, serving as a European correspondent for Argentine literary magazines including Plus ultra and Caras y caretas and establishing close friendships with writers and artists who introduced him to surrealism and other vanguard movements.


The shores Girondo sticks his bridges with. Love is the essence. Or grammatically speaking, the definite article v.

Maybe this is necessary. Between the two is the center-aligned column, the Middle Version. A lot of poems end on their own titles, creating a feeling of being in an enclosure. This seems a problematization. The first deals with the subtractive, the distinctive essence ; the 2nd deals with the additional, with excess.

This seems olivwrio be the question at the heart of the book, enacted by its constant linguistic slippages. It is hard to say what stubborn female couplings refers to. I trust it as a mode of writing poems.

In the Moremarrow/En la masmedula

My Lumy does this, too, at its best moments. Which, in creation myths, sounds like the soul blown into dust to animate a person. Is there an authoritative, origin-al essence to be mined at the bottom? It ties itself to the Word. But the essence of the instrument is water. This too points out something for me that is disconcerting. Everything I do is everything I masmfdula, but, at end, shot through with love.


Olivdrio may be a practice rather than a result.

It is a historical document, a hasty epitaph to something still living elsewhere. So we make an inference. Which is, like, incredible. It is more primordial marrow. I mean, in order to move all the plants from one hothouse to another, one ought to take inventory to ensure that no plant was left behind.

Maybe something about the male poet accepting his anima, that female part of him that is stubbornly there but his machismo stubbornly rejects. We are exposed to its symptoms.

Quote by Oliverio Girondo: “una libélula de médula una oruga lúbrica desnud”

If love is the essence of things, the essence of love is More. We are inside it. It exalted vitality and faith in oneself and in the intellectual values of Latin America; the nationalism it proposed paradoxically combined intellectual independence and openness to European culture.

Every left page gives the original Spanish version of the poem, and the right page holds the translation.