Intimate History of Humanity

Dados Bibliográficos

ID4377486
AutoresJuan Tom ́s ́vila Laurel (autor correspondente), Juan Tomás Ávila Laurel, Juan Tomás Ávila Laurel Juan Tomás Ávila Laurel, Translated By David Shook, Translated by David Shook Translated by David Shook
Ano2012
Volume86
Fascículo5
Páginas39
Data de publicação2012-01-01
Peer ReviewedSim
Open AccessNão
TipoARTICLE
PeriódicoWorld Literature Today (JOURNAL)
Identificadores do periódicoISSN: 0196-3570 • E-ISSN: 1945-8134
EditoraProject MUSE (PUBLISHER • US)
DOI10.7588/worllitetoda.86.5.0039
OpenAlexW2504391816
IdiomaEN
Citações recebidas40

SEPTEMBER–OCTOBER 2012 39 photo : elisa rizo Intimate History of Humanity Juan Tomás Ávila Laurel Juan Tomás Ávila Laurel (b. 1966, Malabo) is an essayist, poet, narrator, playwright, and social analyst from Equatorial Guinea, undoubtedly one of the leading voices of the contemporary literature of his country. Some of his most important works from the 1990s and early 2000s are included in the anthology Letras Transversales: Obras Escogidas (forthcoming in 2012). He has been an invited speaker at many conferences and universities in the United States, Europe, and Asia, and he is a frequent contributor to a wide variety of journals and blogs. See his interview on page 41 of this issue. The Name of God Is Christ The name of God is Christ when the world decries its state. – Do you understand me, girl? – Yes, I understand what a madman says. The beasts put their feet in the fire and the alarm sounds in Belgrade for the Hutus to pick up their machete. – Do you understand now, girl? – Yes, and it worries me. Two children have died in Africa, only two, and the crying embarrasses the UN because their money doesn’t buy anything anymore. – Do you understand any of this, girl? – I cry. Goodbye, Guinea, Goodbye I went singing in solitude a song of love and oblivion the marks my feet left in the sand, which the waves erased little by little. The last time that I would live, solitude, distance, the last time that I would feel the moisture of the sheets. I feel this earth, I have walked it barefoot, I have had it in my hands leaving its mark on me. I have struggled, I have conquered, I have believed, I have lost, I have cried for nothing, the rain has soaked me my skin and my sandals. I have lived the jungle of penetrating odors, I have been a living vine, I have contemplated the image of the ceiba. I have felt the power of one who loves from afar. I have dreamed, I have suffered, nostalgia has enveloped me. I have smiled at the day I have been the companion of empty chores. The night was my lover, I, love that never forgets. 40 WORLD LITERATURE TODAY photo : elisa rizo ii. The world no longer has cemeteries for suicides and manufactures incendiary bombs for the children of Colombia, Egypt doesn’t open its temples to the curious. My poetry escapes, the wise say, “and doesn’t tell the story of your mistreated land.” Guinea doesn’t have the hands to take poverty from the famous, Sierra Leone, Haiti and the third world, and listens from outside to the voices from within. Liberty can’t be bought with barrels of oil when that black is gold for millenary racism. ii (b) Guinea Pamphlets of gothic kings in the mouths of black-haired men with twisted brains. Not evangelism nor patronage of the indigent indigenous, faithful and savage. Among his many contributions to WLT, David Shook has recently translated work by Mario Bellatin, Tedi López Mills, and Víctor Terán. To watch the trailer of Kilometer Zero, his illicitly filmed journey through Equatorial Guinea in search of lost poet Marcelo Ensema Nsang, visit the WLT website. They call the color red blood because they don’t know the purple of the prebendary. Bantus with a black tongue and capital sins on the tips of their feet and fleshy lips. It’s true, that the great Christ didn’t die among us. And beaches, rivers, plants and more plants that attract the vice of thieves with foreign illusions. A name? Many cite the refrain of the river. vi. The Baptist’s blood stained Herod’s sword and he, wrathful, cursed the caste of Antonia, the whore that ruled Judea. At the dance, the queen took the platter and gave it to her child because anthropophagy is not a Roman practice. Everybody left the party through the back door. Translations from the Spanish By David Shook Translator’s note: This long series of poems forms one of Ávila’s three major poetic sequences

Art · Art history · Crying · Girl · Humanity · Literature · Solitude · Theology · Hispanic-African Historical Relations · History · Philosophy · Psychology · Social Psychology