perpetual Donoso Carlos Amador Marchant Write
ago I heard a song maybe decade and a half. It talked about a broken heart, sadness, some terrible suffering in the paths. This also brings me questions, questions about the tenacity of the man who wants to finish his days with goals, programs.
"broken heart" is on every corner but we want to avoid it. But the tragedy, one that seeks, which is hidden here, which appears and disappears and then reinstall it, it smells curse. Against this background
place myself in the characters of the last novel of our Jose Donoso (the latest delivered to publishers, to be sure), who also deservedly culminated in the times when his body was already worn disease in moments when death stepped heels. Yet he maintains that rail vocation (held by the way) who is ending his days without ever leaving your passion: writing. Irritate me, me neurotic, I choke, I may say, those writers who "touched ceiling" early bird, that beyond the great prizes, end their days without writing or writing quality over minimal. Not for Donovan, who bequeaths to us precisely record and vocation. Pepe Donoso
painfully climbed the stairs to his studio on the third floor to get his writings, to affix a syllable to say that the unknown looms and therefore we have to finish in good shape as scheduled. Donoso end
This is me infinitely strange, it expands into the dream. But I watch almost crawling up the stairs, avoiding, defying death. What were you thinking this man in these last days, beyond his life made in lines, roads and straightening diverting later?
thought (thought) surely, as was always watching and what was not on his right. He was a man, I know, coming from a breed of professionals, doctors, architects, ie a family of gentry. He, far, by the way Joaquin Edwards Bello, one of the games, of women, of being here and there, I think, ultimately, keeps some of its dichotomy.
I want to focus (again) in the Donoso scales up his office, on the verge of death. I understand, then displayed the hell he wants printed.
First, the missing, they have to do with the dictatorship. Those who were fired from helicopters, clinging, bound with alambrepúas, a damn blood. Donoso
diversifies, is looking for other fees, but deep down ghosts haunt him, the same that made his life a youthful temptation to live like crazy and then sorted. I keep seeing
seeking their written final rescuing.
His trip to Lota in the eighties it focuses on the relationship of the disappeared, only this time it's mine to lose, never to return after a collapse. The tragedy and the curse to which I alluded at the beginning of this chronicle is personified in the Elbe, the woman who is not accustomed to lying, subdued in the macho world of mining brave, be treated as "Animal-female (Alicia Galaz ): "Last night when the love of Antonio began to loosen up my body to draft a reply, a glimpse of the silhouette of my leisure, sketched only in my horizon. To achieve this I gave up, shaking under him, a blow that hit me: I did not move, he sent me. Do not complain. No touching me. No joys. I am who I am Seat Cushin, not you. You're not a whore for you to wallow in search of your pleasure. Receive my pleasure: it has to sufficient for you. " Donoso
takes us through passages of present-past and vice versa. Is confused, but the hand leads the world that he wanted his final stamp on creative and binds us.
We're talking about the curse of the Elbe, the woman trampled by machismo, reduced to the awkwardness, the same down to the mine to carry a message to her husband miserable, to the mine where no woman could not go down for the curse stalking.
More late "Toño", his son, rescuing the garments, woolen caps and anything of his father Antonio Alvayay Medina, to give burial to house at least their memories (without body).
I felt admiration and I delighted watching and listening to Donovan in various interviews conducted by English journalists, after settling in that country in 1967.
When I reread the characters from "El Mocho," the curse Elba lost in the hair impregnated with bats that clung to her scalp, the Bambina poor circus, Aristides and his miserable personality, torn pictures of poverty in coal areas, in short, the characters, almost smearing all the tragedy, culminating in unions distress, the Mocho falling from a train being dismembered, no legs, people trying to fit them to his trunk, bambina hit in the heart of the capital, the same ending his days Mocho as a cuchepo through the streets of Santiago, bring, without doubt, the taste of someone who wanted to write or describe the life form, maybe doing a portrait, a dramatization of what it perceived dichotomy leaving and becoming part of the underworld .
The ghosts that chased or pursued this author come from a wealthy family are latent, more latent in its final days. Man
hits this Donoso, speaks on lives of their constant complaints while trying to write "The Obscene Bird of Night" from his bloody ulcer. Smoking a cigar as interested in the issue it addresses. He returned to Chile in the late 80's and created his famous workshop that housed most of the young writers who form the so-called boom in Chile, though by no means leave aside other notabilis novelists who did not leave his wing and now succeed abroad.
However, even when the heart is in pieces, in José Donoso I caught his share of life, the tenacity of the man who wants, as I said earlier, finishing his day with goals, with programs that go beyond of the body, beyond the breath that represents our passage through the land, insomnia outside walls to feel real, existing in a foreign place to which he aspired.
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