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Witness: The Selected Poems of Mario Benedetti
"It gives me great pleasure to see the work of Benedetti, one of the great poets of our language, made available to US readers in Popkin's wonderful translations. Her carefully crafted adaptations of Mario's poems convey all the wisdom, nostalgia, and irony that inform his verses in language that retains their musicality. Anyone who has translated poetry will appreciate what an accomplishment that represents."—Claribel Alegria
Mario Benedetti (1920–2009) is regarded as one of Latin America's most important twentieth-century writers and one of Uruguay's most revered writers of novels, short stories, poetry, plays, and essays.
Mario Benedetti (1920–2009) is regarded as one of Latin America's most important twentieth-century writers and one of Uruguay's most revered writers of novels, short stories, poetry, plays, and essays.
- GenresPoetrySpanish Literature
384 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
18 people are currently reading
496 people want to read
About the author
Mario Benedetti
284 books2,543 followersMario Benedetti (full name: Mario Orlando Hamlet Hardy Brenno Benedetti Farugia) was a Uruguayan journalist, novelist, and poet. Despite publishing more than 80 books and being published in twenty languages he was not well known in the English-speaking world. He is considered one of Latin America's most important 20th-century writers.
Benedetti was a member of the 'Generation of 45', a Uruguayan intellectual and literary movement and also wrote in the famous weekly Uruguayan newspaper Marcha from 1945 until it was forcibly closed by the military government in 1973, and was its literary director from 1954. From 1973 to 1985 he lived in exile, and returned to Uruguay in March 1983 following the restoration of democracy.
Benedetti was a member of the 'Generation of 45', a Uruguayan intellectual and literary movement and also wrote in the famous weekly Uruguayan newspaper Marcha from 1945 until it was forcibly closed by the military government in 1973, and was its literary director from 1954. From 1973 to 1985 he lived in exile, and returned to Uruguay in March 1983 following the restoration of democracy.
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October 22, 2017
Las palabras no son mundo hasta que no calan nuestros huesos, hasta que no rompen la barrera del lenguaje y se convierten en invocación de vidas ya gastadas pero nunca perdidas en el olvido. Leer a Benedetti me ha permitido entender el verdadero significado de la palabra “exilio”. Uno nace poeta y Benedetti hizo de la poesía una forma natural de expresión. Sin buscar opacidad y apostando por frases cortas, directas y abusando de conjunciones y repeticiones como si de canciones de cuna se trataran, Benedetti nos canta su vida, que no es sueño, y hace de la soledad una oda universal que va más allá de la protesta política.
Con corazón en mano y alma de aleteo de mariposa, Benedetti se desnuda poema tras poema y nos cuenta sus sueños y desilusiones, incorporando elementos cotidianos que nos hacen suspirar con nostalgia propia.
Se sitúa a Benedetti dentro de la “Generación del 45” o de la “Generación de los Desaparecidos”, pues la Segunda Guerra Mundial hizo tambalear una frágil República que acabó en un Golpe de Estado y una dictadura militar que duró más de diez años. Benedetti, declarado activista de izquierdas, tuvo que abandonar su querido Montevideo e hizo de Buenos Aires, la Habana, Madrid y Perú sus segundos hogares, lugares donde escribió la mayor parte de su obra, la cual late con añoranza optimista y una pasión desgarradora por la vida aquí y allá, así como la búsqueda eterna de las múltiples capas que conforman la identidad.
Los poemas de Benedetti no renuncian a nada. Desde la más voraz crítica social de un mundo gris y rutinario marcado por la burocracia que recuerda a Kafka o a los “Dublineses” de Joyce que se recogen en su antología “Poemas de la Oficina” (1953-1956), hasta la politización de su pensamiento y su literatura que florece en sus colecciones “Noción de Patria” y "Preguntas al Azar” sobre la cobardía civil, la hipocresía política, la represión como modo de gobernar y la crítica rabiosa de la política exterior de los Estados Unidos o del dogma religioso, pasando por su período más vanguardista y reflexivo dónde la mortalidad y la vejez afectan la voz del escritor. La puntuación y las mayúsculas desaparecen, e influido por autores como el Peruano César Vallejo, los versos tienden a acortarse y a condensar su esencia en estructuras tipo “haiku” y aforismos que juegan con la palabra y buscan el doble significado, siempre mordaz pero generoso. “Azotea” por “azotar”, “sin rastro” por “sin rostro”, “cerrar de ojos” por “cerrar de odios”, este tipo de elipsis que mezcla dos frases hechas hace que el lenguaje directo que utiliza Benedetti pueda leerse en diferentes claves, una literal y otra alegórica que infunde sus poemas con diversas interpretaciones posibles y hace que la traducción de sus poemas tiendan a dar un resultado poco satisfactorio.
Pero más que la Historia con mayúsculas que marcó la vida de este hombre y que claramente influyó sus poemas, es la verdad urgente que uno siente al leer los pedacitos de alma que este poeta describía al hablar de la soledad como noche con los ojos abiertos, o de su país allá en el sur del alma, o del “desexilio” como regreso al propio desconcierto, o del amor que sólo existe en el anhelo desnudo.
Lo extraño y lo familiar se convierten en universal y cada nuevo verso nos llega desde adentro. Los desaparecidos ya no son fantasmas y los amantes siguen debajo la copa de los árboles, eternos y escondidos, escuchando la lluvia caer y diciéndose quién sabe qué silencios. Y Benedetti se convierte en palabra, y cómo él decía, palabra es mundo y su mundo es utopía y sí, finalmente es sueño.
“en verdad a qué vengo
no lo sé con certeza
pero vengo”
To my English speaking friends I can only recommend the bilingual edition of the selected poems “Witness: The Selected Poems of Mario Benedetti” and hope that the urgency of Benedetti’s stanzas will find some rest, even a painful peace, in the hearts of generous and cultivated readers.
Con corazón en mano y alma de aleteo de mariposa, Benedetti se desnuda poema tras poema y nos cuenta sus sueños y desilusiones, incorporando elementos cotidianos que nos hacen suspirar con nostalgia propia.
Se sitúa a Benedetti dentro de la “Generación del 45” o de la “Generación de los Desaparecidos”, pues la Segunda Guerra Mundial hizo tambalear una frágil República que acabó en un Golpe de Estado y una dictadura militar que duró más de diez años. Benedetti, declarado activista de izquierdas, tuvo que abandonar su querido Montevideo e hizo de Buenos Aires, la Habana, Madrid y Perú sus segundos hogares, lugares donde escribió la mayor parte de su obra, la cual late con añoranza optimista y una pasión desgarradora por la vida aquí y allá, así como la búsqueda eterna de las múltiples capas que conforman la identidad.
Los poemas de Benedetti no renuncian a nada. Desde la más voraz crítica social de un mundo gris y rutinario marcado por la burocracia que recuerda a Kafka o a los “Dublineses” de Joyce que se recogen en su antología “Poemas de la Oficina” (1953-1956), hasta la politización de su pensamiento y su literatura que florece en sus colecciones “Noción de Patria” y "Preguntas al Azar” sobre la cobardía civil, la hipocresía política, la represión como modo de gobernar y la crítica rabiosa de la política exterior de los Estados Unidos o del dogma religioso, pasando por su período más vanguardista y reflexivo dónde la mortalidad y la vejez afectan la voz del escritor. La puntuación y las mayúsculas desaparecen, e influido por autores como el Peruano César Vallejo, los versos tienden a acortarse y a condensar su esencia en estructuras tipo “haiku” y aforismos que juegan con la palabra y buscan el doble significado, siempre mordaz pero generoso. “Azotea” por “azotar”, “sin rastro” por “sin rostro”, “cerrar de ojos” por “cerrar de odios”, este tipo de elipsis que mezcla dos frases hechas hace que el lenguaje directo que utiliza Benedetti pueda leerse en diferentes claves, una literal y otra alegórica que infunde sus poemas con diversas interpretaciones posibles y hace que la traducción de sus poemas tiendan a dar un resultado poco satisfactorio.
Pero más que la Historia con mayúsculas que marcó la vida de este hombre y que claramente influyó sus poemas, es la verdad urgente que uno siente al leer los pedacitos de alma que este poeta describía al hablar de la soledad como noche con los ojos abiertos, o de su país allá en el sur del alma, o del “desexilio” como regreso al propio desconcierto, o del amor que sólo existe en el anhelo desnudo.
Lo extraño y lo familiar se convierten en universal y cada nuevo verso nos llega desde adentro. Los desaparecidos ya no son fantasmas y los amantes siguen debajo la copa de los árboles, eternos y escondidos, escuchando la lluvia caer y diciéndose quién sabe qué silencios. Y Benedetti se convierte en palabra, y cómo él decía, palabra es mundo y su mundo es utopía y sí, finalmente es sueño.
“en verdad a qué vengo
no lo sé con certeza
pero vengo”
To my English speaking friends I can only recommend the bilingual edition of the selected poems “Witness: The Selected Poems of Mario Benedetti” and hope that the urgency of Benedetti’s stanzas will find some rest, even a painful peace, in the hearts of generous and cultivated readers.
July 28, 2016
When a desensitized world renders me speechless, he gives me words.
Graceful words that waltz across the lyrical page, words that introduce an international landscape and era, words that traverse cultures and language to rest upon my reading conscience.
When the world around me seems shaky, bewildering and negative, he tells me his stories of depression during a period of Latin America's wars of the 1970s and 80s, when his native home, Uruguay, had a front row seat to brutality. He depicts his exile to argentina, Chile, Peru, Spain, and Cuba, assures me of how he picked up and kept going, even when the odds were great. Despite the odds.
When I seek comfort in language, he distills happiness in melancholy, as odd as this may sound. He gives me music in words, subtleties, yet also stark simplicity. Raw, expansive, and direct, his words inform and still soothes. He toys with language, immerses hidden meanings, subtle nuances.
These words embrace and arouse me and I'm reminded of the sensory profundity of Anna Akhmatova's words in her Selected Poems:
But enough of Akhmatova. Who says that politics can't be poetry? We're enhanced and informed by our surroundings and experiences, so why should artists of the written word be limited? Benedetti has a great way of bringing his black world to the white page, he lets his melancholy and disdain seep through, but also disperses hope and happiness in a structure that does not adheres to punctuation:
Some of these poems are introspective, while others gaze out at the world; some philosophical, some rhetorical; there is some cynicism, some optimism. The collection is expertly pieced: two languages occurring simultaneously. It also helps that Benedetti's close friend, Louise Popkin, studied his work, spent long periods in Uruguay, and worked closely with the poet while translating. What is impressive is how the poems in here are strategically handpicked from each of Benedetti's thirty collections.
When a desensitized world renders me helpless, he reminds me of the long lost vestige of love.
Graceful words that waltz across the lyrical page, words that introduce an international landscape and era, words that traverse cultures and language to rest upon my reading conscience.
When the world around me seems shaky, bewildering and negative, he tells me his stories of depression during a period of Latin America's wars of the 1970s and 80s, when his native home, Uruguay, had a front row seat to brutality. He depicts his exile to argentina, Chile, Peru, Spain, and Cuba, assures me of how he picked up and kept going, even when the odds were great. Despite the odds.
you learn
and use what you've learned
to grow gradually wiser
until you realize the world is only this
at its best a nostalgic moment
at its worst a moment of helplessness
and always always
a mess
(excerpted from "Vitae")
When I seek comfort in language, he distills happiness in melancholy, as odd as this may sound. He gives me music in words, subtleties, yet also stark simplicity. Raw, expansive, and direct, his words inform and still soothes. He toys with language, immerses hidden meanings, subtle nuances.
These words embrace and arouse me and I'm reminded of the sensory profundity of Anna Akhmatova's words in her Selected Poems:
There I learned how faces fall apart,
How fear looks out from under the eyelids,
How deep are the hieroglyphics
Cut by suffering on people's cheeks.
But enough of Akhmatova. Who says that politics can't be poetry? We're enhanced and informed by our surroundings and experiences, so why should artists of the written word be limited? Benedetti has a great way of bringing his black world to the white page, he lets his melancholy and disdain seep through, but also disperses hope and happiness in a structure that does not adheres to punctuation:
On my roster of happy things
just a few stand out for me/
sparkles in drabness
beauty in ugliness
the pulsing of rocks
and most of all most of all
your steadfast heart
that I touch with mine
("Tossing and Turning")
Some of these poems are introspective, while others gaze out at the world; some philosophical, some rhetorical; there is some cynicism, some optimism. The collection is expertly pieced: two languages occurring simultaneously. It also helps that Benedetti's close friend, Louise Popkin, studied his work, spent long periods in Uruguay, and worked closely with the poet while translating. What is impressive is how the poems in here are strategically handpicked from each of Benedetti's thirty collections.
the truth is that pressing needs
even our passions
always end up twisting us out of shape
that's how our smugness and pride are hobbled
or conversely swell like tumors
it's how our hate and love crystallize
into this stony manichean topography of the heart
it's how the flimsy flakes of our pretenses fall away
leaving our abject anger raw and exposed
it's how the eyelids of our self-pity opens permanently
and our gaze becomes an unwavering merciless sword
(excerpted from "Triumph of the Defeated").
When a desensitized world renders me helpless, he reminds me of the long lost vestige of love.
April 5, 2012
with some eighty books to his name, it is rather regrettable that so little of mario benedetti's work is available in english translation (there are seven books at last count, at least one of which is long out of print). the late uruguayan author composed short stories, novels, poems, plays, and essays, and was widely celebrated throughout latin america as one of their most important writers. following the 1973 coup, benedetti fled uruguay and lived in exile for over a decade, an experience which informed his writing in great measure.
witness features selections from thirty distinct books of poetry, spanning sixty years of benedetti's writing career. this bilingual collection is the most comprehensive edition of his poems currently available in english. the poems within witness were translated from the spanish by louise b popkin, whom also rendered about a third of the stories featured in a 1997 collection of benedetti's short stories, blood pact & other stories. in 2003, curbstone press published little stones at my window (translated by charles d hatfield), a bilingual selection featuring many of the same poems as those to be found in witness. a side-by-side reading of the two translations offers interesting interpretational choices on the part of both popkin and hatfield, yet both allow the richness of benedetti's language and imagery to flourish on the page. some of the poems read more fluidly in one translation or the other, but the essence remains apparent in each. popkin points out, in her introductory note, some of the challenges she faced while translating benedetti's work, and mentions the good fortune she had in being able to consult with him, as a friend and translator, in the years prior to his passing.
benedetti's poetry is vivid, striking, and full of sincerity. his poems, like so many of his short stories, are, above all, about individuals, be they lovers, exiles, clerks, urban denizens, or victims of political oppression. his perceptions of people and everyday life, with all their requisite hopes, joys, and frustrations, are remarkably keen and lively. there is an empathy and camaraderie that benedetti obviously felt for others evident in nearly every poem. his work is possessed by an understated brilliance that belies his enormous talent. benedetti's politics, apparent in so much of his writing, were informed by compassion, a thirst for independence and freedom from tyranny. witness is a distinguished collection (and translation) of poems from one of latin america's most important literary figures of the past century. mario benedetti was as fine a writer as they come; one assuredly deserving of a far greater audience amongst english readers than he's ever likely to attract.
witness features selections from thirty distinct books of poetry, spanning sixty years of benedetti's writing career. this bilingual collection is the most comprehensive edition of his poems currently available in english. the poems within witness were translated from the spanish by louise b popkin, whom also rendered about a third of the stories featured in a 1997 collection of benedetti's short stories, blood pact & other stories. in 2003, curbstone press published little stones at my window (translated by charles d hatfield), a bilingual selection featuring many of the same poems as those to be found in witness. a side-by-side reading of the two translations offers interesting interpretational choices on the part of both popkin and hatfield, yet both allow the richness of benedetti's language and imagery to flourish on the page. some of the poems read more fluidly in one translation or the other, but the essence remains apparent in each. popkin points out, in her introductory note, some of the challenges she faced while translating benedetti's work, and mentions the good fortune she had in being able to consult with him, as a friend and translator, in the years prior to his passing.
benedetti's poetry is vivid, striking, and full of sincerity. his poems, like so many of his short stories, are, above all, about individuals, be they lovers, exiles, clerks, urban denizens, or victims of political oppression. his perceptions of people and everyday life, with all their requisite hopes, joys, and frustrations, are remarkably keen and lively. there is an empathy and camaraderie that benedetti obviously felt for others evident in nearly every poem. his work is possessed by an understated brilliance that belies his enormous talent. benedetti's politics, apparent in so much of his writing, were informed by compassion, a thirst for independence and freedom from tyranny. witness is a distinguished collection (and translation) of poems from one of latin america's most important literary figures of the past century. mario benedetti was as fine a writer as they come; one assuredly deserving of a far greater audience amongst english readers than he's ever likely to attract.
desaparecidos
they're out there somewhere/all assembled
disassembled/bewildered/voiceless
each seeking the others/seeking us
hemmed in by their question marks and doubts
with their eyes on the ironwork in the plazas
the doorbells/the shabby rooftops
sorting through their dreams/forgotten memories
perhaps recovering from their private deaths
no one has told them yet for sure
if they're gone for good or not
if they're banners now or tremors
survivors or prayers for the dead
they see trees and birds go by
and wonder which shadows are theirs
when they first started disappearing
three five seven ceremonies ago
disappearing as if they were ghosts
with no trace or face or good reason
they glimpsed through the window of their absence
what was left behind/that scaffold
of embraces sky and smoke
when they first started disappearing
like the oasis in a mirage
disappearing with no last words
they still held in their hands the pieces
of things they loved
they're out there somewhere/in the clouds or a grave
they're out there somewhere/of that i'm certain
in the dear southern reaches of my heart
it may be they've lost their bearings
and now they wander asking always asking
where the fuck is the road to true love
because they're coming from so much hate.
February 7, 2017
Un fin de semana fantástico con Benedetti.
Mi amiga Dolors, anglófila donde las haya, me presta el libro “Witness. The selected poems of Mario Benedetti.”, una edición bilingüe de White Pine Press, Buffalo, Nueva York, 2012.
Los poemas de Benedetti son hermosos. Lo son por su sencillez y porque van directos al corazón del lector, sin pasar por el cerebro, como me gusta decirlo a mí. Conmueven, emocionan.
Una selección personal:
-de temática amorosa:
- Asunción de ti. Poema dedicado a su esposa Luz. Un poema de amor magnífico. Unos cuantos versos:
“Pero nunca será. Tú no eres ésa,
yo no soy ése, ésos, los que fuimos
antes de ser nosotros.
Eras sí pero ahora
Suenas un poco a mí.
Era sí pero ahora
vengo un poco de ti.”
- A la izquierda del roble. Poema en el que al autor observa a un par de enamorados en el Jardín Botánico e imagina y escribe lo que supuestamente están diciendo. Se trata de un homenaje al amor fou. Unos cuantos versos:
“pero los niños que así vienen
muertos de amor, muertos de miedo
tienen tan grande el corazón
que se destruyen sin saberlo
vos lo dijiste
nuestro amor
fue desde siempre un niño muerto.”
- Táctica y estrategia. Un poema que trata del juego de la seducción con el objetivo de que la elegida caiga en las redes del poeta como ya indica en el título.
-de temática política: las composiciones de este tipo ocupan gran parte del poemario. Se trata de poemas de denuncia explícita de la dictadura uruguaya como Desaparecidos, Victoria del vencido, Torturador y espejo; poemas inconformistas y críticos con la política en un sentido más genérico como Quemar las naves o Casi réquiem y también poemas sobre el fenómeno del exilio y de la nostalgia asociada a éste que el mismo Benedetti sufrió durante muchos años como Cumpleaños en Manhattan, Pero vengo o Eso dicen.
Merece la pena leer el libro entero, ésta es solo una selección ejemplificativa.
Recomiendo la película El lado oscuro del corazón dirigida por Eliseo Subiela y estrenada en 1992 que deberé volver a ver porque apenas la recuerdo.
Aquí una entrevista a Mario Benedetti: http://elpais.com/diario/2006/09/17/e...
Entrañable.
Mi amiga Dolors, anglófila donde las haya, me presta el libro “Witness. The selected poems of Mario Benedetti.”, una edición bilingüe de White Pine Press, Buffalo, Nueva York, 2012.
Los poemas de Benedetti son hermosos. Lo son por su sencillez y porque van directos al corazón del lector, sin pasar por el cerebro, como me gusta decirlo a mí. Conmueven, emocionan.
Una selección personal:
-de temática amorosa:
- Asunción de ti. Poema dedicado a su esposa Luz. Un poema de amor magnífico. Unos cuantos versos:
“Pero nunca será. Tú no eres ésa,
yo no soy ése, ésos, los que fuimos
antes de ser nosotros.
Eras sí pero ahora
Suenas un poco a mí.
Era sí pero ahora
vengo un poco de ti.”
- A la izquierda del roble. Poema en el que al autor observa a un par de enamorados en el Jardín Botánico e imagina y escribe lo que supuestamente están diciendo. Se trata de un homenaje al amor fou. Unos cuantos versos:
“pero los niños que así vienen
muertos de amor, muertos de miedo
tienen tan grande el corazón
que se destruyen sin saberlo
vos lo dijiste
nuestro amor
fue desde siempre un niño muerto.”
- Táctica y estrategia. Un poema que trata del juego de la seducción con el objetivo de que la elegida caiga en las redes del poeta como ya indica en el título.
-de temática política: las composiciones de este tipo ocupan gran parte del poemario. Se trata de poemas de denuncia explícita de la dictadura uruguaya como Desaparecidos, Victoria del vencido, Torturador y espejo; poemas inconformistas y críticos con la política en un sentido más genérico como Quemar las naves o Casi réquiem y también poemas sobre el fenómeno del exilio y de la nostalgia asociada a éste que el mismo Benedetti sufrió durante muchos años como Cumpleaños en Manhattan, Pero vengo o Eso dicen.
Merece la pena leer el libro entero, ésta es solo una selección ejemplificativa.
Recomiendo la película El lado oscuro del corazón dirigida por Eliseo Subiela y estrenada en 1992 que deberé volver a ver porque apenas la recuerdo.
Aquí una entrevista a Mario Benedetti: http://elpais.com/diario/2006/09/17/e...
Entrañable.
May 8, 2018
Mario Benedetti, siempre apasionante y desbordante. Un placer leerlo y sumergirse en sus pensamientos que haces propios. En esta nueva recopilación donde uno es testigo de si mismo.
January 17, 2018
“I choose the path of love with scant courage with few hopes but with memory.” Mario Benedetti bore witness to the throb of love he carried for the oppressed, and his poems became the voice of los despareccieron—the ones who are gone, disappeared in the many civil wars of South and Central America. Everywhere this Uruguayan exile wandered he always heard a martyr’s moan in the wind, and the ache for missing los compañeros filled every corner of his vast heart before settling into his fragile bones like arthritis. Benedetti desired to be a word and his poems collected in “Witness” are a cry to the atlas of his heart.
DESAPARECIDOS
They’re out there all assembled
Disassembled/bewildered/voiceless
Each seeking the others/seeking us
Hemmed in by their question marks and doubts
sorting through their dreams/forgotten memories
perhaps recovering from their private deaths.
No one has told them yet for sure
If they’re gone for good or not
If they’re banners now or tremors
Survivors or prayers for the dead
They see trees and birds go by
And wonder which shadows are theirs.
When they first started disappearing
Like the oasis in a mirage
Disappearing with no last words
They still held in their hands the pieces
Of things they loved.
They’re out there somewhere/ in the clouds or a grave
They’re out there somewhere/ of that I’m certain
In the dear southern reaches of my heart.
It may be they’ve lost their bearings
And now they wander asking always asking
Where the fuck is the road to true love
Because they’re coming from so much hate.
While bearing witness to the Desaparecidos, Benedetti also testified to hope as he continued to believe in the unbelievable—world peace; eradication of poverty; and justice. He beats his drums and erects his barricades for a new world order that empowers the downtrodden and gives wind to their desires. Benedetti writes with simplicity, and each of his poems come out to meet us, chide us, and to tell us secrets that cause us to rejoice or to weep. Into each poem he puts his life as well as a little of his death. Each poem is a toast to sorrow, which is Benedetti’s way of drinking to life.
Nostalgia and solitude soak his poems, for in the end, he remains the exile that he was in life- condemned to look for the loved ones who kindle his sorrow. “In my memory no river flows/ no rushing streams/ all I see is a brook that’s a trickle of blood/ meanwhile/ everything’s fading/ I’m dissolving/returning to limbo/ just like that/ just like/ some desparecidos disappear.” Mario Benedetti dares us not to stand idle at the side of the road, ignoring the blood in our veins. He declares “don’t play it safe and don’t love with half a heart!” Sometimes half a heart is all that we have left, but perhaps we can at least give that.
DESAPARECIDOS
They’re out there all assembled
Disassembled/bewildered/voiceless
Each seeking the others/seeking us
Hemmed in by their question marks and doubts
sorting through their dreams/forgotten memories
perhaps recovering from their private deaths.
No one has told them yet for sure
If they’re gone for good or not
If they’re banners now or tremors
Survivors or prayers for the dead
They see trees and birds go by
And wonder which shadows are theirs.
When they first started disappearing
Like the oasis in a mirage
Disappearing with no last words
They still held in their hands the pieces
Of things they loved.
They’re out there somewhere/ in the clouds or a grave
They’re out there somewhere/ of that I’m certain
In the dear southern reaches of my heart.
It may be they’ve lost their bearings
And now they wander asking always asking
Where the fuck is the road to true love
Because they’re coming from so much hate.
While bearing witness to the Desaparecidos, Benedetti also testified to hope as he continued to believe in the unbelievable—world peace; eradication of poverty; and justice. He beats his drums and erects his barricades for a new world order that empowers the downtrodden and gives wind to their desires. Benedetti writes with simplicity, and each of his poems come out to meet us, chide us, and to tell us secrets that cause us to rejoice or to weep. Into each poem he puts his life as well as a little of his death. Each poem is a toast to sorrow, which is Benedetti’s way of drinking to life.
Nostalgia and solitude soak his poems, for in the end, he remains the exile that he was in life- condemned to look for the loved ones who kindle his sorrow. “In my memory no river flows/ no rushing streams/ all I see is a brook that’s a trickle of blood/ meanwhile/ everything’s fading/ I’m dissolving/returning to limbo/ just like that/ just like/ some desparecidos disappear.” Mario Benedetti dares us not to stand idle at the side of the road, ignoring the blood in our veins. He declares “don’t play it safe and don’t love with half a heart!” Sometimes half a heart is all that we have left, but perhaps we can at least give that.
July 2, 2019
“I choose the path of love with scant courage with few hopes but with memory.”
Mario Benedetti bore witness to the throb of love he carried for the oppressed, and his poems became the voice of los despareccieron—the ones who are gone, disappeared in the many civil wars of South and Central America. Everywhere this Uruguayan exile wandered he always heard a martyr’s moan in the wind, and the ache for missing los compañeros filled every corner of his vast heart before settling into his fragile bones like arthritis. Benedetti desired to be a word and his poems collected in “Witness” are a cry to the atlas of his heart.
DESAPARECIDOS
They’re out there all assembled
Disassembled/bewildered/voiceless
Each seeking the others/seeking us
Hemmed in by their question marks and doubts
sorting through their dreams/forgotten memories
perhaps recovering from their private deaths.
No one has told them yet for sure
If they’re gone for good or not
If they’re banners now or tremors
Survivors or prayers for the dead
They see trees and birds go by
And wonder which shadows are theirs.
When they first started disappearing
Like the oasis in a mirage
Disappearing with no last words
They still held in their hands the pieces
Of things they loved.
They’re out there somewhere/ in the clouds or a grave
They’re out there somewhere/ of that I’m certain
In the dear southern reaches of my heart.
It may be they’ve lost their bearings
And now they wander asking always asking
Where the fuck is the road to true love
Because they’re coming from so much hate.
While bearing witness to the Desaparecidos, Benedetti also testified to hope as he continued to believe in the unbelievable—world peace; eradication of poverty; and justice. He beats his drums and erects his barricades for a new world order that empowers the downtrodden and gives wind to their desires. Benedetti writes with simplicity, and each of his poems come out to meet us, chide us, and to tell us secrets that cause us to rejoice or to weep. Into each poem he puts his life as well as a little of his death. Each poem is a toast to sorrow, which is Benedetti’s way of drinking to life.
Nostalgia and solitude soak his poems, for in the end, he remains the exile that he was in life- condemned to look for the loved ones who kindle his sorrow. “In my memory no river flows/ no rushing streams/ all I see is a brook that’s a trickle of blood/ meanwhile/ everything’s fading/ I’m dissolving/returning to limbo/ just like that/ just like/ some desparecidos disappear.” Mario Benedetti dares us not to stand idle at the side of the road, ignoring the blood in our veins. He declares “don’t play it safe and don’t love with half a heart!”
Sometimes half a heart is all that we have left, but perhaps we can at least give that.
Mario Benedetti bore witness to the throb of love he carried for the oppressed, and his poems became the voice of los despareccieron—the ones who are gone, disappeared in the many civil wars of South and Central America. Everywhere this Uruguayan exile wandered he always heard a martyr’s moan in the wind, and the ache for missing los compañeros filled every corner of his vast heart before settling into his fragile bones like arthritis. Benedetti desired to be a word and his poems collected in “Witness” are a cry to the atlas of his heart.
DESAPARECIDOS
They’re out there all assembled
Disassembled/bewildered/voiceless
Each seeking the others/seeking us
Hemmed in by their question marks and doubts
sorting through their dreams/forgotten memories
perhaps recovering from their private deaths.
No one has told them yet for sure
If they’re gone for good or not
If they’re banners now or tremors
Survivors or prayers for the dead
They see trees and birds go by
And wonder which shadows are theirs.
When they first started disappearing
Like the oasis in a mirage
Disappearing with no last words
They still held in their hands the pieces
Of things they loved.
They’re out there somewhere/ in the clouds or a grave
They’re out there somewhere/ of that I’m certain
In the dear southern reaches of my heart.
It may be they’ve lost their bearings
And now they wander asking always asking
Where the fuck is the road to true love
Because they’re coming from so much hate.
While bearing witness to the Desaparecidos, Benedetti also testified to hope as he continued to believe in the unbelievable—world peace; eradication of poverty; and justice. He beats his drums and erects his barricades for a new world order that empowers the downtrodden and gives wind to their desires. Benedetti writes with simplicity, and each of his poems come out to meet us, chide us, and to tell us secrets that cause us to rejoice or to weep. Into each poem he puts his life as well as a little of his death. Each poem is a toast to sorrow, which is Benedetti’s way of drinking to life.
Nostalgia and solitude soak his poems, for in the end, he remains the exile that he was in life- condemned to look for the loved ones who kindle his sorrow. “In my memory no river flows/ no rushing streams/ all I see is a brook that’s a trickle of blood/ meanwhile/ everything’s fading/ I’m dissolving/returning to limbo/ just like that/ just like/ some desparecidos disappear.” Mario Benedetti dares us not to stand idle at the side of the road, ignoring the blood in our veins. He declares “don’t play it safe and don’t love with half a heart!”
Sometimes half a heart is all that we have left, but perhaps we can at least give that.
October 5, 2017
Never heard of him before asking a Guatemalan friend of mine for a poetry suggestion. Like with most poets, I found a few (e.g. Outdoor Poems from "Tossing and Turning" 2002) that I enjoyed/noted to read in the future. This is a great book for showing his style over the years. Also was nice to have one side be in Spanish and the other in English so you can share it with your Spanish-speaking friends!
January 29, 2018
One of the best poets of the 20th century hands down. Overshadowed by Neruda and Borges but deserves to be read in translation as much as either of them. Incredibly impressed, especially with his earlier work.
August 18, 2022
Emocionante. Toca temas muy profundos, de mis favoritos de Benedetti.
August 16, 2023
Simplemente bello.
April 23, 2025
Te amo Mario Benedetti
Read
August 4, 2025Cuando pruebo a leer por primera vez algo de la poesía de un escritor y percibo que no depuro bien el estilo o no caso con él, intento leer tapándome los ojos
June 11, 2025
mi poemario favorito, inspiró la película: el lado obscuro del corazón which is a very nice movie
February 18, 2013
A former colleague from Mexico introduced me to Mario Benedetti during a literary chat while working together. She spoke of him with highest praise and respect stating that her favorite poem from his collection is "A la Izquierda del roble ~ To the left of the oak tree" and that I must read this poem along with his other works. She followed up the day after by presenting me a CD of audio recordings from Benedetti which I listened and did my best to comprehend since English is my primary language.
I looked online and discovered White Pine Press released a selected poems edition called "Witness" translated by Louise B. Popkin and then contacted the wonderful indie bookstore Small World Books in Venice, CA to order directly from the publisher. I shared with my friend about the order then picked up the book and started with "To the left of the oak tree" after reading the preface. I was totally enraptured by this piece of writing then reread a few more times in both English and Spanish. I went further by bringing it to work and surprising my colleague by pulling it out and reading it to her in Spanish. Reading aloud made me love it even more so I carried on to read a shorter poem called "Angelus" from the Office Poems section with imagery unfolding in the visual sense and rhythm of a cinematic piece projecting on a screen.
Each poem is like digesting a literary meal of words and language. Rereading each one three, four, five times, then switching to reading in Spanish I've been spending great moments with this book during the past eight months at many intervals. The translation flows superbly and the informative notes provide wonderful insight to the culture and how Benedetti was drawing from inspiration using words within the context of each notable poem. Props to Louise B. Popkin for her word choices that could not be put into English.
This collection is relentless from youth until the year within in his death displaying his poignant gift of the poetic and written word. Benedetti's soul sings from beginning to end and with age continues to delve deeper within the wells of his soul. I'm delighted to have connected with such brilliant writing and highly suggest this book for anyone interested in discovering the work of a poetic titan.
I looked online and discovered White Pine Press released a selected poems edition called "Witness" translated by Louise B. Popkin and then contacted the wonderful indie bookstore Small World Books in Venice, CA to order directly from the publisher. I shared with my friend about the order then picked up the book and started with "To the left of the oak tree" after reading the preface. I was totally enraptured by this piece of writing then reread a few more times in both English and Spanish. I went further by bringing it to work and surprising my colleague by pulling it out and reading it to her in Spanish. Reading aloud made me love it even more so I carried on to read a shorter poem called "Angelus" from the Office Poems section with imagery unfolding in the visual sense and rhythm of a cinematic piece projecting on a screen.
Each poem is like digesting a literary meal of words and language. Rereading each one three, four, five times, then switching to reading in Spanish I've been spending great moments with this book during the past eight months at many intervals. The translation flows superbly and the informative notes provide wonderful insight to the culture and how Benedetti was drawing from inspiration using words within the context of each notable poem. Props to Louise B. Popkin for her word choices that could not be put into English.
This collection is relentless from youth until the year within in his death displaying his poignant gift of the poetic and written word. Benedetti's soul sings from beginning to end and with age continues to delve deeper within the wells of his soul. I'm delighted to have connected with such brilliant writing and highly suggest this book for anyone interested in discovering the work of a poetic titan.
February 15, 2017
En su poesía, Benedetti desnuda su alma y la observa en sus melancólicos pensamientos de soledad, desencuentros, pérdida o muerte con la pensativa curiosidad de un testigo.
Es sencilla, directa, profunda.
no voy a lamentarme ni a reír
sólo quisiera penetrar en mí
con la curiosidad del inocente
De repente, un detalle cotidiano desencadena el movimiento de la introspección. Un afilador de cuchillos invita al poeta a avivar sus recuerdos atenuados, sus vagabundeos por Montevideo se trasforman en paseos interiores, el viento despierta unas heridas pasadas, el agua del río lo remite a sus propios naufragios.
Esa introspección, sin embargo, se hace sin complacencia y se da como un testimonio de lucidez y de dignidad. El llanto que la acompaña es una válvula que permite al alma salvaguardar su pureza
cada sollozo tiene sus matices
y aunque sufra el amor y aunque nos duela
con el llanto uno riega sus raíces
Antes que nada es una poesía terrenal, concreta, que no se deja embriagar ni por la metafísica, ni por el cosmos.
entre lejos y lejos rueda el mundo
y cada vez es más indescifrable
no nos anestesiemos con su magia
y disfrutemos de lo que está cerca
El ocio es estéril, no es generoso, es muerte
ocurre sin halagos ni lujuria
sin estremecimiento no coraje
sin ganas de volar como los pájaros
ni de arrodillarnos por las dudas
La respuesta al dolor, a la melancolía es efectivamente la concreta generosidad, la curiosidad y la valentía. Aprender, descubrir, leer, seguir sembrando aunque no todas las semillas den fruta. Aventurarse a amar también y no dejar que se apague la débil candela de la esperanza.
Ojalá amemos sin bochorno
ojalá amemos
ojalá
Es sencilla, directa, profunda.
no voy a lamentarme ni a reír
sólo quisiera penetrar en mí
con la curiosidad del inocente
De repente, un detalle cotidiano desencadena el movimiento de la introspección. Un afilador de cuchillos invita al poeta a avivar sus recuerdos atenuados, sus vagabundeos por Montevideo se trasforman en paseos interiores, el viento despierta unas heridas pasadas, el agua del río lo remite a sus propios naufragios.
Esa introspección, sin embargo, se hace sin complacencia y se da como un testimonio de lucidez y de dignidad. El llanto que la acompaña es una válvula que permite al alma salvaguardar su pureza
cada sollozo tiene sus matices
y aunque sufra el amor y aunque nos duela
con el llanto uno riega sus raíces
Antes que nada es una poesía terrenal, concreta, que no se deja embriagar ni por la metafísica, ni por el cosmos.
entre lejos y lejos rueda el mundo
y cada vez es más indescifrable
no nos anestesiemos con su magia
y disfrutemos de lo que está cerca
El ocio es estéril, no es generoso, es muerte
ocurre sin halagos ni lujuria
sin estremecimiento no coraje
sin ganas de volar como los pájaros
ni de arrodillarnos por las dudas
La respuesta al dolor, a la melancolía es efectivamente la concreta generosidad, la curiosidad y la valentía. Aprender, descubrir, leer, seguir sembrando aunque no todas las semillas den fruta. Aventurarse a amar también y no dejar que se apague la débil candela de la esperanza.
Ojalá amemos sin bochorno
ojalá amemos
ojalá
April 18, 2012
Jeremy's review was dead on, and I agree with practically everything he said. This is a terrific translation of Benedetti's poems, one that shows the translator's knowledge of not just the Spanish language, but the local Uruguayan dialect, and her intimate knowledge of the political context and local culture. I was born and raised in Montevideo, Benedetti's home town, and it's a pleasure to see his work so carefully handled.
Some of the interesting intepretational choices you observed in Hatfield's translation (not the current book) are plain old mistakes, though. "Viejas azoteas" is not "kooky old ladies"; "grillos" is "crickets", not "shackles" (that would be "grilletes"). Some of these errors are just a bit disconcerting, but others completely change the meaning of the original. For example, the line "President Nixon comes out against routine check-ups" in the poem "Something of a requiem" sounds very strange. If you go to the Spanish original you will see that the author clearly meant "President Nixon came out of his routine medical checkup unharmed". Benedetti expresses his grief about the frail condition his father is in (despite his being "a decent and generous man") and bitterly contrasts that fact to the perfect health enjoyed by President Nixon, who Benedetti thinks is a war criminal.
Much of what's enjoyable in Benedetti's poetry does come through in Hatfield's translation, despite the translator's relative incompetence.
Nevertheless, Benedetti had long deserved an accurate and sensitive translation of much of his poetic word. "Witness: The Selected Poems of Mario Benedetti" is just that; it's the real thing.
Some of the interesting intepretational choices you observed in Hatfield's translation (not the current book) are plain old mistakes, though. "Viejas azoteas" is not "kooky old ladies"; "grillos" is "crickets", not "shackles" (that would be "grilletes"). Some of these errors are just a bit disconcerting, but others completely change the meaning of the original. For example, the line "President Nixon comes out against routine check-ups" in the poem "Something of a requiem" sounds very strange. If you go to the Spanish original you will see that the author clearly meant "President Nixon came out of his routine medical checkup unharmed". Benedetti expresses his grief about the frail condition his father is in (despite his being "a decent and generous man") and bitterly contrasts that fact to the perfect health enjoyed by President Nixon, who Benedetti thinks is a war criminal.
Much of what's enjoyable in Benedetti's poetry does come through in Hatfield's translation, despite the translator's relative incompetence.
Nevertheless, Benedetti had long deserved an accurate and sensitive translation of much of his poetic word. "Witness: The Selected Poems of Mario Benedetti" is just that; it's the real thing.
July 14, 2012
I think his poems are great ... even in translation. This is a very nice compilation, arranged chronologically with an Introduction and Notes that let the poems speak for themselves. Previously, I posted "Wake Up Love (Despabilate amor)" on FB because it is my favorite. "Vitae" is my second choice, but I don't feel that existential dread mood right now (tonight). His political poems are moving and to the point, especially: "Che" and "Money-changers (Mercaderes)".
Here is "Rifts (Grietas)":
The fact is
There's no shortage of
rifts
thus, as I recall
those that separate left-handed from right
peking from moscow
near from far-sighted
cops from prostitutes
optimists from teetotalers
clergy from customs officers
exorcists from queers
easy-to-bribe from incorruptible
prodigal sons from detectives
borges from sábato
upper from lower case
fireworks from firefighting
women from feminists
aqaurians from tauruses
prophylactics from revolutionaries
virginal from impotent
agnostics from altarboys
immortal from suicidal
french from non-french
still
sooner or very much later
they can all be bridged
except one rift
that's exceedingly deep
and separates the marvel that is man
from the demarvellizers
it's still possible to jump across that one
but watch out
we're right here
you and the rest of us
all set to make it deeper
so ladies and gentlemen
it's time to choose
choose which side
you'll stand on.
Here is "Rifts (Grietas)":
The fact is
There's no shortage of
rifts
thus, as I recall
those that separate left-handed from right
peking from moscow
near from far-sighted
cops from prostitutes
optimists from teetotalers
clergy from customs officers
exorcists from queers
easy-to-bribe from incorruptible
prodigal sons from detectives
borges from sábato
upper from lower case
fireworks from firefighting
women from feminists
aqaurians from tauruses
prophylactics from revolutionaries
virginal from impotent
agnostics from altarboys
immortal from suicidal
french from non-french
still
sooner or very much later
they can all be bridged
except one rift
that's exceedingly deep
and separates the marvel that is man
from the demarvellizers
it's still possible to jump across that one
but watch out
we're right here
you and the rest of us
all set to make it deeper
so ladies and gentlemen
it's time to choose
choose which side
you'll stand on.
January 25, 2025
ternura en estado puro
Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews