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The Poems of Octavio Paz
In 1990, the Swedish Academy awarded Octavio Paz the Nobel Prize in Literature for impassioned writing with wide horizons, characterized by sensuous intelligence and humanistic integrity. Paz is a writer for the entire world to celebrate (Chicago Tribune), the poet-archer who goes straight to the heart and mind, where the center of being is one (Nadine Gordimer), the living conscience of his age (Mario Vargas Llosa), a poet-prophet, a genius (Harold Bloom).
Here at last is the first retrospective collection of Paz's poetry to span his entire writing career, from the first published poem, at age seventeen, to his magnificent last poem; the whole is assiduously edited and translated by acclaimed essayist Eliot Weinberger who has been translating Paz for over forty years with additional translations by several poet-luminaries.
This edition includes many poems that have never before been translated into English, new translations based on Paz's final revisions, and a brilliant capsule biography of Paz by Weinberger, as well as notes on the poems in Paz's own words, taken from various interviews he gave throughout his life.
Here at last is the first retrospective collection of Paz's poetry to span his entire writing career, from the first published poem, at age seventeen, to his magnificent last poem; the whole is assiduously edited and translated by acclaimed essayist Eliot Weinberger who has been translating Paz for over forty years with additional translations by several poet-luminaries.
This edition includes many poems that have never before been translated into English, new translations based on Paz's final revisions, and a brilliant capsule biography of Paz by Weinberger, as well as notes on the poems in Paz's own words, taken from various interviews he gave throughout his life.
592 pages, Hardcover
First published October 23, 2012
137 people are currently reading
1783 people want to read
About the author
Octavio Paz
541 books1,403 followersOctavio Paz Lozano was a Mexican writer, poet, and diplomat, and the winner of the 1982 Neustadt International Prize for Literature and the 1990 Nobel Prize for Literature ("for impassioned writing with wide horizons, characterized by sensuous intelligence and humanistic integrity.")
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 44 reviews
September 17, 2024
The day opens its hand
Three clouds
And these few words
(from "Seeds for a Hymn")
There is something unique about how poetry distills the outer and inner worlds. It transforms and adapts to each reader. The best collections (like this one) show how a poet's life is shaped over the years, while also helping us think about how we too have coped with life transitions. I know some friends who are unsure about reading poetry. I think the poet pens for the mind, even if sometimes in an abstract way. I have gone through challenging times with poetry, learned about life through poetry, grown up alongside poetry, and basked in poetry whenever I needed the outlet. This time, I've moved slowly with Octavio Paz and it has been an enjoyable and contemplative read. (Special thanks to my Goodreads friend, Raul , for introducing this author and collection).
How can we deal with loss, love, sexual encounters, longing, contemplation? How can a person communicate effectively about difficult things often brushed aside but buried somewhere within that could be damaging to the psyche? Reading Paz, it is as if he writes to answer these questions, and you see him struggle with his own thoughts on the page. He arranges words so beautifully that I needed to dissect them slowly in order to truly appreciate his prowess. I enjoyed discovering his sonic lines, with poetic meter bringing awareness to subtleties. He uses syntax in a way that melts the words on the page so that as I read, it shaped my emotive and I gladly missed a movie, the late-night conversation, the noise of everyday life, in order to disappear into words, rhythm, and iambic pentameter.
I enter by your eyes
you come forth by my mouth
You sleep in my blood
I waken in your head
(from "Duration")
His shorter poems are profound, but I was drawn to his longer poems because what I found fascinating was how stories are layered within even shorter stories. In some poems, not only does each stanza tell a unique story, but each line also does the same. The sections have surprisingly different angles that highlight the idea of so many words and thoughts being judiciously polished and refined into one final poem.
I heard my blood, singing in its prison,
and the sea sang with a murmur of light,
one by one the walls gave way,
all of the doors were broken down,
and the sun came bursting through my forehead,
(from "Sunstone")
For those who admire structure in their poetry, he dabbles with structure in latter poems (like "Soliloquy," "San Ildefonso Nocturne" and "Letter of Testimony"). This collection, edited and translated by Eliot Weinberger, is the first English translation with selections from his entire career. It includes his first poem at age seventeen and his last poem at age eighty-two. Paz writes about Mexico City, where he was born. He also dedicates poems to other artists, such as Carlos Pellicer, the modernist poet from Mexico. He writes for and about places. He writes about love, forbidden love, sexual tensions, unrequited love, despondency. He writes about a changing world and his fear of how dark it could become. He writing was so elucidating that I was relieved to see he won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1990.
Neither here nor there,
through that frontier of doubt,
crossed only by glimmers and mirages,
where language recants,
I travel toward myself,
The hour is a crystal ball.
(from "A Draft of Shadows")
January 21, 2024
This was my first time reading Octavio Paz, and some pages into the poems I knew it wouldn't be my last. If I have any say about it, at least. I began reading these poems as a return to a tradition I put to myself, marking the end of a year and opening a new one reading poetry.
So, 65 years worth of poetry selected and collected in this edition. The first poem was published when the writer was seventeen; the last poem when he was eighty two, just two years before his death, and I think this collection is an adequate representation of his work.
From the earlier of poems, throughout his writing, and to the later poems, Paz was fixated on the same subjects: nature, time, life, spirituality (meaning the curious and exploratory seeking and openness to possibilities, rather than the narrow and rigid set-in-stone dogmas), language, sensuality, and people. I've decided to include a few poems that I think encapsulate the feeling and essence of the poetry, as I believe his words speak more for and of his work than anyone else's can.
Among his earlier poems, this one named “Garden”:
On sensuality, this poem named “Two Bodies”:
Together with this poem “Wind, Water, Stone” expressing, even in translation, the euphony in Paz’s poetry:
Of life, from “Response and Reconciliation”, Paz’s last published poem:
Finally, of reconciliation with death and existence, the universe and the unknown, from the third part of the same poem:
I'll stop here as there are too many poems I'd like to share, some too long, like the wondrous “The City” (which Paz dedicated to the translator of this collection, Eliot Weinberger) which refuses to be splintered and shared in bits, but which I highly recommend reading as a whole.
Wistfulness suffuse these poems, the self dissolves as Paz opens himself to himself and all else around him. It is a remarkable achievement, this work; the words, in their music and longing, imprint themselves on the reader long after reading. Octavio Paz in an interview stated, “The poem is a response to an ancient question and a reconciliation with our earthly fate.” And if there are poems that prove this statement right, Paz’s are surely placed at the very top.
So, 65 years worth of poetry selected and collected in this edition. The first poem was published when the writer was seventeen; the last poem when he was eighty two, just two years before his death, and I think this collection is an adequate representation of his work.
From the earlier of poems, throughout his writing, and to the later poems, Paz was fixated on the same subjects: nature, time, life, spirituality (meaning the curious and exploratory seeking and openness to possibilities, rather than the narrow and rigid set-in-stone dogmas), language, sensuality, and people. I've decided to include a few poems that I think encapsulate the feeling and essence of the poetry, as I believe his words speak more for and of his work than anyone else's can.
Among his earlier poems, this one named “Garden”:
Clouds adrift, sleepwalking continents,
nations with no substance, no weight,
geographies drawn by the sun
and erased by the wind.
Four walls of adobe. Bougainvillea:
my eyes bathe in its peaceful flames.
The wind moves through leaves of
exaltation
and bended knees of grass.
The heliotrope with purple steps
crosses over, enveloped in its aroma.
There is a prophet: the ash tree,
and a contemplative: the pine.
The garden is small, the sky immense.
Lush survivor amid my rubble:
in my eyes you see yourself, touch yourself,
know yourself in me and in me think of
yourself,
in me you last and in me you vanish.
On sensuality, this poem named “Two Bodies”:
Two Bodies face to face
are at times two waves
and night is the ocean.
Two bodies face to face
are at times two stones
and night the desert.
Two bodies face to face
are at times roots
in the night entangled.
Two bodies face to face
are at times knives
and the night lightning.
Two bodies face to face
are two stars that fall
in an empty sky.
Together with this poem “Wind, Water, Stone” expressing, even in translation, the euphony in Paz’s poetry:
Water hollows stone,
wind scatters water,
stone stops the wind.
Water, wind, stone.
Wind carves stone,
stone’s a cup of water,
water escapes and is wind.
Stone, wind, water.
Wind sings in its whirling,
water murmurs going by,
unmoving stone keeps still.
Wind, water, stone.
Each is another and no other:
they go by and vanish
in their empty names:
water, stone, wind.
Of life, from “Response and Reconciliation”, Paz’s last published poem:
Ah life! Does no one answer?
His words rolled, bolts of lightning
etched
in years that were boulders and now are mist.
Life never answers.
It has no ears and doesn’t hear us;
it doesn’t speak, it has no tongue.
It neither goes nor stays:
we are the ones who speak,
the ones who go,
while we hear from echo to echo, year to
year,
our words rolling through a tunnel with
no end.
That which we call life
hears itself within us, speaks with our
tongues,
and through us, knows itself.
As we portray it, we become its mirror,
we invent it.
An invention of an invention: it creates
us
without knowing what it has created,
we are an accident that thinks.
It is a creature of reflections
we create by thinking,
and it hurls itself into fictitious abysses.
The depths, the transparencies
where it floats or sinks: not life, but its
idea.
It is always on the other side and is
always other,
has a thousand bodies and none,
never moves and never stops,
it is born to die, and is born at death.
Finally, of reconciliation with death and existence, the universe and the unknown, from the third part of the same poem:
And while I say what I say
time and space fall dizzyingly,
restlessly. They fall in themselves.
Man and the galaxy return to silence.
Does it matter? Yes—but it doesn’t
matter:
we know that silence is music and that
we are a chord in this concert.
I'll stop here as there are too many poems I'd like to share, some too long, like the wondrous “The City” (which Paz dedicated to the translator of this collection, Eliot Weinberger) which refuses to be splintered and shared in bits, but which I highly recommend reading as a whole.
Wistfulness suffuse these poems, the self dissolves as Paz opens himself to himself and all else around him. It is a remarkable achievement, this work; the words, in their music and longing, imprint themselves on the reader long after reading. Octavio Paz in an interview stated, “The poem is a response to an ancient question and a reconciliation with our earthly fate.” And if there are poems that prove this statement right, Paz’s are surely placed at the very top.
November 12, 2015
I was blown away and I fell in love!
The poetry was rich and caressed my heart!
The poetry was rich and caressed my heart!
August 1, 2020
Beautifully written poetry. The way Paz physically structures his poems adds so much to my understanding and the rhythm of them. Even in translation, the way his words flow is moving. The extended metaphors mixed with historical allusions and calls back to mythology. It's very difficult to review poetry because of how much emotion is involved. Suffice to say this- I read through this entire book only at night, and I blasted Ludovico Einaudi the entire time because I was so deep in my feelings.
December 31, 2024
ar šo arī 2024. gada grāmatas noslēdzu
vienreizīga dzeja no vienreizīga rakstnieka
vienreizīga dzeja no vienreizīga rakstnieka
November 28, 2015
My high school IB history teacher was extremely passionate about history, so much that he would give out extra packages of notes on various events and figures associated with the time period we were studying that we most likely didn’t need to know. I remember Octavio Paz figuring in one of them, and remember hearing our teacher praise him as a poet all of us should read at least once in our lives. When my university professor spent half a class talking about Paz and how he related to Mexican history, talking as well about his father, the famous diplomat, and other figures like Pancho Villa and Madeiro, I was the only one in class who knew who and what he was talking about. I was extremely glad to finally be giving Paz’s work a read, and hoped I would be as impressed as my history teacher promise.
And indeed I was. Although I had to read large, though still selective, chunks of poems from the book, I felt I got a good sense of where Paz was coming from, how he wrote, and what he focused on. There is an incredibly soothing feeling to his poems, even when they take a turn for the bittersweet and sometimes even terrifying. He really is a word master. The stars, sun, and moon always find their way into his poems, as well as the irresistibly romantic and sensual way in which he talks about women. “A Tale of Two Gardens” was particularly worth mentioning in that regard. Sometimes the thread of thought got lost behind the beautiful writing, while at other times the mass of references would become slightly overbearing due to lack of knowledge, but even in these cases, a couple extra reads always helped. Even if I still didn’t understand everything Paz was referring to or talking about, the melodic hum of his words got to me every time.
Paz deserves all the praise he gets, and is worth studying today, tomorrow, and for years to come. There is a timeless quality to his work, as well as strong, focus referrals to historical events and various figures, both real and not. This collection works well as both an introduction to his work as well as serving as a general collection to a reader who is familiar with the work already. I will probably be referring to this specific version again in the future when I’ll be revisiting Paz’s work.
And indeed I was. Although I had to read large, though still selective, chunks of poems from the book, I felt I got a good sense of where Paz was coming from, how he wrote, and what he focused on. There is an incredibly soothing feeling to his poems, even when they take a turn for the bittersweet and sometimes even terrifying. He really is a word master. The stars, sun, and moon always find their way into his poems, as well as the irresistibly romantic and sensual way in which he talks about women. “A Tale of Two Gardens” was particularly worth mentioning in that regard. Sometimes the thread of thought got lost behind the beautiful writing, while at other times the mass of references would become slightly overbearing due to lack of knowledge, but even in these cases, a couple extra reads always helped. Even if I still didn’t understand everything Paz was referring to or talking about, the melodic hum of his words got to me every time.
Paz deserves all the praise he gets, and is worth studying today, tomorrow, and for years to come. There is a timeless quality to his work, as well as strong, focus referrals to historical events and various figures, both real and not. This collection works well as both an introduction to his work as well as serving as a general collection to a reader who is familiar with the work already. I will probably be referring to this specific version again in the future when I’ll be revisiting Paz’s work.
Read
December 15, 2016Favorite:
Piedras sueltas
1
Flor
El grito, el pico, el diente, los aullidos,
la nada carnicera y su barullo,
ante esta simple flor se desvanecen.
2
Dama
Todas las noches baja al pozo
y a la mañana reaparece
con un nuevo reptil entre los brazos.
3
Biografía
No lo que pudo ser:
es lo que fue.
Y lo que fue, está muerto.
4
Campanas en la noche
Olas de sombra
mojan mi pensamiento
-y no lo apagan.
5
Ante la puerta
Gentes, palabras, gentes.
Dudé un instante:
la luna arriba, sola.
6
Visión
Me vi cerrar los ojos;
espacio, espacio
donde estoy y no estoy.
7
Paisaje
Los insectos atareados,
los caballos color de sol,
los burros color de nube,
las nubes, rocas enormes que no pesan,
los montes como cielos desplomados,
la manada de árboles bebiendo en el arroyo,
todos están ahí, dichosos en su estar,
frente a nosotros que no estamos,
comidos por la rabia, por el odio,
por el amor comidos, por la muerte.
8
Analfabeto
Alcé la cara al cielo,
Inmensa piedra de gastadas letras:
Nada me revelaron las estrellas.
Piedras sueltas
1
Flor
El grito, el pico, el diente, los aullidos,
la nada carnicera y su barullo,
ante esta simple flor se desvanecen.
2
Dama
Todas las noches baja al pozo
y a la mañana reaparece
con un nuevo reptil entre los brazos.
3
Biografía
No lo que pudo ser:
es lo que fue.
Y lo que fue, está muerto.
4
Campanas en la noche
Olas de sombra
mojan mi pensamiento
-y no lo apagan.
5
Ante la puerta
Gentes, palabras, gentes.
Dudé un instante:
la luna arriba, sola.
6
Visión
Me vi cerrar los ojos;
espacio, espacio
donde estoy y no estoy.
7
Paisaje
Los insectos atareados,
los caballos color de sol,
los burros color de nube,
las nubes, rocas enormes que no pesan,
los montes como cielos desplomados,
la manada de árboles bebiendo en el arroyo,
todos están ahí, dichosos en su estar,
frente a nosotros que no estamos,
comidos por la rabia, por el odio,
por el amor comidos, por la muerte.
8
Analfabeto
Alcé la cara al cielo,
Inmensa piedra de gastadas letras:
Nada me revelaron las estrellas.
January 19, 2020
"Life never answers.
It has no ears and doesn’t hear us;
it doesn’t speak, it has no tongue.
It neither goes nor stays:
we are the ones who speak,
the ones who go,
while we hear from echo to echo, year to year,
our words rolling through a tunnel with no end."
-- from “Response and Reconciliation”
"The night insists,
the night touches my forehead,
touches my thoughts.
What does it want ?"
-- from “San Ildefonso nocturne”
"I am in a room abandoned by language
You are in another identical room
Or we both are
on a street your glance has depopulated
The world
imperceptibly comes apart
Memory
decayed beneath our feet
I am stopped in the middle of this
unwritten line."
-- from “Trowbridge Street”
"My words watch me from the puddle
of my memory."
-- from “A draft of shadows”
It has no ears and doesn’t hear us;
it doesn’t speak, it has no tongue.
It neither goes nor stays:
we are the ones who speak,
the ones who go,
while we hear from echo to echo, year to year,
our words rolling through a tunnel with no end."
-- from “Response and Reconciliation”
"The night insists,
the night touches my forehead,
touches my thoughts.
What does it want ?"
-- from “San Ildefonso nocturne”
"I am in a room abandoned by language
You are in another identical room
Or we both are
on a street your glance has depopulated
The world
imperceptibly comes apart
Memory
decayed beneath our feet
I am stopped in the middle of this
unwritten line."
-- from “Trowbridge Street”
"My words watch me from the puddle
of my memory."
-- from “A draft of shadows”
August 22, 2019
My God, this collection is unreal. Some of the most exquisite, erotic, miraculous verses I've ever read. Don't let the size deter you. Each poem is rendered in the original Spanish, then translated on the opposite page, so you're essentially reading half the page count if you're only reading in English.
March 25, 2021
Love begins in the body
—where does it end? If it is a ghost,
it is made flesh in a body: if it is a body,
it vanishes at a touch. Fatal mirror:
the desired image disappears,
you drown in your own reflections.
A banquet for shades.
(From Letter of Testimony, A Tree Within)
Hace mucho quería leer las poesías de Octavio Paz porque me había enamorado de su poema Carta de creencia. Y de toda esta antología poética fue justamente Árbol adentro el que más me gustó, y fue en este libro donde originalmente se editó dicho poema.
Definitivamente un favorito.
El amor comienza en el cuerpo
¿dónde termina? Si es fantasma,
encarna en un cuerpo; si es cuerpo,
al tocarlo se disipa. Fatal espejo:
la imagen deseada se desvanece,
tú te ahogas en tus propios reflejos.
Festín de espectros.
[...]
Amar es perderse en el tiempo,
ser espejo entre espejos. Es idolatría:
endiosar una criatura
«y a lo que es temporal llamar eterno».
Todas las formas de carne
son hijas del tiempo, simulacros.
El tiempo es el mal, el instante
es la caída; amar es despeñarse:
caer interminablemente, nuestra pareja
es nuestro abismo. El abrazo:
jeroglífico de la destrucción.
Lascivia: máscara de la muerte.
—where does it end? If it is a ghost,
it is made flesh in a body: if it is a body,
it vanishes at a touch. Fatal mirror:
the desired image disappears,
you drown in your own reflections.
A banquet for shades.
(From Letter of Testimony, A Tree Within)
Hace mucho quería leer las poesías de Octavio Paz porque me había enamorado de su poema Carta de creencia. Y de toda esta antología poética fue justamente Árbol adentro el que más me gustó, y fue en este libro donde originalmente se editó dicho poema.
Definitivamente un favorito.
El amor comienza en el cuerpo
¿dónde termina? Si es fantasma,
encarna en un cuerpo; si es cuerpo,
al tocarlo se disipa. Fatal espejo:
la imagen deseada se desvanece,
tú te ahogas en tus propios reflejos.
Festín de espectros.
[...]
Amar es perderse en el tiempo,
ser espejo entre espejos. Es idolatría:
endiosar una criatura
«y a lo que es temporal llamar eterno».
Todas las formas de carne
son hijas del tiempo, simulacros.
El tiempo es el mal, el instante
es la caída; amar es despeñarse:
caer interminablemente, nuestra pareja
es nuestro abismo. El abrazo:
jeroglífico de la destrucción.
Lascivia: máscara de la muerte.
April 3, 2022
بعد چندسال شیفتهی پاز بودن، میتوانم با اطمینان تصور کنم که احتمالا جزو ده شاعر برتر من است. به اضافهی مقالات و غیره اش البته. زبان پاز، اکنون است و با پاز آدم در شفافیت خانه گرفته و از پشت زمان عبور میکند.
همینطور مجموعهای از شعرهاش را با نام «سراشیب شرق» با ترجمه مهدی جواهریان و پیمان یزدانجو از نشر چشمه خواندم که باید به گودریدز نمایهاش را اضافه کرد. ترجمه زیبا، انتخاب شعرها مناسب و مترجمانی مثل خودم شیفتهی اوکتاویو پاز، چی از این بهتر؟
«زیر این پسماندههای سیاه اما
حقیقت، کننده کارها، خفته است:
تنها میان آدمیان، آدم، آدمی است
و من فرو میروم تا بذر نور را به چنگ آورم،
آن را در وجود خویشتن بکارم:
روزی خواهد رُست.»
«دیشب درخت افرا
حرفی برای گفتن داشت-
و نگفت.»
«شکل این حروف را میکشم
آنچنان که روز، اشکال خویش را،
و بر آنها میدمد
بی آنکه بازگردد.»
همینطور مجموعهای از شعرهاش را با نام «سراشیب شرق» با ترجمه مهدی جواهریان و پیمان یزدانجو از نشر چشمه خواندم که باید به گودریدز نمایهاش را اضافه کرد. ترجمه زیبا، انتخاب شعرها مناسب و مترجمانی مثل خودم شیفتهی اوکتاویو پاز، چی از این بهتر؟
«زیر این پسماندههای سیاه اما
حقیقت، کننده کارها، خفته است:
تنها میان آدمیان، آدم، آدمی است
و من فرو میروم تا بذر نور را به چنگ آورم،
آن را در وجود خویشتن بکارم:
روزی خواهد رُست.»
«دیشب درخت افرا
حرفی برای گفتن داشت-
و نگفت.»
«شکل این حروف را میکشم
آنچنان که روز، اشکال خویش را،
و بر آنها میدمد
بی آنکه بازگردد.»
November 5, 2024
Destination read for Mexico.
Since I was there for Día de los Muertos, the following felt like an appropriate sample:
Since I was there for Día de los Muertos, the following felt like an appropriate sample:
—nothing happens, only a blink
of the sun, nothing, barely a motion,
there is no redemption, time can never
turn back, the dead are forever
fixed in death and cannot die
another death, they are untouchable,
frozen in a gesture, and from their solitude,
from their death, they watch us,
helpless, without ever watching,
their death is now a statue of their life,
an eternal being eternally nothing,
every minute is eternally nothing,
a ghostly king rules over your heartbeat
and your final expression, a hard mask
is formed over your changing face:
the monument that we are to a life,
unlived and alien, barely ours,
—when was life ever truly ours?
when are we ever what we are?
July 15, 2018
Tenho, por hábito, transcrever para aqui as palavras que mais tocam o meu coração. Não o consigo fazer, teria de copiar praticamente o livro todo. Fucking poetry! <3
“If a poem hasn't ripped apart your soul; you haven't experienced poetry.”
Edgar Allan Poe
“If a poem hasn't ripped apart your soul; you haven't experienced poetry.”
Edgar Allan Poe
January 13, 2021
This is a review on the translation, not Paz’s poetry (which is often incredible, in its original language).
Being fluent in Spanish, I am disappointed by the choices made by the various translators included in this edition. Blatant errors in pronoun translations, incorrectly translated metaphors that exist in both languages (which makes this worse)... in short, if these are the best translations we have of Octavio Paz’s poetry, we need to hurry back to the drawing board. This is unacceptable.
Imagine someone translating “the pen is mightier than the sword” to “la pluma es mad poderosa que la espada,” and then that being translated back to English as “the feather is more powerful than the sword.”
The “powerful” is acceptable; the “feather” is downright ridiculous. And yet, that is what you will find here.
Poetry is not like a memoir; it must be very thoughtfully translated, or not at all.
Being fluent in Spanish, I am disappointed by the choices made by the various translators included in this edition. Blatant errors in pronoun translations, incorrectly translated metaphors that exist in both languages (which makes this worse)... in short, if these are the best translations we have of Octavio Paz’s poetry, we need to hurry back to the drawing board. This is unacceptable.
Imagine someone translating “the pen is mightier than the sword” to “la pluma es mad poderosa que la espada,” and then that being translated back to English as “the feather is more powerful than the sword.”
The “powerful” is acceptable; the “feather” is downright ridiculous. And yet, that is what you will find here.
Poetry is not like a memoir; it must be very thoughtfully translated, or not at all.
July 30, 2017
Absolutey brilliant. Octavio Paz is one the great poets of the twentieth century, in any language. He even comes close to Neruda, if that's possible. Few poets have written more beautiful verses about time. His images and metaphors leave me in stunning bewilderment.
February 20, 2019
Simply stunning, moving, exquisite. When a friend first told me of Paz'z diverse background, I was doubtful of how well poetry could be woven in. But then he bought me a book of Paz'z poems as a gift. His imagery and diction makes one wish for literary level Spanish speaking skills.
January 24, 2021
AMAZING.
December 21, 2020
knocked off a star for a bit of repetitiveness but overall these were extraordinary and some quite literally left me breathless
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September 9, 2024"…what memories, what imprisoned desires
ignite the…flames in your skin?"
sublime, transcendental & perfect.
ignite the…flames in your skin?"
sublime, transcendental & perfect.
February 3, 2019
It is testament to the small world that the poet inhabited that the translator of this work actually has a poem dedicated to him. I do not think that everyone will appreciate a book like this one, with almost six hundred pages of poems, some of them quite experimental in their design and their use of white space and in the way that they could be put together, but as someone who is fond of reading poetry it is clear that the poetry here makes it easy to understand why it was that Octavio Paz won the Nobel Prize for literature. As a poet, the author shares some clear ideological commitments that make him an obvious choice for awards ceremonies like this one, and even as someone who does not share the various commitments of the poet, there is still a lot to appreciate here. If I have read some poets I enjoy more, I have read a great many I enjoy less. If that seems tepid praise for a book I really enjoyed reading, it is because what I found to be most inspirational and enjoyable about this book is not something that I think will be conveyed to all readers.
In terms of its scope, this book is truly a large one. Many "best of" books end up being very short, but this one gives full scope to the immensity of the author's poetic output. The poems included here were written over a span of about six decades or so. We begin with a few poems which are appropriately called "First Poems" from 1931-1940 that introduce the author's concern with identity, night, games, creation, and death, for example. After that comes a few poems written from 1941 to 1948 that include the moving and dark "Epitaph For A Poet" which points at the dishonesty of much poetic enterprise, the author's included. Then there follows selections from Eagle Or Sun from 1949 to 1950 that look to the author's own Mexican context as a source of inspiration. Selections from four volumes of poetry from 1948 to 1957 demonstrate the author's interest in stones and ruins as well as the sensuality of woman to this most sensual of poets, culminating in the lengthy poem "Sunstone" from the book of that title. From this point onward the poems become increasingly experimental in nature, some of them short and equivocal, some of them possible of being rearranged in many fashions, and a great many of them (especially from "East Slope") examining Eastern thought and religion and contemporary society's interest in the East.
Over and over again in these poems the poet returns to a familiar set of narrow concerns. Of particular interest to me as a reader was the way that the author seems to have had an immense fear of imprisonment. Why is this the case? Did the poet feel that his creative spirit was imprisoned in a physical body of considerable limitations? Did he feel that his political views threatened him with imprisonment in corrupt and dictatorial regimes (by no means an unreasonable fear for many poets and other creative people)? Did he feel that his own cultural and personal background was a sort of prison? It is hard to say for sure, but the author returned over and over again to the issue of imprisonment, including imprisonment in a castle, to allow the reader to see how the fear and reality of imprisonment and confinement shaped his poetic sense and his longing for some sort of freedom. Whether or not one agrees with the author's approach--and I do not agree with all of it myself, this work does demonstrate both the consistency as well as the variety of the poet's art over the course of a long and productive life of creation.
In terms of its scope, this book is truly a large one. Many "best of" books end up being very short, but this one gives full scope to the immensity of the author's poetic output. The poems included here were written over a span of about six decades or so. We begin with a few poems which are appropriately called "First Poems" from 1931-1940 that introduce the author's concern with identity, night, games, creation, and death, for example. After that comes a few poems written from 1941 to 1948 that include the moving and dark "Epitaph For A Poet" which points at the dishonesty of much poetic enterprise, the author's included. Then there follows selections from Eagle Or Sun from 1949 to 1950 that look to the author's own Mexican context as a source of inspiration. Selections from four volumes of poetry from 1948 to 1957 demonstrate the author's interest in stones and ruins as well as the sensuality of woman to this most sensual of poets, culminating in the lengthy poem "Sunstone" from the book of that title. From this point onward the poems become increasingly experimental in nature, some of them short and equivocal, some of them possible of being rearranged in many fashions, and a great many of them (especially from "East Slope") examining Eastern thought and religion and contemporary society's interest in the East.
Over and over again in these poems the poet returns to a familiar set of narrow concerns. Of particular interest to me as a reader was the way that the author seems to have had an immense fear of imprisonment. Why is this the case? Did the poet feel that his creative spirit was imprisoned in a physical body of considerable limitations? Did he feel that his political views threatened him with imprisonment in corrupt and dictatorial regimes (by no means an unreasonable fear for many poets and other creative people)? Did he feel that his own cultural and personal background was a sort of prison? It is hard to say for sure, but the author returned over and over again to the issue of imprisonment, including imprisonment in a castle, to allow the reader to see how the fear and reality of imprisonment and confinement shaped his poetic sense and his longing for some sort of freedom. Whether or not one agrees with the author's approach--and I do not agree with all of it myself, this work does demonstrate both the consistency as well as the variety of the poet's art over the course of a long and productive life of creation.
March 10, 2024
Unveiling Octavio Paz: A Review of "The Poems of Octavio Paz"
"The Poems of Octavio Paz," edited and translated by Eliot Weinberger, is a comprehensive collection showcasing the vast and profound work of Nobel Prize-winning Mexican poet Octavio Paz. This hefty volume, spanning Paz's entire career, offers a captivating exploration of love, solitude, history, and the human condition.
Paz's poems delve into a rich tapestry of themes. He explores the complexities of love and desire, often with a sensual and surrealist touch. Loneliness and solitude are also recurring motifs, reflecting Paz's philosophical contemplations on existence.
The collection further showcases Paz's engagement with history and politics. He grapples with Mexico's identity and the legacy of colonialism, while also weaving in universal themes of oppression and freedom.
The success of this collection hinges on Eliot Weinberger's masterful translations. He captures the essence of Paz's imagery and metaphors, ensuring the poems resonate with English-speaking readers.
"The Poems of Octavio Paz" is a monumental work and a must-read for anyone interested in 20th-century poetry and Latin American literature. Paz's masterful use of language, exploration of profound themes, and engagement with history make this collection a rewarding journey. However, the extensive volume and complexity might be better suited for dedicated poetry readers or those with some prior knowledge of Paz's work.
"The Poems of Octavio Paz," edited and translated by Eliot Weinberger, is a comprehensive collection showcasing the vast and profound work of Nobel Prize-winning Mexican poet Octavio Paz. This hefty volume, spanning Paz's entire career, offers a captivating exploration of love, solitude, history, and the human condition.
Paz's poems delve into a rich tapestry of themes. He explores the complexities of love and desire, often with a sensual and surrealist touch. Loneliness and solitude are also recurring motifs, reflecting Paz's philosophical contemplations on existence.
The collection further showcases Paz's engagement with history and politics. He grapples with Mexico's identity and the legacy of colonialism, while also weaving in universal themes of oppression and freedom.
The success of this collection hinges on Eliot Weinberger's masterful translations. He captures the essence of Paz's imagery and metaphors, ensuring the poems resonate with English-speaking readers.
"The Poems of Octavio Paz" is a monumental work and a must-read for anyone interested in 20th-century poetry and Latin American literature. Paz's masterful use of language, exploration of profound themes, and engagement with history make this collection a rewarding journey. However, the extensive volume and complexity might be better suited for dedicated poetry readers or those with some prior knowledge of Paz's work.
September 10, 2017
Poems full of language that sings and that nudges perception out of its daily rounds. Here is a part of a favorite.
Óyeme como quien oye llover,
ni atenta ni distraída,
pasos leves, llovizna,
agua que es aire, aire que es tiempo
el día no acaba de irse,
la noche no llega todavía,
figuraciones de la niebla
al doblar la esquina,
figuraciones del tiempo
en el recodo de esta pausa,
óyeme como quien oye llover,
sin oírme, oyendo lo que digo
con los ojos abiertos hacia adentro,
dormida con los cinco sentidos despiertos,
llueve, pasos leves, rumor de sílabas,
aire y agua, palabras que no pesan:
lo que fuimos y somos,
los días y los años, este instante,
tiempo sin peso, pesadumbre enorme,
Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
light footsteps, thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time,
the day is still leaving,
the night has yet to arrive,
figurations of mist
at the turn of the corner,
figurations of time
at the bend in this pause,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
without listening, hear what I say
with eyes open inward, asleep
with all five senses awake,
it's raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables,
air and water, words with no weight:
what we are and are,
the days and years, this moment,
weightless time and heavy sorrow,
Óyeme como quien oye llover,
ni atenta ni distraída,
pasos leves, llovizna,
agua que es aire, aire que es tiempo
el día no acaba de irse,
la noche no llega todavía,
figuraciones de la niebla
al doblar la esquina,
figuraciones del tiempo
en el recodo de esta pausa,
óyeme como quien oye llover,
sin oírme, oyendo lo que digo
con los ojos abiertos hacia adentro,
dormida con los cinco sentidos despiertos,
llueve, pasos leves, rumor de sílabas,
aire y agua, palabras que no pesan:
lo que fuimos y somos,
los días y los años, este instante,
tiempo sin peso, pesadumbre enorme,
Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
light footsteps, thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time,
the day is still leaving,
the night has yet to arrive,
figurations of mist
at the turn of the corner,
figurations of time
at the bend in this pause,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
without listening, hear what I say
with eyes open inward, asleep
with all five senses awake,
it's raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables,
air and water, words with no weight:
what we are and are,
the days and years, this moment,
weightless time and heavy sorrow,
July 23, 2019
Octavio Paz was born in Mexico City on March 31, 1914, the same city where he died in 1998, at age eighty-four. Starting to publish his first poems while still a teenager he was quickly recognised and his great success culminated in his receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1990.
The book 'The Poems of Octavio Paz' assembles his most important poems from his early to his last years. The poems reflect his travels, his life, his love for nature and people, but ever so often is just a shadow of time, a diving into a ephemeral moment where you are here, but also there, not yet left, but already arrived, walking without moving. Paz' writing is brilliant, colourful, rich, a firework of emotions.
Octavio Paz is one of my favourite poets, his poems feed my soul.
The book 'The Poems of Octavio Paz' assembles his most important poems from his early to his last years. The poems reflect his travels, his life, his love for nature and people, but ever so often is just a shadow of time, a diving into a ephemeral moment where you are here, but also there, not yet left, but already arrived, walking without moving. Paz' writing is brilliant, colourful, rich, a firework of emotions.
Octavio Paz is one of my favourite poets, his poems feed my soul.
May 18, 2019
Never read Paz before this but this collections seems to be a good introduction to his works. Lots of the poems have a mysterious and eerie tone yet one feels they understand what is being said, even if the words don't make sense.
February 13, 2021
Por alguna razón me gusta más cómo se leen sus poemas en inglés.
Mis favoritos en español:
Otoño
Un día se pierde
El mismo tiempo
Escritura
Decir: hacer
Un viento llamado Bob Rauschenberg
Como quien oye llover
Carta de creencia
Mis favoritos en español:
Otoño
Un día se pierde
El mismo tiempo
Escritura
Decir: hacer
Un viento llamado Bob Rauschenberg
Como quien oye llover
Carta de creencia
April 2, 2023
Wow...the poems of Ocavio Paz are electrically beautiful.
I did not have time to finish this collection...it is overdue and I have to bring it back to the library...but what I was able to read was some of the most beautiful poetry I've ever read.
I did not have time to finish this collection...it is overdue and I have to bring it back to the library...but what I was able to read was some of the most beautiful poetry I've ever read.
April 19, 2024
It is similar to a book full of short stories, although a bit hard to follow from time to time. Some parts of the book are harder to understand, but overall, the book contains a lot of religious beliefs, ideals, etc.
July 12, 2018
El viento despierta,
barre los pensamientos de mi frente
y me suspende
en la luz que sonríe para nadie:
¡cuánta belleza suelta!
Otoño: entre tus manos frías
el mundo llamea.
barre los pensamientos de mi frente
y me suspende
en la luz que sonríe para nadie:
¡cuánta belleza suelta!
Otoño: entre tus manos frías
el mundo llamea.
November 3, 2020
Fullständigt blindköp som visade sig vara riktigt, riktigt bra. Det verkar onekligen som om det är spansktalande poeter som är mina favoriter som helhet.
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December 16, 2020 You are a flame of water the diaphanous drop of fire spilling upon my eyelids
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