Gonzalo Rojas Pizarro was born in Lebu-Chile a December 20, 1917. Chilean poet belonging to the "Generation 38". He studied at the National Internship Barros Arana and university law and pedagogy at the University of Chile. He taught at Valparaiso from 1946 to 1952. He went to the University of Concepción until 1973, where he founded the Department of English. He also had diplomatic assignments as, cultural counselor in China 1970-1971, charge d'affaires in Cuba 1972-1973, the latter charge equivalent to ambassador.
His work is part of the continuous tradition of Latin American literary avant-garde of the twentieth century. His poetry has great influences on surrealism but he did not consider surreal. His first book "Misery of Man" was published in 1948, did not get good reviews. In 1964 he published his second book "Against Death", it would receive wider acceptance. In 1977 he published "Dark" in Venezuela, and 1979 appears as an anthology "transtierro." Widely recognized was awarded: Prize Writers Society of Chile, "Unpublished Poetry," in 1946, Reina Sofía English American Literature in 1992, this year would also take the National Prize for Literature in Chile, Premio Octavio Paz of Mexico and Jose Hernandez of Argentina and the Cervantes Prize in 2003.
was named Doctor Honoris Causa by the University of Chile.
died the morning of April 25, 2011, in Santiago at the age of 93.
POEMS
transtierro
I
Miro air in the air, will
these years how many dirty wind
under the eyelid many
exile,
II
eat
land on Earth under the tables
cement, I'll eye
I'll wave.
III
standing on the rock of the identity, this
bone and not another I will, this
my music cornea
IV
by hollow. Childbirth
am, delivery will be.
, delivery, delivery.
LOVERS
Paris, and this is a day of 59 in the air.
Apparently sunny day is the same since. Spring knows what he does with his kisses. Still
I look at the taxi urgent, and the crowd. It is written that tonight
sleep with your body length, and the endless train.
Paris, and this is the wonder violent match.
Everything is lightning and we burn non-stop since the beginning
in boredom. Let us love these poor minutes.
of trains and more trains and aircraft wandering we sewed the gods, and boats and ships, this network that unites us in the land.
Paris, and that the waves of eternity suddenly.
There we said goodbye to continue flying. Do not forget to write
. The loss of skin, these hands,
and terrible those wheels take you so far into the night,
and this world that opens up below us to continue being born.
Paris, and come join in the joyous whirl this
born and born with the revolution of everyday life.
A entrust your petals high star who comes in the months of your blood, and let you sleep on the sheet. I put my hand in
beauty of your pregnancy, and clearly touched the source.
AGAINST THE DEATH
visions and I rip your eyes I pluck each passing day.
not want to see I can not! see men die every day. I'd rather be
stone be dark,
to endure the disgust and smile soften inside
left and right so to succeed in my business.
I have no other business to be here telling the truth
in the middle of the street and all the winds:
the truth of being alive, only Live
feet on the ground and the skeleton free in this world.
What we get with that jump up to the sun with our machines
at the speed of thought, damn: what are we
to fly beyond infinity
if we die with no hope of living
timeless dark?
God does not help. No one is useless.
but breathing, and how, and even sleep
thinking that I need about ten or twenty years to go
on his face, like everyone, to sleep in two meters of cement down there.
I do not cry, I cry. Everything must be and must be,
but I can not see boxes and boxes
spend, spend, spend, spend every minute
filled with something stuffed with something, I can not even see
hot blood in the drawers. Toco
this rose, its petals kiss, I love
life, I never tire of loving women: I eat
to open the world to them. But everything is useless,
because I am a useless head
ready to cut, but not understand what it is
expect another world from this world.
I speak of God or I speak of history. I laugh
fetching the explanation so far
hunger that devours me, the hunger to live like the sun
in the grace of air, forever.
MATTER OF WILL
My father, as applicable, Coquimbo Lebu, the whole sea
my mother's rotation Earth Pizarro Abraham's asthma but let me not be a train of smoke,
Don Hector's name that was stolen May,
his wife Deborah the third day of the roses,
my 5 sisters the resurrection of the stars, Vallejo
not arrive, the table start with a single service,
my brother Jacinto, the best concerts,
Renegade the Tower of where I'm never, God,
to my childhood, the red pony, the
adolescence, the abyss,
Juan Rojas, a fish caught in the maelstrom with his patience of a saint,
the southern butterflies the larches,
Hilda, l'amour fou, and she is sleeping there,
Rodrigo Tomás my firstborn the golden ratio of courage and delivery, Concepcion
a broken mirror, Gonzalo
son jump Poetry over my head,
Catalina and Valentina wedding with beauty and I hope you invite me, Valparaiso
that tear,
Alonso my 12 years the new car ready for the twenty-first century flight
to Santiago de Chile with its 5 million missing mythology,
the year 73 shit,
that silent and apparently grants the National Prize,
into exile a pair of dirty shoes and a suit shot,
to our blood-stained snow another Nuremberg,
the missing greatness have been men in the ordeal and had died singing Lake Choshuenco
purple cup of water,
to 300 at the same time, risk,
to guess, its slenderness
to the streets of New York City 42 Paradise,
Wall Street a dollar fifty,
the torrential these days, nothing,
neighbors with that dog that keeps me awake, nothing,
to 200 miners from El Orito who taught reading in the syllabus of Heraclitus, the enchantment, Apollinaire
the key to infinity Huidobro left him,
surrealism, himself, Buñuel
the role of king that he knew by heart,
chaotic enumeration to boredom,
Death large brass crucifix.
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