Advice and Rebuke
(1)
You will lose your way quite a few times. What with the repetition and the salary, you won’t find cause for singing. Even so, you will look for the sacred in giving up, in the sepia tone of things, in the dissolution of enthusiasm.
(2)
If you have any premonitions, suffocate them with expression, even when your expression is lacking in intensity and meaning.
(3)
You will have to let the hum of electrical appliances fall on deaf ears. It might be difficult at times, but the shape of the stains will produce a music that’s more yours.
(4)
They will tell you that your innocence comes down to simplicity.
Take note of those words, but strip them of their categorical tone and keep only the pleasure of their vowels; by insisting on this, you will have your revenge.
(5)
Do not feign insanity. Admit that some sounds fill you with pleasure. Do not play dumb. When you hear the crooner who does “my wonderful luck” and “your distant beaches” a feeling stronger than passion will spread throughout your back. You like to sing at night. You like the smell of fruit that drifts upward from the apartment below. And you say things like “the anesthetised soul” to sow confusion.
(6)
We already know that the opacity of commas delights you. But try to say, without an eraser, what this flaw left you: the violence of travelling on a funicular (Santiago de Chile, late May). Put a time and place on this creasing of your ego.
(7)
You’re forcing things.
You’re not new to meaning. You’re not thoughtful nor do you pay too much attention to what’s happening in the streets. You don’t look for a centre. Learn the threatening silence of beasts. Put yourself in their place.
(8)
Laughing into fans doesn’t interest you. You talk the talk about roses, about the famous hyacinths.
(9)
You will mutter a few half-baked protests when they tell you that your twenties are over. Something about the advantages of disenchantment, about the virtues of deception and deceiving oneself. But deep down, you will know that they’re right: there’s nothing to be done. Now that you’ve admitted it you can calm down.
Distribute insults.
Write “hyacinths”.
Consejos y reprensiones
(1)
Extraviarás tu camino varias veces. Entre la repetición y el salario, no encontrarás motivos para el canto. Aun así, buscarás lo más sagrado en la renuncia, en el tono amarillento de las cosas, en la disolución del entusiasmo.
(2)
Si vienen hacia ti las premoniciones, arrópalas con el gesto, aún cuando tu gesto no contenga la intensidad ni el sentido.
(3)
Habrás de hacer oídos sordos al ronroneo de los electrodomésticos. Puede costar, pero la forma de las manchas dictará una música más tuya.
(4)
Te dirán que tu inocencia está cifrada en lo sencillo.
Atiende esas palabras, pero despójalas del tono categórico y conserva solamente una fruición por sus vocales; en esta necedad residirá tu venganza.
(5)
No finjas demencia. Reconoce que te llenan de placer algunos ruidos. No te hagas el sueco. Cuando escuchas aquello de “tengo una suerte loca” y “tus playas lejanas” una suerte más loca que el incendio te recorre el espinazo. Te gusta cantar de noche. Te gusta que ascienda un olor a fruta desde el departamento de abajo. Y dices cosas como “el alma anestesiada” para crear desconcierto.
(6)
Ya sabemos que te deleita la opacidad de las comas. Pero plantéate decir sin tachaduras lo que te dejó esa tara: la violencia del trayecto en teleférico (Santiago de Chile, finales de mayo). Ponle fecha y lugar a ese doblez de tu ego.
(7)
Estás forzando las cosas.
No eres un diletante de los significados. No eres meditabundo ni pones demasiada atención a lo que ocurre en las calles. No buscas un centro. Aprende la quietud amenazante de las bestias. Ponte en su sitio.
(8)
No te interesa la risa frente a los ventiladores. Hablas por hablar de las rosas, de los famosos nenúfares.
(9)
Balbucearás argumentos cuando te digan que se te acabó el veinte. Algo sobre las ventajas del desencanto, sobre la virtud de decepcionar y decepcionarse. En el fondo, sabrás que tienen razón: no hay nada que hacer. Ahora que lo has dicho puedes quedarte tranquilo.
Repartir insultos.
Escribir “nenúfares”.
Authors’ Bios
Daniel Saldaña París (b. Mexico City, 1984) is a poet, essayist, and novelist. His two novels are published in English by Coffee House Press. His latest book is a collection of essays titled Aviones sobrevolando un monstruo. He has lived and worked in Montreal and Mexico City. “Advice and Rebuke” is from his 2012 poetry collection titled La máquina autobiográfica.
Louis Sanger is a settler Canadian based in Toronto. He completed a BA in Hispanic Studies and English Literature at McGill University. His translation of “Airports,” also by Daniel Saldaña París, was recently published by Asymptote.
