Alejandra Pizarnik. Originally published in Spanish as Árbol de Diana y Otros Diana’s Tree by Alejandra Pizarnik (Chem.): a verbal crystallization. Visi6n enlutada, desgarrada, de un jardin con estatuas . The present essay analyzes Pizarnik’s poetry with respect to an issue Arbol de Diana. Buenos. Descarga: Alejandra Pizarnik – Árbol de Diana: Ignoria (Prólogo de Octavio Paz) #.U25pgfl5OSo. El viejo y el mar by Ernest Hemingway.

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Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems – by Alejandra Pizarnik.

Obsessed with themes of solitude, childhood, madness and death, Pizarnik explored the shifting valences of the sel Revered by the likes of Octavio Paz and Roberto Bolano, Alejandra Pizarnik is still a hidden treasure in the U. Obsessed with themes of solitude, childhood, madness and death, Pizarnik explored the shifting valences of the self and the border between speech and silence.

Published May 17th by New Directions first published October To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about Extracting the Stone of Madnessplease sign up.

Be the first to ask a question about Extracting the Stone of Madness. Lists with This Book. Caminos del Espejo xii. Pero el silencio es cierto. Estoy sola y escribe. No, no estoy sola.

Delicia de perderse en la imagen presentida. Paths of the Mirror xii. But the silence dina certain. This is why I write. I am alone and I write. No, I am not pizarnuk. There is someone here who is trembling. The pleasure of losing yourself in the image foreseen. I rose from my body and went out in dinaa of who I am. A pilgrim of my self [or from my self; the Spanish is ambiguous], I have gone to the one who sleeps in the winds of her country.

My fall that is endless into my fall that is endless, where no one expected me, since when I looked to see who expected me, I saw no other thing than my self. Something falling in the silence.

My final word was I, but by this I meant the luminous dawn.



La muerte ha restituido al silencio su prestigio hechizante. Fragments to Dominate the Silence Death has refunded silence its spellbinding prestige. Even if the poem here, now has no meaning, it has no fate. Her poetry, her lyrical prose; insightful, heart-wrenching.

Undoubtedly, I’ll keep reading her work, which shows a deep understanding of human nature, including its countless chiaroscuros. View all 4 comments. Escucho el canto de los enlutados sellar las hendiduras del silencio. Miedo de ser dos camino del espejo: Aire tatuado por un ausente. Reloj que late conmigo para que nunca despierte.

Iglesia de vitrales obscenos. Huella azul en la pared. Jun 05, jeremy rated it it was amazing Shelves: Este poemario es nuestro. Es de nuestra propiedad cuando ciana muerte y la madrugada se funden conmigo y somos una. Soy la amante de Pizarnik. Apr 05, Dorotea rated it it was amazing.

Árbol de Diana (Diana’s Tree) by Alejandra Pizarnik: three poems | Moving Poems

I have been trying for months to find the right words to describe Pizarnik’s poetry. Veo crecer hasta mis ojos figuras de silencio y desesperadas. Las angustias se intensifican en sintaxis rotas como ocurre en el final de Figuras y silencios: Me quieren anochecer, me van a morir. Jun 10, metaphor rated it really liked it Shelves: When you look at me my eyes are keys, the wall holds secrets, and my fear carries words, poems. Only you can turn my memory into a fascinated traveler, a relentless fire.

You announce yourself like thirst. Asking is so far away. And so close, this knowledge of want. Here I am, calling to myself with your voice. Aug 03, Dhiyanah rated it it was amazing Shelves: The personal becomes the core of all things, as it often is, and Pizarnik acknowledges the division of selves that occur in the search for a language big enough to do what she needed it to.

Three poems from Árbol de Diana (Tree of Diana) by Alejandra Pizarnik | Moving Poems

The effect is like a mirror facing another, its subject matter caught in between — the mise en abyme of the internal landscape, reflections unfolding into the infinite. Overwhelmed, the subject matter easily loses sight of pizaenik. My response piece and review, in full: View all 3 comments. Jun 13, John Madera rated it it was amazing. An utterly harrowing read. Nov 20, Jeremy rated it liked it.

While I mostly wandered lost in translation? A year out from her seconal overdose, Pizarnik cuts all the bullshit, as though asking, ‘You want the show? I’ll give you a show’, and purges a great accumulation of her torment and genius in an unforgettable bark.


Alejandra writes the poem that is underneath the language of the poem. This book is so dear to me. Yvette Siegert did fine work here, but I found Cecilia Rossi’s older translations to be a bit more musical. Dec 17, d added it Shelves: Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.

Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962 – 1972

And, above all, to look on innocently. As if nothing were happening, which is true. La clave de lecura: Copio fragmento largo y bello de The dream of death, or the site of the poetical bodies: I alejanddra like to see the bottom of the river, Alejaandra would like to see if that thing opens, if it bursts and blooms at my side, and it will or will not come, but I can sense its struggle.

I can think that maybe it is only eel. Death is a word. The word is a thing, death is a thing, a poetical body that draws breath at the site diaa my birth. It speaks, but from above a stage of ashes; it speaks, but from the bottom of the river, where death is singing. She walked away singing and looked like an old beggar, and the children pelted her with stones.

She sang in a fog that the sun could barely shine through, on the morning of the birth — and I would wander with a torch in my hand across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you, my dear lost love — and the song of death unfolded in the course of a single morning, and she sang and sang.

She also sang in the old tavern by the pier. And it was in the tavern by the pier where she sang her song. I write with my eyes shut. I write with my eyes wide open. Let the wall fall down. Let the wall turn into a river Or is the shadow a shadow to a,ejandra Shadow?

I don’t know if that’s knowable. Arbo this, I thank her.