Magical Realism, Writing, Fiction, Politics, Haiku, Books



jueves, mayo 09, 2013

A Certain Tree

First there was this. It was not very long ago. If I close my eyes, I can remember the day. Thin ice. And the wind. But no snow to cover the branches.

Then there was this.

The same wonderful tree, now wearing its colorful, Spring raiment.

Cortazar in one of the stories in the collection A Certain Lucas talks about wanting a job photographing sunsets, trying to discover and record the most perfect one. I've written before about photographing clouds. But now I think making images of the trees would also be fulfilling. Evidently, I am not alone in this quest.

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miércoles, julio 27, 2011

Cloud Hunter


Julio Cortazar, to nobody’s surprise, had the right idea about employment (and so many other things). In “Sunset Hunter,” a story included in the collection, A Certain Lucas, he proposes that his job be finding and filming the perfect sunset. This, of course, will require world travel. And a grant. A big grant. Not just that. "I know that a good sunset doesn't last more than twenty minutes between climax and anticlimax, two things I would eliminate in order to leave only its slow internal play, its kaleidoscope of imperceptible mutations." The plan is to search the world for the perfect sunset and capture it on film. A perfect, creative occupation.


Personally, I don’t find sunsets all that fascinating. And I don't really know anything at all about making a film. No. But clouds. Clouds deserve my attention. I’d like to travel the world finding the perfect cloud and taking a still photo of it with a digital camera. Maybe even with a cell phone. I've already started on the project. Today I’m wondering what “rewards” I could give for financial support of the project so taht with the help of Kickstarter I could begin with the clouds of Patagonia. And Tanzania.

And I have a three-part Haiku as an inducement:
1.

To talk to the clouds
Climb the hill or tallest tree.
Open wide both your hands.


2.

A cloud has no feet,
just a face and two plump hands.
And wind for a voice.


3.

What stories clouds tell!
I cannot write them down here.
They are too fragile.

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