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A Tree Within (Arbor Adentro), the first collection of new poems by the great Mexican author Octavio Paz since hi Return (Vuelta) of 1975, was originally published as the final section of The Collected Poems of Octavio Paz, 1957-1987.


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A Tree Within (Arbor Adentro), the first collection of new poems by the great Mexican author Octavio Paz since hi Return (Vuelta) of 1975, was originally published as the final section of The Collected Poems of Octavio Paz, 1957-1987.

30 review for A Tree Within: Poetry

  1. 4 out of 5

    Ahmad Sharabiani

    Árbol adentro = A tree within, Octavio Paz Octavio Paz Lozano (March 31, 1914 – April 19, 1998) was a Mexican poet and diplomat. “...you are you and your body of steam, you and your face of night, you and your hair, unhurried lightning, you cross the street and enter my forehead, footsteps of water across my eyes, listen to me as one listens to the rain” ― Octavio Paz, A Tree Within تاریخ نخستین خوانش: هشتم ماه نوامبر سال 2016 میلادی عنوان: درخت درون؛ شاعر: اکتاویو پاز؛ مترجم: ابوالقاسم اسماعیل پور؛ تهرا Árbol adentro = A tree within, Octavio Paz Octavio Paz Lozano (March 31, 1914 – April 19, 1998) was a Mexican poet and diplomat. “...you are you and your body of steam, you and your face of night, you and your hair, unhurried lightning, you cross the street and enter my forehead, footsteps of water across my eyes, listen to me as one listens to the rain” ― Octavio Paz, A Tree Within تاریخ نخستین خوانش: هشتم ماه نوامبر سال 2016 میلادی عنوان: درخت درون؛ شاعر: اکتاویو پاز؛ مترجم: ابوالقاسم اسماعیل پور؛ تهران، اسطوره، 1383؛ در 205 ص؛ چاپ دیگر: 1385، در 192 ص؛ شابک: 9648332237؛ موضوع: شعر اسپانیائی - مکزیکی - قرن 20 م با تن پوشی به رنگ هوسهایم به سان اندیشه هایم برهنه رهسپاری در چشمانت سفر میکنم چنان که از دریا لبانت، موهایت نگاه هایت میبارد در استخوانهایم میباری، چون درختی آبگونه که ریشه های آب را؛ به درون سینه فرومیکشد اکتاویا پاز گزینش: ا. شربیانی

  2. 5 out of 5

    Edita

    At times poetry is the vertigo of bodies and the vertigo of speech and the vertigo of death; the walk with eyes closed along the edge of the cliff, and the verbena in submarine gardens; the laughter that sets fire to rules and the holy commandments; the descent of parachuting words onto the sands of the page; the despair that boards a paper boat and crosses, for forty nights and forty days, the night-sorrow sea and the daysorrow desert; the idolatry of the self and the desecration of the self and the dis At times poetry is the vertigo of bodies and the vertigo of speech and the vertigo of death; the walk with eyes closed along the edge of the cliff, and the verbena in submarine gardens; the laughter that sets fire to rules and the holy commandments; the descent of parachuting words onto the sands of the page; the despair that boards a paper boat and crosses, for forty nights and forty days, the night-sorrow sea and the daysorrow desert; the idolatry of the self and the desecration of the self and the dissipation of the self; the beheading of epithets, the burial of mirrors; the recollection of pronouns freshly cut in the garden of Epicurus, and the garden of Netzahualcoyotl; the flute solo on the terrace of memory and the dance of flames in the cave of thought ; the migrations o f millions o f verbs, wings and claws, seeds and hands ; the nouns, bony and full of roots, planted on the waves of language; the love unseen and the love unheard and the love unsaid : the love in love. Syllables seeds. * I am a man : little do I last and the night is enormous. But I look up : the stars write. Unknowing I understand : I too am written, and at this very moment someone spells me out. * to remember that a waterfall is a girl coming down the stairs dying of laughter, to see the sun and its planets swinging on the trapeze of the horizon, to learn to see so that things will see us and come and go through our seeing, living alphabets that send out roots, shoot up, bud, flower, fly off, scatter, fall.

  3. 4 out of 5

    Paul

    Paz can get very repetitive with his imagery, and his contradictory diction can be off-putting, but his best poems , like "Quartet", "Before the Beginning", and "I speak of the City" are truly outstanding and use a palette of a few striking images in evocative ways. The translations by Elizabeth Bishop are very good, but Weinberger does a very good job rendering the cadence as best he can.

  4. 5 out of 5

    Teli

    It's so wildly familiar

  5. 4 out of 5

    Colin Flanigan

    This book can not just be read, but reread. This Nobel prize winning poet engaged in the world and did not sit on the sidelines. He was a member of the Mexican Diplomatic Service until the 1969 Tlatelolco massacre of, by some counts, up to 300 students by the Mexican Government. He quit and formed a magazine critical of the government called Vuelta. He also was an early proponent of Sor Juana. This book stands up to continuous scrutiny with his surrealism making symbols that paint his personal an This book can not just be read, but reread. This Nobel prize winning poet engaged in the world and did not sit on the sidelines. He was a member of the Mexican Diplomatic Service until the 1969 Tlatelolco massacre of, by some counts, up to 300 students by the Mexican Government. He quit and formed a magazine critical of the government called Vuelta. He also was an early proponent of Sor Juana. This book stands up to continuous scrutiny with his surrealism making symbols that paint his personal and political struggles. His long and lyrical, "I Speak of the City", can come across as both a laundry list of immense images and a meditation on how cities unite, divide and define us. A few lines: "I speak of the public history, and of our secret history, yours and mine...I speak of the forest of stone, the desert of prophets, the ant-heap of souls, the congregation of tribes, the house of mirrors, the labyrinth of echoes," He has some hommages to other poets like Basho, Alberto Lacerdo and to other poems. His, "Homage and desecrations" is a self described sonnet of sonnets! They are divided 8/6;4/4/6;4/4/3/3; and other schemes. He goes heavy political with "Although it is Night", taking on the romantic communism of his fellow poets with the repressive reality of Solzhenitsyn and Stalin. He writes, "While I am reading in Mexico City, what time is it in Moscow? It's late, it's always late, in history it is always night, always the wrong time." If you like this I recommend one of the many comprehensive anthologies.A Tree WithinThe Collected Poems, 1957-1987

  6. 4 out of 5

    Paula Silva

    "Às vezes, a poesia é a vertigem dos corpos e a vertigem da sorte e a vertigem da morte; o passeio, de olhos cerrados, à borda do despenhadeiro e a verbena nos jardins submarinos; o riso que incendeia preceitos e santos mandamentos; a descida das palavras paraquedadas sobre os areais da página; o desespero que embarca num barco de papel e atravessa, durante quarenta noites e quarenta dias, o mar da angústia nocturna e o pedregal da angústia diurna; a idolatria do eu e a execração do eu e a dissipação do eu "Às vezes, a poesia é a vertigem dos corpos e a vertigem da sorte e a vertigem da morte; o passeio, de olhos cerrados, à borda do despenhadeiro e a verbena nos jardins submarinos; o riso que incendeia preceitos e santos mandamentos; a descida das palavras paraquedadas sobre os areais da página; o desespero que embarca num barco de papel e atravessa, durante quarenta noites e quarenta dias, o mar da angústia nocturna e o pedregal da angústia diurna; a idolatria do eu e a execração do eu e a dissipação do eu; o degolar dos epítetos, o enterro dos espelhos; a compilação dos pronomes acabados de cortar no jardim de Epicuro e no de Netzahualcoyotl; o solo da flauta no terraço da memória e o baile de chamas na cave do pensamento; as migrações de miríades de verbos, asas e garras, sementes e mãos; os substantivos ósseos e cheios de raízes, plantados nas ondulações da linguagem; o amor do nunca visto e o amor do nunca ouvido e o amor do nunca dito: o amor do amor. Sílabas sementes."

  7. 5 out of 5

    Joanna

    It's nearly impossible for me to review poetry. I feel insufficiently well-informed to comment on anything beyond my own feelings. I can't compare the poems to other poets or place them in a literary frame of reference. But I can say that I very much enjoyed reading these poems and found the images evocative and beautiful. I read these immediately after reading love sonnets by Pablo Neruda, and I think I liked the Neruda poems more than these, but I have no reason to thinkn that these two poets It's nearly impossible for me to review poetry. I feel insufficiently well-informed to comment on anything beyond my own feelings. I can't compare the poems to other poets or place them in a literary frame of reference. But I can say that I very much enjoyed reading these poems and found the images evocative and beautiful. I read these immediately after reading love sonnets by Pablo Neruda, and I think I liked the Neruda poems more than these, but I have no reason to thinkn that these two poets should be compared other than that they are both Nobel prize winners and both write in Spanish and I happened to read the two books around the same time.

  8. 4 out of 5

    Jorge

    Este libro es, más que sempiterno, infinito. Su palabra descansa entre las olas de los dos océanos: el de la realidad pasada, y la futura. Da para vivir muchas vidas la enseñanza de estos versos. Al menos, para vivir bien una. Amén.

  9. 5 out of 5

    سپینود

    برای من که شعرباز نیستم و واکنش طبیعی «به‌به» گونه در برابر شعر دارم شعر اکتاویو پاز و پابلو نرودا انگار آتش است. «به‌به» مرا تبدیل می‌کند به«سوختم» آرزو می‌کردم زبان اسپانیایی و مکزیکی ...یا هرچه هست می‌دانستم تا بی‌واسطه واژه‌هایشان را مزمزه کنم.

  10. 4 out of 5

    Kuenzang Palmo

    with lines like: "the world is still not real; time wonders: all that is certain is the heat of your skin. in your breath i hear the tide of being, the forgotten syllable of the beginning" & all the tree metaphors, how could i not stan this book? with lines like: "the world is still not real; time wonders: all that is certain is the heat of your skin. in your breath i hear the tide of being, the forgotten syllable of the beginning" & all the tree metaphors, how could i not stan this book?

  11. 5 out of 5

    Mahshid

    ... شاعر از زمان می گذرد، از آینه می گذرد ، مرگ از شاعر حذر می کند،

  12. 5 out of 5

    Míkel Deltoya

    El Tavo Peace sí la rifa. Hay poemas-hallazgos muy buenos en este libro; la refutación de los espejos es sublime.

  13. 4 out of 5

    Griggette

    ...Because you will feel really stupid if you read this all the way front to back. In either language, this poetry is as bland as pancake batter. Blah.

  14. 5 out of 5

    Tracie

    I never stop reading this book.

  15. 4 out of 5

    James

    Eyes of shadow water, eyes of well water, eyes of dream water.

  16. 5 out of 5

    Stephen

    Powerful and inspiring. Left feeling fortified and less futile.

  17. 4 out of 5

    Joseph M.

    Favorite Poems: Proem Between what I see and what I say This side Between going and staying I speak of the city To talk Preparatory exercise Place The house of glances Letter of testimony Entre Irse y Quedarse Entre irse y quedarse duda el dia, enamorado de su transparencia La tarde circular es ya bahia: en su quieto vaiven se mece el mundo. Todo es visible y todo es elusivo, todo esta cerca y todo es intocable. Los papeles, el libro, el vaso, el lapiz reposan a la sombra de sus nombres. Latir del tiemp que en Favorite Poems: Proem Between what I see and what I say This side Between going and staying I speak of the city To talk Preparatory exercise Place The house of glances Letter of testimony Entre Irse y Quedarse Entre irse y quedarse duda el dia, enamorado de su transparencia La tarde circular es ya bahia: en su quieto vaiven se mece el mundo. Todo es visible y todo es elusivo, todo esta cerca y todo es intocable. Los papeles, el libro, el vaso, el lapiz reposan a la sombra de sus nombres. Latir del tiemp que en mir sien repite la misma terca silabe de sange. La luz hace del muro indiferente un espectral teatre de reflejos En el centro de un ojo me descubro; no me mira, me miro en su mirada. Se disipa el instante. Sin moverme, yo me quedo y me voy: soy una pausa. Between Going and Staying Between going and staying the day wavers, in love with it's own transparency. The circular afternoon is now a bay where the world in stillness rocks. All is visible and all elusive, all is near and can't be touched. Paper, book, pencil, glass, rest in the shade of their names. Time throbbing in my temples repeats, the same unchanging syllable of blood. The light turns the indifferent wall, into a ghostly theater of reflections. I find myself in the middle of an eye, watching myself in its blank stare. The moment scatters. Motionless, I stay and go: I am a pause.

  18. 4 out of 5

    Janelle

  19. 5 out of 5

    Deb

  20. 4 out of 5

    Jacqueline

  21. 4 out of 5

    Elena Goddu

  22. 5 out of 5

    QUINCY PHAN

  23. 5 out of 5

    m.

  24. 4 out of 5

    Bernhard Bruhnke

  25. 5 out of 5

    Violeta Lytton

  26. 4 out of 5

    hadi

  27. 5 out of 5

    Osmia Avosetta

  28. 5 out of 5

    Scott

  29. 4 out of 5

    natalia azconzabal

  30. 4 out of 5

    Zacharia Rupp

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