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#Miyó Vestrini
oswlld · 2 years
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KINNPORSCHE (2022), dir. Khom Kongkiat — contempt of death, m.v. [src.]
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majestativa · 7 months
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The rumors of my heart, scandalous, disturbing, no longer disquiet me.
— Miyó Vestrini, Grenade in Mouth: Some Poems of Miyó Vestrini, transl by Anne Boyer and Cassandra Gillig, (2019)
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lasfloresrotasblog · 1 year
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Selección de poesía venezolana
-Rafael Cadenas
-Hanni Ossott
-Miyó Vestrini
-Caneo Arguinzones
&
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ponikva · 1 year
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10am
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linsaad · 3 months
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El país, decíamos,
lo poníamos en las mesas,
lo cargábamos a todas partes,
el país necesita,
el país espera,
el país tortura,
el país será,
al país lo ejecutan,
y estábamos allí por las tardes
a la espera de algún doliente
para decirle
no seas idiota
piensa en el país.
#Miyó Vestrini
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poesiayotrasletras · 5 months
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MIYÓ VESTRINI | Nimes 1938 - Caracas 1991
Miyó Vestrini indicaba en sus textos la existencia de una devastación social y del sentido de la realidad que solo podía expresar por medio de su indignación y su furia.
Créditos: Recorte hemerográfico. Archivo familiar. https://letramuertaed.com Estamos presenciando un proceso de destrucción planificada del sentido de la historia de la civilización Occidental que, hasta no hace mucho, se pensaba fuese el modelo de todos los demás. Lo que acaso sea posible decir a partir de ahora, o bien lo que debemos tratar de indicar a partir de este momento, es en qué…
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herederosdelkaos · 9 months
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"Poesía desde el abismo: Doce ejemplos finales"
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En la historia literaria, emergen escritores cuyas plumas forjaron obras profundas y conmovedoras. A medida que exploramos sus vidas, nos adentramos en un mundo marcado por la tristeza y la tragedia. Figuras como Miyó Vestrini, Marina Tsvetáeva, Hanni Ossott, Martha Kromblith, Andrés Caicedo, Cesare Pavese, José Agustín Goytisolo, Gabriel Ferrater, Amelia Rossell, Antonieta Rivas Mercado, Pedro Casariego y Ana Cristina Cesar, encontraron en la escritura un refugio. Un lugar donde las palabras retumban con una intensidad sombría, una reflexión desgarradora de sus luchas personales que culminaron en finales insondablemente trágicos. Leer post completo»
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ffactory · 1 year
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Edited by Faride Mereb and translated by Anne Boyer and Cassandra Gillig, Grenade in Mouth: Some Poems of Miyó Vestrini introduces to Anglophone readers the work of one of the vanguard voices of Venezuelan poetry with texts that cover three decades: from the year 1960 to 1990.
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Solid ‘David’ Snake
source n/a // Ada Limón, from “I Have Wanted Clarity in Light of My Lack of Light”, The Hurting Kind // sounding bitter // snow-blood // Grenade in Mouth | Some Poems of Miyó Vestrini // Yrsa Daley-Ward, all the wrong colours // source n/a // Litha Eve | Wolves of the beyond // source n/a // nobody 2021 dir. llya naishuller //
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wetworkseventy · 2 years
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A study in Sam fisher
Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness // A crossfire // Miyó Vestrini, “Brave Citizen” translated by Anne Boyer and Cassandra Gillig or “grenade in mouth” // The Vault, Andrés Cerpa // Splinter Cell: Conviction (2010) //
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monologodelsolo · 2 years
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Somos teclear de lluvia. Agonía de lagartos. Manos de carbón. caracoles de azogue. La partida de un niño, un perro doloroso, una hoja muerta Somos hombres sin sílaba sin sombra sin lápiz. Árbol sin viento y sin ancla que devoraste nuestras palabras nuestros limoneros Camino de algas y mariposas que truncaste el silbido del hombre crucificado. Somos aceras mojadas, plegarias de surcos, ternura.
  ~ Ternura, Miyó Vestrini
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kitchen-light · 2 years
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You could not choose. Because if you choose you live. And if you live you enjoy. But joy is the horrific part of the dream: sleep will be forever.
Miyó Vestrini, from her poem ‘One Day of the Week I’, translated by Cassandra Gillig & Anne Boyer, published in Granta Magazine, January 31, 2019
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majestativa · 7 months
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Invented in mirrors the voices of my guilt. There they are: with all teeth bared.
— Miyó Vestrini, Grenade in Mouth: Some Poems of Miyó Vestrini, transl by Anne Boyer and Cassandra Gillig, (2019)
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lasfloresrotasblog · 1 year
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Grated Carrot
The first suicide is unique.
They always ask you if it was an accident
or a sincere proposition of death.
They shove a tube up your nose,
hard,
so it hurts
and you learn to not disturb the neighbors.
When you begin to explain that
death-actually-seemed-like-the-only-way-out
or that you did it
to-fuck-up-your-husband-and-your-family
they have all turned their backs
and are watching the transparent tube
retrieving the parade of your last supper.
Betting on whether its noodles or fried rice.
The doctor on duty coldly tells them:
it’s grated carrot.
“Disgusting”, say the nurse with big lips.
They disposed of me furiously,
because no one won the bet.
The saline dispersed quickly
and ten minutes later,
I was back at my house.
No space to mourn
nor time to feel cold and tremble.
People are unconcerned with death that comes from loving too much.
Child’s play,
they say,
as if children killed themselves every day.
I looked in Hammett for this exact page:
never tell a word about your life
in any book,
if you can help it.
Miyó Vestrini
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ponikva · 1 year
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mybarricades · 4 years
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Miyó Vestrini | Brave Citizen                 to Maria Inmaculada Barrios
            Die in thought       every morning and you will not             be afraid to die.                           —The Hagakure Guide
Give me, lord, an angry death. A death as offensive as those I’ve offended. A death that stands for the rains of Santiago de Compostela, a death that kills all who have offended me. Give me, lord, a death from the elements, one that stuns and petrifies. Wastes snot and tears pleading for mercy and wishing death on anyone else. Make sure, lord, that the man with unknown skin recognize in me an animal of the olive groves. Let your body weigh down mine and sweeten the entrance to the fire. I swear I have seen it all. The same guilt with which I was born, the same fury. Make sure, lord, that I am listening to Vinicius de Moraes and Maria Bethania and promising that tomorrow, Monday, I will enroll in a course to learn Brazilian. Let death come when you find in me some hidden intention of power and when you know, from your informants, of my conspiracy to go down in history. When they say, lord, that I have exhausted all the resources of fatigue without asking for clemency, then, lord, give it to me hard. Make this knot on my forehead from opening doors with headbutts turn red, pounding, painful. Suppose, lord, that you are the big-bang. That no territory escapes your vigilance. That hot dogs are the subject of your predilections. That your desire for me is an obscene part of your personality. Then, lord, Examine my bulging stomach             for the spaghetti of Portofino             for the favadas of Guernica             for my mother’s cauliflower casserole             for the long drinks of beer and rum. Observe, lord, the faces of my mirror in the mirror,             I, the astute pusillanimous             finger in the air             fanning the boring crowd. You could come to the movies, lord. We would see Brazil, La vaquilla, Partie de Campagne Il Postino and Gatsby. You would listen to me trembling with laughter and fear. Allow me, lord, to see me as I am:             rifle in hand             grenade in mouth             gutting the people I love. Lie with me at dawn, lord, when my breath is a boulder in the stream. And you will see that nothing              not even the milk of your palms, can give me a death that enrages me. ____________________________________________ Grenade in Mouth | Some Poems of Miyó Vestrini Translation by Anne Boyer & Cassandra Gillig Kenning Editions 2019
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