#roberto bolaño
A mí lo que me hace feliz es leer
Roberto Bolaño
Roberto Bolaño entrevistado en exclusiva para el programa Perfiles de dos continentes. La fecha, posiblemente 2003, el año de su muerte. Bolaño señala aquí que ya tiene cincuenta años. Archivo excepcional.
Comentarios abajo mencionan: Sinopsis: Roberto Bolaño: una mirada crítica. Entrevista por Eliseo Álvarez. Films for the Humanities & Sciences. Tranquilo Producciones, Canal (a), Barcelona. Julio 2003. DVD.
“Silvio Salvático” – Roberto Bolaño
“Silvio Salvático” — Roberto Bolaño
“Silvio Salvático”
by
Roberto Bolaño
translated by Chris Andrews
from Nazi Literature in the Americas
SILVIO SALVÁTICO
Buenos Aires, 1901–Buenos Aires, 1994
As a young man Salvático advocated, among other things, the re-establishment of the Inquisition; corporal punishment in public; a permanent war against the Chileans, the Paraguayans, or the Bolivians as a kind of gymnastics for the nation;…
“For some reason I had the impression I was the only prisoner looking at the sky. It might have had something to do with being nineteen years old.”— From Distant Star by Roberto Bolaño
“His voice sounded calm, like the voice of a man who knows that in real life things always turn out badly and there’s no point getting worked up about it.”— Roberto Bolano, Distant Star
Deep green and silent…
Literature isn’t innocent. I’ve known that since i was fifteen. And i remember thinking that then, but I can’t remember whether I said it or not, and if I did, what the context was. And then the walk (but here I have to clarify that it wasn’t five of us anymore but three, the Mexican, the Chilean, and me, the other two Mexicans having vanished at the gates of purgatory) turned into a kind of stroll on the fringes of hell.
The three of us were quiet, as if we’d been struck dumb, but our bodies moved to a beat, as if something was propelling us through that strange land and making us dance, a silent, syncopated kind of walking, if I can call it that, and then I had a vision, not the first that day, as it happened, or the last: the park we were walking through opened up into a kind of lake and the lake opened up into a kind of waterfall and the waterfall became a river that flowed through a kind of cemetery, and al of it, lake, waterfall, river, cemetery, was deep green and silent. And then I thought it’s one of two things: either I’m going crazy, which is unlikely since I’ve always had my head on straight, or these guys have doped me. And then I said stop, stop for a minute, I feel sick, I have to rest, and they said something but I couldn’t hear them, I could only see them coming closer, and I realized, I became conscious, that I was looking all around trying to find someone, some witness, but there was no one, we were in the middle of a forest, and I remember I said what forest is this, and they said it’s Chapultepec and then they led me to a bench and we sat there for a while, and one of them asked me what hurt (and the word hurt, so right, so fitting) and I should have told them that the problem was probably that I wasn’t used to the altitude yet, that it was the altitude that was getting to me and making me see things.
~The Savage Detectives, Roberto Bolano, page 154-155
“…a kind of stroll on the fringes of hell.”
