And then I kept quiet while they went on badmouthing the poets of Mexico, the ones they were going to blow out of the water, and I thought about the dead poets, like Dario and Huidobro, and about all the encounters that never occurred. The truth is that our history is full of encounters that never occurred. We didn't have our Pound or our Yeats; we had Huidobro and Dario instead. We had what we had.
(It's better to create than destroy what's unnecessary)
Showing posts with label Vicente Huidobro. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vicente Huidobro. Show all posts
Monday, October 26, 2009
Amulet - pg. 63
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Labels: Ezra Pound, Roberto Bolaño, Ruben Dario, Vicente Huidobro, William Butler Yeats
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