La extraordinaria aventura ocurrida a Vladímir Mayakovski en verano, en el campo (1920)

  [Post invitado, por R.A., editora de Andanzas asimétricas]

Dentro del espacio dedicado a Vladimir Maiakovski (1893-1930) en la exposición "La Caballería Roja. Creación y poder en la Rusia soviética de 1917 a 1945" que se celebra actualmente en La Casa Encencida de Madrid, figura este estupendo poema de 1920. Después de verlo en mi primera visita a la exposición traté de localizarlo en la Red, pero sólo pude encontrar una versión del mismo en portugués. Para subsanar la inexistencia de un texto del poema en castellano me acerqué una segunda vez a La Casa Encendida -la exposición ciertamente lo merece- para copiar el poema y volcarlo en algún lugar que permita su localización.



Centenares de soles llameaban al oeste,
El verano estaba bien maduro
Y el calor hacía la plancha,
Era verano en el campo.
El lomo de Puchkino llevaba
La giba del monte Akula,
Mientras que allá abajo
Un villorrio retorcía
La corteza de sus techos.
Detrás de tal villorio,
Un pozo donde, invariablemente,
El sol caía con lentitud y majestad.
Pero de mañana,
Todavía,
Asciende
Para inundar al mundo de rojo.
Día tras día, sí,
Y esto
Acabó por irritarme
Bárbaramente.
Finalmente tan furioso
Que a mi alrededor todo se marchita de miedo,
Grité, de cara al sol:
"Baja!
Basta de remolonear por las fogatas!"
Grité:
"Holgazán!
Te reblandeces en las nubes,
Mírame, llueve o truene,
Yo sudo sobre mis carteles".
Grité:
"Un momento!"
Escucha, frente dorada,
Si, en lugar de acostarte
En cualquier sitio,
Bajases
A visitarme?"...
Maldición, qué hice!
Estoy perdido!
Gustosamente
El sol se dirige hasta mí,
Atravesando el campo,
Apartando el paso de sus rayos.
Escondo mi miedo,
Intento retroceder.
Ya sus ojos llegan al jardín
Lo cruzan.
Por las ventanas,
Por las puertas,
Por la más mínima hendidura,
Entraba la masa solar,
Que parecía desplomarse,
Recuperar el aliento,
Y en voz baja dijo:
"Por primera vez
Desde el Origen
mis rayos están de vuelta.
Me has llamado?
Quiero una taza de té,
Quiero mermelada!"
Con lágrimas en los ojos
-su calor me volvía loco-
Le señalo
El samovar:
"Toma asiento, pués,
Astro mío!"
No sé por qué le hablo
De forma tan insolente,
Confuso,
Me siento en la punta de un banco,
Temiendo empeorar la cosa.
Pero el sol fluía
Una singular, serena claridad,
Y muy pronto,
Sin ceremonias,
Nos pusimos
A charlar, animadamente.
Digo esto
Y aquello, y cómo
La Rosta me roe,
Y el sol:
"No te preocupes,
No compliques más las cosas!
Piensa lo simple
Que es para mí lucir!
Anda, inténtalo!
Uno puede brillar
Con todas sus fuerzas!
Y así charlamos y charlamos
Hasta que cayó la noche,
Mejor dicho, hasta que cayó
Lo que antes era la noche.
Acaso es posible hablar aquí de oscuridad?
Tuteándonos nos sentimos
A nuestras anchas.
Pronto
Le palmeo amistosamente
El hombro.
Y el sol, dice:
"Estás tú, estoy yo,
Estamos, querido amigo, nosotros dos!
Subamos, poeta,
Adonde vuelan las águilas,
Cantemos
En lo grisáceo de este mundo.
Pongo, por mi parte, mi sol propio,
Tú el tuyo,
En versos".
El muro de las sombras,
Cárcel de las noches,
Cayó bajo el fuego
Gemelo de los soles.
Confusión de versos y de luces.
Vamos, brilla todo lo que puedas!
Si el prójimo se fatiga
Y la noche
Quiere acostarse
-estúpido lirón-
Entonces me toca a mí,
De pronto levantado,
Irradiar, irradiar
Para que el carrillón del día
Suene una vez más.
Brillar siempre,
Brillar por todas partes,
Brillar, y nada de cuentos!
Tal lo que ordenamos
El Sol
Y yo.

The unavoidable décalage

  Always try to write a few lines when travelling - a sort of account for the places I've been to. In this particular trip to Ghana, the posts were also a kind of present for a collegue, who is sentimentally linked to West Africa. However, it's not always easy to get the texts written and posted before another journey starts. Just a few hours after leaving Accra, I'm writing these lines in the Belgian train that's taking me from Charleroi to Mons, on my way to Lille where tomorrow I'll be attending yet another conference.

A final gift

  Wake up really early in order to board the 5 am return flight to Casablanca. Last night I agreed with the taxi driver that brought me to the (quite secluded) hotel from Kotoka airport he would collect me there in time for the morning flight. But he doesn't show up. In the meantime however I'm able to quietly stare at this wonderful equatorial night sky, with stars and constellations well away from their usual positions. The regular 23º axial tilt has vanished, and you have Orion right on top of your head and Sirius shining really high up there. There are stars over there I have never seen before, and knowing that makes it really special even if I won't be able to tell their names (will check later). It's a nice final present from Ghana, and this one was for free!

The cab driver wouldn't arrive in the end - even if it may actually be more expensive to make a phone call when not running on a local SIM card, remember to always keep the driver's phone number just in case he should forget about a previous
arrangement.

It was just great to be here.

Walking ATMs

  I meet these three Danish people outside the Manhyia Palace after the colourful Adae festival (actually only the two girls are Danish, the guy is probably from India). I'm carrying the Ghana Bradt guide wrapped in a newspaper page, but they will know anyway. "Would that book you're carrying be the Bradt guide by any chance? We'd need to have a look at the map of Kumasi featured in there". Wow.


I tell them it's in Spanish, but they won't mind, they're just interested in how to get to the tro-tro station to get a bus back to KNUST -or Tech, as everyone here calls the Kwame Nkrumah Science and Technology University. I tell them I'm waiting for my taxi to Kejetia market to arrive, and since both places are very close to each other, they might just prefer to wait and board my taxi instead of walking.

After a brief hesitation, they accept. They are students at KNUST doing some Master in Administration there. Aegyman -the cab driver- won't have any trouble with taking four people instead of one (I've read the regular number of people carried in taxicabs in rural areas is six, two in the front side and four at the back) and on our way we go towards the crowded area in Kumasi (it's a Sunday). After a short ride that will take us across St Peter's Cathedral, a local cinema and the packed Kejetia outskirts, we arrive to the station and the students get down. The Indian-looking guy asks me on leaving whether they're supposed to pay anything for the ride. Answer's no - "you're my guests".

I read at the Bradt guide that Ghanaian people are claimed to be the nicest, most gentle African citizens towards travellers. And indeed they are nice and helpful. But most times it'll be for a fee.

One is very aware of the poverty issues local citizens face when travelling across these countries - you just need to have a pair of eyes on your face to realize that. But the huge, shining Mitshubishi, Toyota or Nissan 4x4s and pickups are also quite evident (specially at the luxury hotel parking, it should be noted). And being very nice to the visitor expecting to receive a generous cash gift in exchange is not what I'd call gentleness. This is always an issue when visiting any developing country -almost a cliche. But I've been to a few of them already and this sensation of tourists being perceived as walking ATMs -as cows to be milked was my own metaphor, the other, better one is Bradt's- was strongest in Ghana. And this is not necessarily related to poverty levels, but to the number of tourists around. Specially if their main concern is actually taking pictures of turkeys.



My personal advice after a week stay: make sure you always carry as many 1 cedi or 2 cedi banknotes as possible (not always easy to get hold of, as small change is usually scarce). I saw the amounts visitors to Elmina Castle had given to the children from the local football school -they showed the list to me- and that's what I'd call spoiling a country.

On fire?

  The very same BBC professionals - via its brilliant 'Focus on Africa' magazine, surely not the happiest branch in the House after being hit quite hard by funding cuts- mimic the (often extremely) biased coverage of African affairs by their partner World News department by putting together some sort of Quarterly Quotes 'special issue' on African leaders recommending their people not to travel to the UK due to potential security issues after the Tottenham riots broke in.

"Britain, I understand, is on fire" (R. Mugabe) or "Those who can delay or postpone their trips should consider doing so" (South Africa's Department of International Relations and Cooperation) are part of this fresh quote collection. But to get the metaphor right the coverage should actually be restricted to student distress and demonstrations over tuition fees - and totally ignoring the rest of the stuff (including Premier League, unfeasible therefore). Just featuring angry people at the economic havoc - that sort of thing anyway.

Even if I'm aware it's not easy to be a journalist under certain circumstances in certain African countries, I don't think any sensible newsperson would buy such a biased approach. But mainstream media are nowadays sucked by the political whirlpool and lie farther from objectivity than ever. Then again, no one seems to care too much about it - save maybe for some scattered Occupy people here and there.

A working class hero

  Read this touching reflection at the end of a wikipedia post on Bob Marley while in my hotel room listening to the distant reggae-like tunes of the invited band - it's a Friday. Marley's image on T-shirts and posters is also quite frequent in Africa - only second to specific football sportswear, see next post.

The 'Legacy' section of the Marley wikipedia text reads as follows:
Marley has also evolved into a global symbol, which has been endlessly merchandised through a variety of mediums. In light of this, author Dave Thompson in his book 'Reggae and Caribbean Music', laments what he perceives to be the commercialized pacification of Marley's more militant edge, stating:
"Bob Marley ranks among both the most popular and the most misunderstood figures in modern culture ... That the machine has utterly emasculated Marley is beyond doubt. Gone from the public record is the ghetto kid who dreamed of Che Guevara and the Black Panthers, and pinned their posters up in the Wailers Soul Shack record store; who believed in freedom; and the fighting which it necessitated, and dressed the part on an early album sleeve; whose heroes were James Brown and Muhammad Ali; whose God was Ras Tafari and whose sacrament was marijuana. Instead, the Bob Marley who surveys his kingdom today is smiling benevolence, a shining sun, a waving palm tree, and a string of hits which tumble out of polite radio like candy from a gumball machine. Of course it has assured his immortality. But it has also demeaned him beyond recognition. Bob Marley was worth far more".


So here I am, pretty much stucked at the luxury hotel (too much work) which will make you feel as if you were staying at any similar hotel in a Western capital. Only reality is just a threshold away. All these interchangeable hotels have their standard music threads going on day and night (horror vacui is the actual name for that) and Oh dear, there is the 'pacification' or 'emasculation' at its highest peak. Not just Marley -don't hear any of his songs along my whole stay- but every single musician. Take Lennon, for instance: 'Woman' and a funny female-voiced version of 'Beautiful boy' are both featured (true: I do other things besides listening to the rubbish that pours out of the loudspeakers, so I can't actually tell about how it goes 24/7). And that's it. No 'Imagine'. No 'Working class hero'. No 'Cold turkey' (well I can understand there's no 'Cold turkey'). Not a single African song (closest to it being Collins' 'Another day in paradise', which is African alright). Polite radio indeed. Like candy from a gumball machine. Indeed.

Whatever happened to brave music broadcasters?

[I know luxury hotel music threads have nothing to do with broadcasters or DJs, but rather with computers and telecoms, but it's a very sad thing what they do to music - like Flack's 'Killing me softly' only the other way round, it's actually the music what gets systematically killed there]

Football is BIG in Ghana

  One of the greatest advantages of loving football is you can engage in a conversation on the topic with practically anyone who shares interest, regardless of origin or the team each one supports. Football was big on TV screens along my 1-week stay in Ghana, was big on Open Access Africa 2011 Conference breaks and was the topic of one of the best conversations I had along my stay, on Ghanaian football teams role along the African Champions League competition (Ghana has sustainedly been one of the best African national teams for quite some time now).

You may be surprised to find blackboards among the shantytown houses by the road announcing Chelsea-Arsenal being broadcasted at the local 'New Wembley' joint that afternoon. Or the whole Spanish Liga schedule for the day. But that's only the first few times you see it. Then you get used to it all. The cheering coming out of bars at Premier League match time (and not just from blockbuster games: Sunderland-Aston Villa will do as well). The hotel manager watching an Atletico Madrid-Zaragoza game late at night. T-shirts from all conceivable teams and players being worn by young and old people all around town. Borussia Dortmund flag flying high at the top end of a ship pole among dozens of national -mainly African- flags in Elmina (actually hand-made rags so that the English flag will rather look like the Red Cross one). Football is a true religion in this country (and then I suddenly remember this UAE taxi driver telling me last year in Dubai that "football was too much of a passion" in his country).

Nigerian attendees to the Conference making up over 80% of the total number, coffee breaks where a great chance for trying to find out the causes for the national football squad demise in international tournaments since that unforgettable U.S.-held World Cup back in '94. After independently talking to a couple of them, they agreed it was due to politics and football mismanagement in the country. One of them did also incidentally inform me he considered Jose Mourinho to be the best coach in the world, "a mathematician in his way of performing game analysis".

Finally, there was this delightful conversation on African football along wich I learned quite a lot of things (not much of an expert myself anyway). First, on the North African teams winning most recent editions of the African Champions League "because they have the money and will snatch the best West African players" (sound familiar?). Or on the best teams in Ghana, Kumasi Asante and Accra Hearts of Oak having each of them won this very Cup (even a couple of times in the case of the former). Or on the tricks for featuring much older players as U21 representatives (not in Ghana, though, "that's the Nigerian". Alright). Was having a look at the African Champions League historical records after the conversation and they are truly interesting (quite a number of countries featured on the top places including Sudan or Zimbabwe). And this year's final first leg will be taking place in four days time, on Nov 6th between Moroccan Wydad Casablanca and Tunisian Espérance ST. Wow.