DELMIRA AGUSTINI. FLOWER OF NAGAPUSHPA. -Last part-
The flower of Nagapushpa is very difficult to see since it only flowers once every 36 years. It is also a plant that is not found in many places in the world. Flowers on a lake in the mountains of the Himalayas.
Recently I came from Cuba many years ago and working in a family hotel where I was living in Punta del Este, a wealthy widow lonely client who was twice my age and who talked a lot with me, began to deliver a letter each morning. When I opened it, when I got tired of work, I opened the letter and a smell of Jasmine impregnated the entire page with poems by Delmira Agustini. I kept them and left them to read at another time. So they slept in my book drawers until their moment came to them years later: like a rose in its cocoon awaiting the light to open its petals, so Delmira Agustini waited to captivate me with her verses.
Delmira Agustini beautiful woman, with quiet blue eyes, walking slowly, deep in her thoughts but with a heart of pure lava that no man could possess.
It was a poet of Latin American modernism who corresponded with Rubén Darío and whose erotic, sensual, sometimes somewhat sapphic poetry scandalized the pacata society of the time.
It reminds me of Greta Garbo in The Ladies of the Camellias, who between the rustle of the silks of her black dress adhered her pelvis to the pelvis of the beau, pushed her glorious bust out of the man's chest and turned her neck with her divine face away from a possible kiss that predicted that it was approaching. Then she spoke, with her hands holding the men of the lover of "being free when death approached." He suffered from a galloping Tisis.
Or the Carmen de Prospere Merimet who allowed herself to be stabbed by an old officer who had been her lover and die with the pride of a woman, proud and passionate but with a free heart like that of Delmira Agustini.
Or Virginia Wolf the English writer of schizoid mind, who listened to voices while her pen slipped and slipped leaf after leaf, into writings while cigarret after cigarret were in her lips.
She revolutionized English writing. The film "The Houres", touching and tragic, presents the last moments of his life when placing stones in her pockets she enters a river until she drowns.
Her writings remain, where she plays with time and an almost Freudian introspection where there is no lack of lesbian allusions.
Delmira Agustini belonged to a well-to-do family, descendant of Germans, French and porteños. All of them overprotected that poetic vocation with which they scandalized the bourgeois River Plate society. In her childhood she studied French, music and painting.
Her life and personality are full of enigmas and contradictions. In his short life she had a terrible sentimental vicissitude that caused her tragic death at 27 years of age: her marriage to Enrique Reyes, the subsequent separation and murder at the hands of her ex-husband.
After her disappearanced was born a myth that challenges essayists and biographers and is still valid in countless versions.
It was a pioneer of feminism, the mistreatment of women, in favor of divorce.
But she did not talk about the harpy, imposing and bossy women who castrate a weak husband and make him impotent. This will make me many comments from feminists. I am not in favor of female abuse by men with altered psyche, exacerbated machismo or rampant alcoholism that end up murdering their wives. But I also want to contribute to the other side of the coin.
Delmira's poetry is a burning flower and for me one of the best poetesses in America that we stole in Cuba in literature classes.
A verse from her passionate poems:
Close the accomplice door with a rumor of caress,
defoliate the lily of a vein towards evil
-Silk is a sin, the nude is celestial;
and it is a soft body, a couch of delight.
Open arms ... so every being is winged;
or a warm lira sweetly rendered
of singing and silence ... later, in the ice cream
beyond a mirror, like a sloping lake
see the Olympic beast that makes life ...
On July 6, 1914, shots were heard in a room in the center of Montevideo, more precisely in the Andes 1206, the body of Delmira lay lifeless beside that of her husband, Enrique Job Reyes. Today, as we pass that corner, we see a rosebush and a tile as a plaque, which pays homage to the poet, and also reminds us that the presence of domestic violence, unfortunately, continues to this day.
ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ