El Diario Ilustrado
Santiago de Chile
March 29, 1952
Los Surcos Inundados (The
Flooded Furrows)
David Rosenmann-Taub
by Carlos René Correa
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 David
Rosenmann-Taub,
whose first book, Cortejo y Epinicio , has allowed a select
public to know him, is a poet of authentic value.
In reading
"The Flooded Furrows," we discover the real secrets of Rosenmann-Taub's
poetic magic. He focuses on his themes with an exquisite wisdom;
everything is in its place and even the play of words and images
was precisely where he put it. This poet dedicates himself entirely
to his art, sails on the waters of poetry, and rather than be taken
away from them, he would prefer to drown.
"Creation," "Childbirth," and "Son" form
the "First Sonata." The way in which the poet
delves
into his poetry is remarkable: always in the midst of life, never
forgetting that it is man who suffers, who sings and cries. The
verse takes on the feeling of a whip that punishes the poet and
the reader; he has spilled blood and all is weeping while creation
is realized. The son is coming into the world: |
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Appear, ray
of maternal moon:
know the air, move the entrails;
hoped-for fountainhead, let out the hoarse
bellow: blind spear.
["Childbirth"]
Hours later, years later, the son is
Gale-force
tree, violent living earth:
for your waves my heart cleaves the light;
let the sleep that covers you be the impulse, my son;
I will be the eiderdown of the sleeping slope.
["Son"]
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The poet eagerly
searches for new expressions, new symbols, constant audacities in
order to talk to the son. The triumph of life over death is present
all the time: |
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Let eternal
eternal flash spring forth for your eyes;
let my bleeding tenderness thrust toward your blood;
you are the farewell to my ripe brio;
like a harvest, son, I will live again in your wonder.
["Son"]
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Among the poets
of the newest generation in our literature, the author of this book
is, without doubt, one of the most serious and original. He has
remarkable mastery of the language and of the technique of verse.
He possesses
the gift of synthesis; he knows how to look and to sing without
straying from the earth, from man, and from God, but always communicating
a new and personal vision of poetry, created and sifted through
his talent and inspiration.
The reader
will delight in the color of his subjective descriptions of the
earth, and will feel an oppression of imponderable sadness as he
reads the "Second Sonata" in which the sweet figure
of little "dandún" is evoked: |
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The shadow
of death at the threshold stops.
Oh dandún, oh dandún, don't look at its face.
["Abyss"] |
Strange,
noble,
pure, with the maturity of ears of grain ready for the mill, is
the poetry of Rosenmann-Taub, who is definitely a rising star;
a
living lesson for so many poets who barely achieve a caricature
of what true Poetry is – eternal, timeless, current.
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