Alejandra Pizarnik

“dice que no sabe del miedo de la muerte del amordice que tiene miedo de la muerte del amordice que el amor es muerte es miedodice que la muerte es miedo es amordice que no sabe”

“you’ve built your homeyou’ve fledged your birdsyou’ve beaten the windwith your bones you’ve finished alonewhat no one began”

“Everything makes love with silence.They promised me a silencelike fire, a house of silence.Suddenly the temple is a circusthe light a drum.”

“I don’t know about birdsnor do I know the history of fire.But I believe that my solitude should have wings”

“Nada más peligroso, cuando se necesita ayuda, que recibir ayuda.”

“Esta manía de saberme ángel,sin edad,sin muerte en qué vivirme,sin piedad por mi nombreni por mis huesos que lloran vagando.”

“escribes poemasporque necesitasun lugaren donde sea lo que no es”

“Sé, de una manera visionaria, que moriré de poesía. Esto no lo comprendo perfectamente, es vago, es lejano, pero lo sé y lo aseguro.”

“Ella es una prueba más de que la libertad absoluta de la criatura humana es horrible.”

“La rebelión consiste en mirar una rosahasta pulverizarse los ojos.”

“Como quien no quiere la cosa. Ninguna cosa. Boca cosida. Párpados cosidos. Me olvidé. Adentro el viento. Todo cerrado y el viento adentro.”

“يداي تنبتان في الموسيقىوراءها الأزهارولكن الآنلماذا أتقصّاك، أيها الليللماذا أنام مع موتاك؟”

“Una mirada desde la alcantarillapuede ser una visión del mundo,la rebelión consiste en mirar una rosahasta pulverizarse los ojos.”

“Dile que los suspiros del marHumedecen las únicas palabrasPor las que vale la pena vivir”

“Melancholia is, I believe, a musical problem: a dissonance, a change in rhythm. While on the outside everything happens with the vertiginous rhythm of a cataract, on the inside is the exhausted adagio of drops of water falling from time to tired time. For this reason the outside, seen from the melancholic inside, appears absurd and unreal, and constitutes ‘the farce we all must play’. But for an instant – because of a wild music, or a drug, or the sexual act carried to its climax – the very slow rhythm of the melancholic soul does not only rise to that of the outside world: it overtakes it with an ineffably blissful exorbitance, and the soul then thrills animated by delirious new energies”

“An unchangeable colour rules over the melancholic: his dwelling is a space the colour of mourning. Nothing happens in it. No one intrudes. It is a bare stage where the inert I is assisted by the I suffering from that inertia. The latter wishes to free the former, but all efforts fail, as Theseus would have failed had he been not only himself but also the Minotaur; to kill him then, he would have had to kill himself”

“Because no one has more thirst for earth, for blood, and for ferocious sexuality than the creatures who inhabit cold mirrors”

“But, who is Death? A figure that harrows and wastes wherever and however it pleases. This is also a possible description of the Countess Bathory. Never did anyone wish so hard not to grow old; I mean, to die. That is why, perhaps, she acted and played the role of Death. Because, how can Death possibly die?”