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ACTIVIDAD

Piglia: la traducción como una clave de la literatura argentina

 El autor mostró cómo se revaloraron algunos textos a partir de sus traducciones.

PorEZEQUIEL ALEMIÁN 

• IMÁGENES

HISTORIA. PIGLIA (IZQ.), CONTO ANECDOTAS DE MORENO, EL GENERAL PAZ Y OTROS COMO TRADUCTORES.

La historia de la literatura argentina es impensable sin una historia de las traducciones de las que se fue nutriendo. Sin embargo, la importancia de las traducciones en la historia de la literatura argentina parece no haber sido cabalmente reconocida.

Eso dijo Ricardo Piglia para empezar su presentación en el Club de Traductores de Buenos Aires, que cada mes convoca a un invitado para hablar en público de cuestiones vinculadas con el oficio, cuestiones “técnicas, administrativas y esotéricas”, según la definición de Jorge Fondebrider, el anfitrión. Esta vez –la charla fue en el Centro Cultural de España en Buenos Aires– faltaron sillas para acomodar a la gente que fue a escuchar: hubo que sacar bancos de un depósito e incluso así quedaron personas de pie.

Piglia, que ya escribió un ensayo sobre distintas figuras de lectores, está trabajando en un texto sobre escenas de traducción en la cultura argentina. Enumeró algunas: Mariano Moreno traduciendo una novela de divulgación histórica para distraer el ocio en la travesía que lo llevará a la muerte; Sarmiento garabateando en las piedras de la cordillera mientras huye al exilio, esa cita en francés ( “on ne tue point les ideés” ), que condena a la barbarie a quienes no puedan traducirla. O la historia del General Paz cuando, boleado por las montoneras de Estanislao López, espera que vayan a liquidarlo y en cambio le alcanzan Los comentarios a la guerra de las galias , de Julio César, que empieza a traducir. O la de ese personaje fascinante que fue primer traductor de Edgar Allan Poe: Edelmiro Mayer, un general argentino que peleó en la Guerra de Secesión, en Estados Unidos, y después gobernó la zona de Tierra del fuego.

Pequeños relatos, en realidad, que van dibujando la fisonomía de los traductores del siglo XIX, y “la aparición de rasgos específicos de los usos populares del Río de la Plata, que permiten despegar las traducciones de su tradición más colonial”, dijo Piglia.

Lo más interesante de la charla, sin embargo, fue cuando Piglia se refirió a la capacidad que tienen las traducciones para romper con las tradiciones literariasy establecer relaciones que van en contra del canon. Y citó dos casos. El primero, el de la traducción de Borges de Las palmeras salvajes , de William Faulkner, una novela de segunda línea en la producción del norteamericano que, a partir del estupendo trabajo de Borges, se lee como central en el mundo hispano e influencia a autores como Dalmiro Sáenz, Miguel Briante, Gabriel García Márquez o Guillermo Cabrera Infante.

El segundo caso es el de la traducción que hizo José Bianco de Otra vuelta de tuerca , de Henry James, relato que Piglia calificó como “comercial” y muy por debajo de otras nouvelles de James, pero que en castellano se lee como una de sus obras maestras gracias a la reconocida versión de Bianco.

Sobre el final, recordó un comentario de Virginia Woolf, que dijo que sus amigos aseguraban que La guerra y la paz , de Tolstoi, era la mejor novela que habían leído, pero todos la habían leído traducida. “ La narración sobrevive a lo puramente verbal . La historia, la emoción, quedan. Es un aspecto democratizador de las novelas. Las novelas son traducibles. Incluso uno puede pensar que la novela se acaba cuando aparece la primera que no puede traducirse , porque está hecha de todas las lenguas: el Finnegans Wake , de Joyce”, agregó Piglia.

No hubo polémicas. Después de la exposición, Fondebrider le hizo cuatro preguntas al autor y hubo cuatro preguntas del público sobre los autores que se traducen a sí mismos. Entonces, Piglia dio por terminada la reunión.

Fuente:

Alemán, Ezequiel. Piglia: la traducción como una clave de la literatura argentina. Clarín edición web, Buenos Aires, 21 de junio de 2010. Internet. http://www.clarin.com/sociedad/Piglia-traduccion-clave-literatura-argentina_0_302369842.html. Visto el 17 de agosto de 2012. 

Colonial and Postcolonial Discourse: Cultural Critique or Academic Colonialism?

ACTIVIDAD 5 

By Walter D. Mignolo /Duke University 
(FRAGMENTO)



Commenting on Patricia Seed's well-informed and useful review essay (Seed 1991) within a limited number of pages requires selectivity. 1 will first offer a brief summary of my reading of the essay and then discuss specific issues that have been of concern to me in the past decade. Seed's "Colonial and Postcolonial Discourse" raises two distinctive topics. The introduction and conclusion are devoted to placing colonial discourse into contemporary scholarship and tracing its debts, complicities, and differences with poststructuralism, subaltern studies, new his oricism, and feminist theory. In between, five books are discussed, three on Latin America and two on the Philippines. After discussing the five books in terms of current trends in history, anthropology, and literary criticism, Seed offers her overall conclusion:

What all these works do to varying degrees is to achieve one of the functions of a critique: to posit an idea about the humanities disciplines-history, literary critiism, cultural anthropology-as more than decorative knowledge, as knowledge critical of the relations of authority within a society. The aim of the critique in each of these disciplines is different-economic relations of authority, cultural relations of authority (the canon), conventional political relations of authority. But the basic target of critique remains the same-the relations of authority in colonial and postcolonial states-and it is thus an enterprise of cultural and political criticism being carried out in a resolutely postcolonial era. (P. 200)

Because the whole spectrum of contemporary trends mentioned by Seed (from poststructuralism to new historicism, from subaltern to colonial studies) takes a critical stance toward knowledge, the reader may wonder about the differences of colonial and postcolonial discourse from other forms of critical enterprises of authority and authoritative discourses. 

Seed's view is that while the "two fields" share an interest in colonial *For insights incorporated in revising my original version of this comment, I am grateful to
Fernando Coronil and the numerous student participants in "Beyond Occidentalism:
Rethinking How the West Was Born," a seminar that Coronil and I cotaught at the University of Michigan in the fall of 1992. This essay is dedicated to the memory of Josephat Kubayanda.

COMMENTARY AND DEBATE

Discourse, the "new literary historicism is ultimately concerned with canonical literature, while colonial discourse writers seek to understand the
dynamics of the colonial situation" (p. 199). On the basis of this general summary, I would like to discuss several related concerns of my own in recent years (see Mignolo 1989a, 1989b, 1989c, 1992). The most compelling aspects of the review essay are those dealing with the notion of colonial and postcolonial discourse rather than
the review of the five books in question. The first issue focuses on what kind of category "colonial (or postcolonial) discourse" is. Seed takes it to be a "field of study" when she compares it with the new literary historcism. Although it seems obvious to me that colonial discourse is a new or emerging field of study, new literary historicism is a new perspective (or method) rather than a field. Yet when Seed defines the colonial aspect, she seems to take it as both a perspective (comparable to new literary historcism) and a field of study: "Colonial discourse has therefore undertaken to redirect contemporary critical reflections on colonialism (and its afterath) toward the language used by the conquerors, imperial administra-
tors, travelers, and missionaries" (p. 183).
She further specifies that "whether the focus has been on the colonial or postcolonial situation, the central concern of these studies has been the linguistic screen through which all political language of colonialism, including reactions to it and liberation from it, needs to be read" (p. 183).
Thus the method employed in analyzing colonial discourse seems to be similar to that used to approach any kind of discourse in any imaginable historical or social situation. We seem to be dealing with something like the "discursive turn" in various disciplines, fields of study, or even histor cal moments (such as poststructuralism).
My interest in delving into these distinctions focuses on a more fundamental question regarding the political implications of the scholarly decision to engage in research and teaching on colonial (or postcolonial) discourse. The issue I am trying to elucidate is addressed by Seed toward the end of her essay in discussing the questions of where these authors are writing, why, and about what. In doing so, Seed brings in the autobio graphical dimension of the scholar vis-8-vis his or her academic pursuit:

Many anthropologists, historians, and literary critics writing of those who are lumped together as "Third World people" adopt a stance of advocacy for those they have been studying and working with. Hence they are reluctant to criticize post-independence forms of nationalism. . . . The early theoreticians of the colonial discourse field-Said, Spivak, and Bhabha-are themselves ambivalently located between the so-called First and Third Worlds: born and educated in places like Palestine and Bengal, they have nonetheless made their academic reputations in the West. They speak from the West but are not of it. Yet by virtue of reputation and lengthy residence in the West, they are no longer of the East. Hence their contribution to shaping the field has arisen within the same context of the internationalization that they are attempting to study. (P. 198).

 Fuente

Mignolo Walter, Latin American Research Review, Vol. 28, No. 3. (1993), pp. 120-134. Stable URL: http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0023-8791%281993%2928%3A3%3C120%3ACAPDCC%3E2.0.CO%3B2-V

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Trabajo sobre el texto: "Colonial and Postcolonial Discourse: Cultural Critique or Academic Colonialism?" By Walter D. Mignolo

ACTIVIDAD 5 

¿Qué pensamos que plantea al texto previo a su lectura?

Dado el título del artículo, el mismo propone cómo el colonialismo y el pos- colonialismo se introducen en el discurso académico.

¿Qué sabemos del autor?

Walter D. Mignolo es un destacado investigador en letras y profesore de literatura argentino, residente actualmente en Estados Unidos.

¿Qué plantea el texto seleccionado?

El autor plantea un debate con otra teórica. En el trabajo de ambos se pone de manifiesto el concepto de “poscolonialismo” en un marco de investigación literaria. Además compara el concepto de “estructuralismo” con el de “posestructuralismo”. A su vez, relata qué rol debería tener la crítica literaria ante el colonialismo y poscolonialismo: ¿Asumir un papel defensor de los procesos colonialistas o ser críticos antes esto?

Etimología de palabras 

Colono: (lat. Colonus): Labrador, habitante, cultivar. Tras la llegada de Cristobal Colón al continente hoy llamado América, se planteó que la palabra colono, o colonia provenía de su apellido, pero no es así, según la RAE.

Discurso: (lat. Cursus). Carrera. Dirigir algo: en este caso se dirige la palabra hacía algo o alguien.

Cultura: (Lat. Cultura): Cultivar, cultivado. (Del lat. cultūra). 1. elem. compos. Significa 'cultivo, crianza'.

FUENTE: Real Academia Española.

  

GLOSARIO ESPECÍFICO

-        useful

-        útil; ‹experience› útil, provechoso;

-        

-        hence /hens/ adverbio

-        1. a.       (that is the reason for) de ahí;

-        ~ my surprise de ahí mi sorpresa, de ahí que me sorprendiera

-        b.           (therefore) por lo tanto, por consiguiente

-        2.           (from now) (frml): a few hours/years ~ dentro de algunas horas/algunos años.

-        Devoted ( adjetivo)

-        a.           (loving) ‹couple/family› unido;

-        to be ~ TO sb sentir(conj.⇒) devoción POR algn

-        b.           (dedicated) (before n) ‹follower/admirer› ferviente, devoto;

-        ‹service/friendship› leal

-        Elucídate: verbo transitivo › dilucidar, aclarar.

-        attempt 1 /əˈtempt/ verbo transitivo: tratar de or intentar 

FUENTE: WORDREFERENCE. 

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ARTE PRECOLONIALISTA



Estatua de la civilización Inca. 

THE MAN OF THE CROWD de Edgar Allan Poe

ACTIVIDAD 2

Fuente bookworld.com.au

IT WAS well said of a certain German book that "er lasst sich nicht lesen"–it does not permit itself to be read. There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told. Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors, and looking them piteously in the eyes–die with despair of heart and convulsion of throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be revealed. Now and then, alas, the conscience of man takes up a burden so heavy in horror that it can be thrown down only into the grave. And thus the essence of all crime is undivulged.

Not long ago, about the closing in of an evening in autumn, I sat at the large bow–window of the D-–Coffee-House in London. For some months I had been ill in health, but was now convalescent, and, with returning strength, found myself in one of those happy moods which are so precisely the converse of ennui-moods of the keenest appetency, when the film from the mental vision departs–achlus os prin epeen- and the intellect, electrified, surpasses as greatly its everyday condition, as does the vivid yet candid reason of Leibnitz, the mad and flimsy rhetoric of Gorgias. Merely to breathe was enjoyment; and I derived positive pleasure even from many of the legitimate sources of pain. I felt a calm but inquisitive interest in every thing. With a cigar in my mouth and a newspaper in my lap, I had been amusing myself for the greater part of the afternoon, now in poring over advertisements, now in observing the promiscuous company in the room, and now in peering through the smoky panes into the street.

This latter is one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, and had been very much crowded during the whole day. But, as the darkness came on, the throng momently increased; and, by the time the lamps were well lighted, two dense and continuous tides of population were rushing past the door. At this particular period of the evening I had never before been in a similar situation, and the tumultuous sea of human heads filled me, therefore, with a delicious novelty of emotion. I gave up, at length, all care of things within the hotel, and became absorbed in contemplation of the scene without.

At first my observations took an abstract and generalizing turn. I looked at the passengers in masses, and thought of them in their aggregate relations. Soon, however, I descended to details, and regarded with minute interest the innumerable varieties of figure, dress, air, gait, visage, and expression of countenance.

By far the greater number of those who went by had a satisfied, business-like demeanor, and seemed to be thinking only of making their way through the press. Their brows were knit, and their eyes rolled quickly; when pushed against by fellow-wayfarers they evinced no symptom of impatience, but adjusted their clothes and hurried on. Others, still a numerous class, were restless in their movements, had flushed faces, and talked and gesticulated to themselves, as if feeling in solitude on account of the very denseness of the company around. When impeded in their progress, these people suddenly ceased muttering; but redoubled their gesticulations, and awaited, with an absent and overdone smile upon their lips, the course of the persons impeding them. If jostled, they bowed profusely to the jostlers, and appeared overwhelmed with confusion. There was nothing very distinctive about these two large classes beyond what I have noted. Their habiliments belonged to that order which is pointedly termed the decent. They were undoubtedly noblemen, merchants, attorneys, tradesmen, stock-jobbers–the Eupatrids and the common-places of society–men of leisure and men actively engaged in affairs of their own–conducting business upon their own responsibility. They did not greatly excite my attention.

The tribe of clerks was an obvious one; and here I discerned two remarkable divisions. There were the junior clerks of flash houses- young gentlemen with tight coats, bright boots, well-oiled hair, and supercilious lips. Setting aside a certain dapperness of carriage, which may be termed deskism for want of a better word, the manner of these persons seemed to be an exact facsimile of what had been the perfection of bon ton about twelve or eighteen months before. They wore the castoff graces of the gentry;–and this, I believe, involves the best definition of the class.

The division of the upper clerks of staunch firms, or of the "steady old fellows," it was not possible to mistake. These were known by their coats and pantaloons of black or brown, made to sit comfortably, with white cravats and waistcoats, broad solid-looking shoes, and thick hose or gaiters. They had all slightly bald heads, from which the right ears, long used to pen-holding, had an odd habit of standing off on end. I observed that they always removed or settled their hats with both bands, and wore watches, with short gold chains of a substantial and ancient pattern. Theirs was the affectation of respectability–if indeed there be an affectation so honorable.

There were many individuals of dashing appearance, whom I easily understood as belonging to the race of swell pick-pockets, with which all great cities are infested. I watched these gentry with much inquisitiveness, and found it difficult to imagine how they should ever be mistaken for gentlemen by gentlemen themselves. Their voluminousness of wristband, with an air of excessive frankness, should betray them at once.

The gamblers, of whom I descried not a few, were still more easily recognizable. They wore every variety of dress, from that of the desperate thimble-rig bully, with velvet waistcoat, fancy neckerchief, gilt chains, and filagreed buttons, to that of the scrupulously inornate clergyman, than which nothing could be less liable to suspicion. Still all were distinguished by a certain sodden swarthiness of complexion, a filmy dimness of eye, and pallor and compression of lip. There were two other traits, moreover, by which I could always detect them: a guarded lowness of tone in conversation, and a more than ordinary extension of the thumb in a direction at right angles with the fingers. Very often, in company with these sharpers, I observed an order of men somewhat different in habits, but still birds of a kindred feather. They may be defined as the gentlemen who live by their wits. They seem to prey upon the public in two battalions–that of the dandies and that of the military men. Of the first grade the leading features are long locks and smiles; of the second, frogged coats and frowns.

Descending in the scale of what is termed gentility, I found darker and deeper themes for speculation. I saw Jew pedlars, with hawk eyes flashing from countenances whose every other feature wore only an expression of abject humility; sturdy professional street beggars scowling upon mendicants of a better stamp, whom despair alone had driven forth into the night for charity; feeble and ghastly invalids, upon whom death had placed a sure hand, and who sidled and tottered through the mob, looking every one beseechingly in the face, as if in search of some chance consolation, some lost hope; modest young girls returning from long and late labor to a cheerless home, and shrinking more tearfully than indignantly from the glances of ruffians, whose direct contact, even, could not be avoided; women of the town of all kinds and of all ages–the unequivocal beauty in the prime of her womanhood, putting one in mind of the statue in Lucian, with the surface of Parian marble, and the interior filled with filth–the loathsome and utterly lost leper in rags–the wrinkled, bejewelled, and paint-begrimed beldame, making a last effort at youth–the mere child of immature form, yet, from long association, an adept in the dreadful coquetries of her trade, and burning with a rabid ambition to be ranked the equal of her elders in vice; drunkards innumerable and indescribable–some in shreds and patches, reeling, inarticulate, with bruised visage and lack-lustre eyes–some in whole although filthy garments, with a slightly unsteady swagger, thick sensual lips, and hearty-looking rubicund faces–others clothed in materials which had once been good, and which even now were scrupulously well brushed-men who walked with a more than naturally firm and springy step, but whose countenances were fearfully pale, and whose eyes were hideously wild and red; and who clutched with quivering fingers, as they strode through the crowd, at every object which came within their reach; beside these, pic-men, porters, coal-heavers, sweeps; organ-grinders, monkey-exhibitors, and ballad-mongers, those who vended with those who sang; ragged artizans and exhausted laborers of every description, and all full of a noisy and inordinate vivacity which jarred discordantly upon the ear, and gave an aching sensation to the eye.

As the night deepened, so deepened to me the interest of the scene; for not only did the general character of the crowd materially alter (its gentler features retiring in the gradual withdrawal of the more orderly portion of the people, and its harsher ones coming out into bolder relief, as the late hour brought forth every species of infamy from its den), but the rays of the gas-lamps, feeble at first in their struggle with the dying day, had now at length gained ascendancy, and threw over every thing a fitful and garish lustre. All was dark yet splendid–as that ebony to which has been likened the style of Tertullian.

The wild effects of the light enchained me to an examination of individual faces; and although the rapidity with which the world of light flitted before the window prevented me from casting more than a glance upon each visage, still it seemed that, in my then peculiar mental state, I could frequently read, even in that brief interval of a glance, the history of long years.

With my brow to the glass, I was thus occupied in scrutinizing the mob, when suddenly there came into view a countenance (that of a decrepid old man, some sixty-five or seventy years of age)–a countenance which at once arrested and absorbed my whole attention, on account of the absolute idiosyncrasy of its expression. Any thing even remotely resembling that expression I had never seen before. I well remember that my first thought, upon beholding it, was that Retszch, had he viewed it, would have greatly preferred it to his own pictural incarnations of the fiend. As I endeavored, during the brief minute of my original survey, to form some analysis of the meaning conveyed, there arose confusedly and paradoxically within my mind, the ideas of vast mental power, of caution, of penuriousness, of avarice, of coolness, of malice, of blood-thirstiness, of triumph, of merriment, of excessive terror, of intense–of supreme despair. I felt singularly aroused, startled, fascinated. "How wild a history," I said to myself, "is written within that bosom!" Then came a craving desire to keep the man in view–to know more of him. Hurriedly putting on all overcoat, and seizing my hat and cane, I made my way into the street, and pushed through the crowd in the direction which I had seen him take; for he had already disappeared. With some little difficulty I at length came within sight of him, approached, and followed him closely, yet cautiously, so as not to attract his attention.

I had now a good opportunity of examining his person. He was short in stature, very thin, and apparently very feeble. His clothes, generally, were filthy and ragged; but as he came, now and then, within the strong glare of a lamp, I perceived that his linen, although dirty, was of beautiful texture; and my vision deceived me, or, through a rent in a closely buttoned and evidently second-handed roquelaire which enveloped him, I caught a glimpse both of a diamond and of a dagger. These observations heightened my curiosity, and I resolved to follow the stranger whithersoever he should go.

It was now fully night-fall, and a thick humid fog hung over the city, soon ending in a settled and heavy rain. This change of weather had an odd effect upon the crowd, the whole of which was at once put into new commotion, and overshadowed by a world of umbrellas. The waver, the jostle, and the hum increased in a tenfold degree. For my own part I did not much regard the rain–the lurking of an old fever in my system rendering the moisture somewhat too dangerously pleasant. Tying a handkerchief about my mouth, I kept on. For half an hour the old man held his way with difficulty along the great thoroughfare; and I here walked close at his elbow through fear of losing sight of him. Never once turning his head to look back, he did not observe me. By and by he passed into a cross street, which, although densely filled with people, was not quite so much thronged as the main one he had quitted. Here a change in his demeanor became evident. He walked more slowly and with less object than before- more hesitatingly. He crossed and re-crossed the way repeatedly, without apparent aim; and the press was still so thick, that, at every such movement, I was obliged to follow him closely. The street was a narrow and long one, and his course lay within it for nearly an hour, during which the passengers had gradually diminished to about that number which is ordinarily seen at noon in Broadway near the park–so vast a difference is there between a London populace and that of the most frequented American city. A second turn brought us into a square, brilliantly lighted, and overflowing with life. The old manner of the stranger reappeared. His chin fell upon his breast, while his eyes rolled wildly from under his knit brows, in every direction, upon those who hemmed him in. He urged his way steadily and perseveringly. I was surprised, however, to find, upon his having made the circuit of the square, that he turned and retraced his steps. Still more was I astonished to see him repeat the same walk several times–once nearly detecting me as he came around with a sudden movement.

In this exercise he spent another hour, at the end of which we met with far less interruption from passengers than at first. The rain fell fast, the air grew cool; and the people were retiring to their homes. With a gesture of impatience, the wanderer passed into a by-street comparatively deserted. Down this, some quarter of a mile long, he rushed with an activity I could not have dreamed of seeing in one so aged, and which put me to much trouble in pursuit. A few minutes brought us to a large and busy bazaar, with the localities of which the stranger appeared well acquainted, and where his original demeanor again became apparent, as he forced his way to and fro, without aim, among the host of buyers and sellers.

During the hour and a half, or thereabouts, which we passed in this place, it required much caution on my part to keep him within reach without attracting his observation. Luckily I wore a pair of caoutchouc overshoes, and could move about in perfect silence. At no moment did he see that I watched him. He entered shop after shop, priced nothing, spoke no word, and looked at all objects with a wild and vacant stare. I was now utterly amazed at his behavior, and firmly resolved that we should not part until I had satisfied myself in some measure respecting him.

A loud-toned clock struck eleven, and the company were fast deserting the bazaar. A shop-keeper, in putting up a shutter, jostled the old man, and at the instant I saw a strong shudder come over his frame. He hurried into the street, looked anxiously around him for an instant, and then ran with incredible swiftness through many crooked and peopleless lanes, until we emerged once more upon the great thoroughfare whence we had started–the street of the D---Hotel. It no longer wore, however, the same aspect. It was still brilliant with gas; but the rain fell fiercely, and there were few persons to be seen. The stranger grew pale. He walked moodily some paces up the once populous avenue, then, with a heavy sigh, turned in the direction of the river, and, plunging through a great variety of devious ways, came out, at length, in view of one of the principal theatres. It was about being closed, and the audience were thronging from the doors. I saw the old man gasp as if for breath while he threw himself amid the crowd; but I thought that the intense agony of his countenance had, in some measure, abated. His head again fell upon his breast; he appeared as I had seen him at first. I observed that he now took the course in which had gone the greater number of the audience but, upon the whole, I was at a loss to comprehend the waywardness of his actions.

As he proceeded, the company grew more scattered, and his old uneasiness and vacillation were resumed. For some time he followed closely a party of some ten or twelve roisterers; but from this number one by one dropped off, until three only remained together, in a narrow and gloomy lane, little frequented. The stranger paused, and, for a moment, seemed lost in thought; then, with every mark of agitation, pursued rapidly a route which brought us to the verge of the city, amid regions very different from those we had hitherto traversed. It was the most noisome quarter of London, where every thing wore the worst impress of the most deplorable poverty, and of the most desperate crime. By the dim light of an accidental lamp, tall, antique, worm-eaten, wooden tenements were seen tottering to their fall, in directions so many and capricious, that scarce the semblance of a passage was discernible between them. The paving-stones lay at random, displaced from their beds by the rankly-growing grass. Horrible filth festered in the dammed-up gutters. The whole atmosphere teemed with desolation. Yet, as we proceeded, the sounds of human life revived by sure degrees, and at length large bands of the most abandoned of a London populace were seen reeling to and fro. The spirits of the old man again flickered up, as a lamp which is near its death-hour. Once more he strode onward with elastic tread. Suddenly a corner was turned, a blaze of light burst upon our sight, and we stood before one of the huge suburban temples of Intemperance–one of the palaces of the fiend, Gin.

It was now nearly daybreak; but a number of wretched inebriates still pressed in and out of the flaunting entrance. With a half shriek of joy the old man forced a passage within, resumed at once his original bearing, and stalked backward and forward, without apparent object, among the throng. He had not been thus long occupied, however, before a rush to the doors gave token that the host was closing them for the night. It was something even more intense than despair that I then observed upon the countenance of the singular being whom I had watched so pertinaciously. Yet he did not hesitate in his career, but, with a mad energy, retraced his steps at once, to the heart of the mighty London. Long and swiftly he fled, while I followed him in the wildest amazement, resolute not to abandon a scrutiny in which I now felt an interest all-absorbing. The sun arose while we proceeded, and, when we had once again reached that most thronged mart of the populous town, the street of the D-–Hotel, it presented an appearance of human bustle and activity scarcely inferior to what I had seen on the evening before. And here, long, amid the momently increasing confusion, did I persist in my pursuit of the stranger. But, as usual, he walked to and fro, and during the day did not pass from out the turmoil of that street. And, as the shades of the second evening came on, I grew wearied unto death, and, stopping fully in front of the wanderer, gazed at him steadfastly in the face. He noticed me not, but resumed his solemn walk, while I, ceasing to follow, remained absorbed in contemplation. "The old man," I said at length, "is the type and the genius of deep crime. He refuses to be alone. He is the man of the crowd. It will be in vain to follow, for I shall learn no more of him, nor of his deeds. The worst heart of the world is a grosser book than the 'Hortulus Animae,'* and perhaps it is but one of the great mercies of God that "er lasst sich nicht lesen."

Fuente: http://books.eserver.org/fiction/poe/man_of_the_crowd.html

Todas las imágenes no señalizadas fueron tomadas de http://testamentodemiercoles.blogspot.com/2011/05/al-otro-lado-de-la-calle.html


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Preguntas sobre los dos primeros párrafos del cuento de Edgar Allan Poe

1) ¿Se puede aventurar la temática del cuento en base a los párrafos seleccionados?

2) ¿Qué características propias de la narrativa del autor se ven en este comienzo?

3) ¿Qué se logra saber en estos dos párrafos sobre la trama?

4) ¿Qué esperamos que ocurra en el final del cuento?

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I. El hombre de la multitud. Verdadero o falso

VERDADERO O FALSO. 

1. Si leemos los dos primeros párrafos del cuento podemos concluir que el título del cuento, “El hombre de la multitud”, es emblemático. 

2. El personaje-narrador se sienta en el ventanal del café una madrugada de otoño.

 3. Cuando el personaje-narrador se sienta el café se halla feliz luego de meses de enfermedad. 

4. El personaje-narrador, en el segundo párrafo, tiene un cigarro en la boca y un diario abajo del brazo. 

MÚLTIPLE OPCIÓN.

1. A. Los hombres mueren con el corazón convulsionado y la garganta desesperada.

 B. Los hombres mueren con desesperación en el corazón y la garganta convulsionada.

 C. Los hombres mueren con desesperación en el corazón y la garganta congestionada. 

2. En el primer párrafo se cita un libro de origen : 

A. Inglés. 

B. Estadounidense. 

C. Alemán. 

3. La razón de Leibniz la describe como: 

A. Inteligente.

 B. Ingenua. 

C. Original.

 4. La retórica de Gorgias la describe como: 

A. Loca y débil. 

B. Loca y sólida. 

C. Loca y aburrida.

 5. ¿Con qué entretiene la tarde el personaje-narrador?

A. Comiendo. 

B. Leyendo una novela alemana. 

C. Leyendo anuncios. 

6. En el párrafo dos, línea cinco “its” refiere a: 

A. Todos los días.

 B. Condición. 

C. Intelecto.

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II. Verdadero o falso sobre "El hombre de la multitud"

1-¿El narrador menciona que ha estado entretenido leyendo anuncios, contemplando la variada concurrencia del salón y mirando hacia la calle a través de los cristales empañados?

2-¿La calle era una de las principales avenidas de la ciudad?

3-¿El protagonista iba diariamente a tomar el te en aquel café?

4-¿Finalmente logró concentrarse en la lectura del periódico?

1-      Verdadero.

Él menciona que ha estado leyendo anuncios, contemplando la variada concurrencia y mirando la concurrencia a través de los cristales empañados. Parráfo 1 Líneas 5 y 6

2-      Verdadero  Párrafo 2 Línea 1

3-      Falso Párrafo 2 Línea 8

4-      Falso  Párrafo 2 línea 9

B- Múltiple opción

1-¿Cómo se cataloga al libro alemán?

a-      No puedes interpretarlo

b-      Debes leerlo

c-       No debe leerse

2-¿ Qué cosas no se dejan expresar según el narrador?

a-Algunas palabras

b-Algunos secretos

c-Algunas personalidades

3-¿En qué lugar del café le gustaba sentarse al narrador?

a-Junto a la puerta que daba a la calle

b-En la mesa junto al mostrador

c-Junto a la ventana que daba a la avenida

4-¿Qué tenía sobre las rodillas el narrador?

a-      El mantel verde suave como una pluma

b-      El periódico

c-       Una foto de su amada

5-¿Cómo se mostraban los transeúntes que por allí pasaban?

a-      Iban felices casi todos con su pareja

b-      Iban enfadados y estaban cansados

c-       Iban apresurados

           6-¿En qué ciudad se encontraba el café?

                 a-Madrid

                 b-La Habana

                 c-Londres

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Glosario específico 

de The Man of de Crowd

* bow – REVERENCIA

• burden – CARGA
• certain – SEGURO, ASEGURARSE
 • despair – DESESPERACIÓN
• ennui – TEDIO
• epee – ESPADA
• er lasst sich nicht lesen – QUE NO SE LEA
• ghstly – FANTASMAL
• grave – SEPULTURA, TUMBA
 • health –SALUD
 • hideousness – OSCURIDAD, LÚGUBRE
• moods – ESTADOS DE ÁNIMO
 • panes – CRISTALES
• piteously – LASTIMERAMENTE
• smoky – AHUMADO
• strenght – SALUD
• suffer – SUFRIR
 • throat – CUELLO, GARGANTA
• told – DECIR
• undivulged – INDIVULGABLE
* Moods: Estados de ánimo

* Ennui: Tedio

* Burden: carga

* Certain: seguro

* Piteously: lastimosamente

* Desapair:desesperado

* Hideousness: fealdad

* er lässt sich nicht lesen: No sabe leer
* Moods: Estados de ánimo

* Ennui: Tedio

* Burden: carga

* Certain: seguro

* Piteously: lastimosamente

* Desapair:desesperado

* Hideousness: fealdad

Connectivism

ACTIVIDAD 1 

Foto: www.education- 2020

Connectivism is a learning theory promoted by Stephen Downes and George Siemens. Called a learning theory for a digital age, it seeks to explain complex learning in a rapidly changing social digital world. In our technological and networked world, educators should consider the work of thinkers like Siemens and Downes. In the theory, learning occurs through connections within networks. The model uses the concept of a network with nodes and connections to define learning. Learners recognize and interpret patterns and are influenced by the diversity of networks, strength of ties and their context. Transfer occurs by connecting to and adding nodes and growing personal networks. (Connectivism Wikiversity) According to George Siemens, "Connectivism is the integration of principles explored by chaos, network, and complexity and self-organization theories. Learning is a process that occurs within nebulous environments of shifting core elements – not entirely under the control of the individual. Learning (defined as actionable knowledge) can reside outside of ourselves (within an organization or a database), is focused on connecting specialized information sets, and the connections that enable us to learn more are more important than our current state of knowing. Connectivism is driven by the understanding that decisions are based on rapidly altering foundations. New information is continually being acquired. The ability to draw distinctions between important and unimportant information is vital. The ability to recognize when new information alters the landscape based on decisions made yesterday is also critical."

Siemen's Principles of connectivism:

·        Learning and knowledge rests in diversity of opinions.

·        Learning is a process of connecting specialized nodes or information sources.

·        Learning may reside in non-human appliances.

·        Capacity to know more is more critical than what is currently known

·        Nurturing and maintaining connections is needed to facilitate continual learning.

·        Ability to see connections between fields, ideas, and concepts is a core skill.

·        Currency (accurate, up-to-date knowledge) is the intent of all connectivist learning activities.

·        Decision-making is itself a learning process. Choosing what to learn and the meaning of incoming information is seen through the lens of a shifting reality. While there is a right answer now, it may be wrong tomorrow due to alterations in the information climate affecting the decision.

According to Siemens, learning is no longer an individualistic activity. Knowledge is distributed across networks. In our digital society, the connections and connectiveness within networks lead to learning. Siemens and Downes have experimented with Open Courses and both stress the importance of more open education. See Siemens discussing the importance of connections and connectiveness in open social learning below to the left and see the Networked Student to the right.

Fuente: 

Conectivism.En http://education-2020.wikispaces.com/connectivism. Internet. Tomado el 2 de junio de 2012.



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