Historia de camellos o los textos obscenos (segunda edición)
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Rev. aportes de la comunicación
Abstract
Siguiendo las líneas de un trabajo ya presentado en el año 2007 durante un encuentro de literatura en el Centro Simón I. Patiño de Santa Cruz, que corría bajo el título de ARTE POÉTICA E INTEGRACIÓN, se disertará sobre la propia obra. Sin embargo, hablar sobre la obra de uno mismo tiene dos connotaciones terribles. La primera es la miopía con la que estamos lastimados quienes queremos mirarnos a nosotros mismos, con tan escaso conocimiento de nuestros interiores, y la segunda es la vergüenza que implica revelar las astucias que los escritores usamos para armar nuestros entramados -fascinadores modernos- llenos de las voces de los otros. Me pareció pues, en esta ocasión, útil referirme a la conocida historia de Alí Babá, pero dado que estamos entre narradores y poetas, insertaré historias sobre las historias.
In the same vein as a work previously presented in 2007 in a literary conference at the Centro Simón I. Patiño of Santa Cruz under the heading of POETIC ART AND INTEGRATION, there is a discourse about one's own work. However, to speak about one's own work implies two terrible connotations. The first is the myopia that injures us when looking at ourselves with only a slight knowledge of our interior being, and the second one is the shame implied by revealing the tricks we writers use to structure our frameworks-modern fascinators---full of the voices of others. Hence it seemed useful to me, on this occasion, to refer to the well-known story of Ali Baba, but given that we are among fiction writers and poets, I'll include stories about the stories
In the same vein as a work previously presented in 2007 in a literary conference at the Centro Simón I. Patiño of Santa Cruz under the heading of POETIC ART AND INTEGRATION, there is a discourse about one's own work. However, to speak about one's own work implies two terrible connotations. The first is the myopia that injures us when looking at ourselves with only a slight knowledge of our interior being, and the second one is the shame implied by revealing the tricks we writers use to structure our frameworks-modern fascinators---full of the voices of others. Hence it seemed useful to me, on this occasion, to refer to the well-known story of Ali Baba, but given that we are among fiction writers and poets, I'll include stories about the stories
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No. 17