Miguel Marinas
Exordio
Narrativas hace referencia al verbo latino narro , que tiene que ver con el saber (quienes no lo tienen, son ignari , ignaros, sin argumento)
Fuentes:
A, Lucas, 1,1: en la Vulgata:
quoniam quidem multi conati sunt ordinare narrationem quæ in nobis completæ sunt rerum
( Many have tried to recount the events orderly met us)
Narration involves relatively orderly, bring order to the diegesis, in the flow of events.
B, Psalm 19, 2:
Coeli enarrant glory Dei
The heavens proclaim the glory of God,
The heavens declare the glory of God
and the firmament proclaims his handiwork;
19: 3 A day passed this message to other
and nights are giving the news.
19: 4 Without speaking, without words,
without hearing your voice, ;
19: 5 resonates echoed throughout the land
and language, to the ends of the world
So also tell proclamation, underscore, in song, is the expressiveness of a story with a plural subject (heaven) day after day, night and another, without words, without a voice, but with echo, but with language that reaches far
and say more than words, there is a will to communicate, to share what they struggle to say, what to say but not knowing how, although not quite know who.
And previously, there is a willingness to listen. In my book listening oral history (Summary, 2008), left word that is listening to the beginning of the story. One looks for an audience. A listener is sometimes where they thought.
is sort Narrating experiences and ways of knowing that they are based, but not exhausted.
the same way that the story has basins, lasts, established rules, mandatory, but always overflows its willingness to build to put words to what we know, what we discover, what is not.
Oral
Stories coming out of the mouth, ranging from mouth to mouth, which is in the foreground the throat, tongue, lips , teeth, saliva and breath. It is the exercise of a pleasure: the pleasure of slitting up to the elbows, not silenced or under water, to crack without stopping.
It's like opera. In Wagner Parsifal, one for four hours is the joy of breath, the taste of words, without knowing German, and even in Italian opera, which seems to be language nearest (the win) is perceived taste of what Barthes called it grain of voix (which we, Latin Americans, say the voice metals) grain or metal, is a surface that is altered, like a cloth soft (vocal cords) and pass, they vibrate the air to the resonators, nose, forehead. The human voice. Orality, a libidinal point in our constitution and it is a place of otherness in the present (the voice and look, we know, as primary objects)
I started pulling the thread of memory, the letter of the signifier narratio (which I know from my longevity and my Catholic culture Source: now - removed the theocracy, or nearly so, may become more freely to all kinds of texts) - and I've been snuggling ritual texts. Jean Pierre Vernant What word is called vertical. Which is addressed to the deity. But right now I just get off the floor to the ground, the circuit of listening and verbosity.
oral stories are exercises to give the sinhueso, Radio Bemba, blablabla endless.
oral narratives are attempts to make known saying in the mouth. That body, again Barthes in his utopia in love, eventually to be used to speak and kissing. The two things at once. But postponing the utopias (pun intended).
Introit
The speaker should be able to tell the whole story, which begins with a train at night, the speaker believes that do not know if you remember or invent, or average. This journey took him from his hometown (which is not: neither is home, is a public garden) to what is now often said that is his hometown, say appointing himself as "of such a site but traveled ", because to get there a trip you can not count (four old were you) you know who lived and can come back and can not return to it. Remembers well those same dates a laying of a train with wires and sticks he made with his father in a small field near the house, did a full tour, with room for the tracks, but with wires and sticks to mimic the catenary, poles, was fascinated and then it rained and it was almost all fallen and was seriously do not hurt or sad, seriously.
But the trip does not return. It's done. And placed the narrated on the condition of migrants. But before even knowing it. Nomadic or displaced. Not so much for him (four years), but effectively by intensive a story without words, we are not here. We are from another site.
Where . Always where. Because when we come to the site of their birth parents and is now recovering, the speaker knows it's not your site. And then, when migrating from the provincial town to the capital, all for a few years would be the thing (so far), it increases the internal narrative that says we are not here. I'm not from here. Where.
as singing in a foreign land? (the songs of Zion), says another Psalm (which later led) How you want me to sing / if I am on foreign soil (That was the version of the grandmother, illiterate, not as narrator and grandfather who was a parlapuñaos. But he gave the note and the gift of nomadic condition narrates.
Anyone who tells does from a moving train. Since the fatal night trains and Jorge Semprun ( The Long Journey, 1953), a Closely Watched Trains. Whoever narrates it does in motion. Exterior and interior.
is to narrate word (who says he knows) in time. In a split time. That is his main concept and the source of his metaphors.
a. open time of fiction (like a river)
b. At the time of recurrence, the moment of the scene (as a stay).
Behind the names are bigger than ever explained: progress time and time consumption, or history of the moment. So we are divided as narrators.
Heraclitus gives us an image that meets:
waters are always new / to who gets your foot in the same river
(fragment 12)
That's the stress and strain to say (as the fight between Jacob and the angel is the battle for the blessing, finished the fight says not let you go without me say a word to bless me, that makes me safe, that means the story).
taut say I know that threads the scenes for others including myself, who narrates the first recipient of what he says (this is the first discovery of the life histories). Perhaps the word, and hear that is common to the story, the essay and poem. It is true that are distinguished as genera, and Gamoneda says that poetry - that brings the impossible to land - Has nothing to do with literature. Perhaps the story, the knowledge that is articulated in the voice, either (not even the most basic level - how Barthes voice, when writing mimics the talk. Even. Here I am talking about the voice, the word in every form, try to always say, knowing that his career is impossible to say something.
We thus, a stage and a river.
The ambiguous repetition
In the story there is an experience primal repetition. Almost we can define a story as what you can start again.
The experience of telling stories to children is proven. Repeat the ritual should not miss anything in the letter. Failing to cause disturbances, anguish, frustration.
The story contains, but not so monolithic, it contains the way of identification with the time it is offered. Benjamin says: listening to a story of experience, can replicate with their own history, the story folds listening to develop their own experience. Without trial, without being condemned as happens - says Barthes in love with speech fragments - arrogant discourses: science, politics, public opinion.
The story opens a suspended while the linearity of time course of civic history, as they say. From what goes before and then continues and concludes. The story contains as a ritornello, as saying.
As in the Italian popular song
was a volta a re
seduced sul sofa
Che disse sua serva the
Raccontami a storia
E the servo incomincio:
was a volta a re
Che disse to sua serva ...
Once there was a king
Sitting on his couch
What he said to his slave
Relátame story
And the slave began:
Once there was a king
Sitting on his couch
In which collects and summarizes the story as much as and the saga of the Thousand and One Nights. And no one knows who is speaking if the king or Scheherazade, or who has the relationship between them or any of us when we listen.
The game, the radical ambivalence of the narrative. As in the Majorcan stories that caught the attention of Roman Jakobson: Aixó was i was not
That was and was not
was and was not , once upon a time there was
What a curious ambiguity, the vagueness of the beginning. Seems to ask permission to take the listener to another place, but not so different, new, but perhaps a little known. The story opens plausible. As a condition of truth. Fiction as a condition to tell even the horror (Esther Cohen, The narrators of Auschwitz), even some of the witnesses (Kertesz, I think) bear this out. Necessary to enter at that time, in that fiction to get used to his truth, the truth is not trite, banal positive description of the so-called facts.
The logotesis, in the invention of worlds with the story (Sade, Fourier, Loyola), construction of texts to live in, it starts with a door with a threshold that separates and that opens.
why there are all the formulas encantatorias to start talking. To begin to narrate, which is an operation that opens a time slot. It's like the beginning of the interview, the story of life, or the discussion group. Always see a formula ("good, well ... · "well, it seems that my turn to break the ice," "think I hurt my open fire," "good, because before I would say something about ...") to authorize the time ENTAM story.
The tense of the story is imperfect. "This was a king who had / a palace of brilliant ..." is the "now was I and was the pirate, now you were you and you were the princess, our children's fiction, ritualized. Constituted as proper times, shut down, which will begin again.
Imperfect is sometimes replaced for the present, present continuous value at the time of the story itself.
"Going up from Santa Cruz, the Brotava (Orotava) there are some streets, narrow, near a printing press, there I am, I am born there
( Robles Luisito Story of a migrant canary,).
Once upon a time and teaches us to have the English language. Escandon a time through the plains of time.
and if the walls feigns sleep
in plain time
time makes you think
that comes in time.
Lorca says the time Legend relatively minor, apparently hidden in a prologuito recited by Harlequin, in this play: So spend five years .
copies Stories
José Jiménez Lozano, Castilla natural storyteller he was kind, haughty, and good-humored, to call his book The Great Stories . Is smaller stories and thorough, more restricted environment, nearly collected, which could imagine. The characters are loved by people in times of civic modernization, the book itself has - if unintentionally not contradict the diagnosis of Jean-François Lyotard - remember, in this modern age that characterized the so-called postmodern, as the crisis of the great stories. Indeed, in The postmodern condition , Said that those stories are gone generally covered by our sayings, and that allowed us to have a sense of the world in place. From a time whose beginning we do not know of any code (the seventies in its effects, its causes thirty) occurs desguavinado that gait, as they say in Cuba, without clove stories as they break down the fans.
Stories arrogant - again Barthes - are its apparent voyage, undisturbed, tricky, robbers of all foreign languages. But in the so-called everyday life worlds, each narrative produces a small-scale, temporary, rickety. Almost embarrassing. And then amid the malaise, the lack of legitimating narratives general and stable value, everyone feels the need to have your life.
begins what I have called the symptom Santamarina and biographical.
In no place in public discourse, general, each has much to say for him. Although nothing more is by putting some order and meaning.
So begins a few stories of life: "And one says:" As you may have done one of those things, "And think of one: how to say such a thing happened to me, will you be crazy? ".
is the mystery of the narrator. The objectification of his own voice. It is necessary, it is imperative that I start to tell my thing, but when my voice goes, to quote Homer, our patron blind, "the fence of the teeth," the note as strange as somewhat alien. It makes sense dictates that where there is not, but I felt trapped, I enclosed. The closing of the story is my prison. Walls need not to be outdoors but I can not leave them. Is the distance between saying and said that it seizes
is the distance between saying, tensing my vocal cords, resonance of the voice going down my throat, and pounding on the roof of the mouth, on one side. And on the other hand, it says: the words that are aligned in time of the story. That is another time, as already mentioned.
Only those who have been experiencing the need to narrate, Simone de Beauvoir in Women broken. Because the person happy, happy man as the story does not need a shirt, tell the story. To live simply.
So we have our life stories. So we hear our exemplary lives.
In my last book alone The oral history listening , align four laboratories, four living workshops, which had been working to figure out what had been doing all these years. No longer a story of them, he had heard. It was a story about me, properly dressed, as befits academic parsimony, but little disguised in reality, as happened to the Marx Brothers with their beards in Duck Soup. As we started to drink put their beards to soak ... Do you understand?
So I checked one of the first listening experiences: Word Pastor, oral history transhumance. , work with my colleague Joaquín Bandera. Where the stories of the shepherds, were not as Garcilaso
The sweet lament of two pastors
together and Nemoroso Salicio,
But the lives battered Jesus suffered and Fernández and Angel Rodriguez, who rest in peace, they would Extremadura and Andalucia, respectively, in the forties and fifties. So their voices sound.
This is Angel, who died national master being in Leon:
cottage is now in progress and successive days
Step by step will save the plains of Castilla
The Council of the Mesta of national roots
has shown the way, called Cañada Real
They know the shepherds since time immemorial
And sometimes it is very difficult Save
For people did not want to respect ordered
When another hitch ou casual incident
Frequent in some payments to guard Instead,
The march will not stop. Rabadán spoke
Giving to save the content if it can be fixed.
But it is looking like it's time to tell ya
who form the team in order of seniority;
Usually there are six in a flock will,
A direct orders called Rabadán .
If there are any unforeseen or feel unwell this
Instantly takes over won Companion.
The call Helper does the number third
Same as on the roads is charged with yegüero.
And we still have three other, younger, of course:
are Person, the SOBRAO and Zagal or messenger,
herders are called that because they are breast-feeding.
And this is the voice of Jesus, who still lives and speaks like an angel.
Nine years I Motril [smaller than the lad] only for the summer. But I was in San Isidro de new year, the year before the war. The treintaycinco and I was in Fornos. Certainly that was the thing so bad. For the previous years had been that the October Revolution. Yes, thirty-four in Asturias, there was a revoltiñes, killing guards and ... Well, it was then that Allen area, which is near San Isidro, and there came a Asturias, as well a bit challenging, envalentonaos. One day as I was with the pastor who was Prior. Genaro was called. Relevalo had to go to one called Fonso and passed through the canyons and up one and says
"That is Fonso. Yes, He is Fonso
And began:
- Fonsoooo, Fonsoooo ...
And Fonso not answer and I fell for him. Low pall uncle, with a more evil, and says
- Who do you call?
And he realized it was not Fonso and says
- Man, I'm sorry, I'm hoping that over and saw him with this coat and thought it was him ...
And there began a cagamentos, some oaths and says
- Do not bother me anymore because I take the gun and I hit two shots.
It was the poor man, Genaro, stayed Cortao! So I say that it was that he was revolucionao treintaycinco that. Fugitives walked, lanzaos, arise.
Of other investigations (on migration, trade History on the changes in commercial establishments; War my father on the English civil war) highlighted this piece of The day I arrived in Madrid . By its condensation and freshness.
Well, I came to Madrid in 1950, a small town in the province of León. I came by train with a cousin of my mother. We arrived at the Gare du Nord, by night. Then I drew a lot of attention to the station itself, which was huge, had plenty of light, many people (keep in mind that I came from a village that had no light at the time, just put it that year).
We went out, took a taxi, I guess we should go through the Cuesta de San Vicente, Plaza of Spain, the United Way because we went to Calle Serrano. My cousin greeted serene and it caught my attention because I did not know who this gentleman. Then also caught my attention that my uncles had a shop and had no input by the portal. Then had to enter through the entrance of the tent, and the shutter impressed me greatly. Then we went and it caught my attention the phone, which I thought was a clock. Asked him what was and was told it was the phone. Called another uncle to me to see how things worked and then called me a lot of attention the house, high ceilings, also bathroom-toilet-because it was in my village there was not. And, well, the next day they took me to see a little out there. They took me to the movies, and there was a submarine movie, I do not remember what movie was, of course. To me it I did not like. Then I stood up in his chair. I started screaming. My cousins \u200b\u200btold me to shut up. And, well, they are the first memories I have of my arrival in Madrid
Listening Lessons
Without heard no story it seems to be in all cases. Even those of soliloquy, going ruminating, as Angel, his verse romances nomads.
The narrative provides the link between speakers. It is your means of contact. The absence of such phatic function. The lack of someone you name, puts you out of the human condition. As the wild child de l'Aveyron.
That is the great condition of our hostel with the narrative, is that telling a trobar clos : redundancy and closure of the speech, both repeated as structural requirements. And now we can try to appoint as the power that the story has to guard.
The narrative is like a cloak, is like a skin like a tattoo. Welcomes the ways of the body that are unnamed. The forms of dance, the gait, the ways to embrace, breathing, sighing, moaning, laughing with teeth rabbit or heartily.
That is the limit that is perceived in the listening. The body is struggling to find words. Not that the narrative is limited, that provides or requires its own time, as noted. Is that among the ways the body, including energy, heat the cold the warmth of cold hands or feet, the sweat of the brow or the burner of the body, including those fighting cardinal word narrative to settle, to catch chub, meaning to say.
This structural difficulty (which does not melt semiological with energy) currently has more than an imitation circumstances. I mean, so if is difficult to name, tell, tell, let's stay on the ineffable.
So says a sneaky form of domination that involves the theft of speech and the silencing of the word. From this one can not speak, not because I will not leave, but because it is ineffable itself is a mystery, what can we do. In this talk only the clergy, theologians, scholars, those who send.
speaks, people talk (remember the slogan of the transition?).
So the story listen, if we do it without filters, is a risk. We are in severe danger of being told we do not want to hear.
But the scene devoid of stories that explain things changing, life, create chaos, wants no name, appears to require a public word that does not enshrine the silence and theocratic or technocratic authoritarianism.
listening part of a radical misunderstanding of the difficulty of understanding exactly what we mean another.
party to ask for and give explanations and Pastor Jesus defined his conversation with us. What is oral history, and make them ask for explanations.
define party from whom to whom goes the story. What is delivered and what it means to receive it. There is information: it is a gift. It is a political link. Of the polis.
In this gift that, as Marcel Mauss taught us, requires a threefold moral commandment:
a) must be open to receive it (not the stunned silence "do not count your life ") that is the transmission.
b) have to be willing to match (the listener is receiving a testimony that is saved and try to understand) this is heredity.
c) have to be willing to go beyond what is received (oral narratives that have to do things, we are not conservation: we must tell the tale, moving land from the suburbs, put his own name to the wastelands, raise Prohibited names of the deceased, to clarify what was what was at stake) that is political efficacy democratizing of oral narratives.
The fiction of the story, his share of time-limited, their simulation results in the pursuit of truth impossible, prohibited.
fiction to reconstruct the scene, helps break down the way, condensation repetitive verse that explodes, opens like a grain, with a strength that comes from inside and shines a word not said yet.
River, stay, sleep and mirror the story
So we're with the word in time (diegesis) in public and intimate times, and remain connected, inseparable, our stories.
Four times, I say in concept and image:
time the story: every narrative is like a river
The time of the moment: the whole story is as a stay
time unconscious: every narrative is like a dream
the biographical time: the whole story is like a mirror.
These four dimensions constitute our narration, the four must be addressed in order to take them on pulse, for analysis, to remove fruit.
Narration river of history, the litany history has taught us that it is also reversible, regressive, may fall sinister. The history of the Holocaust, the crimes of Stalin, the killings in Africa that no longer appear in the press. The no story, or stories cheats (war fiction, media, Baudrillard was the mother of all battles). This concealment with gross deletions and corrections, which we strive to call contemporary history.
narration that limits your space, as a stay that welcomes us, teaches us that we always have a ponto of calm in which to try to name it (the verb is both transitive, reciprocal, reflexive). Feel the need to be said, named, I make room for your senses, give me barracks, tell me. Feel the need to talk, who told us what happens, trying to name and to listen without filters, without fear). Feel the need to tell me who I be, what I'm wishing, what I fear, and this I do because I have said and as I said to another. So the story is reflexive: the recipient first and surprised myself.
The narrative is like a dream and puts us in a saying that we do not govern at all, it says. As Lorca said it best:
Time goes on sleep
Sunken every hair
eat yesterday and tomorrow
Dark flowers of mourning
This time suspended, walking backwards, putting the top down and vice versa. The logical time or time of the unconscious, is present in every narrative. Taught us the fine ear of Ronald Frasier, when he interviewed survivors of the English civil war (and remember you Remember other ). There goes what analysts call the unconscious, I as an oral historian I can not take care of it, but I can not hide and deny it exists. That says Frasier, intelligently.
The narrative as a mirror brings us to the various forms of the human condition that we reflected everywhere. Before them we learn to listen (verb prohibited difficult), to make it heard in our language, to point the untranslatable (temporarily or for long). It is the exercise of living between different lifestyles with different founding narratives with different beliefs. The year to which Habermas now called translation. Attempting to decipher what he's talking points to the other when their beliefs, their faith routines, their modes of base that lives.
aestheticizing This is not multiculturalism, consumerism, the worlds of yuppies. It is an arduous exercise, which requires moral pulse and perseverance. Patience. Good humor. Ability to continue telling stories. Stop to see if we put differently (and fans) in the circle of ominous silence. Of theocratic rule.
So as I do not think cracking that callus or under water, I will conclude - as anyone who is prepared to silence speech - with a haiku,
measured and Japanese story that I heard one day the poet José Ángel Valente:
and remained silent
the host, the traveler
and white chrysanthemum
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