A picture with Miguel Enríquez

In his lyric post Miguel,Miguel, Miguel - homage to Miguel Enríquez - the Chilean poet Fesal Chain illustrated with this picture, without text, of Miguel Enríquez and I (photo here below). I wrote a comment to Fesal, which he made it public in his recent post Una bella y maravillosa carta de Marcello Ferrada Noli. Here I publish the comment I sent to Fesal. The text in English ensues down below. Miguel Enríquez is a hero of the armed Resistance against the fascist Coup D'Etat of 1973 in Chile. He died heroically in October 1975 after resisting alone with his AK47, and wounded, a several hours assault of the military forces, thus allowing his comrades to escape the siege. Miguel was a founder of the MIR, and its head commander.


Fesal, lúcido significante bello tu poema de Miguel. Nostálgico como todo lo que escribes.

Acertadamente, desde el punto de vista del quehacer del poeta, y del propio Miguel, insertas el recuerdo de un pasaje de Carlos Puebla 1976, ”Miguel Enríquez se llama”. Un homenaje recíproco, se podría afirmar, por cuanto Miguel apreciaba la producción y el rol de Carlos Puebla y además escuchaba al vate cubano con deleite. Entre su carcajada legendaria, firma de su humor inteligente, coreaba Miguel “Y se acabó la diversión, llegó el comandante y mandó a parar”. Esto era una alusión a lo de Carlos Puebla en música: “Aquí pensaban seguir, ganando el ciento por ciento, en casas de apartamento, y echar al pueblo a sufrir, y seguir de modo cruel, contra el pueblo conspirando, para seguirlo explotando. . . etc.”

Como aporte, la foto que publicas encabezando tu homenaje es de 1967. El MIR tenía sólo dos años. En las foto estamos Miguel y yo en la Desembocadura del Bío-Bío. La foto la tomó Inés Enríquez, la hermana de Miguel, con la cámara Yashica que Miguel había recientemente comprado durante su viaje a Asia. Esa es la cartuchera que pende Miguel en la foto.

Cinco años antes de aquella foto había yo publicado “Cantos de Rebelde Esperanza” (Imprenta Orellana, Concepción, 1962), libro que dediqué a mi amigo Miguel Enríquez. Y aquí quiero llegar a mi punto en este comentario. Una crítica legítima y oportuna sobre el qué hacer del poeta, que se atisba en Puebla. La que yo asumo con retrospectividad.

En el libro que refiero, escrito cuando teníamos 17 años, escribí un poema llamado “Quiero ser” (la edad temprana no es disculpa) y que termina así:

“Pero prefiero ser la tierra
para sentir el calor
de la sangre del que muere
y al guardar su cadáver
quisiera ser madera
y quisiera ser lluvia
y besar la heroica frente
la del que vive con la muerte
besar con lluvia quisiera
Pero quiero ser poeta
y cantar a la victoria
y llorar a los caídos
y llorar a los que esperan”.

Sobre el mismísimo tema tiene en cambio Carlos Puebla - en otros versos de la obra por Miguel que citas - una elocución opuesta, constructiva, y superior:

”Ni lágrimas ni quebrantos
Ni cantos por su partida
Que tu ejemplo nos enseña
Que la lucha no termina”.

Por mi parte. Yo dejé el oficio público de la lírica y tome otros. Otros pinceles con los mismos colores, se podría decir. Por tu parte. Afortunadamente tú y muchos en tu círculo literario son un despertador de calidad, concreta y cotidiana. Son en el espíritu de Puebla, de ”la lotta continua”. Son necesarios. Porque no es hora, nunca lo fue, de llantos ”ni lágrimas ni quebrantos”.

Por todo esto termino con un breve pasaje al que Miguel era apasionadamente adicto. Incluso pusimos ese texto como epígrafe en el primer documento histórico del MIR conocida como “La Tesis Político-militar” (“La conquista del poder por la vía insurreccional”) firmada por Miguel (“Viriatto”), Marco Antonio (“Bravo”) y yo (“Atacama”) y aprobada en el Congreso de fundación de 1965. La tesis, anecdóticamente pero de verdad, traía en su proto-versión el farragoso título “A la conquista del poder por la boca de los cañones”. Este es el pasaje de Leonidas Andreiev, y que Miguel citó a continuación varias veces en su vida política y privada:

Anhela el amor correspondencia
Las lágrimas buscan lágrimas que les respondan
Y cuando el gran alma de un pueblo sufre
Tiembla toda su vida
Se estremece toda alma viva
Y los puros de corazón van al sacrificio.

Fraternalmente / Marcello Ferrada-Noli

S. Giovanni B. (BG), Italia

____

Fesal, your poem on Miguel is lucid, significant, and beautiful. Nostalgic as everything you write. Fairly, from the perspective of what the role of a poet shod be - and from the perspective of Miguel himself, I would say – you inserted the memory of a passage from Carlos Puebla’s ”Miguel Enriquez is called”, the Puebla homage to Miguel Enríquez in 1976.

A mutual homage, one may say, partly because Miguel was keen on the production and the cultural/political relevance of Carlos Puebla, and in fact he listened to the Cuban composer with delight. For instance, in between his legendary laughter, a sign of his intelligent humour, chanted Miguel "And the party was over, the commander arrived and ordered it to stop." This was an allusion to the music of Carlos Puebla:

"They thought to continue profiting the one hundred percent,
in their fancy apartment houses,
throwing the people to suffering;
and they thought to continue in their cruel fashion,
conspiring against the poor,
to continue their exploitation . . .”

To contribute, the picture that you post in your poem to Miguel is from 1967. The MIR was then only two years old. In the photo we are Miguel and I in the estuary of the Bio-Bio. The photo was taken by Inés Enríquez, Miguel's sister, with the Yashica camera that Miguel had recently bought during his trip to Asia. This is the holster that hangs Miguel in the picture.

Five years before that photo I had published "Songs of Hope Rebel" (Cantos de Rebelde Esperanza, Imprenta Orellana, Concepción, 1962), a book dedicated to my friend Miguel Enriquez. And here I get to my point in this commentary. It is about a legitimate criticism on the “what to do” of the poet, which is glimpsed in other of Puebla’s lines at his composition ”Miguel Enriquez is called” that you quote. I assume that criticism with own retrospectively insight.

In the book I refer, written when we were 17 years old, I wrote a poem called "Quiero ser", What I wish to be (my early age is no excuse), and which ends:

"I would prefer to be earth
to feel the heat blood
of the one falling down
and to shelve his dead body
I would rather be wood

and I would like to be rain
and to kiss the heroic forehead
of the one offering his life
with rain I would wish to kiss

But I want to be a poet
and sing to victory
and mourn the fallen
and mourn those who wait."

However, on that very subject utters Carlos Puebla - in other verses of the work dedicated to Miguel that you quote – another standpoint. It is a instead a veritable constructive and superior statement:

"No tears or breakdowns

Nor singing for his departure

For your example shows

That the struggle is not over. "

For my part. I left the publicly endeavour of writing poetry, and took instead others. Other brushes with the same colours, you might say. For your part. Fortunately, you and many in your literary circle produce a everyday wake-up literature, concrete and with quality. Whis is in the spirit of Puebla, of the "Lotta Continua". Those are necessary. Because there is no time, it has never been, time of weeping tears.

For all the above I end here with a brief passage to which Michael was passionately addicted. Even we put this text as a sub-heading on the first MIR historical document known as "The Political-military thesis" ("The conquest of power through insurrection") signed by Miguel ("Viriatto"), his brother Marco Antonio ("Bravo") and I ("Atacama"), and approved by the Congress Foundation of MIR in 1965. The document – anecdotally, but truly - had in its prototype version the cumbersome title "The conquest of power by the cannon's mouth." This is the passage of Leonidas Andreyev, and that Miguel thereafter quoted several times in his political and private life:

Love longs for correspondence
Tears seek tears that respond

And when the great soul of a people suffers

Tremble all its life

Its shudders every living soul

And the pure in heart go to the sacrifice.

Brotherly /

Marcello Ferrada-Noli

S. Giovanni B. (BG), Italy