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Biografías Sharon Olds |
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Sharon le dijo "no" a la
Casa Blanca
Sharon le dijo no a la Casa Blanca
La poetisa estadounidense Sharon Olds, que se
opone a la guerra en Irak, ha declinado la invitación que le envió
Laura Bush para participar en un festival literario y cenar en su
compañía, y afirmó que "no tendría estómago para ello".
"Tantos estadounidenses que han sentido orgullo de su país se
sienten ahora angustiados y avergonzados por el actual régimen de
sangre, heridas y fuego", escribe Olds en su carta a la primera dama
que divulga hoy la revista The Nation en su sitio en internet.
"Pensé en los limpios manteles en su mesa, los cuchillos
relucientes y en las llamas de las velas y no podría tener estómago
para ello", concluye la poetisa, que cuenta en su haber con un premio
del National Book Critics Circle y es profesora en la Universidad de
Nueva York. Olds explica en su misiva que, en cierta forma, la
invitación a intervenir en el Festival Nacional del Libro, previsto
para el próximo sábado en Washington, asistir a una cena en la
Biblioteca del Congreso y desayunar en la Casa Blanca, es "muy
atractiva". Subraya que participar en un festival al que
asisten 85.000 personas y la posibilidad de hallar nuevos lectores, es
algo que personalmente ilusiona a cualquier poeta. Añade que también pensó en cómo podría expresar, de
forma respetuosa, "mi hondo sentimiento de que no debíamos haber
invadido Irak" y que invadir otra cultura y otro país, con la
consiguiente pérdida de vidas, "no es algo que surge de nuestra
democracia sino que fue una decisión tomada en las alturas".
La poetisa afirma que después de una profunda
reflexión no puede afrontar la idea "de compartir el pan" con la
primera dama estadounidense y señala que, si me sentara a su mesa,
"sentiría como si estuviera aprobando lo que considero como acciones
salvajes y arbitrarias del gobierno Bush"
Texto completo de la carta de Sharon Olds a Laura
Bush
Afectuosamente, Versión en
inglés - Fuente
The Nation -
September 19, 2005 Laura Bush Dear Mrs. Bush, I am writing to let you know why I am not able to
accept your kind invitation to give a presentation at the National
Book Festival on September 24, or to attend your dinner at the Library
of Congress or the breakfast at the White House. In one way, it's a very appealing invitation. The
idea of speaking at a festival attended by 85,000 people is inspiring!
The possibility of finding new readers is exciting for a poet in
personal terms, and in terms of the desire that poetry serve its
constituents--all of us who need the pleasure, and the inner and outer
news, it delivers. And the concept of a community
of readers and writers has long been dear to my heart. As a professor
of creative writing in the graduate school of a major university, I
have had the chance to be a part of some magnificent outreach writing
workshops in which our students have become teachers. Over the years,
they have taught in a variety of settings: a women's prison, several
New York City public high schools, an oncology ward for children. Our
initial program, at a 900-bed state hospital for the severely
physically challenged, has been running now for twenty years, creating
along the way lasting friendships between young MFA candidates and
their students--long-term residents at the hospital who, in their
humor, courage and wisdom, become our teachers. When you have witnessed
someone nonspeaking and almost nonmoving spell out, with a toe, on a
big plastic alphabet chart, letter by letter, his new poem, you have
experienced, close up, the passion and essentialness of writing. When
you have held up a small cardboard alphabet card for a writer who is
completely nonspeaking and nonmoving (except for the eyes), and
pointed first to the A, then the B, then C, then D, until you get to
the first letter of the first word of the first line of the poem she
has been composing in her head all week, and she lifts her eyes when
that letter is touched to say yes, you feel with a fresh immediacy the
human drive for creation, self-expression, accuracy, honesty and wit--and
the importance of writing, which celebrates the value of each person's
unique story and song. So the prospect of a festival of books seemed
wonderful to me. I thought of the opportunity to talk about how to
start up an outreach program. I thought of the chance to sell some
books, sign some books and meet some of the citizens of Washington,
DC. I thought that I could try to find a way, even as your guest, with
respect, to speak about my deep feeling that we should not have
invaded Iraq, and to declare my belief that the wish to invade another
culture and another country--with the resultant loss of life and limb
for our brave soldiers, and for the noncombatants in their home
terrain--did not come out of our democracy but was instead a decision
made "at the top" and forced on the people by distorted language, and
by untruths. I hoped to express the fear that we have begun to live in
the shadows of tyranny and religious chauvinism--the opposites of the
liberty, tolerance and diversity our nation aspires to. I tried to see my way clear to attend the festival
in order to bear witness--as an American who loves her country and its
principles and its writing--against this undeclared and devastating
war. But I could not face the idea
of breaking bread with you. I knew that if I sat down to eat with you,
it would feel to me as if I were condoning what I see to be the wild,
highhanded actions of the Bush Administration. What kept coming to the fore
of my mind was that I would be taking food from the hand of the First
Lady who represents the Administration that unleashed this war and
that wills its continuation, even to the extent of permitting "extraordinary
rendition": flying people to other countries where they will be
tortured for us. So many Americans who had felt pride in our country
now feel anguish and shame, for the current regime of blood, wounds
and fire. I thought of the clean linens at your table, the shining
knives and the flames of the candles, and I could not stomach it.
Sincerely, |
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