Jaime Cantarovici

Spanish Professor, Jaime Cantarovici

I have been looking at the books of poetry from my Latin American Literature professor.  The books are called "Desde Lejos" and "Flores Artificiales" "From Afar" and "Artificial 

Flowers".  Both published in Spain, 1975 and 1982.  In the first book Dr. Cantarovici explored aging, and lamented that he could not carry as much as when he was younger.  He explores the routine in our lives in the poem "Inevitable".  I identify with this poem, as I feel sort of like I'm stuck in a rut.  Home to work, work to home, home to work, work to home, and to be honest, work isn't very challenging lately.  I've been doing the same thing for many years, but don't dare make changes because of the income; it's hard to rock the boat.

 Inevitable

Knowing that we are all in a line

same as those before,

same as those behind

Always in a line towards…

How sad it is to wait!

How sad it is to not love!

A thought, a word, a sigh,

they are gone forever

forever forgetting.

It is I who cries the morning

because I know what will come

it is I who knows the pain

of those that are in line.

The same as before, today and later,

never looking back

the Man hopes that a voice tells him

—Come forward— for you it is done.


This poem shows Jaime's lighter side


Child of Four Years

You will go to hell.
The will put on you black wings
full of worms
and spiders.
The devils

will dance a dark dance
and the fire will be
eternal.

Or..............

You will go to heaven.
They will put on you great white wings
full of flowers
and perfumes.
The angels
will dance a celestial dance
and the music will be
eternal,

If you behave well
and take your soup
you will go to heaven
to play with the clouds.
If you behave poorly...

I WANT SOUP!


 A short passage about love

LOVE

Life is short and passing
but love is eternal
The spring is light
But summer an infernal.

Autumn is cold
as is the summer
life is short and passing
but love is eternal.

FIRST LOVE

My son was born
with the moon conquered.
The sleep of the centuries
doesn't cause surprise
before your eyes.

It's a thing of yesterday
--the tell me--
it's routine monotony of yesterday.

Papa...
I'm in love
with a girl...
                 cybernetic...

A poem dedicated to his wife

SAY IT WITH YOUR EYES
                                        to Graciela

 Don't pronounce your name
Your life quiet it in secret
I want to discover the enigma
that hides in your chest.

Do you love me? Adore me?

Don't Say it!
                        NO!

It will just be words
that the wind erases.
Tomorrow we will want to remember
the mind in rebellion,
mute and silent
you will cry before the forgetfulness.

Do you love me?  Adore me?

Don't say it!
                         No!

In your profound ees
sealed in mistery,
is the precious jewelry box
where you guard the secret.

With emotion and tenderness
our glance unites
I will tell you in silence
                               I love you!

And int the rush of your face
I will know that you love me too.

Do you love me?  Adore me?

Tell me with your eyes
as they're sincere.

I thought I would share a little bit of Jaime with you.  I really think in poetry, you lay your heart bear, as his is bared in this small sample.  Jaime was a friend.  He signed the copy of have of "Desde Lejos".   I took three or four classes from him, the writings of Pablo Neruda, and a couple about Latin American Literature.  I will share some of the poetry from those classes in later blogs.

Jaime and I had a dual relationship.  In addition to being my professor, he was also a competitive coach in soccer.  I coached the team form Hyrum, and he coached his son's team in the early days of soccer play in Cache Valley.  I remember one year both our teams made it to the finals in Brigham City.  We had some good times.

Jaime was taken from us too young.  He was born in Bolivia, but his family moved to Argentina when he was in high school.  While visiting his family in Argentina in 1986 he had a massive heart attack and passed away.  He was only 43 years old at the time.