Introduction
Today, it might seem like there’s nothing to celebrate. It’s Monday, the Catrinas have left, and all that remains of the pan de muerto is crumbs. Perhaps there’s a faint headache in our spirits, urging us to heed the proverb about avoiding dogs and silent waters. We could stitch together the hours of disaster, write tragically about the false utility of tragedy, or compose a heroic song for the submerged lands. But today, we choose to remember those born in the Eden that is Tabasco – those who are now immortal, never gone, and never leaving.
Carlos Pellicer: The Poet of Tabasco
Born in Villahermosa, then known as San Juan Bautista, on November 3, 1897 (or possibly February, according to some accounts), Carlos Pellicer’s mother may have taught him his first letters. Yet, it was his land that inspired him. His travels, studies outside the state, and political journey all kept drawing him back to his beloved tropical home.
José Gorostiza once wrote to Pellicer, “Did you know, Carlos, that the bad thing about you is that you’re not just a poet but two? I like the poet of the senses. May you always be that poet. In the building of our poetry, you are the large window; the window that looks out onto the field, hungry every night to feast on a new panorama, each day. We – you know this – are the pieces inside. Xavier (Villaurrutia) is the hallway. The rest, the bedrooms.”
The Group of Contemporaries
Gorostiza referred to the group known as the “Contemporaries,” to which Pellicer belonged. Describing these poets proved challenging for him, a poet himself. Was Pellicer the tropical poet, the poet with heart in his eyes, the poet in flight, or the poet of creatures’ cries?
Pellicer’s Passions: Poetry and Museology
Beyond poetry, Pellicer was passionate about museology. He’s credited with establishing the extraordinary Parque Museo de La Venta, the center of Olmec culture in Villahermosa, which he inaugurated in 1958. He also played a crucial role in the Casa-Museo Frida Kahlo in Coyoacán, known as the Blue House, and the Museo Anahuacalli, a building and collection donated to the Mexican people by Diego Rivera, which Pellicer also inaugurated.
“When I make a museum – I once said, recounting – and I’ve always done them alone; all errors are mine, and if there are successes, they’re also mine. I’m closer to logic and order through touch, moving or arranging objects, rather than dealing with words. For me, a man confused with the earth, words are too volatile: they slip from my grasp. In organizing museums, I encounter fewer obstacles, with greater possibility to exercise, establish order,” Pellicer explained.
Pellicer’s Poetry: A Tribute
Celebrating Carlos Pellicer is possible every day. Immerse yourself in his works, his poetic vision, his love for nature, and his concern for national identity (“Mexico has only just begun its Mexicanization, and the fatherland is not made by copying but creating,” he once said).
Key Questions and Answers
- Who was Carlos Pellicer? Carlos Pellicer was a Mexican poet born in Villahermosa, Tabasco, on November 3, 1897. He was a prominent figure in the literary movement known as the “Contemporaries.”
- What were Pellicer’s passions? Besides poetry, Pellicer was passionate about museology. He played a significant role in establishing important cultural institutions, including the Parque Museo de La Venta and the Casa-Museo Frida Kahlo.
- How did Pellicer view words versus objects? Pellicer found logic and order more accessible through touching and arranging objects rather than dealing with words, which he considered too volatile.
- What was Pellicer’s vision for Mexico? Pellicer believed in creating a genuine Mexican identity rather than copying existing models.
Let Pellicer’s words, as ordered and definitive as his poetry, speak for themselves. Here’s a fitting poem for these days in need of good memories:
Tabasco in mature blood/ and in me its power bloomed./ Water and earth, the sun swore;/ and in the thick cloud's density/ the young land emerged. /Time of Tabasco; in its depths/ I sigh with joy for you./ With you, close to me/ time to die I conceal. Life burns in Tabasco/ so that death, hidden, lives,/ stung by a great stroke of life/ giving death without wishing to./ I come with Tabasco's water/ and go with Tabasco's water./ Of beautiful water is my lineage;/ and that's why I'm here/ blessed with what I have.
