Woes of the True Policeman

which I have in Ernesto Cardenal’s Antología , Editorial Laia, Barcelona, 1978. Of course, Cardenal had already written “Zero Hour,” “Psalms,” “Homage to the American Indians,” and “Coplas on the Death of Merton,” but it’s “Trip to New York” that to me marks the turning point, the definitive fork in the road. “Trip” and “Soliloquy” are the two faces of modern poetry, the devil and the angel, respectively (and let us not forget the curious fact—though it may be rather more than that—that in “Trip” Ernesto Cardenal mentions Nicanor Parra). This is perhaps the most lucid and terrible moment, after which the sky grows dark and the storm is unleashed.
    Those who disagree can sit here and wait for Don Horacio Tregua, those who agree can follow me.

19
    Notes from a Class in Contemporary Literature: The Role of the Poet Happiest : García Lorca.
    Most tormented : Celan. Or Trakl, according to others, though there are some who claim that the honors go to the Latin American poets killed in the insurrections of the ’60s and ’70s. And there are those who say: Hart Crane.
    Most handsome : Crevel and Félix de Azúa.
    Fattest : Neruda and Lezama Lima (though I remembered—and with grateful resolve chose not to mention—the whale-like bulk of a Panamanian poet by the name of Roberto Fernández, keen reader and best of friends).
    Banker of the soul : T. S. Eliot.
    Whitest, the alabaster banker : Wallace Stevens.
    Rich kid in hell : Cernuda and Gilberto Owen.
    Strangest wrinkles : Auden.
    Worst temper : Salvador Díaz Mirón. Or Gabriela Mistral, according to others.
    Biggest cock : Frank O’Hara.
    Secretary to the alabaster banker : Francis Ponge.
    Best houseguest : Amado Nervo.
    Worst houseguest : various and conflicting opinions: Allen Ginsberg, Octavio Paz, e. e. cummings, Adrian Henri, Seamus Heaney, Gregory Corso, Michel Bulteau, the Hermanitos Campos, Alejandra Pizarnik, Leopoldo María Panero and his older brother, Jaime Sabines, Roberto Fernández Retamar, Mario Benedetti.
    Best deathbed companion : Ernesto Cardenal.
    Best movie companion : Elizabeth Bishop, Berrigan, Ted Hughes, José Emilio Pacheco.
    Best in the kitchen : Coronel Urtecho (but Amalfitano reminded them of Pablo de Rokha and read him and there was no argument).
    Most fun : Borges and Nicanor Parra. Others: Richard Brautigan, Gary Snyder.
    Most clearsighted : Martín Adán.
    Least desirable as a literature professor : Charles Olson.
    Most desirable as a literature professor, though only in short bursts : Ezra Pound.
    Most desirable as a literature professor for all eternity : Borges.
    Greatest sufferer : Vallejo, Pavese.
    Best deathbed companion after Ernesto Cardenal : William Carlos Williams.
    Most full of life : Violeta Parra, Alfonsina Storni (though Amalfitano pointed out that both had killed themselves), Dario Bellezza.
    Most rational way of life : Emily Dickinson and Cavafy (though Amalfitano pointed out that—according to conventional wisdom—both were failures).
    Most elegant : Tablada.
    Best Hollywood gangster : Antonin Artaud.
    Best New York gangster : Kenneth Patchen.
    Best Medellín gangster : Álvaro Mutis.
    Best Hong Kong gangster : Robert Lowell (applause), Pere Gimferrer.
    Best Miami gangster : Vicente Huidobro.
    Best Mexican gangster : Renato Leduc.
    Laziest : Daniel Biga. Or, according to some, Oquendo de Amat.
    Best masked man : Salvador Novo.
    Biggest nervous wreck : Roque Dalton. Also: Diane Di Prima, Pasolini, Enrique Lihn.
    Best drinking buddy : several names were mentioned, among them Cintio Vitier, Oliverio Girondo, Nicolas Born, Jacques Prévert, and Mark Strand, who was said to be an expert in martial arts.
    Worst drinking buddy : Mayakovsky and Orlando Guillén.
    Most fearless dancer with American death : Macedonio Fernández.
    Most homegrown, most Mexican : Ramón López Velarde and Efraín Huerta. Other opinions: Maples Arce, Enrique González Martínez, Alfonso Reyes, Carlos Pellicer, fair-haired Villaurrutia, Octavio Paz, of course, and the female author of Rincones románticos (1992), whose name no one could remember.
    Questionnaire
    Question : Why would you want Amado Nervo as a houseguest?
    Answer : Because he was a good man, industrious and resourceful, the kind of person who helps set the table and wash the dishes. I’m sure he wouldn’t even hesitate to sweep the floor, though I wouldn’t let him. He would watch TV shows with me and discuss them afterward, he would