30 ‘/ CHRONICLESnbecame philosophy,nits drivel has covered thenplanet.nThe warmest attraction of these linesnis the evident fact that they are writtennmore in sorrow than in anger. Thenbelated recognition of common humannfrailty in the youthful utopists is a freshntheme and genuinely pathetic. In ordernto write these lines, the poet has hadnfirst to experience, and then to over-nLiberal ArtsnNew York Tax Dollars at WorknThe New York State Council on thenArts has announced its list of 17 visualnarts awards totaling $174,776. Theyninclude:n— $10,500 “to create newnquilts exploring colornrelationships”n— An unspecified sum for “anseries of objects based onncommodities from Africa andnAsia . . . emblematic of thencolonial relationship”n— $10,500 for “Apartheid No”n— $10,500 for “Portraits of Gaynand Lesbian Writers”n— $10,000 for “Ebony Men,nToo”n— $10,500 for “The HomelessnVehicle, to further define [thenartist’s] interest in the plight ofnthe homeless in New York Citynby the design and constructionnof prototype mobile shelternunits”nWe have our own proposal in tonprovide shelter units and warm, colorfulnquilts for gay and lesbian artists whonwill protest apartheid by eating anticolonialistnbreakfast cereals.ncome, his weary disillusionment. Henmay abhor the outcome of recklessnidealism (in this line from “Although ItnIs Night” he refers to Stalin’s purges:n”Utopia comes to earth in thenCamps”), but he does not despise thenidealists.nIn fact, in his remarks about thenweakling state of contemporary poetrynin the world, he is both shrewd andnsympathetic. In “The Verbal Contract,”na public address published innConvergences, he says, “I imagine thatnthe timidity of today’s poets is due,namong other things, to sheer fatigue:nfor more than half a century we havendevoted all our energies to freneticnformal experimentation in the arts. It isna commonplace that these successivenmovements have degenerated intonsterile manipulation: the avant-gardentoday repeats itself endlessly and hasnbecome a form of academicism.”nOne of the peculiarities of Paz’snproposed regimen — as it is of hisncareer—is that an artist is to begin as anmember of the avant-garde and then tongraduate from that brilliant but shallowncosmopolitanism into work that isnmore individual, more personal, morenlocal. I am reminded of the story aboutnDuke Ellington and the experimentalnjazz bass player Charles Mingus, whennthey were preparing to produce anrecording together. “Hey, man,”nMingus said, “let’s do some avantgardenmusic.” “Aw no,” Ellington replied,n”let’s do something modern.”nAll those literary and artistic isms thatnPaz has been involved with appear tonhave been procedures he made himselfnlearn in order to be able to forget. Henbegins to look through the predictablenfuture into the unpredictable past.n”We are returning to diversity,” hendeclares. “This is one of the few positivensigns in this terrible end of ancentury. Uniformity is death, and thenmost perfect form of uniformity isnuniversal death; hence the collectivenextermination practiced in the twentiethncentury. Life is always particularnand local: it is my life, this life of minenhere and now. The resurrection ofnnational and regional cultures is a signnof life.”nReflecting upon these words, we arennot surprised to recall that one of Paz’snalmost constant heroes is Charles Fourier.nThe specifics of Fourier’s Utopianhe rejects as unworkable and in thennnend as undesirable. But the ambition tonhumanize technology, to make it responsivento individual needs and desires,nremains supremely valuable innhis eyes. It becomes clear that for Paznavant-garde artistic movements are likentechnologies which the artist mustnmaster and subdue and bend to hisnown purposes. His cheerily restlessnexperimentation has amounted to anlifetime of apprenticeship needed tonfashion a skill, or even a genius, whichncould define and express the soul andnbody of his native Mexico, the collectivenspirit of Latin America.nThe work that embodies these greatnaims will never be written. Paz fits intonthat modern romantic tradition innwhich the poet’s great work remainsnunfinished. Romanticism is a mode ofndiscourse which gives us hope bynbreaking its promises, and many ofnits greatest figures trace incompletencareers. Coleridge, Keats, Rimbaud,nHolderlin, Lorca — the pantheon ofnmaimed titans is a large one. Like hisngreat precursors, Paz understands thatnthe only way to get the highest expressionnout of art is to demand of it morenthan it has to give. To this end, henkeeps on defining and redefining poetrynin his work. There must be scoresnof separate, and differing, definitions ofnthe poetic art in his essays and poems.nThis one, from “San Ildefonso nocturne,”nmay serve to help define OctavionPaz for us and to illustrate thennoble shapes his thought and feelingntake:nPoetry,nsuspension bridge betweennhistory and truth,nis not a path toward this ornthat:nit is to seenthe stillness in motion,nchangenin stillness.nHistory is the path:nit goes nowhere,nwe all walk it,ntruth is to walk it.nWe neither go norncome:nwe are in the hands of time.nTruth:nto know ourselves,nfrom the beginning,nhung.nBrotherhood over the void.n