Juan José Saer - La Grande

For several years, precisionism dominated the literary world in the city, with a strong advantage over the other schools. It was the only original literary movement to have appeared there, inasmuch as the neoclassicists weren’t in fact anything more than a branch of a movement that had circulated throughout the country, and the regionalists weren’t a group strictly speaking because the only thing they had in common was their taste for cookouts and their systematic employment of barbarisms. Among the regionalists, only Cuello was known outside the province. His books were regularly reviewed in La Prensa and La Nación, and yet the invariable praise they received repeatedly affirmed that the books constituted an invaluable testimony of his native region and that their author was a profound student of the ways of the countryside. Precisionism, meanwhile, had been recognized from the beginning as something more than a simple literary movement, as a true Weltanschauung. More than as a poet, despite the many merits in that regard that even his detractors recognized, Brando was seen as a philosopher, as a man of science, and even as a reformer. Despite the jealousy that his increasing fame provoked, more than a few regionalists, and more than a few neoclassicists in particular, admitted privately that, had he abandoned his avant-garde pretensions, he might have transformed himself into a more than respectable representative of their respective schools. Higinio Gómez and Jorge Washington Noriega, who kept themselves on the margin of the literary world, referred to him, sarcastically, as “Il Duce stil novo of scientistic debris,” and refused to be impressed by the fact that Buenos Aires was looking favorably on the work of a local agitator. Brando, meanwhile, took that acceptance as objective proof, and the rival groups validated his position. A sonnet of Brando’s, “Chemistry of the passions,” appeared in mid-1946 in the supplement to La Nación, and it should be said that, if the existence of God had been announced in that Sunday rotogravure, the regionalists and the neoclassicists, as of that moment, would have done without the miracles or the ontological proof.

As often happens with avant-garde movements, the leaders sacrifice themselves to the arduous creative labor, leaving the administrative work to their seconds in order not to overwhelm them with responsibility. Tardi, Brando’s lieutenant, was in charge, during the first volume, with the trips to the press, with typing up the maestro’s poems, along with the correspondence with their advisors and with the radio stations and the papers. He was slightly older than Brando, and because he’d started out publishing in Espiga, the neoclassicists called him a traitor, and because he was Brando’s first disciple and his name was Pedro, they often said, in reference to his somewhat feeble intelligence, Upon that Rock he will edify his church. It’s well-known that a conflict between Brando and Tardi caused the first rupture.

The groundswell that opened between the members of the group came to light with the fourth precisionist manifesto, which appeared in the fourth and last issue of the first volume of Nexos. Its title — A precisionist sonnet is like no other sonnet — gave legal force to an aesthetic position that Brando adopted in order to critique a triptych by Tardi whose publication had been postponed since the second issue. Needless to say, everything published in the magazine was discussed at the editorial committee’s periodic meetings, and Brando’s decisions were always final. The publication of the triptych had been delayed a third time, and for the same reason: residue of pre-precisionist lexicon. The unspoken distress among the ranks of the movement was revealed less in the passion of their discussions than in their disillusioned conversations as they were leaving, when Brando wasn’t around. If he can’t win, he calls it a draw, Tardi muttered in the ear of the person who followed him out. Even without Brando’s psychological refinement, the discontent would have been obvious. For the purpose of a radical break, the fourth manifesto spelled out their doctrine and outlined, one by one, the deviations. Poetry, it concluded, will be precisionist or not. Precisionism is conscious of the unease that its crusade generates. But its most lucid representatives know how to recognize its enemies, whether inside or outside the movement.

To make it any clearer it would have had to be written in water. Now he’ll know what it’s like to spend entire days at the printer, Tardi said malevolently as he left the last meeting, which resolved upon the dissolution of the movement. In order to finish the preparations for the fourth issue of Nexos, Brando had to accept the collaboration of two kids who were still imitating Espronceda and the Río Seco romances and who hadn’t even finished high school. Tardi’s triptych appeared in the fall issue of Espiga, after a cleansing, demanded by the neoclassicists, of all traces of precisionist vocabulary.

One less piece of bullshit, said General Ponce Navarro, who didn’t approve of the dinners that his eldest daughter had been attending even before she was married, or of the literary scandals that his son-in-law was caught up in. My dear General, Brando would retort, cheerful and patient, although somewhat scalded, if the troops understand their orders it’s thanks to the work of poets, who purify the language. And because he had nerves of steel and a temperament that refracted all bitterness, he didn’t allow himself to be distracted by the defection of his collaborators, and had already begun to prepare a limited hardcover edition of his poems. Doubt had no place in the repertoire of his states of being. Like any good realist, the elder Brando attributed that character trait to his wife’s family, and it produced a sort of ironical aversion in him. On the other hand, his literary sensibility was closer to the regionalists than to the precisionists. Not only was he friends with Cuello, but he also went native, as they say. Cuello, who was a meticulous student of the flora and fauna in the province, aroused his admiration. He’d saved enough to buy a motorboat, and on the weekends he’d often explore the islands in it. Sometimes, the elder Brando would accompany him. They slept along the coast, in a small tent, and ate whatever they caught. On Sunday nights they’d come home dirty, tired, and unshaven, and before they said goodbye they would drink one last beer at the counter of some bar. Out of mutual discretion, the topic of precisionism was never brought up.

One Sunday in April, 1947, Brando was shaking his head in disbelief over the ineptitude of the most recent issue of Espiga when he received a visit from the general and his bother-in-law, the first lieutenant. Lydia and her mother were at mass, and the general wanted to take the opportunity to speak to Brando. In short, it concerned the following: there was a possibility of obtaining a post for Brando as cultural attaché in Rome, but because Lydia had always been very close to her mother he hadn’t wanted to speak of the matter in front of the women, given that Brando wouldn’t have been the one making the decision. The general, for his part, recommended that he accept. A new era had begun in the country, and new blood was needed in every field. The general added that, when he brought up Brando’s name at the ministry, the acceptance was immediate and practically enthusiastic. And that, no doubt, owing to what you call bullshit, Brando responded thoughtfully, smiling condescendingly. Although he’d decided on the spot to accept, he asked for forty-eight hours to think it over, arguing that this sort of decision shouldn’t be taken lightly, something which increased the general’s respect, but also his anxiety, given that he’d already given his word at the ministry that his son-in-law would accept.