Medardo Ángel Silva

Medardo Ángel Silva Rodas (Guayaquil, June 8, 1898 – Guayaquil, June 10, 1919) was an Ecuadorian poet and member of the “Generación decapitada” (English: “Decapitated Generation“). He is considered the most pure of Ecuadorian modernists. The “Decapitated Generation” is a moniker given by journalists and historians to to a group of 4 writers in early 20th century Ecuador, because of similarities in their poetry and because they each died at a young age. The four members of the group are Medardo Ángel Silva and Ernesto Noboa y Caamaño from Guayaquil, and Arturo Borja and Humberto Fierro from Quito. The cause of Silva’s death is not certain; he died at 21 while visiting a young girlfriend. He is believed to have committed suicide, but may have been murdered as the result of a love triangle. Among his most famous poems is El alma en los labios (English: My soul on my lips), made famous in a song by Ecuadorian singer Julio Jaramillo.

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Text Deformation and Paratexts in the English Translation of Huasipungo, by Jorge Icaza

Trabalhos em Linguística Aplicada

On-line version ISSN 2175-764X

Trab. linguist. apl. vol.57 no.1 Campinas Jan./Apr. 2018

http://dx.doi.org/10.1590/010318138651619354831 

DOSSIÊ

TENDENCIAS DEFORMANTES Y PARATEXTOS EN LA TRADUCCIÓN AL INGLÉS DE HUASIPUNGO, DE JORGE ICAZA

TEXT DEFORMATION AND PARATEXTS IN THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF HUASIPUNGO, BY JORGE ICAZA

Authors

  • María del Pilar Cobo González – Universidad de Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina. [email protected]
  • Roberto Bein – Universidad de Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina. [email protected]
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The Chulla Romero y Flores (1958 Novel) by Jorge Icaza – An English Translation

by Jorge Icaza (1906-1978)

Translated from the Spanish by Richard Gabela

Several times a day Don Ernesto Morejón Galindo, the Chief-Director of the Bureau of Economic Investigation, abandoned his small office to monitor the attendance of the employees in his charge. Don Ernesto was a man of unbalanced character. Completely unbalanced. When he was in good spirits, he exaggerated his qualities of a Don Juan, slipping through the libidinous confidences of a vegetable-market chola or a chagra newly arrived from the countryside. With graphic and pornographic gesticulations of sexual possession, he would murmur into the ear of his next confidant: “What a night of revelry, my dear cholo. I had myself three women. Two turned out to be virgins.… Hee-hee-hee…All for free.” But if he had to publicly reprimand his henchmen—an epithet of intimate nature by which he referred to his subordinates —he swelled with omnipotence and meted out threats without concert or order. At such moments—when his domineering arrogance exploded—everything grotesque about his adipose face was underscored—his cheeks like rosy buttocks, his trembling clay lips, the bilious drool between his teeth, the diabolic flame in his pupils.

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