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The blog without a name: I am Jack's smirking revenge

The Blog without a name: I am Jack's smirking revenge : "WARNING If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life..."

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I am Jack's smirking revenge

• WARNING
  If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you
  read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't
  you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly
  can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so
  impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all who
  claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think
  everything you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told
  Should you want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the Opposite Sex. Stop Excessive
  the shopping and masturbation. Quit your job.
  Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If You Do not Claim Your Humanity you will
  Become a statistic. You have been Warned ...... Tyler

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Wandering BODY AND DESIRE (sheaf TALKS TO JAIME GIMENEZ DE HARO)


PRIOR NOTE: What follows below is the text I wrote for the exhibition that the artist Jaime Giménez de Haro (Sagunto, 1951) held in May 2005 in Castell d'Alaquàs. The recovery for this blog after attending a new exhibition of the artist in Valencia, at the Café Malvarrosa-Espai Paral.lel. A joy to which you are all invited.

Dimension


works proposed to us for this exhibition Jaime seek a density such that beyond the form, color, matter, are plotting a buzz of voices that just impose its own dialogic discourse. Dream is not matter, though invited to it, but words that incite crowds to the recreation of work by the viewer, pleasant or bitter dialogue, the indecent exposure of desires, the entrainment of thoughtful invitations to expose us the works. Michel Foucault
raised from his bold thinking, a "Theatrum Philosophicum." From this exposure, and from this reading that we propose, Jaime's work appears to us as a "Theatrum Artis." But not from the spectacle, from the "ob-scenidad", but rather from the dialogic complicity of confidence, the whisper of the word longing and inviting.
His paintings, objects, anchored a passageway between the peaks of classicism and modernity. Air travel stirred visions of previous pictorial worlds, moves the eye to an expansion of space, and from this opening, since this SUGEN hollow echoes which are shaping a dialogical voices writing, drenched in light and pictorial material.
wandering paths are signs from the gift, banks setting dialog: sometimes from a transparency, sometimes from the mystery. There is innocence and no risk. An odd measure of critical distance from the author on his work and tradition. But above all, is a building of its own world, which urges us to share, a foundation that builds strength in private, in the course of the affection, intimate truths.


1 st STAGE:

GESTOS entelechy

"... and no letters in the air is very clear lines" Bances Candamo
Francisco, Theater of the theater.


A world short of earrings, braids as trilobites, looks facing the modest vision, without the furtive desire for false ownership, merely exposed to the caress of a lullaby. Invited to the banquet of dance of women's bodies to another round of sense to the senses returned to the pregnancy of the painting and its meandering line. Rómpese
fabric of the meeting, a clear invitation to life, only touch or hug near these fragments, which together tend to make an appointment at a crossroads where the very moment it becomes a gesture Etemad, the kairos which tended Goethe , which invites us Jaime, hand gesturing life. Increases the glass of time.

HANDS: The gesture is eloquent beyond voice, handwriting all, live in the pure music of the movement, in the living space, humane figure.

ARMS: You are online hymn, "Oh gifted sore! O soft hand, as did Juan de Yepes will trace.

FACE: you seem to me, arms, beauty ansiante, swirling cry, drunk with stupidity. From the dream of the line magnetized and highlights the clear color, the gesture shows his tempered character, full of serenity, órdago of beauty.

THE BODY: Bankruptcy body and arms effort has been said. Gravity and lightness together in intimate yoke as members clinging to me, represent. It is the hand of your painter, or his soul, which is the same, blowing on your breath. So Carducho certified "Move your paint the souls of those who hear him."
The look is stopped but the gesture does not stop, and in that interval, in that "dark pause" spoken of Rilke, the seed sprouts abbreviated Jaime world exposes us, recalling the "puellae gaditanae" Juvenal, those feet that measure the world look like from their contortions, artistically sentencing which left the Pliny: "To believe that there are infinite worlds came from wanting to measure the world in feet." And no place, no purpose in this world short or these infinite worlds that leads us to the Jaime Giménez boxes of
Haro, while the fabric torn down recomposed and supreme figure in a final gesture.


2 nd SCENE:

STATEMENT TO THE LIGHT A CANDLE

The painter and the model clear its sheen in the light reflected from the sail of a study, while the bodies are confused and in a single stroke wishes to make a resounding laude life, a source of deep pride festival.

THE MODEL: right hand is your hand in my fugure award in praise of lust Blessed, a mythical cloak of subtle transparency.

THE ARTIST: Remove the limit is what you crave, or at least bring the two realities that we both make up, stretching my voice an echo box unique. The finite and the infinite, the whole and the fragment. We seek the fuzzy, promising corners of the meetings, the colors that catch a caress, hug the lines of, caught in a confusion of bodies impossible, beyond this box, this world, this wall.

THE MODEL: The limit is only hope. Brush that will not reach your desired space, that flame extinction hidden in saves. Rearward is the day that your hands and your feet can reach it and your life and your desire are only one and indivisible.

THE ARTIST: I gain nothing future realities. Today here irredeemable proclaim the identity of my life, and I wish paragon of a universe in ways that involve, as transparent robes, those spaces that the figures submitted to a perpetual flow of greetings and goodbyes.

THE MODEL: I feel the soft blue and the exaltation of ocher, the tremor of the muteness of yellow and gray. I blinding red and green warm clarity. Rauda is light and lose myself in the sense of your visions.

THE ARTIST: I'm going too Lost in the fog of this awful desire. Feature with my colors in daylight most pristine looking for a light, seeking light beyond the light. And this wandering, this wandering, you, my model, I impose the gift of beauty understood as a light in his drunkenness, soul Panida that celebrates life.

the wick in the room sadly Heloros consumed and a fine, barely, blue flame, turns to his squalid
candle. The breath of the artist, finally, fatally obscures the fabric of the game and a revived light shines in his work.

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progressing in the mist that fades away,
as early morning light, odors
string of Tejeringo
and fresh milk those goats
Colorao, my hero.
Gary Cooper in my sky,
with the brim of his hat casting a shadow
in his eyes.
In so high, lofty, Tajos
as smooth,
walking a sort of dandyism
wrapped in a dark velvet, with shiny

watch chain hanging from his pocket.

emerged from his silence as a miraculous cave
the voices of his words Malaga, Malaga
a mountain,
pregnant with dark and light.

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CABRERO ALFONSO THE CHANNELS: The anchorite MALAGA

Thus, "the hermit" Juan Gil-Albert called the poet Malaga Alfonso Canales, high pain that has left us. He wrote in "Notes spontaneous" put in front of the Valencia edition Song of the Earth . I edited Lindes, poetry notebooks, an excellent collection that was released here in Valencia, what's memorable poems of Cesar Gil-Albert and Simon, in the seventies, the right hand of Ricardo Bellveser, Pedro and Ricardo Bessó Arias.

One of my first books of contemporary poetry that I bought with my little nest egg of a young man, was precisely the poems Channel, Port-Royal , edited the collection The Bard. My copy still retains the stamp of the library where you bought: The Idea, Estamañería Vieja, 11. This library disappeared disappeared as those years but still the pages of the book, and follow in the footsteps of his readings, and yellow edges.

attracted first-time young man who garabateba verses in the pages, the striking carmen meditative, existential and spiritual teacher Malaga:

The

same ray of sunshine that warms my knees

cloisters joins me dream, to `tame

shadows of the temples is now brown with identical

Light: the light of this

hour. Not the one in which a mob of followers

marred King

a way of faith, nor the

Thursday

Thursday past or future.

God draws to himself those who trust

and despairing. A

us we have to choose the wide gate

or the eye of the needle, which

always enough light to guide the thread

also, of course, he was attracted to of land that he associated with his poetic inclination, in idyllic way to see the land, the land of his family, that Malaga childhood and adolescence, first love, discovery light, the sounds of the waters of the ways of composing the meanings of this life, giving voice and line from poem to privacy.

poems that were followed which was regularly known to us the author, showing his tireless search, passionate writing: Royal sites, Andalusian Requiem , sabbatical year, port, Song of Earth, etc. Unemployment in the latter because for me is one of its most excellent findings. From him I copy this poem that comes to mind:

(So die the death, as things die

all) when no one knows about me or even

yourself, earth, save anything of mine who has

illation with life

I had,

be alive again. No need to order

times await, each

one in your blood carries

that purpose. As pottery sherds

yours cooked, the great fire makes

(a delusion that encourage

tenaciously) to look in new ways,

safe

their own strength. But the pitcher is broken

of both go to the source

of hope, and everything ends badly

a day or a night

when an oversight

(not sure from whom)

container has Cabado to give what could

to: contours, colors, or liquid

provided.

It takes a little longer, as are classifiable

helmets that allow

rebuild

lines

teachers, details

decoration or the same grounds

than wine or oil

left. And the shadow

eventually reaching

irretrievably

mind, but not the cold loneliness

: at the end

to give back the borrowed

, dark

workshop where they began to form

these verses hurt ,

be no death.

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declining Customs: Christmas

The other day while coming from the supermarket, buying our bread each week: Pampers for children, milk for children, Whisky ... (Or, not for children) a man tasit, very nice by the way because I took RD $ 20.00 on the price as OFTEN DID NOT return my pair, which is a modern custom with the damned .. For is that nothing came the burglar good man, reflecting as they have been losing the customs of Christmas year after year, the issue is so strong that we are in November and pa 'prune senti'la "brisita" Christmas must rozarnos a Cyclone-Thomas-and their side effects. Before one since August was making plans for new year, broadcasters and TV channels started the countdown of days left for the new year, and one was threatening the carajitos pa to be good, but holy clo 'not would leave "kings" Heh!, now you will say that to a child and says that what Dove thy will veni me with that?; best gift to my e aparécete a BB I or a PS3 (ay children so cute until they learn to ask); co-workers were organizing an angel, tells me the thief lord. I remember the last angel in which I participated, "he adds," I play the ma 'ugly and the worst group gave pa' high. And I gave her a very expensive collection of fragrances by Carolina Herrera, with 6 flavors in bottles small sample, I reserve 'RD $ 1,800.00, I imagine how expensive it was, to RD $ 300.00 c/u- and she gives a dry foot cream 'and maltratao' ... I say to you. Graciadio already in the base do not fuck with that shit. To which I told him that the gift I found it very convenient for their daily work and then heard the crickets and MacOS for a while during the trip. After the abysmal silence, I realized that the tasit did not like my comment and asked: What would you like you got for a gift exchange?; ROMO! "Answers" or quéseyo, a game or half Boxel 'or hata' a white patent leather shoe, I have not, women do not have creativity (and see) ... is the friend with the theme of Christmas: I do not even see you 'I screwed Tirap' it, I tell you is that the government banned them and tells me that even the president is against Christmas ... is true, "I say" I do not see the streets decorated with little light 'because it degraciao' energy company now take him prisoner to one if he steals the lu ', and how the devil let' to decorate 'it' in the street or albole vamo to fill it with light bulb wire lu Christmas to you both gutta to carajito?; tell me how I'm going to put a albolo AEntry 'e' Ladrone home when they see a prisoner and a pod is a ta believe in good and clean it up?!; the pod ta 'so bad that now I find one nine days in any lao pa in December, so take advantage of the double-pa' the cat 'funeral, the stew for dinner on 24 and they hold that as of mourning pa baby does not really and you do not have a cello. See for example because my doblesueldo. I did not get paid and now he repaltió to the collector, 'and you get paid double wages? Ute Yes I ask, 'I see so I'm tasit thief, but I'm Indutrial graduao Engineer' of the national evangelical univelsida and I have a bottle in the gobielno, the secretariat of the woman ... and you wonder, not evangelical, but there was that the title came to me ma 'cheap. And that levees that race in that univelsida gave it, but I esigía my title said "Engineer" and you know ute.
*
or
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and
and
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But na, to ute 'saw that 24 repaltidera tobacco the dinner between the neighbor. The street looked like a holmiguero. People taking a home plate for the other and reperpero. It acuelda?; Yes "I answer now I say to my mujel: Bring a fellow who with fellow loan insurance. And the 'gift'?; To me na I do not give gifts. I want EFET. E'ma, when sent a Christmas card to one of my relatives in NY, I put the data in my account popular. When I go to internet banking, if you do not see na, and I know whom I have not welcomed the first day.
The pod ta hard boss ta hard. Ete 'gobielno said he would end poverty, and actually doing a little step slow ta, killing the poor from hunger. A gallon of ga 'Cueto RD $ 86.50 to date. Fancy me that I have the car with ga ', the other day I had to take the tank to the kitchen because I had no pa mujel check, and then I sent him a Chinese Picapoll pa horse that she and carajito comierda. Last year I bought a tree and had to sell the ornaments went out to mow pa dinner. To 'it for the fucking ta carajito wanted a tree. A gadfly on carríjole pussy boy ....


And Christmas song?; Now it sounds and 'the holy breaker. And no longer 'old year, nor did I want Christmas baby' ... clear, cuelno sticking to women, pa got the classroom and etrena clothing, one that can not Give it 'has to be mario and give good understanding ... imagine.


certainly hard as pod ta says thief tasit. We are in November and is not moving at all. And who does not want the thing ... ta be going in 2010

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The scope of logistics and serious offenders and Igor

I thought, as he does not want the thing ... Logistics has become a pod to 'the day. So much so that even the mafia has taken over the logistics of your system, perhaps long before any large corporation.


This I'll tell you, is a true story, without revealing names, real places, not to get into a mess of the devil or the police or the criminals "serious" ... Yes Leite em well. There are serious offenders and do not speak the honest family man who leaves at 10 pm at docks' pa 'hold' his wife of 16 years of age and 3 year old son. No. I'm talking about the Lords offenders, with university-The "S" 'walk fit, because pue'se ma 1 - perhaps hata' with MBA. Of these gentlemen we hear every day, but did not differentiate the honest man / worker, because we only describe it as the stupid bandit who steals a salami from a grocery store, which takes your phone or wallet or who steals a chicken a patio ... but those "officials" of the state that have signed with multinational companies, million-dollar contracts without even reading the terms (ups!) ... Oh .... media Well, that's another story. Go with the story:

I had a cousin, and I say had, because if I say that I have I can still 'bring' problem, you know ... - their family, not me, nor my family wanted to take it lived 'pa' Nueva Yol. The boy had battery problem as 10 shekels chip on which mango is not your visa with the consulate. What did the family?; Logical!, Go to the generous help of the Mafia travel legal-or illegal, depends on the eye of the beholder, these generous gentlemen charged a $ 10 000 tululuce pa out 'the boy the country' paper ' legitimate. " Ute guess' ta be wondering how. Let me tell you that I also do the spoils' question because I do not fall hook.

The modus operandi of these individuals is as follows: Johnny, it was called that was my cousin, total, passing the mime 'in to' the cousin to be pa'fuera-this is the plan, we'll give your papers, crisp 'without maco or anything. " All I ask is that you follow these steps:

1-You will arrive at the airport in Santo Domingo, find an agent infiltrated our migration, is gate # 2, this one will tell him your name and you know it makes the buddy ', he gonna let' Montao ' on the plane and to 'the pod, so there perdedera pa' ti.

2-You arrive at the airport and you'll Puertorro ta 'Eperara' another undercover agent of ours, in row # 4. When you see him, tell him your name and go. The handles to 'and leaves you Montao' in the plane leaving for Nueba Yol.

3-Pisces gringo land and we find another agent who works for migration and the kid's going to ta 'Eperara'. He will take care of to the sheath, even hata 'the "tasi" will you take home to your family that you ta' Eperara 'there.

Vite that easy?; Hata 'I told you in your lenguaraje omitting to' the "S", short to 'the word pa' you will arrive as e '. Well?

To which Johnny replies: That ta 'easy. Ma difficult was the goat rob me of my country 'beyond the Limón.

Ok ... Juanito goes well cambiata 'the campuno, goes to the AILA and there buca' her man and is the # 1 spot perfectly. Mounted on his plane and heads to Puerto Rico. There lands, but the dizziness and the feeling of cold air + December the dude gets nervous and forgets the second part of the plan. Go crazy and enters a office where an officer is granted. The officer tells him: Lord, you can not enter here. This area is for authorized personnel. Johnny replies: Oh poldi 'help me to' toy peldio 'and does not know'!, Had to find me a man and now does not 'walk khayal'. Juanito-shit, that mess jejejeje "The officer replies: Let me see your papers. Ok, are in order. Let me see how I help. You have a phone number of a relative or friend here on the island?, Juanito says: Yes, her mother was agreed that, before leaving, he gave him, in case something was wrong when he came to Puerto Rico, a cell phone, with a single number engraving, her aunt Clementina, who lives there.

Na '. Juanito gives the phone the good man they call the aunt and the woman picks up at the airport and there ta 'the poor fellow going crazy do not know when suddenly a call comes into the house of the aunt, Mrs. . Clementina? He speaks the Logistics Manager of Puerto Rico branch of the Mafia legal travel. Juanito is there? ", The old woman says, Juanito, is for you boy ... come. Johnny answers the phone and says: But come here 'muchacho'el devil, but e' ere you crazy or what?, we told you not clear what you should do?, what the hell you doing there?, eh?!, we have a person at the airport waiting for fucking crazy!; out there at the entrance your aunt's house there are two gentlemen dressed in black, waiting, they go in a Lincoln Continental will lead you back to the airport to complete the journey from hell boy ... pay attention to what you're told, so stupid cunt ...

Na, and here in New Yol Juanito ta thank the logistics department of the Mafia passports, with branches in several countries. 'I walk Enter the concept of "serious offenders"?; Note that people tracked Juanito, until he came to NY. To these gentlemen would have been easy to say stupid Ete not follow the plan, we earn 10 000 nag facilitated ... but ... for them the concept of quality, service level and tracking is more important than money itself ...

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Pour this
autumn sun to power its light
shreds of gold leaf.

Falls from the sky on the canvas

the stagnant water, a flame

distant fire consume my eyes.


In vibrant waters have been tainted by the wind, the embers of that

sky sketching a
pubis and numinous Panida
whose image is bartered
while walking alone.


Tarquin A smell is perceived on the shore and a hollow sound


refluxed in a stirring water

morning milk in the vast rocky bowl
this lake.

There, in the pine forest
a heron in flight comes in its flapping
gloss
a desire to oblivion veils

wings of divinity. Tapping

rods fully

this huge accent
calm that holds me happy ...


Alcañiz, October 2010.

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THE SEALED NEW IN PARIS. TO THE TOMB OF OR IS

were returning, after nineteen years, back to the streets of Paris my wife and me. At that time it was the dream come true for travelers newlyweds wedding, and now the gift from my wife by my half-century, accompanied by my two children, although most at the last minute could not join us.

The streets, the same monuments, the same pleasure of the language, the same rapture to work as The Raft of the Medusa , the Victory of Samothrace or Code Hammurabi, among many others, the same rain, although stations antipodes was then spring, just released, it was now autumn, wet and girt with promise. All the same, and so different, like ourselves.


The gift included "I do not deserve so much, not only the" recherche du temps perdu ", and live this with my children, but by attending a spectacular staging of Verdi's Aida at the Stade de France directed by Charles Roubaud, with the excellent soprano Adina Aaron, and a visit to the Grande Palais to enjoy a retrospective of Claude Monet. Claude Monet

deserves a specific comment, as well as hearing of various body parts at Notre Dame, but I would stop at our visit to the cemetery of Montparnasse. In the spring of 91 we visited, under a fine rain of Montmartre, approaching the graves of Renan, Berlioz, Stendhal, Heine, Degas, Zola, De Vigny, or Truffaut, among others. At the southern end now visited Montparnasse, also from the fine drizzle that brought us the strength Vallejo's poem, there upheld. We went to visit, of course, the tomb of Cortazar, who wrote an excellent article about the cemeteries of Paris and the reading of which caused our first visit, "Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, Baudelaire, Cioran, Tzara, Duras, or Sontag.

Walking toward the Cimetière, on the Boulevard Edgar Quinet, we saw the tall poplars lush, and I wanted to see the tangled roots crowded in the basement, see the bowels of the earth together with those of men. It was a peaceful stroll, breathing the air cool and clean the air of life in the city of the dead.

Once we decided to leave I noticed a tomb from which emerged a small olive tree, rooted in her, a tiny green olives. I went and saw a small sign containing words of the dark Presocratic of Ephesus, the beloved Heraclitus: "You trouverais ne pas les limits de l'âme, même toutes parcourant les routes, tant elle tient a profond discours. "
was beautiful, how replete beauty. And then I saw who lived there: Cornelius Castoriadis 1922-1997.

I read it in 80 years when I started my studies in Philosophy Pure-as we said then, when I was interested in the German self-governing movement and closely followed the thoughts of Wolfgang Harich and Manuel Sacristán in the journal Meanwhile . I was attracted and committed his incisive analysis of social behaviors, intituciones of capitalist society and its proposals libertarian emancipation. His concept of "social imaginaire" helped me to prepare a paper on the "birth State "I made for the subject of Anthropology on the thought of Pierre Clastres.

has rained much! And to continue raining and authors like Castoriadis soak us with the seed of his ideas and the courage and the boldness of his life .

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was 1981 when Andrew Trapiello, ruling the adventure of the journal Number , excellence in design and typography, and the literary quality of texts, we approached there and rarities niceties.
In found an extraordinary number sonnet Francesco de Sanctis group called "Dolce stil novo." An anonymous sonnet from the late thirteenth or early trecento. But grace does not only came from the Italian text, which later, in Francesco Trucchi, Poesie italiane dugento inedito di autore , Prato, 1847 - Nina attributed to the Sicilian, but its first translation into Castilian, the writer Roman School of the Pyrenees, Rafael Sanchez Mazas.
I memorized and recited, then, some of my friends from the magazine, then took out here in Sagunto, Beads. My friend, today regrettably absent, Francisco Salinas, liked this piece and also share readings Rhymes Guido Cavalcanti translated into Castilian by Juan Ramon Masoliver. Rafael Sánchez Mazas
was not only a great prose writer, but also a considerable poet. His verses were sparsely published in several magazines, but gave the issue a book of poems in 1944, with the title for fifteen sonnets Fifteen sculptures of Moses Huerta.
would have to spend time for your voice to be recovered and valued. In 1971, the flagship library of the editorial Ocnos Catalan Llibres the Sinera. That collection, directed by Joaquín Marco, and which were part of his writing, Jaime Gil de Viedma, Pere Gimferrer, José Agustín Goytisolo, Luis Izquierdo and Manuel Vázquez Montalbán, had the courage and wisdom of good together in one volume a significant group of poetic production of our author.
Alongside the work of his sack, also her work Trujamán. In addition to his translation of "a Sparviero Tapin ch'amava me, offered their versions of" Sonnet of the Florentine May "by Folgore da San Gimignano, and" Hereux qui fait comme Ulysse to a beau voyage "of Joachim of Bellay.
Enjoy the good work of Sanchez Mazas and Italian love affliction:

Tapin Ahimaaz ch'amava a sparvero:
amaval both ch'io me ne moria;
to ben M'era richiamo Manero, e dunque
Pasco nol troppo Dovi.

Or is mounted and went so lofty, much higher than
do not Solia
and is seated inside a Verzeri:
another woman at the mercy of the chains.

Isparvero mine, I brought up t'avea,
golden bell
bring you face because UC (c) ellar was bolder:

or if 'just as the sea rose, and
' broken Getae and if they 'fled
when you were still in your uc (c) ellare.

¡Pobre de mí, que a AMAB alcotán!

¡Lo que yo me so AMAB blight!

¡A mi que bien complaint was galán,

but not much bait you put!

Now very haughty shall see, much higher

not previously used.

rests in a garden of his desire,

and another lady has it in tyranny.

Oh my hawk! I was nurtured I

and golden bell given,

because there is more joy in your flight!

And now as the sea will have you raised me

and has broken ties and has fled

when you were so faithful to my lure.

From the poetic works of Sánchez Mazas would rescue this sonnet:

on the tombstone of my Uncle LABRADOR

He vineyard and olive tree in the plain real poplars planted

by the river

rocky mount was brave

estates and became thick.

the house had a smooth height:

was tower, solar and hamlet,

comforted reading books

and oil and wine harvest farmland.

was the peace of Christ and simple gentleman

lonely beggar;

all had a "God save you" -

had no car or horse saddle

and in old age , returning from the threshing

rode a donkey in the afternoon.

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embers

As much as he wanted, he could not raise his voice and his cry was drowned. Such was the silence that afforded him the vision of the abyss, that which is imposed at that old photograph which he kept since childhood. The crushed between your hands to perform later that act thirty-three years ago he stopped to complete, by rescuing from a number of appliances that burned on a pyre made his father in the yard, that image is now included in the fatal spread of terror. Burned that image not only driven by his anger but by the desire to erase forever the mark of evil. He, the true rescuer of the report, the scrutineer persistent and conscientious desk barbarism, was now become a mere vermin, caught in the horror intimate and instinctively decided to suppress the truth, hide the evidence. But the evidence, then I understand it also, fatally, can not be erased and even less who was the architect of them return.

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Hurricane Daniel as seen from space

Hurricane Daniel as seen from space

Hurricane Igor ... also seen from space

I think I see Jesus Christ in the eye of Igor ... Mier ..

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MEMORY AND ABEL MARTIN Juan de Mairena: FOOTPRINT IN VALENCIA

(Gaya Bullet on A. Machado, published in Time in Spain )

On January 1937, in the pages of the first issue of the legendary magazine, Spain time, it was published in Valencia, under the title "Tips, judgments and humours of Juan de Mairena and his teacher Martin Abel, a group of non-fiction pieces that are a good example four collect later.

appeared alongside them, in the magazine texts María Zambrano, José Bergamin, Juan Gil-Albert, and Rafael Dieste, among others. They show us the ideas of "complementary" to Machado, the silence, war, brotherhood, and doubt.

Machado He was, at that time, stayed with his family at the villa "Villa Amparo" in the Valencian village of Roca, where he wrote poems, along with other texts of various types, which would be fine offering magazines and the newspaper press, or publicly exposing vindictive acts, and even getting them to publish the book War, Machado last book he published in his lifetime.

MARTIN ABEL / Juan de Mairena

I
Only in the silence, which is, as my teacher, the noise of nothingness, the poet can fully enjoy the great gift to him by the deity, to be singer, who discovered a world of harmonies. So the poet flees and abhors all such gibberish talking machines that are needed to seize the little silence that we still have.

II Learn to doubt, son, and end up doubting in your own doubt. Thus God rewards the faithful skeptical and confused.

III
When Christ returns, "said my master, preached to the humble pride, like yesterday preached humility to the powerful. And his words will be approximately the same: "Remember that your father is in heaven, so high is your rank on the father. On earth there is only for you and fraternal duties, independent of ties of blood. License once and for all the biblical human stallion. "

IV

When men come to guns, the rhetoric has completed its mission. Because it is not to convince, but to win and bring down the opponent. However, there is no war without rhetoric. And the warlike rhetoric characteristic of it is to be the same for the two belligerents, as if both agree in the same reasons and had reached an agreement on the same truths. Hence my teacher deduced the irrationality of war, on the one hand, and rhetoric, on the other.

Blank Gun Desert Eagle

ANDRÉS MACHADO SANTALLANA: ALL LOOK IS AN ACT OF FAITH

There is an apocryphal

poet with the same surname Santayana, born in Madrid, although thirty-six years younger and the name of Andrew, who has left us an extraordinary poem, collected by Antonio Machado in his Cancionero apocryphal. It recalls not only her surname to the philosopher Santayana Geoge but this breeze of mystery and reflexivity:

THE MIRACLE

In Segovia, an afternoon, touring the mall
the Eresma bathing,
to read my Bible
I reached for the glasses case
in search of the scaffolding of my eyes, my flying balcony
eyes.
I opened the case with the gesture and doctoral
firm who says: Wait,
and now I see ...
see if I opened the case but inside, nothing
point de lunettes ... fled?
swear that something flashed when I opened the black top

tiny pocket coffin, and flying,
escape from confinement, a butterfly glass
my glasses.
The book under his arm, orphanhood
my eyes wandered
thinking up things that we laugh
dead at home have their double
where
should be or is an act of faith every glance.

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George Santayana: CONSIDERATIONS A SKEPTIC ON RELIGION

The year was 1932 when Santayana leaves the city of Rome, its "whitewashed cell in a convent located at the foot of the Aventine, opposite the ruins of the Palatine, which is to be beyond the history, "described the room as Maria Zambrano, and goes to The Hague to give the Domus Spnoziana a conference titled" Religion last ", to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of the birth of Baruch Spinoza.

The text of the lecture was published the following year in the Septimana Spinoza, and that same year, 1933, will translate Antonio Marichalar and published in the Revista de Occidente . In the preface to the translation accompanying Marichalar collected some verses of Alfred Kreimborg describing our philosopher

A

skeptical soul inside a chest

fervent testimony provides unbiased

the fray of gods

bring here an extraordinary and significant piece of that conference, which demonstrates his mastery not only argumentative, bringing a meditative and reflective thread tension, but permeates the concepts of extraordinary plasticity and vividness:

"Where is our will that commands, and it seems that without knowing us how, not only our body but obdece the world, we are like Joshua watching the sun stop at his command. However, when we give orders and nothing happens however, we are like King Canute, stunned by the rising tide that does not comply. But when we have done a great work and to have channeled again the course of history, we are like Cantaclaro, which gives his singing the presence of the aurora.

And what is the result? That for a mere act of conscience honestly, does the spirit immediately, and suddenly, one of the most radical religious perceptions important. He realizes that, though she is living, is unable to live, they still can die is unable to die, and that, in short, is, at every moment and every event, in the hands of an alien power and impenetrable.

And that's all I know of this power, respect. For now, only for me, the counterpart of my impotence. From the moment I have no way of knowing how far that power, I would not call it powerful, but do not hesitate to call it, coining a word. "Omnificiente" as is, for me, by definition, the maker of everything done.

not hold the physical validity of this sense of cause or agency: I simply feel what is of strong, well, hostile, or impenetrable in the world. Revealed only an impression, and perhaps lack enough of this to my ever-present sense of power can be erected in a theological theory of the omnipotence of God. But the moral presence of power man comes over the night, while in the desert, when found, as the Arabs say, only Allah also reappears in all acute predicament, in extreme situations, in the act of a child born in the face of death. With respect to the unit this power, I will not find it in its various manifestations, but rather in my own solitude, in the unity of this spirit of suffering, beset by all these accidents. My fate is lonely, lonely tágicamente, no matter how diverse their causes. Stunned, as I am, I am not required to, but had penetrated the inner engrnaje things omnificiente explain whether that power is simple or complex, continuous or spasmodic, intentional or blind. I am against him simply receptive attitude, the same way as if I were in Rome before the great fountain of Trevi What I see there? I see streams and waterfalls flow into separate jets in different directions. I'm not certain that it Pontifex Maximus one who has drawn entirely by channeling those waters for such precise melodic channels. More of a stream will have withered since its creation, or strayed. Fresh rain from heaven they could, today, may add new streams. Who's behind those known if there is not some fake rocks hidden genie misrepresents the waters play. And how do you know the wealth of detail that, in my imagination, have displaced or have been multiplied by an optical effect only? And yet, there espítitu here for an overall impression and wonderful: the sound of a force that is facing me in an admirable and theatrical spectacle. "

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George Santayana and Jorge Guillen

By 1947 George Santayana undertook the task of translating one tenth of Jorge Guillén, belonging to the Song poems. It made several versions until they finally sent the author the definitive Valladolid in July 1950, at Wesley College in Massachusetts, where he then taught teaching. This version will which collect the manuscript volume Posthumous Poems and published in the posthumous volume The Poet's Testament (1953) Here
Guillén's poem, followed by the translation of George Santayana:



PUCKS remains the trot here,
Enter your start and my hand. Well, is well tight

His intention to be far away.
Cause I'm on a horse
A true wonder:
Still with all vigor.
And by how much I have in bronze
quiet all the soul,
Clara in the cold sky! EQUESTRIAN STATUE




Suspended Motion stays here Twixt
ITS Starting and my hand. Tightly braced

the peace stand far Well Planned for a career.
For I ride a courser bent On a Marvelous
intent:
moving Never, ever bold.
Oh, by whatcalm Strength of will
Lives in my whole soul bronze
Clearer still in the ethereal cold!


Jorge Guillén visit in 1951 to George Santayana in Rome, then held-from late 1941-in a room at the Clinica della Piccola Compagna di Maria, the Sisters care for Irish Blue (Blue Nuns ). From this meeting it is reported by a letter to Pedro Salinas and the statements he made to Juan Guerrero and is reflected in an article published in Insula in 1952.

On this visit, Guillen thanked him for his translation of the poem into English and he expresses his desire to translate some of his own into Castilian. Although not decided by any one in particular, will, finally, the "Sonnet L", 1895, collected in Poems (1923), who choose Guillén, published with the poem translated by Santayana in The Journal of Philosophy in 1964, commemorating the centenary of the birth of "Old Philosopher," as Wallace Stevens called his friend in a famous poem. Here is the sonnet
Santayana and translation que de él hizo Jorge Guillén:

SONNET L

Though utter death should swallow up my hope
And choke whith dust the mouth of my desire.
Though no dawn burst, and no aurorean choir
Sing GLORIA DEO when the heavens ope.

Yet have I light of love, nor need to grope

Lost, wholly lost, without and inward fire;

The flame that quickeneth the world entire

Leaps in my breast, with cruel death to cope.

Hath not the night-environed earth her flowers?

Hath not my grief the blessed joy of thee?

Is not tne comfort of these singing hours.

Full of thy perfectnees, enough for me?

They Are Not Evil, Then, Those hidden Powers: One love sufficeth

an eternity

SONNET L

In memory of Jorge Ruiz de Santayana .

Although absolute death swallow my hope

and dusty mouth to stifle my desire,

Although no tipping and no dawn chorus

Tone DEO GLORIA when the sky opens

I have a light of love, I'm not groping and

Completely lost without a fire inside.

The flame that inspired the entire human space jumps Covers

my chest, facing death.

dont have the night of the earth the flowers?

My grief does not have you joy?

Is not it enough for me great comfort

Of these hours so perfect for you, sing?

are bad then no hidden powers,

That just one love for eternity.

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the poetry of George Santayana Divagante

"Of course, if you do not feel the poetry of things, we can not discern in a verbal reflection of it captured by a poet, but I am a real poet to feel that poetry, and Good critics are not critical if we ignore this circumstance. "This is George Santayana said, or what is the same, Jorge Ruiz de Santayana, that" mystical Castilian, "as he called Antonio Marichalar in Revista de Occidente ( 1924), born in 1863 in Madrid. I said in the written pages of his mind Apologia pro sua (1940), in response to criticism of his poems by Rice faculty and Hogwate.

The philosopher Santayana

admitted that he had left, then, poetry: "Why I left? I would say I had the impression, as have many other recent poets, "that what I had to say, could be said better without the traditional poetic form, that is, in prose, because I did not think the invencón typographical resources to turn prose into poetry."

The traditional verse was revealed as inadequate or inappropriate manner where focus its intuitions, their ideas. As well says Santayana, the treatment of prose and poetry or the blurring of its precise limits, was something that fecuentaron poets: "In fact, except when the meter is still an instinctive thing as good manners, a new graphic phrase, an original metaphor deep slide in a more easy and free liqud prose that through the mesh of the verse. "Prose liquid , beautiful image that clearly expresses the gender of some of its pages.

But despite what is said in the letter of 1940, Santayana did not fail to return to the poems, as evidenced by the unpublished poems collected in William G. Holzberg edition of The Complete Poems of George Santayana (1979) . Poetry, not just poetic imagination or intuition , what we might call "poetic", we see appear in his writings, in his essays, was a constant in his life. Indeed his first book was Sonnets and Other Verses (1894), which would other issues as well as new books and anthologies, to his last book, and published posthumously, The Poet's Testament: Poems and Two Plays (1953).

Sonnet III of his first poetry book was the first poem he wrote, with eighteen years, and, as said in an interview in Rome, before dying, was made from a passage from Euripides' The Bacchae . He says his first trio:

"Our expertise is a steaming tea

pine that lights the way only a step

through a void of mystery and horror"

This translation is the performed by the teacher at the University of Valladolid, Estébanez Cayetano, in his edition of an anthology of poems by Santayana, who edited the Museu Valencià Il · lustració i la Modernity (MUVIM), in the tribute that the institution, with Roman Street in charge of it, he was taxed with an International Congress in late 2009.

Until now we had the translation of seventeen poems by Ceferino Santos, published in the journal Humanities (1964), and the largest of José María Alonso Gamo, A English in the world. Santayana, poetry and poetic (1964). These two, therefore we conclude that now provides us with an anthology of Estébanez Cayetano, George Santayana. Materials for a utopia. Poeas anthology of poetry and two texts (2009).

Select two poems that I think a good example of his poetic task:

CAPE COD
The low and sandy beach, scrub and pine,
long bay and skyline -
Oh, I am far from home!

salt, the smell of salt sea air thick, and round stones
wearing tides -
When will the good ship?

Outrageous stumps, burned and blackened,
and turn soft rut of a wagon, -
Why is the world so old?

The sound of the waves and sky, broad and Gray,
where crows fly and slow seagull -
Where are the countless dead?

Bent willows beside the marsh, the large hull
stranded and floating log
began life with the pain!

and between dark pines and the flat edge -
Oh, the wind and the wind, forever!
What is man?




THE WILL OF THE POET

I return to the earth what the earth gave me,
all goes to the furrow, nothing to the grave.
has been consumed and the candle wick spirit
sight can not go where it was the vision.

I just let the sound of many words after hearing random
mocking echoes. I sang
to heaven. The exile made me free,
taking me from world to world, from all worlds. Librado

by the Furies and the kind fates, the firm stepped
cloisters of the mind.
Every time, my present, all space, my place,
neither fear nor hope, nor envy saw my face.

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of scholarship (I): Alfonso Reyes and the Arab FRANCISCO ELBOW AND ZAIDÍN.

These days I have been reviewing various reading lesson from the Mexican master Alfonso Reyes, a delight in prose and varied quantity of information that amazing, teaches and encourages us to digress and study. I would like to stop at one of his first books, the real and imaginary Portraits, published in Mexico, selected Reading in 1920. They are a group of fourteen articles published in Spain that he sends to his countrymen.

"Random of events and books, I have published in the Madrid press notes, some sketches, reviews, excerpts of readings and comments, I wish I had written with simplicity," says in the Introduction, in that leaves derived from the Mexican political wiles of the time: "Keep together. Bring out your reasons for friendship similarities. Tomorrow we will fall into the hands of time. object, a dark force, the wall as of wills. "worrisome times ran from the Mexican Revolution, leading to movement of Agua Prieta, Sonora, and Huerta rebellion.

Alfonso Reyes was in Madrid in October 1914, in a period of exile that would last a decade gives, after being dismissed from the Mexican diplomatic corps in Paris by the government of Venustiano Carranza. This new stage in his life would be of great significance in his career. Here collaborate with Menendez Pidal Center Historical Studies, carried out extensive creative work, research, advertising, translator, which will bear fruit in newspaper articles or essay (In Spain , Ortega's initiative, Sun the Bulletin of the Royal English Academy , the Journal of Philology , Index ), editions of the classics of English literature (Góngora, Gracian Ruiz de Alarcón, Archpriest of Hita, Quevedo, Lope or Fray Servando Teresa de Mier), will offer its prose version of the Poema de Mio Cid , edit their books Madrid cartons, The suicide and Vision Anahuac , published his translations of Orthodoxy, Chesterton and Sentimental Journey through France and Italy of Laurence Sterne, participating very actively in social life and lteraria, as is the curious case of brotherhood The Toledo Window, or the Historical Commission, Francisco del Paso y Troncoso .

Well, it is in this context in which to write and edit these brief flashes of writing and erudión of creative scholarship, sparkling divagational. We will see in its pages a vital presence to acquire a wide range of characters: Madama Lucrezia, the last love of Alfonso the Magnanimous, Cisneros, Luther, Nebrija, Chateaubriand, Fray Servando Teresa de Mier, Apollonius of Tyre, Rodrigo Calderon, Baltasar Gracian, etc. .


From the data, Reyes joins the frame of the toy scholar, giving liveliness to the last cold. For example, from the documents provided San Román Francisco de Borja, in an article published in the Bulletin of the Royal Academy of History , December 1918, belonging to the File of Protocols of Toledo and it appears an inventory of the assets of the poet Garcilaso de la Vega:


"theatrically should imagine the old legal documents. Otherwise, luck is impossible to understand.

The scene is in Toledo, to January 3, 1537, Payo in studying Rodríguez, "Secretary publications." is seated at the table when it appears Dona Elena de Zúñiga, the widow of Garcilaso, in mourning habits and plays, the accompanying Pedro de Alcocer, his servant and attorney. Toledo gentlemen come back that will serve as witnesses. Elena starts to make an inventory of the assets of her late husband. The curtain falls.

And when it gets out of bed, and walk through the neighborhood of Santa Leocadia ... "


Thus Alfonso Reyes snippets about the life of Garcilaso the curious reader glibly managing information. So the story ends:


"I'll finish when I hear a laugh in the courtyard are Fatima and Mariquita (slaves in the service of Doña Elena) engaged in pulling a male adorned, to be passing by the window to see what Mr. Secretary audience. "

But vanga what I wanted to come, that is, the last portrait of Alfonso Reyes takes an admirable which resulted in the titanic task of Huesca Francisco Codera Zaidín Arabist, a disciple of Pascual Gayangos and, in turn, illustrious master Miguel Julián Ribera and Asin. Pertenece Francisco that first generation of so-called Silver Age of English culture, but it could be labeled Second Golden Age, these giants writers and scientists of the second half of the nineteenth century, they were able to create and maintain a cultural tradition of great fertile structure and content, amid the most adverse conditions:

" To his disciples, he composed an epitome of a hundred pages, for a man capable of synthesis, which is the masculine condition of intelligence. But when you are printing their books in Spain, remaining until typographic elements. For something has been Codera inventor and manual labor: lithographed he epitomized, he acquired a foundry Arabic, wrote the legends of his coins and was built a special press.

As a bibliophile, was once "a craftsman with skill and patience of Benedictine," Saavedra says, to rebuild the devencijados codices de El Escorial, which, thrown through the windows to save them from fire, were made about trouble reports piled leaves, almost at random. Codera "ordered the leaves by size, count the number of lines about each plan, measured the length and breadth of the writing, and with this information, formed a table methodically, with the help of which could be attributed to many codices leaves them belonged. "

knew and did much, but he practiced and taught to practice scientific doubt, avoiding any process of divination ...

, for selflessness and sacrifice, was able to overcome the scruples of the Muslims on the cross the treasures of their libraries, and could bring news of Africa than any other European scholars had reached ...

Imagine the old, dry and sober, making her toys on her desk scientists, soul and body electrified by the idea. As happened to Fray Juan de Segovia, death surprised him one day ... polishing a chalice and a Creed praying. "

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PASOLINI, A RABBI NERA DI POETRY READING NEL PETT

The title of this entry belongs to a verse of a poem by Pier Paolo Pasolini, "Frammento alla morte", belonging to the religion of poems mio tempo (1961). The interspersed as it is, in Italian, in a poem (truncated column) that appears at the beginning of my poems Landscape from sleep, I edited two years ago. They said I

Originating from the desolate landscape of the living, comes a voice

sullen light of puberty,

from rabbia di poesia nel petto .

Pasolini's work, his poetry has been, is, in my biography reader, something strangely need arises unexpectedly in my desire and every time I turn her, feel her destiny, her innate strength, pure, the vitality of its cry. I read and reread his poems as food, now mirrors, once tangled paths, always civil and human ways of saying and ask the city to make me more and more human.

in this blog I will give samples of my passion pasoliniana. Today I present a translation of his poem, "Supplice a mia madre" and add a special video which includes the reading of the poem did Pasolini himself. United voice to the images of his film "Mamma Roma."


APPEAL TO MY MOTHER

is difficult to say this in words of a child whose heart
who resembled me very little.

You are the one in the world who knows, my heart,
this has always been, before any other love.

why I say it is horrible to know:
is in your same grace that gives rise to my distress.

're irreplaceable. So is doomed to loneliness

life you gave me.

I do not want to be alone. I have an endless hunger for love, Love
soulless bodies.

For the soul is in you, you,
but you are my mother and your love is my slavery

slave children have spent this way
high irremediable, a huge commitment.

was the only way to feel life,
the only color, the only way: now it's over.

survived: it is the confusion of a life reborn
beyond reason.

I beg you, oh, I beg you: do not want to die.
I'm here alone with you in the future in April.

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Leo

Yesterday the period of my zodiac sign: Leo.

This period brought me many good things, and not that I do not give me bad things, the matter is that the bad things I see them as good, because I learn and correct it.

Many things to be thankful not really go into detail so as not to bore you with my stuff, but just know I'll miss this stage of my life. And entered another level, a series of spiritual healing, personal growth.

... and reminding me every day ... I'm still the Reyyyy!

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POEM OF THE SERPENT,

Reclining on a rock in the place of the hermitage of San Isidro, those rare earth yawns seeking heaven in Los Barruecos , there in Malpartida de Cáceres, we decided to rest awhile, after visiting the wool laundry today Vostell made by the artist in an art museum (their own and the Fluxus movement.) After attending the game and the tragedy of the adventure of visiting Vostell and ephemeral pond where we roamed, we decided to stop and eat something nearby, along with the leaves and bark of the eucalyptus toppings.
I opened a book I bought in the morning in Caceres, the prettiness of editorial is published in Villanueva de la Serena, I mean Littera issues. There has been to see the light reading poems of Rafael Argullol, Poem of the snake. All the work
This writer is imbued with the poetic, more beyond the line of writing verses, back to the rhythm of syllables. It is a cognitive poetry, gives us a reflective view, proposes a digression that haunts the thinking, the way of thinking, Heidegger would say.
Argullol still clad "old coat" he told his teacher, José María Valverde, in a poem he opened his first poetry collection, knowledge disturbances. Mantle and has been distilling liquor in successive contributions: Duel in the valley of death , The knife sharpener. With amphibious Tetralogy: The ETERN joc, began poetic work designed to be declaimed by actors on stage, in this case to a montage of La Fura del Baus, Naumaquia 1 created for the Forum Barcelona 2004.
Following this first meeting, he returned to work with the group La Fura, a show based on The Magic Flute by Mozart. His 24 poems were recited and projected on the intervals devoted to the part of the libretto. Apart from the spectacular
, music, publishing Littera approaches us the magic of the word Argullol, giving us a music steeped in the apostrophe, in the invitation to investigate, the proposal of nudity in a search of ourselves, our understanding and our desires. A subtle and heartfelt journey of the word hot. I rescue here
poem number 23 that made me think of the feeling, leaning on a rock, ecstatic look at the horses gently grazing in a pond in Los Barruecos, while a light breeze rustled through the leaves of the eucalyptus trees

We loved the fire and we

purified with holy water.
We danced around the campfire

to ask and we slipped
the river for answers.
Between river and fire has passed

our history of fear and hope.
uncertain ground in this fragile
we dug graves and designed
gods
have built and destroyed cities
with redoubled fury,
always with hope and fear,
formula of our soul.
But sometimes we fled the country
jailed for
borders leaving behind the sacrificial fire
and water spellcasting.

In this journey we shed the fear
and also
hope that engenders fear itself.
feel Then we stop the miserable
halfword

desperately looking for the other half
through graves, wars and gods,
of great ideas and brutal accomplishments.
Then we
palpable what we seek in secret caress
friend
loving smile,
the voice that envelops the world, music
body, infinity

resting gently in the abode of a happy day.
There are all
questions and all answers.