Since that time the rains, remítovos words sent by a good friend and companion:
"The rain came at night inside and began to write your poem. " Manuel Antonio
Lorca was in Pontevedra on several occasions, first in August 1932 with the theatrical group "La Barraca." The second visit comes soon after in November, when invited the poet to give a lecture on the painter Mary Blanchard.
Another November, 25 November 2009, I read the article by Carles Geli, in El País on the way out auction of a manuscript of Lorca sonnets dedicated to the Catalan violinist Nieves Gas (at the end of the conference of the poet at the Ritz in Barcelona, \u200b\u200bentitled "New York in a poet, 16 December 1932). This poem is the same as Lorca wrote to be published in Cristal.
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" (...) A few months ago, visiting the secondary school in Andalusia, more of a journalist local asked if I was recommended - and therefore pedagogical force teenagers to read. So cold, you always want to answer that is not in favor of forcing anyone to anything, but like me that question and have made many Sometimes, I said enough was enough to make us feel guilty for writers, scholars and teachers of letters. Why nobody asks science teachers if it is good to force a teenager to simplify polynomials, add exponents, solving equations and logarithms decoding? I forced - even, to study numbers were not even real. At first it seems unfair to create a problem of consciousness professor required his students to memorize a sonnet by Garcilaso, while no one calls into question the elements of the periodic table should be stored with their respective symbols, and columns (...) atomic weights for there not in fact a bias against the humanities and a disregard for historical knowledge, literary and philosophical? Why promote the false conviction that the only true intelligence is mathematics?
I have always believed that there is a verbal ability and numerical ability, and there is a musical aptitude and other plastic. Some individuals can simultaneously cherish some of those skills, but not necessarily develop all alike, and is denied to people of all science, drawing, music and humanities. Why is proof of a theorem has to involve more intellectual development a verse translation of Horace? I admit that both operations can be just as beautiful, bright and perfect, although I myself should be a disabled and handicapped numerical mathematics.
whole life cost me pass science subjects in both high school and college, because even in the faculty of letters I got rid of take a math course. But why not ruminate grudges against science and mathematics rather admire famous as Lewis Carroll and Bertrand Russell. Do not propose it constantly Borges games and paradoxes, mathematically?
How wonderful, a writer and to help the children to take square roots, simplifying equations and calculate the acceleration of a mobile that moves on a rough inclined plane (my God! Why over "rough"? .) Years ago I was forced to study all these things and sure my teachers believed they were doing the right thing. So why the writers, scholars and teachers of letters accusing us of practicing "textual harassment" when required to read? Some people are in favor of the exact sciences, but not the accuracy (...)
FERNANDO IWASAKI, ABCD Arts and Letters-No 794-21 de abril de 2007
A mis alumnos y alumnas de 2º Bachillerato A (Ciencias)
Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong: Moonlight In Vermont
Two good friends
literary workshops dedicated spaces are usually talking about literary or practice creating , or spaces for briefings.
Our Thursday literary beyond. These evenings are open to something more subtle, and no less intense: aesthetic enjoyment .
César Vallejo - Carlos Oquendo de Amat - Washington Delgado - Alejandro Romualdo - Manuel Scorza - Blanca Varela - Javier Heraud - Marco Martos, Antonio Cisneros
the passing of time in poetry Swiss
The great Swiss poet Robert Walser, born in Biel by 15 of April 1878 and died on December 25, 1956 in Herisau. His literary activity was intense during the years that remained of lucidity, before being placed in an asylum. His short stories come to a thousand, of which nearly one hundred are devoted to the theme of love. It was not until the celebrations for the centenary of his birth, in 1978, Robert Walser will finally be recognized not only as one of the most significant Swiss writers of his country, but as one of the most important German-language writers twentieth century. As proof of his lyrical work, here are two poems crossed with the theme of time, which was, after love, one of his greatest obsessions.
As always
The lamp is still there
table
also still there and I'm still in the room and my longing
, ah,
as always, still sighs.
Cowardice, are you still there?
and Lie, You too?
hear a distant self:
unhappiness
still there and the room today,
as always, I am. -----------
neglect
Since I left while living
feel something in me, warm, wonderful peace.
Since non-stop joke day,
with hours, my complaints are coupled.
And I've been relieved of the burden of my sins,
that I am injured, through no flowering of a word:
time is time that you stay up late,
always find me as obedient
human being, to me at the old site. --------------
Poems from the Book
Die Gedichte (Ed. Robert Machlas), Zürich: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1984 .
( poems. editing and foreword by Robert Machlas) --------------
Munich, 15. April. 2008.
The story of us.
We were a near-perfect pairing to be guessed and was complemented in all aspects of our lives.
We felt almost in unison as each was going through the body.
We lived our individualities of the best ways, while we were when we were together, and being one when we did not but thinking, living, and considering adopting another.
Of course, our decisions have always been agreed, discussed, dialogue and to agree it was our ideas that prevailed and not by imposition, but by agreement.
We made love like no one had done ... being yourself and giving hands full the other what I needed, and that made us be more us by the love that we love.
We loved how they learned to make being together, filling the other, pleasant, pampering, taking details of those who are so minimal that made us happy.
But one day everything change ... we stop looking into each others eyes, and our words no longer resonated.
My voice ceased to have replication.
Your eyes no longer find and discover.
Dejaste to live in my living space.
guess I stopped your primitive needs.
And little by little I was being myself again, and is untied, and this abandon, and in this lose, I realized that I went back to being me ... without you.
Chicom Ocelotl
(Posted Coffee Send , A4 literature, free distribution, a thousand copies, No. 4, March 2000, Lima, Peru )
Image: Detail painting "HB PA. with her daughter Flora "(F. von Amerling, 1833).