tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71109657001818551622024-03-29T04:02:06.351-07:00MISS DERMARK'S LITERARY RAMBLESSandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.comBlogger3100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-67086755377546067882024-03-08T11:07:00.000-08:002024-03-08T11:07:43.306-08:00LA HACEDORA DE ILLOPENAS<p> </p><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="background-color: white; height: 1%; width: 100%;"><tbody><tr><td align="justify" height="1" style="padding: 0px;" width="100%"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 1%; width: 100%;"><tbody><tr><td height="25" valign="center" width="100%"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 1%; width: 100%;"><tbody><tr><td height="1%" style="padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" valign="center" width="100%"><div align="center"><center><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%;"><tbody><tr><td style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="22%"><p align="justify" style="margin-bottom: -1px;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: medium;">N.º 63</span></b></p></td><td align="center" style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="54%"><p style="margin-bottom: -1px;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: medium;">SEPTIEMBRE-OCTUBRE 2009</span></b></p></td><td style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="24%"><p align="right" style="margin-bottom: -1px;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: medium;">9</span></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table></center></div></td></tr><tr><td height="1%" style="padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" valign="center" width="100%"><div align="center"><center></center><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%;"><tbody><tr><td colspan="3" height="3%" width="100%"><p align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 5pt;"> </span></p><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Bodoni MT Black; font-size: large;"><b>GIBRALFARO</b></span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 5pt;"> </span></p></td></tr><tr><td bgcolor="#800000" style="background-color: maroon;" width="34%"></td><td height="1%" width="31%"><div style="padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px;"><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Bernard MT Condensed; font-size: 32pt;">LITERATURA DIDÁCTICA</span></p></div></td><td bgcolor="#800000" style="background-color: maroon;" width="35%"><p align="justify"></p></td></tr></tbody></table></div></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr><tr><td height="50" valign="center" width="100%"><div align="center"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" id="table25" style="width: 100%;"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20pt;"> </span></b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20pt;"> </span></b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20pt;"> </span></b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20pt;"> </span></b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20pt;"> </span></b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20pt;">LA HACEDORA DE VELAS</span></b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;">Por<b> Elena Ortiz Muñiz</b></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table></div></td></tr><tr><td height="25" valign="center" width="100%"><p align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p></td></tr><tr><td height="1%" width="100%"><div><table align="left" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" hspace="0" id="table41" vspace="0"><tbody><tr><td align="left" style="padding: 0cm 2.85pt;" valign="top"><p class="MsoNormal" style="break-after: avoid; line-height: 28.15pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span style="color: #003300; font-size: 34.5pt;">A</span></b></p></td></tr></tbody></table></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">na siempre fue una persona feliz, que tuvo la suerte de contar con unos padres maravillosos que hicieron de su infancia un remanso de paz, una época llena de fantasía, sueños, ilusiones y juegos. Al ser hija única, vio volcados en su persona todos los afectos, atenciones y afanes. Su padre, empresario exitoso, se empeñó en llenar su existencia de luz. Y vaya si lo logró: la iluminó por completo.</span></p><div align="right"><table align="right" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" id="table46" style="height: 1%; width: 10%;"><tbody><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td></tr><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td width="33%"><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><img border="1" height="340" src="http://www.gibralfaro.uma.es/imagenes2/p_1576_1.jpg" width="233" /></span></p></td></tr><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td style="background-color: #f2f2ff; padding: 9px 12px;" width="33%"><p align="justify"><span style="color: maroon; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Gracias a ello, Ana aprendió, desde edad muy temprana, a amar ese maravilloso mundo lleno de cera, parafinas, pabilos, aditivos, fragan-cias, láminas de sebo, colores y moldes.</span></span></p></td></tr><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Comenzó por permitirle la entrada sin restricciones a la fábrica de velas de la cual era propietario. Gracias a ello, Ana aprendió, desde edad muy temprana, a amar ese maravilloso mundo lleno de cera, parafinas, pabilos, aditivos, fragancias, láminas de sebo, colores y moldes. Simplemente, le parecía fascinante todo aquello. Participar en ese acto maravilloso que implicaba utilizar los materiales disponibles en el planeta para transformarlos en pequeñas obras de arte capaces de dar luz, era tanto como ser testigo de un milagro divino.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Desde muy pequeña, comenzó con sus primeros experimentos. Al principio, le explicaron cómo concebir velas de gel y parafina líquida, que no representaban ningún peligro para ella; luego, las que se hacían con placas de cera; después, las que se moldeaban como si se tratara de una escultura. Y, finalmente, pudo crear un cirio de verdad, con todas las fases de creación que implicaban y le fueron revelados los secretos del derretido de la cera, la pigmentación, el lograr encapsular el aroma para que se desprendiera delicadamente mientras el fuego abrazaba la vela, la elección del pabilo, el llenado del molde, el vaciado, el lograr un acabado perfecto y, finalmente, la presentación. Ana se sentía arrobada ante aquel mundo insólito y apasionante que se abría ante sus ojos aún candorosos. Le gustaba sentirse una diosa creadora de criaturas luminosas.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Cada vela que realizaba era empacada primorosamente para que pudiera llevársela a casa y encenderla con tranquilidad comprobando la combustión de la misma. Sin embargo, Ana no quería ver el producto de sus esfuerzos consumirse hasta quedar convertido en nada, y así, en cuanto llegaban, eran guardadas con sumo cuidado en un armario de su habitación destinado a ese fin: atesorar sus creaciones.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Don Clemente la reñía intentando hacerla entrar en razón:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">—Por Dios, criatura, si todas las personas guardaran las velas sin encender, no tendríamos ni un mendrugo de pan que llevarnos a la boca. Enciende tus velas, por favor; ésa es su finalidad: ¡dar luz!, y no, permanecer en el fondo de un armario envueltas en papel de colores.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Pero para Ana, nada importaban estas advertencias ni consejos.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Una tarde, sentada en la sala de su casa, hojeando con indiferencia una revista, se detuvo a mirar las expresiones de los rostros infantiles retratados en ella. De pronto, una duda la asaltó. Corrió para preguntarle a su mamá:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">—¿Todos los niños en el mundo son tan felices como yo?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Doña Silvia guardó silencio al tiempo que su rostro se volvió serio y pensativo. ¿Cómo explicarle a una pequeña de diez años escasos que hay más niños infelices que felices sobre el planeta? Pensó en las decenas de ellos, incluso recién nacidos, que eran negociados y vendidos al mejor postor para luego ser utilizados como señuelos y obtener limosnas más jugosas a través de ellos, o los otros que eran manejados para realizar trabajos pesados y que vivían en condiciones infrahumanas, sin saber lo que era una caricia o una palabra de afecto.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Pero también estaban los rostros anónimos de ojillos tristes que aparecían en las fotografías bélicas con fusiles en la mano. Y los que servían como carne de cañón para explorar territorios dudosos y comprobar que no hay minas terrestres por donde van a pasar los soldados.</span></p><div align="left"><table align="left" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" id="table47" style="height: 1%; width: 10%;"><tbody><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td></tr><tr><td width="33%"><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><img border="1" height="340" src="http://www.gibralfaro.uma.es/imagenes2/p_1576_2.jpg" width="314" /></p></td><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td></tr><tr><td style="background-color: #f2f2ff; padding: 9px 12px;" width="33%"><p align="justify"><span style="color: maroon; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Cada noche, fabricaba una vela, y, mientras derretía la parafina en la estufa, oraba con toda el alma para que esos desdichados encontraran la luz.</span></span></p></td><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td></tr><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Ante la mirada inquisidora de su hija, Silvia bajó la mirada avergonzada, no porque ella personalmente hubiera realizado acciones deplorables en detrimento de la infancia, sino porque guardaba silencio. Todas las noches, al apagar la luz de su habitación, pensaba en aquellos niños que con terror esperan dentro de una estancia inhóspita y gris la llegada de aquel que profanaría su cuerpo con infrahumana lascivia, que borraría con golpes y caricias malsanas todo rastro de inocencia que pudiera haber resistido el infierno vivido desde que fueron secuestrados, entregados, comerciados o sacrificados, o todas esas cosas a la vez.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">¿Y qué decir de aquellos que saltaban a la fama de la inmoralidad como protagonistas de filmes pornográficos, obligados a realizar acciones infamantes y pervertidas a través de las cuales, además de la ropa, les arrancaban la dignidad?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">No, exponerle a su hija cada una de estas cosas era como robarle la inocencia y la felicidad. Había mucha maldad y porquería en todos lados, sin distinción de extractos sociales, países, continentes o nivel cultural.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">¡Eran tantas las atrocidades cometidas cada día...! ¡Y tantas las criaturas que vivían en un terror constante, sin conocer la felicidad, la paz, el cariño...! Sólo por dinero... el mal del mundo y de los hombres.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Silvia, con lágrimas en los ojos, miró a su pequeña, que permanecía frente a ella totalmente confundida, y, al advertir en su inocente rostro una repentina tristeza, la abrazó fuertemente para consolarla.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">—¿Por qué lloras? —le preguntó la chiquilla.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">—Lloro, porque no todos los niños del mundo son tan felices como tú. En este mismo momento, decenas de ellos están padeciendo un verdadero infierno sin tener el más mínimo resquicio de salvación.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">—¿Ellos no tienen una mamá y un papá que los protejan?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">—Algunos los tienen. Muchos están siendo buscados por mar y tierra con desesperación por ellos, otros no... Están solos.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">—Vaya, ahora entiendo por qué el mar es salado, las lágrimas de Dios han de ser constantes. ¿Es cierto que cuando una persona muere se debe encender una vela para que su alma encuentre el camino hacia el cielo?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">—Bueno, ya sabes lo que dice tu papá: la luz de una vela es una esperanza que renace.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">La conversación terminó. Pero las palabras de Silvia se quedaron en el corazón de Ana toda su vida. Siempre agradeció su honestidad al hablarle de la realidad del mundo en el que estaban viviendo, porque, al paso de los años, había aprendido que lo correcto no era ignorar para no sufrir, sino saber para corregir.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Sabía que ella sola no podía acabar con las injusticias de un planeta que carecía de ecuanimidad; sin embargo, continuó con la misma labor que inició aquella tarde después de conversar con su madre. Cada noche, fabricaba una vela, y, mientras derretía la parafina en la estufa, oraba con toda el alma para que esos desdichados encontraran la luz. Por la mañana, vaciaba el molde y, camino a la escuela, se detenía en la iglesia para dejarla encendida con una dedicatoria pintada sobre su superficie:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 90px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">«Para que los niños recobren su libertad y dejen de ser esclavos.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 90px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Para que los niños recuperen su dignidad.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 90px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Para los niños que padecen la guerra y sus horrores.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 90px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Para los niños cuya inocencia fue mancillada.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 90px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Para que los niños perdidos sean rescatados.»</span></p><div align="right"><table align="right" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" id="table48" style="height: 1%; width: 10%;"><tbody><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td></tr><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td width="33%"><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><img border="1" height="340" src="http://www.gibralfaro.uma.es/imagenes2/p_1576_3.jpg" width="240" /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"></span></p></td></tr><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td style="background-color: #f2f2ff; padding: 9px 12px;" width="33%"><p align="justify"><span style="color: maroon; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">La “Hacedora de Velas” conseguía, cada vez que encendía una luz, que el mar dejara de ser tan salado y que el silencio fuera rasgado con menos frecuencia por un grito infantil ate-rrador.</span></span></p></td></tr><tr><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td><td width="33%"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Con el paso del tiempo, la gente llegó a conocerla como la “Hacedora de Velas”. Muchas personas le escribían cartas pidiéndole que fabricara y encendiera una vela por sus hijos desaparecidos. De esta manera, sus creaciones comenzaron a tener personalidad, rostro y nombre. Las miradas, que casi siempre permanecían indiferentes, comenzaron a voltear. Se hizo más pausible la presencia de alguna mujer en la calle con un niño aparentemente dormido en brazos, pero, en realidad, drogado, pidiendo limosna. El reproche las hizo huir. Gracias a los medios de comunicación que periódicamente comentaban la misión autoimpuesta de la “Hacedora de Velas”, mostrando los rostros y nombres de niños desaparecidos que ella misma pintaba con maestría en la superficie de sus velas éstos se volvieron, de pronto, conocidos, entorpeciendo el tráfico de infantes.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">A sus velas, se sumaron las de otras de personas que deseaban ayudar en su labor, cansadas de su propia indiferencia. La solidaridad ante el sufrimiento ajeno fue más común y el respeto a la infancia, una exigencia popular. Mujeres irresponsables que dieron vida a un nuevo ser sin desearlo dejaron de abandonarlos, pararon de entregarlos a cualquiera que se ofreciera a liberarlas de la carga incómoda que suponía el recién llegado.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 12pt;">Tal vez, ni siquiera la misma Ana era conciente de lo que había logrado con su minuciosa tarea, pero lo cierto era que la “Hacedora de Velas” conseguía, cada vez que encendía una luz, que el mar dejara de ser tan salado y que el silencio fuera rasgado con menos frecuencia por un grito infantil aterrador, quizás porque las palabras de Don Clemente tenían algo de verdad: «Había que encender las velas para que se cumpliera su cometido: ¡Dar luz!».</span></p></td></tr><tr><td height="1%" width="100%"><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p></td></tr><tr><td align="justify" height="1%" width="100%"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="10" id="table40" style="height: 1%; width: 100%;"><tbody><tr><td align="left" bgcolor="#003300" width="15%"></td><td bgcolor="#F2F2F2" style="padding: 12px 15px;"><a name="arriba2" style="color: navy;"></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a name="arriba2" style="color: navy;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Elena Ortiz Muñiz</span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> (México, D.F., 1971). Licenciada en Ciencias de la Comunicación egresada de la Universidad Franco Mexicana S.C. Miembro activo de las páginas literarias <i>Escritores Latinoamericanos, Unión de Escritores Hispanoamericanos, El Rincón del Poeta</i> y <i>El Rincón de los Escritores</i>. En este último ha logrado obtener algunos premios por mejores escritos del mes. Ha formado parte de la antología digital <i>Mejores Escritos del Rincón</i> con el poema "Un beso" y "Que no se borre la vida" y de la <i>Antología</i> editada por Iwith en la editorial Bubok. Ganadora de accésit y mención especial en la revista literaria <i>Katharsis</i> y finalista del II Certamen de microrelatos para abogados convocados por la página abogados. Ha publicado también en diferentes revistas literarias. Es subdirectora de la revista literaria <b><i>Molino de Letras</i> </b>(</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.molinodeletras.net/" style="color: blue; font-weight: 700;">www.molinodeletras.net</a>).</span></p></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-17555009832881545312024-02-22T00:54:00.000-08:002024-02-22T00:54:30.647-08:00TSQ-IV By Adrian Mitchell and Nilesh Mistry<p> The Snow Queen Fourth Story - retelling by Adrian Mitchell</p><p>Illustrated by Nilesh Mistry</p><p>(Happy Pisces Season you all!)</p><p>::.............</p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">This country has an amazingly clever Princess. She's read all the newspapers in the world and forgotten them all. That's how flapping clever she is.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The other day she was sitting on her throne -- and she thought to herself: I want to be married, but whom to? I want a husband with a mind of his own, not some handsome waxwork. It's all true.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Well, the newspapers printed the Princess's picture on their front pages with a frame of little hearts and announced: any good-looking young man can come to the palace and talk with the Princess. And she'll decide who is the best talker -- and marry him right away.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Princess would marry the best talker?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Correct. Anyway, crowds of young men appeared. They could talk well enough on the street, but in the palace -- with its guards in silver armour at the door and flunkeys in gold braid on the marble stairs and diamond chandeliers glittering in the great ballroom -- well, they got flustered, flummoxed, and speechless. They all failed on the first two days.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Of course, when they were out in the street again they gabbled so fast that you couldn't hear yourself.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">When did he arrive?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">On the third day a little fellow strode right up to the palace, bold as a buzzard. His eyes were bright and he had fine, long hair, but his clothes were raggedy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_SeQSIlL3Bv-I0NqoAxKXJl3OP38v06gSsNPcBLZQOj3BhrL16_B715N6snoiFApzMOV8duYa4_SYbgSYSO62gVMClSN6WSczboCcO-ffxVyn0Y95liNz4BomLH9QwB-1xcDGOO7y5_62DgImvYybLeC8pNIBeDmuvGECPrK9Ii46zO_CrJpiHO3/s1650/throneroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1650" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_SeQSIlL3Bv-I0NqoAxKXJl3OP38v06gSsNPcBLZQOj3BhrL16_B715N6snoiFApzMOV8duYa4_SYbgSYSO62gVMClSN6WSczboCcO-ffxVyn0Y95liNz4BomLH9QwB-1xcDGOO7y5_62DgImvYybLeC8pNIBeDmuvGECPrK9Ii46zO_CrJpiHO3/s16000/throneroom.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSh-kUDvf8Yhyphenhyphen-PguQMV-NI0mmoF2CO7rW18YiqeXhTQLO42S6d3J7h0pidgD_uq5Y_hPEiY3OkHNH2hbi-bd9FBWLc6JeaCVeQ5J0WlBCySzQcMiDq4ZG0dOfmU9SMgdigxKBYpHfjIKGzcvAIK9aGuciaP5t_KvByu1e314XjcNCYZWxxuEl7u0/s1650/cleversuitor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1650" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSh-kUDvf8Yhyphenhyphen-PguQMV-NI0mmoF2CO7rW18YiqeXhTQLO42S6d3J7h0pidgD_uq5Y_hPEiY3OkHNH2hbi-bd9FBWLc6JeaCVeQ5J0WlBCySzQcMiDq4ZG0dOfmU9SMgdigxKBYpHfjIKGzcvAIK9aGuciaP5t_KvByu1e314XjcNCYZWxxuEl7u0/s16000/cleversuitor.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">There was a rucksack on his back.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">When he saw the guards in silver armour at the door and the flunkeys in gold braid on the marble stairs, he just gave them a friendly nod and walked on into the ballroom.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The diamond chandeliers were all ablaze. Ministers of State and Ambassadors were walking about in their bare feet, carrying golden dishes to and fro. The boy's boots squeaked dreadfully, but that didn't seem to bother him.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Well, they squeaked like a pocketful of mice! But he marched up to the Princess. She was sitting on a pearl the size of a spinning wheel.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Did he win the Princess?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">He was handsome, and clever as a clarinet. He hadn't come to woo the Princess, but just to listen to her wise talking. And he liked her, and she liked him.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"Oh, please take ... to that palace."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"Easier said than done," ... "They won't let ... just walk into the palace."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"... outside, ... out ..."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">It was late evening when ... returned. ... "My fiancée says she'll let ... into the palace. She knows a ljttle backstair leading to the Royal Bedroom.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">So ... led ... through the palace gardens, along a mile-long avenue lined with giant trees, and round the splendid palace to a little open door at the back near the kitchens.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">By the light of a small oil lamp at the bottom of the stairs ...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">... "Carry the illumination, please, and I will lead the way."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">... picked up the lamp and followed ... through a maze of beautiful rooms. ...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Finally ... stood in the doorway of the Royal Bedroom.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The ceiling was like a great palm-tree with leaves of crystal. In the middle of the room was a tall gold stem and from it hung two beds, like lilies. One of the beds was white; the Princess was sleeping in that one.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The other bed was crimson, and it was there ... turned back one of the crimson petals, ...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">... close to his head. The boy turned woke up, and turned his head and --</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadovWvea6BDXqR7UWrtvnf0IbF3-5JHXtzVLp_jNwqY58r2jtp7authVGNrmq4CziFdDLwG5PMfcOmZRqlBKxyh7yO_lmBgqHro_Bu1nwSzGr9g_hsGTFHuuAvgCaB2c3LRiJH4ZpDgfOxmg11Ewj046vjm8Z9F9Q9HfLOqad-GQwTCXLMJcokkA6/s1650/whitebed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1650" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadovWvea6BDXqR7UWrtvnf0IbF3-5JHXtzVLp_jNwqY58r2jtp7authVGNrmq4CziFdDLwG5PMfcOmZRqlBKxyh7yO_lmBgqHro_Bu1nwSzGr9g_hsGTFHuuAvgCaB2c3LRiJH4ZpDgfOxmg11Ewj046vjm8Z9F9Q9HfLOqad-GQwTCXLMJcokkA6/s16000/whitebed.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5MYX3zdvTBPkSLHSH05a8t2FanBfYC5ch5W9Izv__92By7YAxAv6FgHqXq8IZyRZYbODeoSk7nmcFSwe3aSoIw_-60FYjx_Uf-eItYK6kSytKKzECF9qZFkjUqIUa5CzpRbzEg4LK0zzgk_CwElniNacGoQFoJdcLR3olkVX1qUloBOYrWRb5ea1/s1650/crimsonbed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1650" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5MYX3zdvTBPkSLHSH05a8t2FanBfYC5ch5W9Izv__92By7YAxAv6FgHqXq8IZyRZYbODeoSk7nmcFSwe3aSoIw_-60FYjx_Uf-eItYK6kSytKKzECF9qZFkjUqIUa5CzpRbzEg4LK0zzgk_CwElniNacGoQFoJdcLR3olkVX1qUloBOYrWRb5ea1/s16000/crimsonbed.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcaA1hrd5PEK0wZRpmfc8es7w7FOlOem1VquDIwiwDhIz9VxCZ1ukMk4Ky2mgq50925V0STH0bkmyjeSfb7ZxqDfodr0DjHCxgxWNN60jLDPe6H_slroJXVi4ved2hMNWWGuwQklkrAfiTTixRwglbZCtcAOhGC88IP5yeBlCOleER8pPMwzrKNbS/s1650/gateways.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1650" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcaA1hrd5PEK0wZRpmfc8es7w7FOlOem1VquDIwiwDhIz9VxCZ1ukMk4Ky2mgq50925V0STH0bkmyjeSfb7ZxqDfodr0DjHCxgxWNN60jLDPe6H_slroJXVi4ved2hMNWWGuwQklkrAfiTTixRwglbZCtcAOhGC88IP5yeBlCOleER8pPMwzrKNbS/s16000/gateways.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"What's happening?" called the Princess.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"You poor girl!" said the Prince and Princess. They praised ... and said that they would be rewarded.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"Would you like to .., away and be free ...?" asked the Princess. "Or would you rather be appointed ... to the Court and be paid with all the scraps from the kitchen?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Prince climbed out of his bed nd let ... sleep in it. ... thought of how kind ... people are! ...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Next day ... was dressed by the ladies-in-waiting in silk and velvet from head to foot, with boots and a fur muff. The Prince and the Princess helped ... into a carriage of pure gold and wished ... farewell and good luck. There were four horses and a coachman, a footman, and outriders.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">... stood in the palace gateway ... goodbye for as long as they could still see the coach, glittering like the sun on wheels.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">.........</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>The Robbers' Castle</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglL4jMmXYUOiP5Z4kzWrldRBKznK7wdd2f4K3IhsdqAp9Su2QaZtW3M8ZIUCIsY3D9Q9d7oWOcf_jrPe5hyZ_TrqhUtUVwwBjVbGPiDx-wynj2wxPwjz2ObCQxbG8yP5CR8x8itvfR0NT0TopyI-ZxNLPm7OjudUlZqLhnMNDn4VvRHIi7IY5piUwx/s1650/robberslair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1650" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglL4jMmXYUOiP5Z4kzWrldRBKznK7wdd2f4K3IhsdqAp9Su2QaZtW3M8ZIUCIsY3D9Q9d7oWOcf_jrPe5hyZ_TrqhUtUVwwBjVbGPiDx-wynj2wxPwjz2ObCQxbG8yP5CR8x8itvfR0NT0TopyI-ZxNLPm7OjudUlZqLhnMNDn4VvRHIi7IY5piUwx/s16000/robberslair.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Rolling along through the heart of a dark forest, ... carriage shone so brightly that the gang of Robbers lurking in ambush were dazzled.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"Gold! Gold!" they screamed, charging out of the bushes. They grabbed the horses' reins, killed the coachman, footman, and outriders ...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">... into the coach. The robber gang drove deeper into the forest.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The coach was driven right into the robbers' castle. Through ragged holes in the walls, ravens and bats flew in and out. In the middle of the floor crackled a smoky fire.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">...........</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">... "How are the Prince and Princess?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"Who knows?" said the robber girl. "They've gone to foreign parts."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">....</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Journey to the Snow Queen's Palace</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISYwILI7mtwjEM_vGjeXHEugVbIbdiTxSQ2DihQkdvO1hQJSCTjTmg-H9Y9cYE7ldqfcUMoRR0RCslY-cz_6x1VC_n5cRX2Y-v8sMbZuzGubDx3fOC9oZ2vaw1i3SeTxloGdCj9uYHpW1gB2WzVY2ufx9fNpHiqcs4CWCixhQNmxToHF6uba1S40S/s1650/map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1650" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISYwILI7mtwjEM_vGjeXHEugVbIbdiTxSQ2DihQkdvO1hQJSCTjTmg-H9Y9cYE7ldqfcUMoRR0RCslY-cz_6x1VC_n5cRX2Y-v8sMbZuzGubDx3fOC9oZ2vaw1i3SeTxloGdCj9uYHpW1gB2WzVY2ufx9fNpHiqcs4CWCixhQNmxToHF6uba1S40S/s16000/map.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">....</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">PRINCESS' PALACE</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">... the amazingly clever Princess in her oalace.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">ROBBERS' CASTLE</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">... when ... is ambushed by robbers in the deep forest and taken to their ruined castle.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-58114838165484927682024-02-08T13:16:00.000-08:002024-02-08T22:21:09.529-08:00EL VALS DE CALE SCHEWEN<p> EL VALS DE CALE SCHEWEN</p><!-- wp:paragraph -->
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<p>de Evert Taube</p>
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<p>traducción de Sandra Dermark</p>
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<p>el 7 de febrero de MMXXIV, bajo el signo de Acuario</p>
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<p>+++++++++++++++</p>
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<p>En el mar del Norte, mi isla está en flor,</p>
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<p>las olas se oyen chapotear,</p>
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<p>los juncos se mecen, del heno el olor</p>
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<p>me suele ahora en junio llegar.</p>
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<p>Sentado en el banco de mi cenador,</p>
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<p>observo a gaviota y charrán</p>
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<p>que lanzan destellos al fiordo a lanzarse</p>
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<p>para su alimento pescar.</p>
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<p>*************</p>
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<p>Yo me hago mis carajillos de coñac</p>
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<p>de adecuada intensidad,</p>
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<p>y escucho las melodías del acordeón</p>
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<p>que vienen del salón de mi hogar.</p>
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<p>Aunque soy abuelo, me siento chaval,</p>
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<p>alegre es mi niño interior,</p>
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<p>con los años todo me sienta fatal,</p>
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<p>la danza y de ellas el amor.</p>
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<p>¡Mirad, la gaviota un arenque pescó!</p>
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<p>Un brazo es lo que yo pesqué...</p>
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<p>Juventud eterna de mi corazón, </p>
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<p>contigo este vals bailaré.</p>
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<p>Del bosque y del lago llega una canción,</p>
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<p>serás mi invitada de honor...</p>
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<p>Aquí baila Cale Schewen con Rosa, su flor,</p>
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<p>y en el noroeste se va el sol...</p>
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<p>******************</p>
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<p>Y reposa mi bella isla en tu seno azul,</p>
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<p>oh fiordo cobalto y tranquilo,</p>
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<p>y el crepúsculo de junio llega en calor</p>
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<p>al brezo y al árbol de tilo.</p>
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<p>Mi elfa, tú bailas escúchandome</p>
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<p>y piensas que el hombre es un trol...</p>
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<p>Tiembla aquella mano infantil que besé</p>
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<p>y el vals suena un triste bemol.</p>
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<p>^**************</p>
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<p>Pero, ¡hey invitados y toda amistad!</p>
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<p>Estoy sobrio y listo también...</p>
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<p>Cuando amanezca, haré un pajar,</p>
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<p>después, en el mar pescaré.</p>
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<p>¡Maldito crepúsculo, vete de aquí!</p>
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<p>Los pinos dora el arrebol...</p>
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<p>Aquí baila Cale Schewen con Rosa, su flor,</p>
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<p>hasta la salida del Sol</p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-11886882873719679502024-02-08T05:58:00.000-08:002024-02-08T05:58:11.425-08:00QUIERO CANTAR SOBRE KATARINA<p> QUIERO CANTAR SOBRE KATARINA</p><!-- wp:paragraph -->
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<p>Por Mats Paulson</p>
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<p>traducción de Sandra Dermark</p>
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<p>el 7 de febrero de MMXIV, bajo el signo de Acuario</p>
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<p>-------</p>
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<p>El viento peina hoy las praderas,</p>
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<p>aletean las cortinas de tul,</p>
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<p>quiero cantar a la primavera</p>
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<p>con sol y flores y cielo azul.</p>
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<p>Quiero cantar sobre Katarina,</p>
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<p>con flauta y címbalos componer,</p>
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<p>pero los vientos se hacen canciones</p>
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<p>que entre abedules escucharé...</p>
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<p>El viento peina hoy las praderas,</p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->
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<p>aletean las cortinas de tul,</p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->
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<p>quiero cantar a la primavera</p>
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<p>con sol y flores y cielo azul.</p>
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<p>-------++++++++++</p>
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<p>Hay una joven entre los chopos,</p>
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<p>tengo una foto antigua aquí,</p>
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<p>con los años, ella se hizo un sueño,</p>
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<p>un cuento, una leyenda al fin.</p>
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<p>Quiero escribir una cancioncilla</p>
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<p>y aquel instante inmortalizar,</p>
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<p>pero callan la letra y el ritmo,</p>
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<p>y en un secreto se trocarán...</p>
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<p>Hay una joven entre los chopos,</p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->
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<p>tengo una foto antigua aquí,</p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->
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<p>con los años, ella se hizo un sueño,</p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->
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<p>un cuento, una leyenda al fin.</p>
<!-- /wp:paragraph -->Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-13373986850176549822024-02-06T09:22:00.000-08:002024-02-06T09:22:14.412-08:00TSQ-IV YOSHITANI - ESPAÑOL (DANIEL ALDEA)<p> The Snow Queen Fourth Story, by Yoshi Yoshitani.</p><p>Traducción de Daniel Aldea:</p><p>... se trataba de un astuto príncipe que se había casado con una princesa muy sabia.</p><p>Yoshitani's original has, nailing these characters as told by Andersen in just two adjectives, for him and her respectively:</p><p>... a clever prince who had married a very wise princess.</p><p>Aldea translates "very wise" as "muy sabia" perfectly, but "clever" is not exactly "astuto". There is nothing sinister about the Prince (and I am talking Andersen, not Frozen). I would have translated "listo" instead.</p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-73284666325702302592024-01-28T01:30:00.000-08:002024-01-28T06:20:35.849-08:00QUERIDOS HERMANOS, AMIGOS, COLEGAS...<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">QUERIDOS HERMANOS, AMIGOS, COLEGAS...</span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Por Carl Michael Bellman</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">(Epístola 9)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Traducción de Sandra Dermark</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">28 de enero, MMXXIV</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">El Termopolio Boreal era una cafetería y local de fiestas en el casco antiguo de Estocolmo en el siglo XVIII. A su personal dedica Bellman esta canción o más bien Epístola, ya que describe con mucha pasión una fiesta en este local, la ropa de fiesta de la gente, a los personajes que pueblan el universo de las Epístolas... "Confolio" era una manera de referirse al vodka, que se consumía en grandes cantidades en aquella época.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">.....................</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Queridos hermanos, amigos, colegas,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">aquí está el padre Berg, ved cómo tensa</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">del violín las cuerdas</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">y el arco que en mano tiene...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Tuerto de un ojo y además ñato,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">vedle escupir, vedle hacer el pato,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">su jarra está en la mesa...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Pellizca ahora algunas veces...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Al sol sonríe...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Y el violín fríe...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Se confunde y hace la instrucción...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Queridos amigos, bailemos al fin,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">con guantes en las manos, de figurín,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Ved a la Solsones,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">rojos los cordones,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">y celeste el calcetín.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">.............</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Es Yergen Puckel con su sombrero,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">pipa y vodka, pendón verbenero,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">priva y hace cosas rudas</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">con la mano y con el pie...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Almidonada chaqueta amarilla,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">peinado con coleta muy pilla,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">la espalda cheperuda</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">y los pómulos también...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Abre la boca...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Con los pies frota...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Coge la pipa y se pone a saltar...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Queridas amigas, siempre se ve</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">que ellos siempre bailan el minué,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">todos como cubas...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">¡A por ellos, Ula!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Marca el compás muy bien...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">........</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Vedle quien es de los lechuguines,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">calza amarilla, blancos botines,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">que baila con la Lota,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">la pelirroja de allá...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Ved qué buena pareja de lovers,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">en la casaca él lleva galones...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Bebe y da un escupitajo...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"¡Aagh, la clara me hace mal!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Llenen las jarras...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Que arda la casa...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">¡Nadie se queje, nada de na!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Queridas socias, corro formad,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">en la danza corred y saltad,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">no sean muy listas,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">pasa el violinista,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">su instrumento a tocar...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">...........</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">¡Hey chicas mías, faldas abajo!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">danzas y risas al contrabajo,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">dadle al padre Berg confolio</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">y vinos tintos y blancos...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Hey, padre Berg, ¿cómo se llama</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">la gorda bizca esa de la barra?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">¡Dueña del Termopolio!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">¡Ella es! ¡Que me parta un rayo!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Cegata y oronda...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Casi redonda...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Catarro tengo, mi tesoro, ay mi amor...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Queridos hermanos, aquí hay placer,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">música, priva y mozas que ver...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Aquí Baco y Cupido</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">son siempre bienvenidos...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Aquí están todos, ¡yo también!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-61290232597391797702024-01-15T06:14:00.000-08:002024-01-15T06:14:43.143-08:00La ovillapenas<p><br /></p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 21px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">La Ovillapenas.</span></span></p><div class="mail-message-content collapsible zoom-normal mail-show-images " style="font-size: 12.8px; margin: 16px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; user-select: auto; width: 328px;"><div class="clear"><div dir="auto"><h5 style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">La Ovillapenas carga con su pesado ovillo, nunca se separa de él, lo tiene a su lado. Es tan pesado que apenas puede arrastrarlo y su peso va en aumento. Recuerda haber cargado siempre con él, la idea de abandonarlo no cruza por su mente.</span></h5><h5 style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Anda muy encorvada, muchos la compadecen, pero opone una encarnizada resistencia a cuantos lo hacen. ¡Pobres!, no se imaginan que mal les va, no sospechan lo que les espera. Ella se acerca y les lanza una mirada de soslayo, por lo bajo intuye la inminente desgracia. Lo sabe enseguida, no hay remedio, pase lo que pase las cosas irán de mal en peor, empeorarán de un encuentro a otro. Inclina la cabeza y piensa en su ovillo. Ahí están todos enredados, a ella le pesa, pero más les pesa a ellos.</span></h5><h5 style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">La Ovillapenas disfruta haciendo el bien y dice “Cuidado”. Si la gente se dignara escucharla…<br /><em style="margin-bottom: 0px;">No caminar bajo los árboles, dice, hay ramas podridas. No atravesar ninguna calle, hay coches agresivos. No andar pegado a las casas, pueden caer tejas del techo. No darle la mano a nadie ni entrar en vivienda alguna: hierven de microbios malignos.</em></span></h5><h5 style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">El aspecto de las mujeres encinta le desespera: no hay que tener hijos, dice, sino mueren al nacer mueren más tarde. Hay tantas enfermedades, más enfermedades que niños, y todas se abalanzan sobre la propia criatura y no hay razón para que sufran tanto. Mejor es que no vengan al mundo.</span></h5><h5 style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">La Ovillapenas nunca ha estado encinta, por eso puede hablar así. Jamás ha confiado en un hombre, desvía la mirada en cuanto alguno la observa. Ha cosido por encargo, aunque tampoco eso es seguro. Conoció gente que murió antes de que acabaran las costuras. De ellos no obtuvo un céntimo. Pero no se queja. Lo añade al ovillo. En él si que confía, todo es cierto y sucede tal como aparece en el ovillo.</span></h5><h5 style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">La Ovillapenas duerme de pie en una calleja olvidada y sin salida. El ovillo es cama y almohada para ella. Como es precavida, no dice su nombre. Nunca ha recibido una carta. En toda carta hay siempre una desgracia. Observa a los carteros y se admira: no hacen sino repartir desgracias, y la gente, que es estúpida, las lee.</span></h5></div></div></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-71678279747334377782024-01-15T06:12:00.000-08:002024-01-15T06:12:58.264-08:00SurLaLune - on multilingualism<p> <span style="font-family: georgia;">40. <b>He asked her <i>in all the languages he knew</i>:</b> Speaking several languages was an important skill and highly regarded in diplomats and royalty, as well as the higher classes, in times past. The importance of knowing more than one language is still important today, of course</span><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Original Grimm line:</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Er fragte es<i> in allen Sprachen, die er wußte</i>, ...</span></span></p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-1005500713080839032024-01-13T07:07:00.000-08:002024-01-13T07:08:35.727-08:00THE EARLY BIRD - George MacDonald <p><span style="font-family: georgia;">By George MacDonald</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Origins of "the EARLY BIRD (gets the WORM)"</span></p><pre style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A little bird sat on the edge of her nest;
Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops;
That day she had done her very best,
And had filled every one of their little crops.
She had filled her own just over-full,
And hence she was feeling a little dull.
"Oh, dear!" she sighed, as she sat with her head
Sunk in her chest, and no neck at all,
While her crop stuck out like a feather bed
Turned inside out, and rather small;
"What shall I do if things don't reform?
I don't know where there's a single worm.
"I've had twenty today, and the children five each,
Besides a few flies, and some very fat spiders:
No one will say I don't do as I preach --
I'm one of the best of bird-providers;
But where's the use? We want a storm --
I don't know where there's a single worm."
"There's five in my crop," said a wee, wee bird,
Which woke at the voice of his mother's pain;
"I know where there's five." And with the word
He tucked in his head, and went off again.
"The folly of childhood," sighed his mother,
"Has always been my especial bother."
The yellow-beaks they slept on and on --
They never had heard of the bogey Tomorrow;
But the mother sat outside, making her moan --
She'll soon have to beg, or steal, or borrow.
For she never can tell the night before,
Where she shall find one red worm more.
The fact, as I say, was, she'd had too many;
She couldn't sleep, and she called it virtue,
Motherly foresight, affection, any
Name you may call it that will not hurt you,
So it was late ere she tucked her head in,
And she slept so late it was almost a sin.
But the little fellow who knew of five
Nor troubled his head about any more,
Woke very early, felt quite alive,
And wanted a sixth to add to his store:
He pushed his mother, the greedy elf,
Then thought he had better try for himself.
When his mother awoke and had rubbed her eyes,
Feeling less like a bird, and more like a mole,
She saw him -- fancy with what surprise --
Dragging a huge worm out of a hole!
'Twas of this same hero the proverb took form:
'Tis the early bird that catches the worm</span><span style="font-size: 12px;">.</span></pre>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-45120269870435390022024-01-12T04:12:00.000-08:002024-01-12T04:15:25.937-08:0040 MILLAS DE CANAL DE PANAMÁ<p> 40 MILLAS DE CANAL DE PANAMÁ</p><p>Una canción de <i>Animanía</i> (<i>Animaniacs</i>)</p><p>traducida por Sandra Dermark</p><p>12 de enero, MMXXIV</p><p>................................</p><p>Tengo un vapor que se llama <i>Hal</i></p><p><i>40 millas de Canal de Panamá</i></p><p>Tengo un cargamento de refresco local</p><p><i>40 millas de Canal de Panamá</i></p><p>El Caribe yo quiero dejar</p><p>y en el Pacífico quiero entrar,</p><p>por Panamá, pero no por tierra...</p><p>Sería ridículo mi barco en la arena...</p><p>¡Hey, <i>Hal</i>!</p><p>Prueba el Canal</p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-size: 16px;">¡</span>Hey, <i>Hal</i>!</p><p>El Canal es ideal,</p><p>navegando en un carguero</p><p>de uno a otro mar</p><p>en el Canal de Panamá</p><p>por un precio nominal...</p><p>.........</p><p>Entras en la esclusa, es como un corral</p><p><i>40 millas de Canal de Panamá</i></p><p>Pagas el dinero y te dan un decal</p><p><i>40 millas de Canal de Panamá</i></p><p>Hay tres esclusas, una, dos, tres,</p><p>llenas de agua de mar como veis,</p><p>sesenta metros de largo, 24 de profundo,</p><p>mojaría a la oveja más lanuda del mundo...</p><p>Alta esclusa</p><p>sube el barco</p><p>Baja esclusa</p><p>y el barco va abajo</p><p>Suben primero y luego </p><p>te bajan el nivel,</p><p>el Canal de Panamá no puede ser más zen</p><p>.........</p><p>Pasamos las esclusas con buena moral</p><p><i>40 millas de Canal de Panamá</i></p><p>Nos da las gracias el personal</p><p><i>40 millas de Canal de Panamá</i></p><p>De nada, colegas, ya acabé la travesía</p><p>por este canal de 40 millas,</p><p>ahora, rumbo a Balboa,</p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-size: 16px;">¡</span>adiós, Panamá, <i>au revoir</i>, aloha!</p><p><br /></p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-25431849716179855552024-01-10T03:02:00.000-08:002024-01-13T07:07:43.735-08:00Nursery Rhymes by George MacDonald<p> <strong style="color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">THE TRUE STORY OF THE CAT AND THE FIDDLE</span></strong></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Hey, diddle, diddle!<br /> The cat and the fiddle!<br /> He played such a merry tune,<br /> That the cow went mad<br /> With the pleasure she had,<br /> And jumped right over the moon.<br /> But then, don't you see?<br /> Before that could be, <br /> The moon had come down and listened.<br /> The little dog hearkened,<br /> So loud that he barkened,<br /> "There's nothing like it, there isn't."</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Hey, diddle, diddle!<br /> Went the cat and the fiddle,<br /> Hey diddle, diddle, dee, dee!<br /> The dog laughed at the sport<br /> Till his cough cut him short,<br /> It was hey diddle, diddle, oh me!<br /> And back came the cow<br /> With a merry, merry low,<br /> For she'd humbled the Man in the Moon.<br /> The dish got excited,<br /> The spoon was delighted,<br /> And the dish waltzed away with the spoon.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> But the Man in the Moon,<br /> Coming back too soon<br /> From the famous town of Norwich,<br /> Caught up the dish,<br /> Said, "It's just what I wish<br /> To hold my cold plum-porridge!" <br /> Gave the cow a rat-tat,<br /> Flung water on the cat,<br /> And sent him away like a rocket.<br /> Said, "Oh Moon there you are!"<br /> Got into her car,<br /> And went off with the spoon in his pocket</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Hey ho! diddle, diddle!<br /> The wet cat and wet fiddle,<br /> They made such a caterwauling,<br /> That the cow in a fright<br /> Stood bolt upright<br /> Bellowing now, and bawling;<br /> And the dog on his tail,<br /> Stretched his neck with a wail.<br /> But "Ho! ho!" said the Man in the Moon—<br /> "No more in the South<br /> Shall I burn my mouth,<br /> For I've found a dish and a spoon."</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;">LITTLE BO PEEP</span></b></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Little Bo Peep, she lost her sheep,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And didn't know where to find them;</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> They were over the height and out of sight,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Trailing their tails behind them.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Little Bo Peep woke out of her sleep,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Jump'd up and set out to find them:</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> “The silly things, they've got no wings,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And they've left their trails behind them:</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> “They've taken their tails, but they've left their trails,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And so I shall follow and find them;”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> For wherever a tail had dragged a trail,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> The long grass grew behind them.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And day's eyes and butter-cups, cow's lips and crow's feet</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Were glittering in the sun.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> She threw down her book, and caught up her crook,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And after her sheep did run.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> She ran, and she ran, and ever as she ran,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> The grass grew higher and higher;</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Till over the hill the sun began</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> To set in a flame of fire.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> She ran on still—up the grassy hill,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And the grass grew higher and higher;</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> When she reached its crown, the sun was down,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And had left a trail of fire.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> The sheep and their tails were gone, all gone—</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And no more trail behind them!</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Yes, yes! they were there—long-tailed and fair,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> But, alas! she could not find them.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Purple and gold, and rosy and blue,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> With their tails all white behind them,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Her sheep they did run in the trail of the sun;</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> She saw them, but could not find them.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> After the sun, like clouds they did run,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> But she knew they were her sheep:</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> She sat down to cry, and look up at the sky,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> But she cried herself asleep.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And as she slept the dew fell fast,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And the wind blew from the sky;</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And strange things took place that shun the day's face,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Because they are sweet and shy.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Nibble, nibble, crop! she heard as she woke:</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> A hundred little lambs</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Did pluck and eat the grass so sweet</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> That grew in the trails of their dams.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Little Bo Peep caught up her crook,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And wiped the tears that did blind her.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And nibble, nibble crop! without a stop!</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> The lambs came eating behind her.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Home, home she came, both tired and lame,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> With three times as many sheep.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> In a month or more, they'll be as big as before,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And then she'll laugh in her sleep.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> But what would you say, if one fine day,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> When they've got their bushiest tails,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Their grown-up game should be just the same,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And she have to follow their trails?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Never weep, Bo Peep, though you lose your sheep,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And do not know where to find them;</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> 'Tis after the sun the mothers have run,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.2px; margin-bottom: 1.45em; margin-top: 1.45em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And there are their lambs behind them.</span></p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-88106264810363205572024-01-06T11:15:00.000-08:002024-01-07T07:24:46.901-08:00YMCA - mi traducción <p> YMCA</p><p>Un himno gay</p><p>Traducción de Sandra Dermark</p><p>Principios de enero, MMXIV</p><p>................</p><p>Chico</p><p>no hay por qué estár asá, digo</p><p>Chico</p><p>Te has de levantar, digo</p><p>Chico</p><p>Nueva localidad...</p><p><span face="lato, Lato-fallback, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-size: 16px;">¡</span>No hay por qué estar depre!</p><p>Chico</p><p>hay pa' ti adonde ir, digo</p><p>Chico</p><p><span face="lato, Lato-fallback, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-size: 16px;">¿</span>Sin blanca has de sufrir? Digo</p><p>Chico</p><p>Tú te quedas, y fijo encontrarás</p><p>cómo matar el tiempo al final...</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA</p><p>Tienen toda clase allá</p><p>de diversión,</p><p>socializa sin ton ni son...</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA,</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA,</p><p>ahí te puedes lavar</p><p>y también bien comer,</p><p>lo que diga el instinto hacer...</p><p>Chico</p><p><span face="lato, Lato-fallback, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-size: 16px;">¿</span>tú me escuchas a mí? Digo</p><p>Chico</p><p>¿Qué quieres tú de ti? Digo</p><p>Chico</p><p>Sueños puedes cumplir</p><p>pero no sin aprender algo...</p><p>Nadie</p><p>se aclara en soledad,</p><p>tu soberbia</p><p>de lado puedes dar,</p><p>solo ve allí</p><p>a la YMCA</p><p>hoy te pueden el día alegrar</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA</p><p>Tienen toda clase allá</p><p>de diversión,</p><p>socializa sin ton ni son...</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA,</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA,</p><p>ahí te puedes lavar</p><p>y también bien comer,</p><p>lo que diga el instinto hacer...</p><p>Chico,</p><p>una vez yo fui tú</p><p>Yo sentía a</p><p>todo el mundo en contra de mí</p><p>Y tanto</p><p>sufrimiento pasé, </p><p>día y noche desesperé...</p><p>Luego alguien</p><p>se me apareció a mí </p><p>"Calle abajo,</p><p>algo te espera a ti,</p><p>un lugar que</p><p>llaman YMCA,</p><p>allí verás la luz otra vez..."</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA</p><p>Tienen toda clase allá</p><p>de diversión,</p><p>socializa sin ton ni son...</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA,</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA,</p><p>ahí te puedes lavar</p><p>y también bien comer,</p><p>lo que diga el instinto hacer...</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA</p><p>Tienen toda clase allá</p><p>de diversión,</p><p>socializa sin ton ni son...</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA,</p><p>Está bien ir a la </p><p>YMCA,</p><p>ahí te puedes lavar</p><p>y también bien comer,</p><p>lo que diga el instinto hacer...</p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-87404117921199193842024-01-06T11:02:00.000-08:002024-01-07T07:27:40.371-08:00EN LO PROFUNDO - Cover Extendida<p> EN LO PROFUNDO (SURFACE PRESSURE) - Cover Extendida</p><p>Medio traducción de Sandra Dermark</p><p>......</p><p>Siempre fuerte,</p><p>siempre dura,</p><p>imparable,</p><p>no hay un risco en la corteza terrestre que aguante...</p><p>Muevo montes,</p><p>muevo valles,</p><p>catedrales,</p><p>y mis músculos, tríceps y cuádriceps, sé lo que valen...</p><p>No pregunto,</p><p>nunca dudo,</p><p>ejecuto,</p><p>mi coraza es del hierro, acero, vanadio más duro...</p><p>Rocas, diamantes, platino</p><p>se funden, se parten sin tino,</p><p>yo paso y aplasto, mi camino abro, si es necesario...</p><p>Mas...</p><p>En lo profundo,</p><p>comienza el truco en la cuerda floja que me marca el rumbo...</p><p>En lo profundo,</p><p>alguna vez Hércules dijo "<span style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-size: 16px;">¡</span>no, no quiero, enfrentarme a Cerbero!"</p><p>En lo profundo</p><p>sé que mi esfuerzo es nulo</p><p>si siento que no ayudo...</p><p>Se escucha un crack,</p><p>comienza a tronar,</p><p>se va a desmoronar,</p><p>comienza a derrumbarse...</p><p>Es peso que gota a gota lo reventó (pesso)</p><p>Oh oh oh</p><p>Peso con un tic tac tic, hasta que haces pop</p><p>Oh oh oh</p><p>Dáselo a tu hermana, ella es más fuerte,</p><p>resistirá si ella aún tiene suerte...</p><p>¿Quién soy yo si pierdo este balón?</p><p>Y si cedo al</p><p>Peso con presión, presión que jamás soltó</p><p>Oh oh oh</p><p>Peso con un tic tac tic, antes de una explosión</p><p>Oh oh oh</p><p>Dáselo a tu hermana, que nos demuestre</p><p>cómo nos resiste y se agarra fuerte</p><p>Qué si pierdo y fallo al soportar?</p><p>Y si cedo...</p><p>En lo profundo, </p><p>algo empeora y se inquieta, yo he de salvar a todo el mundo...</p><p>En lo profundo,</p><p>el barco no vira, no pueden ver cómo de grande es el iceberg...</p><p>En lo profundo,</p><p>la imagen que yo infundo</p><p>se cae en un segundo...</p><p>Levanto el dominó</p><p>en alineación,</p><p>y un viento huracanado</p><p>lo derriba sin control...</p><p><span face="lato, Lato-fallback, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-size: 16px;">¿</span>Podré</p><p>desvanecer</p><p>el peso cruel</p><p>de expectativas</p><p>y vivir solo un momento</p><p>de esparcimiento</p><p>tan simple y bello</p><p>que va en aumento?</p><p>No importa</p><p>que el tiempo imponga</p><p>y no que ahora quite el</p><p>peso que gota a gota lo reventó (pesso)</p><p>Oh oh oh</p><p>Peso con un tic tac tic, hasta que haces pop</p><p>Oh oh oh</p><p>Ella sostendrá todos los cimientos,</p><p>ve también si arranca nuestro sufrimiento,</p><p>vedla retorcerse sin rechistar...</p><p>Sin fallar</p><p>Peso con presión, presión que jamás soltó</p><p>Oh oh oh</p><p>Peso con un tic tac tic, antes de una explosión</p><p>Oh oh oh</p><p>Ella sostendrá todos los cimientos,</p><p>ve también si arranca nuestro sufrimiento...</p><p>Tenga el mundo algo de compasión</p><p>Sin presión, sin peso</p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-9354144493991257112024-01-02T02:55:00.000-08:002024-01-04T01:19:27.086-08:00ORIENTALISM IN "NOSE OF TURK AND TATAR'S LIPS"<p> <b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Liver of Blaspheming Jew</span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">As I mention in the episode, Jewish people had been expelled from England in 1290 by King Edward the First. For Shakespeare and his audience, the idea of a Jewish person was about as alien as a dragon. Even if there were Jewish people in Macbeth’s Scotland in the 11th century - and there wouldn’t have been many - the sense here is more one of exoticism than anti-Semitism. The blasphemy that the witch mentions is that Jewish people would have denied the divinity of Jesus Christ. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Nose of Turk and Tatar’s Lips</span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">After the Jew’s liver, now we have an Ottoman's, or Turk’s nose and the lips of a Tatar, who could have come from anywhere from Siberia to Kazakstan. The combination is interesting because it combines a Jewish person, a Muslim and potentially an Eastern Orthodox Christian. These were all equally alien to Shakespeare’s London, and their inclusion in this horrific spell is an excuse for exoticism, cruelty and a kind of global power on behalf of these witches, the Weird Sisters. (There’s also the important point that the spell rhymes, and so Jew rhymes with yew, and eclipse with lips…)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Protections of Baptism</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The body parts harvested from non-Christian, non-Catholic bodies would all have lacked Christian anointing. So, all of these ingredients would have been all the more powerful for black magic since they have not been anointed or annealed. </span></p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-28243581654202804972023-12-31T07:10:00.000-08:002024-01-03T12:01:50.229-08:00POR TIEMPO ATRÁS (FOR AULD LANG SYNE)<p> POR TIEMPO ATRÁS (FOR AULD LANG SYNE)</p><p>Canción popular escocesa de Año Nuevo</p><p>Traducción de Sandra Dermark</p><p>.........</p><p>¿Los viejos conocidos no</p><p>se han nunca de olvidar?</p><p>Vamos a tomar un trago</p><p>por amor del tiempo atrás.</p><p>..................</p><p>Por tiempo atrás, amor,</p><p>por tiempo atrás,</p><p>vamos a tomar un trago</p><p>por amor del tiempo atrás.</p><p>...........</p><p>Tomémonos un trago,</p><p>tal vez dos o tal vez tres,</p><p>o cuatro, o cinco, o seis</p><p>o tal vez siete de una vez.</p><p>.........</p><p>Por tiempo atrás, amor,</p><p>por tiempo atrás,</p><p>vamos a tomar un trago</p><p>por amor del tiempo atrás.</p><p>.........</p><p>Si del local nos cierran </p><p>de la entrada el portón,</p><p>conozco una taberna</p><p>que no cierra en Castellón.</p><p>...........</p><p>Por tiempo atrás, amor,</p><p>por tiempo atrás,</p><p>vamos a tomar un trago</p><p>por amor del tiempo atrás.</p><p>........</p><p>¿Los viejos conocidos no</p><p>se han nunca de olvidar?</p><p>Vamos a tomar un trago</p><p>por amor del tiempo atrás.</p><p>..................</p><p>Por tiempo atrás, amor,</p><p>por tiempo atrás,</p><p>vamos a tomar un trago</p><p>por amor del tiempo atrás.</p><p>Por tiempo atrás, amor,</p><p>por tiempo atrás,</p><p>vamos a tomar un trago</p><p>por amor del tiempo atrás.</p><p>..........</p><p>PRÓSPERO AÑO NUEVO</p><p>2024...</p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-65007016762331769012023-12-24T00:49:00.000-08:002023-12-24T00:49:11.064-08:00ART HISTORY ADVENT CALENDAR - DAY 24<p> Week of Creativity</p><p>24th of December - Peace on Earth</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRBA1fitDLzzYNCMbVA23Ulyv0PxgVpNXEuMebAmPi3k1H6TIUs_v27iRnW1YuKucbfBAFt9PjfQkPJbvpN8Jqhtd2DJUCSEGOAKBbwN1dUTD9H7_M-QX5PJI3BmieeR7PVE-SUSzBZdjAHDI9Ut-Qq90OlIAoWX4tI2eqsB1h_rUpwUg_pvW21O-v/s1707/Non_violence_-_Gbg_-_C_F_Reutersward.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1707" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRBA1fitDLzzYNCMbVA23Ulyv0PxgVpNXEuMebAmPi3k1H6TIUs_v27iRnW1YuKucbfBAFt9PjfQkPJbvpN8Jqhtd2DJUCSEGOAKBbwN1dUTD9H7_M-QX5PJI3BmieeR7PVE-SUSzBZdjAHDI9Ut-Qq90OlIAoWX4tI2eqsB1h_rUpwUg_pvW21O-v/s320/Non_violence_-_Gbg_-_C_F_Reutersward.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">FIAT PAX</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Winter Season's Greetings to all of you,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and may "Peace on Earth" not be seasonal,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">but an evergreen wish for the whole year!</div><br /><p><br /></p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-16724333254816488202023-12-23T06:57:00.000-08:002023-12-23T06:57:32.077-08:00ASÍ HABLÓ EL ESPEJO - FALOU O ESPELHO<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> ASÍ HABLÓ EL ESPEJO - FALÒ O ESPELHO</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">ASÎ HABLÓ EL ESPEJO - SOFÎA DE MELLO ANDRESEN</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Yo estaba en un palacio y frente a mí solo había espacio, espacio, nada más que espacio, El suelo era de mármol liso y brillante, Y yo estaba en el fondo de una galería silenciosa y solitaria. Contemplaba el paso de las horas a lo largo del día. Vi a los reyes y a las reinas, pálides en el día de su coronación, con sus coronas centelleantes y pesadas. Vi a los ministros, a los consejeros y a la gente importante con sus narices largas, sus caras de circunstancia y su aire servil. Y vi a las novias vestidas de blanco que durante las noches de baile huían por un momento a la galería solitaria. Se deslizaban rápidas y leves, negando siempre la flor que les pedían, Y vi pasar a las multitudes de las revoluciones, rompiéndolo todo, buscando justicia. Vi, vi, vi, yo soy un espejo; me he pasado toda la vida viendo. Todas las imágenes entraron dentro de mí. Vi, vi, vi, Y ahora, en esta sala, donde no hay ningún lugar en el que mis ojos de cristal puedan descansar.</span></p><p><!--wp:paragraph-->
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<!--/wp:paragraph--></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Oriana, sácame de aquí y ponme frente a una pared blanca, desnuda y lisa.</span></p><p><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Depois falou o espelho:</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">- Eu estava num palácio e em frente de mim havia espaço, espaço e espaço. E o chão era de mármore liso e brilhante. E eu estava no fundo de uma galeria silenciosa e solitária. E contemplava o mudar das horas do dia. Vi os reis e as rainhas pálidos no dia da coroação, com suas coroas cintilantes e pesadas. Vi os ministros, os conselheiros, e os homens importantes com seu nariz comprido, a sua cara de caso e o seu ar solicito. E vi as namoradas de vestido branco que nas noites de bailes fugiam um instante para a galeria solitária. Elas deslizavam rápidas e leves negando sempre a flor que lhes pediam. E vi as multidões das revoluções que passavam, desesperadamente, partindo tudo, à procura de justiça. Vi, vi, vi.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Eu sou um espelho; passei toda a minha vida a ver. As imagens entraram todas dentro de mim. Vi, vi, vi. E agora estou nesta sala onde não há um lugar onde os meus olhos de vidro descansem. Tira-me daqui e põe-me em frente de uma parede branca, nua e lisa.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Disse o espelho - peço-te que tires da minha frente aquela bailarina de Saxe. Estou farto de a ver o dia inteiro sempre com o pé no ar em posição de desequilíbrio. Os meus olhos de vidro não têm pálpebras. Só as noites são as minhas pálpebras. Mas durante o dia nunca posso fechar os olhos. E estou cansadíssimo de passar os dias a ver uma bailarina com o pé no ar.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A bailarina estava numa prateleira em frente do espelho. Pegou nela e pô-la no outro lado da sala, em cima da cômoda, de maneira a que o espelho não a visse.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">- Obrigado - Disse o espelho.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sou, como já sabes, um espelho antiqüíssimo. Há séculos que todas as meninas querem saber se haverá no mundo alguém mais bonito do que elas. Vê-te bem. És muito bonita, mas há uma coisa muito mais bonita do que tu.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Uma parede branca, nua e lisa.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ainda bem – disse o espelho. Mais não imaginas a quantidade de meninas que pelos séculos fora se olharem nos meus olhos de vidro e disseram: “Acho-me linda”!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ele passa o dia em frente de mim, a ver-se em mim e a dizer: “É um cabelo lindo”. E eu já não o posso olhar.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">O espelho disse-me que havia uma parede branca que era ainda mais bonita do que eu.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">- Os espelhos são uns sonhadores, estão sempre a imaginar o que não vêem. És muito mais bonita do que uma parede.</span></p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-82207407533999966072023-12-23T05:04:00.000-08:002024-01-20T12:38:09.325-08:00ART HISTORY ADVENT CALENDAR - DAY 23<p> Week of Creativity</p><p>23rd of December - Let your Reads Take Wing</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQRu8D-ZdU-npM82m1nlxUFCcJU2kr69R_fmTNb2PBPHJE-DlOVcmaGFvjXnQrsnPFonmjbOv3_hisgkpcAt80H9E7cM9fOLY3c3a5J06opG0b4ekR5kNQn1-zZfBlzxNxO7BZ03RU2BetPCFj_4BhP3Idk2iYTw3PjBuaNAAmHuJE8Ofg0DfqDoH/s530/ripolles-valencia-sol.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQRu8D-ZdU-npM82m1nlxUFCcJU2kr69R_fmTNb2PBPHJE-DlOVcmaGFvjXnQrsnPFonmjbOv3_hisgkpcAt80H9E7cM9fOLY3c3a5J06opG0b4ekR5kNQn1-zZfBlzxNxO7BZ03RU2BetPCFj_4BhP3Idk2iYTw3PjBuaNAAmHuJE8Ofg0DfqDoH/s320/ripolles-valencia-sol.jpg" width="272" /></a></div><br /><p>Put your heart into literature</p><p>as you read</p><p>and you will feel</p><p>the death of your beloved characters (Enjolras, Grantaire, and company; Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred Weasley...)</p><p>the loves of your beloved characters (Othello and Desdemona, Marius and Cosette, Enjolras and Grantaire, Ron and Hermione...)</p><p>Their first heroics (with guns, words, or patroni...)</p><p>Their hearts shall be yours to keep.</p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-49006202440395212002023-12-22T08:36:00.000-08:002023-12-22T08:39:56.776-08:00ART HISTORY ADVENT CALENDAR - DAY 22<p> Week of Creativity</p><p>22nd of December - Hermes and Argus</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBA4_l9FTM7O0A2goHoWzgj95y5ASUUXFPKY5fS-QtECXfDVTqnxZhY2KNy2iaNuuTxRQ4lsPU-kBqkSzQ-_XauL6ZGdAJeqPj-0Y0hKEIgSd0rz5RBbKWBY3x1V0Dn1h7gL-h4nxWvuJggqN4_yP4r1QmY44Bss4_D-isdZ06ZGhaUd3rMCsjxvku/s1280/F%C3%A1bula_de_Mercurio_y_Argos,_by_Diego_Vel%C3%A1zquez.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="1280" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBA4_l9FTM7O0A2goHoWzgj95y5ASUUXFPKY5fS-QtECXfDVTqnxZhY2KNy2iaNuuTxRQ4lsPU-kBqkSzQ-_XauL6ZGdAJeqPj-0Y0hKEIgSd0rz5RBbKWBY3x1V0Dn1h7gL-h4nxWvuJggqN4_yP4r1QmY44Bss4_D-isdZ06ZGhaUd3rMCsjxvku/s320/F%C3%A1bula_de_Mercurio_y_Argos,_by_Diego_Vel%C3%A1zquez.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>How now, white cow?</p><p>I know you have the white cow</p><p>and you keep always a watchful eye on her...</p><p>Now ain't that dull, so say!</p><p>I have yarns and songs galore to fill your day!</p><p>Let me sit down and relax and tell you something...</p><p>(And once I have sung you to sleep,</p><p>your head shall roll</p><p>and the white cow shall be free!)</p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-70649267197520133882023-12-22T07:07:00.000-08:002023-12-22T07:14:00.605-08:00POÉSIE DE PAUL ÉLUARD<p> POÉSIE DE PAUL ÉLUARD</p><p>.........</p><p>L'ardeur des yeux de ces enfants</p><p>dans le dédale du torrent</p><p>dans le labyrinthe des flammes</p><p>au creux de l'idéal sillon</p><p>ou l'épi dans la raison</p><p>.......</p><p>Les jeux de ces curieux enfants qui sont les nôtres</p><p>jeux simples qui leur font les yeux émerveillés</p><p>Le bonheur d'un enfant saurai-je le déduire</p><p>de sa poupée ou de sa balle ou du beau temps</p><p>.........</p><p>Le jour coule comme un œuf</p><p>Le vent fané s'effiloche</p><p>Comme un désert inexploré</p><p>l'enfant pâlit terriblement</p><p>........</p><p>L'enfant regarde la nuit de haut</p><p>Si l'enfant meurt, la nuit prendra sa place</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhB2vFYsto091h_itCdkW4v7HjGSBuoLT2fIdcU9HPR2CuxRgxzDgyQQwFlJQ7aXkLY6XEuuseEelDebJ2YV8Ge5O_PCbyA4bsZXh0Yf_nh9FYU950N_eNYjmCB87iOrOtMo1p5FTyVEmHAlEh-SxbbnjtRkF8R5dTjvPoFHbEzOkwiTrxvWm0w0K9Z" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="660" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhB2vFYsto091h_itCdkW4v7HjGSBuoLT2fIdcU9HPR2CuxRgxzDgyQQwFlJQ7aXkLY6XEuuseEelDebJ2YV8Ge5O_PCbyA4bsZXh0Yf_nh9FYU950N_eNYjmCB87iOrOtMo1p5FTyVEmHAlEh-SxbbnjtRkF8R5dTjvPoFHbEzOkwiTrxvWm0w0K9Z=s16000" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>..........</p><p>Unique guirlande tendue</p><p>d'un bout à l'autre de l'enfance</p><p>Petit pont de perfection</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcVKlkjlBH8j-tg_J4UD9tVILP05bLdQIt-C-PeQDVo76zUhde4xMat8NpGER4ntKtQntkk16HVjBPsGRNAFwZDap9_Nj1-WtzDZV-m4OpKKhXA5XSNZ6en9SfJHftj1aJ-FiKuzsMHcC7Qgx8qu1_OsqC7Bw3HFrQpiXvbPPKHgTaWnfFB4W_KC6D" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="660" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcVKlkjlBH8j-tg_J4UD9tVILP05bLdQIt-C-PeQDVo76zUhde4xMat8NpGER4ntKtQntkk16HVjBPsGRNAFwZDap9_Nj1-WtzDZV-m4OpKKhXA5XSNZ6en9SfJHftj1aJ-FiKuzsMHcC7Qgx8qu1_OsqC7Bw3HFrQpiXvbPPKHgTaWnfFB4W_KC6D=s16000" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>.........</p><p>Sur le ciel tout ébréché</p><p>les étoiles sont moisies</p><p>........</p><p>Nous deux nous tenant par la main</p><p>nous nous croyons partout chez nous</p><p>auprès des sages et des fous </p><p>parmi les enfants et les grands</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9crkVkZr2-4rrkZ0oQBrRWD9W5YwawZOZmjYCzJXbo3eYegB6UlYQXI_rf4-WcT-pVzTGWFV9gpKm-ILxWyrKS3XAL7IiCtSrtOdZBHzHey05jSGF_YypMni7AGz1zlKbEuLyKLje5iig7aze_OkwRC8je2g00bJNzghSKOusPcopqTo6dA0iL4op" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="660" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9crkVkZr2-4rrkZ0oQBrRWD9W5YwawZOZmjYCzJXbo3eYegB6UlYQXI_rf4-WcT-pVzTGWFV9gpKm-ILxWyrKS3XAL7IiCtSrtOdZBHzHey05jSGF_YypMni7AGz1zlKbEuLyKLje5iig7aze_OkwRC8je2g00bJNzghSKOusPcopqTo6dA0iL4op=s16000" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>........</p><p>Nous ne perdons pas un brin d'herbe d'espoir</p><p>nous refusons d'être sans rêves tout l'hiver</p><p>.......</p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-16674463572318105722023-12-21T08:26:00.000-08:002023-12-22T08:37:57.397-08:00ART HISTORY ADVENT CALENDAR - DAY 21<p> Week of Creativity</p><p>21st of December - The Dreams of Reason Spawn Monsters</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFLldcWyO8fgvW8k9v7AL117lSbdD1o0teiLIPIzbPGeameiAPS6qEqbsWWUhpqEGzh1WNFJOVikrPNPFYOIvBlP01aYmlOzBrXAqEqSsciCx1vm4fT3ZuTIi5iTl-elsCI0Sui2aQJLnYpBAGeroybRqh6IlnTzfrpKO8cNkHis20pzCEm8NkDtK/s1936/Francisco_Jos%C3%A9_de_Goya_y_Lucientes_-_The_sleep_of_reason_produces_monsters_(No._43),_from_Los_Caprichos_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFLldcWyO8fgvW8k9v7AL117lSbdD1o0teiLIPIzbPGeameiAPS6qEqbsWWUhpqEGzh1WNFJOVikrPNPFYOIvBlP01aYmlOzBrXAqEqSsciCx1vm4fT3ZuTIi5iTl-elsCI0Sui2aQJLnYpBAGeroybRqh6IlnTzfrpKO8cNkHis20pzCEm8NkDtK/s320/Francisco_Jos%C3%A9_de_Goya_y_Lucientes_-_The_sleep_of_reason_produces_monsters_(No._43),_from_Los_Caprichos_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /><p>Have you ever put your reason to sleep,</p><p>letting strong drink or other substances</p><p>usurp her rightful throne?</p><p>If that is so, think of all the monsters</p><p>and all the outrageous visions</p><p>that unfold before your eyes,</p><p>until banished reason claims </p><p>her rightful throne!</p><p>The BEST of life is but intoxication,</p><p>it lets us come closer to chaos</p><p>and makes us dance with the Universe!</p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-30560697834970492532023-12-20T04:11:00.000-08:002023-12-20T04:11:25.400-08:00ART HISTORY ADVENT CALENDAR - DAY 20<p> Week of Creativity</p><p>20th of December - Oh Frabjous Day!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPDdY1RDcZje08uzhYWzwOkwd6bZ20d_R5jvTdWXmjQy-U2KP6r5AzcWElaWJKnwRy57SPLIzubAcVwFWy-MU7L6N56gAlHVeDTlJdJcFlburjV0Gcfoo8EeK4EHpTZPay-XIRmmZoUaPZWoqNIf2fJrrE3Cd47sUpzwvTOR5JYW1Z69X1kl3I9e9/s2000/eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJpbSI6WyJcL2FydHdvcmtcL2ltYWdlRmlsZVwvNWY1MGM4NDJiMTJmZS5qcGciLCJyZXNpemUsMjAwMCwyMDAwIl19.nMbRy2kwszvEnOjvsggFqY_HmXJSSWFBWsfxmcnjQ4M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1862" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPDdY1RDcZje08uzhYWzwOkwd6bZ20d_R5jvTdWXmjQy-U2KP6r5AzcWElaWJKnwRy57SPLIzubAcVwFWy-MU7L6N56gAlHVeDTlJdJcFlburjV0Gcfoo8EeK4EHpTZPay-XIRmmZoUaPZWoqNIf2fJrrE3Cd47sUpzwvTOR5JYW1Z69X1kl3I9e9/s320/eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJpbSI6WyJcL2FydHdvcmtcL2ltYWdlRmlsZVwvNWY1MGM4NDJiMTJmZS5qcGciLCJyZXNpemUsMjAwMCwyMDAwIl19.nMbRy2kwszvEnOjvsggFqY_HmXJSSWFBWsfxmcnjQ4M.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Oh Frabjous Day, calloo, callay!<div>The riders ride a caucus race</div><div>on unicorns and hippogriffs (Buckbeak!)</div><div>and some weird beast with a seal's face!</div><div>Two gay men make out in a mussel,</div><div>distilling beads of seed,</div><div>and an owl with catlike yellow eyes</div><div>is wide awake by day indeed!</div><div>Berries are the size of houses,</div><div>making people smaller than "mouses,"</div><div>and if you wish</div><div>for a little fish,</div><div>you've got your wish,</div><div>we've got oodles of fresh fish!</div><div><div><p><br /></p></div></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-857364264364129982023-12-19T04:00:00.000-08:002023-12-20T04:14:14.222-08:00ART HISTORY ADVENT CALENDAR - DAY 19<p> Week of Creativity</p><p>19th of December - Praise of Literature</p><p><a href="https://www.loc.gov/resource/highsm.02251/?st=image&r=0.257,0.202,0.25,0.371,0">https://www.loc.gov/resource/highsm.02251/?st=image&r=0.257,0.202,0.25,0.371,0</a></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqe19sH9-iYIvv4pvu-J4dCdc-x214Mk0CBOjpLSETLDj1STXH5ldXzbFC3XbZeRYAOnhTE3otxbsbx4ZO32kuYWxSE8ZFEAIFNZ03w0wOtGSYXIV3XyJmJv-eOxzeWl5Y2QsrrXXffih4QhVaWiTCipp5acLNiB0mJ5Fgl_3nOcXYxov2eTu3toBh/s356/iiif-service_pnp_highsm_02200_02251-full-pct_6.25-0-default.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="356" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqe19sH9-iYIvv4pvu-J4dCdc-x214Mk0CBOjpLSETLDj1STXH5ldXzbFC3XbZeRYAOnhTE3otxbsbx4ZO32kuYWxSE8ZFEAIFNZ03w0wOtGSYXIV3XyJmJv-eOxzeWl5Y2QsrrXXffih4QhVaWiTCipp5acLNiB0mJ5Fgl_3nOcXYxov2eTu3toBh/w400-h228/iiif-service_pnp_highsm_02200_02251-full-pct_6.25-0-default.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>I. GREECE</p><p>Sing, oh Muse,</p><p>of the fury of Achilles son of Peleus,</p><p>of the Trojan Horse,</p><p>of how Odysseus outfoxed both</p><p>Polyphemus and Circe,</p><p>of the torrid love of Sappho,</p><p>of Cloudcuckoo Land and of the croaking Frogs</p><p>on the River Styx.</p><p><br /></p><p>II. ITALY</p><p>Sing, oh Muse,</p><p>of Petrarca's passionate love for Laura,</p><p>of descents to the infernal depths,</p><p>of ascents up Purgatory and beyond...</p><p>Of Renzo and Lucia, the lovers separated,</p><p>and of Sicilian nobility...</p><p>Of young heroes like the Little Lombard Lookout</p><p>or Marco crossing the Pampas.</p><p><br /></p><p>III. ENGLAND</p><p>Oh for a Muse of Fire</p><p>to sing of sallow princes and star-crossed lovers,</p><p>of jealous husbands and merry wives,</p><p>of the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future,</p><p>of virtuous orphans who get what they deserve,</p><p>of madwomen in attics and wardrobes to Narnia,</p><p>and nargles in the mistletoe.</p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-91428923725304707342023-12-18T03:36:00.000-08:002023-12-20T03:43:04.289-08:00ART HISTORY ADVENT CALENDAR - DAY 18<p> Week of Creativity</p><p>18th of December - Light, Love, Life</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBdmClKiGouxucV46rQWNLXRgGIh8szU6YHoM4szzKpArh3od9gkPEOvaE6cHSwcU0-ne-pOwisVxsT1Rl_uGAG16nOCFsTqWIOZA-fxtY5ugr2w4aJ9PUr_iobjC9s4ns2VD-zbZyCqic5xC76hQ3DIvWEzZ7BMOpFBTBc8PGet8MD4uNjcAvvsOb/s1280/1280px-Tiffany_Education_(center).jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="866" data-original-width="1280" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBdmClKiGouxucV46rQWNLXRgGIh8szU6YHoM4szzKpArh3od9gkPEOvaE6cHSwcU0-ne-pOwisVxsT1Rl_uGAG16nOCFsTqWIOZA-fxtY5ugr2w4aJ9PUr_iobjC9s4ns2VD-zbZyCqic5xC76hQ3DIvWEzZ7BMOpFBTBc8PGet8MD4uNjcAvvsOb/s320/1280px-Tiffany_Education_(center).jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>I come with three blessings:<div><p>Light, Love, Life.</p><p>With three blessings I come:</p><p>Love, Life, Light.</p><p>With three blessings, Yours Truly:</p><p>Life, Light, Love.</p><p><br /></p></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7110965700181855162.post-81937185489154693362023-12-17T03:26:00.000-08:002023-12-20T03:40:22.253-08:00ART HISTORY ADVENT CALENDAR<p> Week of Power</p><p>17th of December - Midshipman's Ambition</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiroXxSNV1ZsOgmh-zwtMtQfuro8RNUi-6P8E1rDJ1ZlJBQvewPNxZ__4AVcX9zO5xV5eUVF2IzF5KOtC8ckf7Z9JKgkNzQG1yLhBo45iW04troSfvqvN3pKC2mmvTb1gwRgjWjwnkVjFMFEmyekyXMXosnrmH1VAVIS-y7Uf_C1OACYP6nYhVJhe_q/s2400/Screenshot_2023-12-17-10-45-02-686_com.google.android.apps.docs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiroXxSNV1ZsOgmh-zwtMtQfuro8RNUi-6P8E1rDJ1ZlJBQvewPNxZ__4AVcX9zO5xV5eUVF2IzF5KOtC8ckf7Z9JKgkNzQG1yLhBo45iW04troSfvqvN3pKC2mmvTb1gwRgjWjwnkVjFMFEmyekyXMXosnrmH1VAVIS-y7Uf_C1OACYP6nYhVJhe_q/w180-h400/Screenshot_2023-12-17-10-45-02-686_com.google.android.apps.docs.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dearest Lady Winifred Sudbury:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">your son, Midshipman Arthur Sudbury</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">on board HMS Venus,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">was sadly killed in action</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> by the German torpedo that sank that craft.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He died, though young and fresh,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">for Crown and Country...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Everytime Mum took me to the Museum</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I always stared aghast at Lord Nelson,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">whose feats I also eagerly read.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Now I see I am meant to share his fate,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">dying on deck...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Even though his death came from above,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and mine from below...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yet I am only a paltry Midshipman:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I shall never be a war hero...</div><br /><p><br /></p>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02212364704865028073noreply@blogger.com0