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borges and I ...


I like to read Borges. A few days ago I heard a CD with his voice and a beautiful text entitled "Borges and I" . He knew, but hearing was different. As is my custom I stayed with a sentence with a small piece of his prose, which in my 'humble opinion' is the most beautiful of the text. It may not be the smartest or most successful or the most sensible, but I was beautiful.

"I like hourglasses, maps, seventeenth-century typography, the etymologies, the taste of coffee and the prose of Stevenson

to me something like that happens, I also like the hourglass almost as much as I dislike other , these digital, with Roman numerals and sticks that show so unbearable as life goes on. I like hourglasses because they happen over time with different rhythm, occurs otherwise the five minutes are a magical hourglass. Similarly

I like maps . I've always liked. When small, while watching, travel drew in my head, dropped my index finger on some land and began to walk. Then went to a book to browse over there. The larger maps have been of great help to know the geography of 'things and the people. " I learned that great love build their own maps.

In the seventeenth century typography excuse me, I can not say much. However, more than anything I can say about the seventeenth paleography, although this has not been like Borges. Hours of hours of reading files epistolary, judicial and notary in the body. XVII know the script I take great pleasure, learning to read these texts, deciphered, revealing the spirit of the letter, giving life to a few stories forgotten.

For its part, the etymology excites me. Should be for that curious streak in me, something of a taste for history in the veins, do not know. That's around for the origin of words, meaning and forma-, me parece genial. Un ejemplo muy bonito es el origen de la palabra café que viene del árabe ‘qahwah’ que significa estimulante. La palabra se dio un paseo por el imperio turco convirtiéndose en ‘kahveh’, para llegar a Italia donde terminó llamándose ‘caffé’. Cómo me gusta la palabra, su sonido y por cierto el aroma a café.

De Stevenson he leído un par de obras, la gran mayoría alusivas a sus maravillosos viajes. “La Isla del Tesoro”, un clásico de literatura juvenil; “El extraño caso del Doctor Jeckyll y Mr. Hyde” que, según dicen los entendidos, es una de sus obras más famous, is a novel rather short, medium akin to the tale, where good and evil seem to meet in a single character.

I leave you now, as I contemplate the purchase hourglass, with the map open wide, evoking ancient Castilian my readings, investigating the origin of the words lost and having at least a couple of readings pending Stevenson, "The Devil in the Bottle" and a beautiful selection of poems. And all I have to admit, thanks to Borges.

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rambling kind

H ace for a while I spoke the words that I thought were beautiful in sound, perhaps for the way they were willing vowels and consonants, perhaps because of its evocative meaning. The word kind like me, seduce me, brings back memories, I hear it is good, also said it, I like to see the gestures of the people. Amable talks loving gestures, delicate, something that warms the soul. Ú
thinking a lot lately, I have walked the word friendly, searching in streets, chapels and maze-like gardens, I felt I had strayed into a hug not given, until I found.
Staba E hidden in a beautiful story.


L to nurse nursing home responded to the call of the door. Ana was coming as always, every last Saturday of the month to visit Dona Lina, the grandmother again abandoned and quiet of the place. Ana
had in his hands a box of chocolates, two cakes together with the tea and a small bunch of violets. Leisurely way to the courtyard of the house feeling like her footsteps approaching the magical. The warmth of the autumn that he was newly arrived in the air.
L grandma was sitting in the same chair wheel for several years, about a beautiful orange and wrapped with a woven rug rustic colors. His gaze lost in the horizon realized a life intense, painful, full of love. Do not talk to anyone, just a few gestures surfaced on his face furrowed. But when Anne appeared his eyes lit up beautiful old words.
l E garden was all green. Ana gave her a kiss on the cheek and sat beside him stroking his hand. He brought news of her sons, Antonio and Javier who lived too far to come to see her photographs of her grandchildren and the newspaper that Mrs. Lina played with implacable tenderness reader.
A na used washing her hair every visit, combing the hair and re-arm the bow of the way Dona Lina liked. Nice gesture that culminated with a kiss on the forehead praising how beautiful it looked. Lina answered him with a small and friendly smile. E
sa later took the same book I had read before, Journey to the Center of the Earth, find the page where it left off and read "In the hours of rest, we left the two on walks through the leafy avenues of the Alster, and went to the old mill tar how good effect occurs at the end of the lake. We walked hand in hand I historie-TAS recounting that she laughed, and thus we came to the banks of the Elbe, and, after saying goodbye to the swans that swam among the white water lilies, we returned in a steamer to the landing. "Ana did a high reading just to enjoy the happiness of Dona Lina to hear and then just continue. E
sa was the way that Martha had found that Lina wake of his silence. After a while of reading encouraged her to remember the poems she recited when young, strongly encouraged. Lina So little by little began to utter, delayed, and searching forces from, somewhere in his soul until it appeared and with it the verses. Heard him sing much poetry in those evenings, many wonders stored in the heart of this woman that time forgot.
A quel was the best gift for Hannah, she will remember and recite verses full of love, passion and life. Colorful lines of story content.
E is the last day was that she could read, was also the last in which he could listen. Lina started traveling the following day, taking with her the little bunch of violets.
A recorded na skin in the last verses that came from his lips.

syllables of joy Florida extends your name,
whistling like a star on the roads.
Joy of platforms, thanks to the bells, smiles
child, plucked all time legend. Now I feel
count those dead leaves of this tree, noting the time

Now that I look, your tracks
are lost in the sand.
Thus, like sleep windows of this house,
shadows fall on the jewel of your name
and within pine
this sadness there is an awakening to thirst, dark basement.
Dodge, apart revive all words in a sustained integrity
leaning against me.
And this amnesty is a childish
remember biting my sad childhood.
In this game of silence hovers your profile
gratifying my taste fatigue
that winds in the tropics.
lamp late at night. Girlfriend loves
licensed
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Traveling fish, light as a magazine, you're wearing today
your color pages,
as when he gave me all the luster of your eyes

lamp on your face, Oreste Plath, published in Gong Magazine, March 1931.