Do Black Babies Get Darker

My Around the World in 80 Days Poetry and tradition

I have not the slightest idea what he was doing that morning at the bottom of Colegio Mexico, across the two yards, beyond the football field, when I for the first time in a library.

know what happened, at best, in fourth grade because the following year I changed schools. I also know that he was alone and nobody took me there. The experience is so independent in my memory that I can say that I do not remember entering any such library again. Perhaps influenced the place was not pleasant: I do not have windows, and if he were locked and bolted at the library appears in my memory locked in the dark and without ventilation.

I remember, yes, the pleasure I felt when there was no difficulty to lend me a book, one I chose myself, a condensed version with pictures of Around the World in 80 Days Jules Verne. What was it that caught my attention? Does the title, he is always playful Julio Cortázar had changed only recently, though I know it would take centuries for Around the day in 80 worlds ? "The cover, in which an unsuspecting Phileas Fogg sets out with ease to the other side of the known universe, followed by Passepartout is not able to go at the speed of his new master, and while holding the hat not to lose, can worn as a travel bag and a few packages? Or the scenes of movement outlined behind her horse-drawn cart, a railway, a steam ...?

At home my parents had no library itself. Among some books isolated, there was a paperback edition of the forty-odd volumes of the National Episodes Perez Galdos and one in hardcover a couple of scholarly works of Menendez Pelayo, bought by my father in any of the rides made by my uncle Lagunilla Florentino, a man in love with the old who spent thirty years in Mexico and occasionally bought books, perhaps more as objects related to the longed-for Spain to be free, that is, objects reading, worlds that were there to be discovered by simply encouraged to try. There were also, and if I remember is because their presence is a mystery never solved happily, a loose copy of an edition in two volumes of a work whose unusual name, underlined by his anomalous solitude, I suggested strange worlds: the Ciropedia of Xenophon.

Not long ago, when passing the age of his phlegmatic character, I read Verne's novel. I do not remember almost nothing of my remote first reading, the sense of having read it some other time in me remains intact and appears intermingled with portraits, atmospheres and situations from the book as if they were part of the same thing. I do not remember that Fogg has dismissed his assistant because the water for shaving had not been in the exact temperature, I do not remember the persecution of Inspector Fix, who is ho ﷽ ﷽ ﷽ ﷽ ﷽ g Kubrick, with some times in this space, but this delay in seeing it load first Kubrick, with some convinced that the madman who apparently fled, of course always to the east, is the author of a robbery that has shocked Britain, I remember the rapture Princess of India and that Passepartout, under the influence of opium, had lost consciousness in a slum risking the company through the world in eighty days.

However, all that appears between the feelings of my reading and lit with a glow that did not hesitate to call magical, as if it happened in the area of \u200b\u200ba dream, and I, especially me, I read, I was sitting or standing or lying in bed, I go or not to move from my place, I more than any character, and more exotic countries and incredible obstacles, but I anyone or anything outside of that dream was happening inside me.

about ten years ago, when had spent about thirty of that one visit to the library of the Colegio Mexico, I found myself in a bookstore Donceles a copy identical to that first book, though it were a post-1974 edition, when, at most, there was that episode. That first issue that was not mine, number 6 of the Golden Classics Illustrated library, I reviewed with her hands and eyes and I put on the table and admired from a distance even before reading it, and then read, and even then I had to return in a compulsory second visit to the library at all remember, was there, smiling, among thousands of books, under the holy bath dust bookstores.

Of course I could not resist this treasure and I bought it for sixty dollars, an amount and then just symbolic. And now, I must admit, I have some more, four or five equal, because in my research because tank used books set before I've never been able to not buy it again. It's one of those things that one can not but wish for himself, every time, so imperious, always.

What goes through my head at that time, repeated the same? What message does get my heart, more powerful than any of my thoughts, I returned to the library of the Colegio Mexico, at the end of the school, beyond the two courts and soccer field, that day in my nine years old when I dared to cross that threshold taken away by anyone in the dark? Is it, as it seems, to return to feed that first dream to be me, if I was reading in full, living me as much as dreaming?

Of course the most touching reading Verne's novel is its ending, he must have liked me a lot because I first felt the thrill of great literature. Phileas Fogg returned to London shortly after the time set as the deadline for the completion of his company ... In fact, just minutes after the scheduled time. Quietly, with perfect dignity, locks himself in his home to ruminate defeat. Not long after he learned that day was not Sunday, as he thought, but Saturday. For a reason that is soon clear logic, he realizes that his trip around the world has always made towards the east, has won a day, so it has not arrived a few minutes after the hour, but a day before . The problem is that it takes almost twenty-four hours stuck at home with the certainty of having lost the bet, so suddenly is at risk of losing the truth.

Sale of your home as lightning, climbs to the first passing car and fly Reform Club, where Mr. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan, Ralph Flanagan and his eyes alight on the clock in the reading room. Phlegmatic, erect, triumphant, Phileas Fogg makes his entrance at that time, few minutes before the appointed time, and eat well the wonder of his world tour in eighty days.

_____________________________

This paper was read at the opening ceremony of the XI National Meeting of reading rooms in the city of Mazatlan, on October 2, 2008, before a large group of heads of chambers and promoters of reading throughout the country, when I was Director General Conaculta Publications.

XI National Meeting on the reading rooms, organized by Laura Athié and Nora Rangel, http://bit.ly/dSxolS

The number zero

Millennium journal , Viceversa predecessor, which appeared in November 1990, was devoted to the literature of adventure. The cover illustration to a text by Gerardo Deniz called "Brief introduction to the study of my Verne", featured a high-contrast image of the great French novelist.

About

bookstores Donceles the street, in this blog: http://bit.ly/dkkFRR

Side Effects Of Corn Flour

Twenty years ago I thought that I would become a critic of poetry. I can even say that I was, at least somewhat. A tight binder of more than thirty machine notes, all published, are my best race. Also, the enmity of two or three poets whose questionable success since then has only grown.

season I spent making criticism of poetry was a huge learning. Among other things, I understood that this activity was not for me to read books because they'd just appear, read poetry to write about it. If you still do from time to time is because it resembles the writing itself poems, which has become increasingly urgent, joyful and casual. The most valuable experience was that I ended up in defining what part of the tradition that I had received as a reader, an apprentice of the trade and to students of the Faculty, was the mine, the one I said to myself, the closest to my personal way of reading the poems. What was my starting point?

Contrary to what would be expected of an arts student at UNAM, I knew the poetry of the Generation of 27 long before its contemporary Mexicans drank more and better speech between inspired and colloquial Pedro Salinas, or the delightful arrangements of traditional poetry of Rafael Alberti first, that in Villaurrutia night, which caused the delight of teachers and students of the race, or the verbal and imaginative fullness Pellicer, the best poet of our poets, as the happy phrase of Octavio Paz. Naturally, the area I am interested in the tradition common to all English speakers was not that interested in Mexico.

When in 2002 I moved to Spain I thought I would find someone to share enthusiasm and contrasting views on my favorite poets, even though I came across the sea. What he could not foresee is that I came also across time. And is that neither crucial contributions of 27 imported into English poetry today. Mencionémoslas even as another important step to the idea that I have from tradition, or rather to the idea of \u200b\u200bmy tradition. The first is certainly the update of the values \u200b\u200bof the Baroque around epitomized Gongora, there was a meeting of poets in May 1927. The other is the definitive adaptation (late as usual for Europe: Spain, late fruit, "says beautifully Menéndez Pidal) final adjustment, I mean, really artistic, an old romantic aspiration: traditional poetry or popular origin, in the educated-and nineteenth-century Spain and its colonies usually had only gotten rave.

As I came to understand that the English land inheritance was clearly double-neglected heritage, I mean, as a living source for writing in the face of it, drinking it, even if you want to against hers. Is, careful, explicitly left out: in many poets and critical thinking, any author of Polyphemus today reproaches causes identical to those used in the past century hacérsele. Other sources say nothing of my interest alive as the Archpriest of Hita and the old ballads or Captain Aldana ...

not believe that the English were to look far its main vein existing tradition (the tradition is a liberation or a prison) and is not unusual to have been in the same list of 27 where he found his greatest teacher.

The problem is that only elected they should not, the one that could not be: Luis Cernuda. English, I mean, most despised the flock of his contemporaries, who desperately sought solitude and died brooding bitterness against bad mother ... But above all, the author of a jealous and exclusive that no can imitate without losing its essence. What would he say if they saw it become a crowd that seeks, solicits, procures, praises, benefits, awards on behalf of its aesthetic values, and writes in imitation of the beautiful and (in all) serene style only after have carefully removed the poison? But that's another story. What is good for this is that in Spain I was so far from tradition as I had seen in Mexico. And then, I think I understood: the circumnavigation eventually led me to an idea that has some starting point: the only tradition is your own. The one I choose. Pick up from the river which passes or thinning of dry stones, which I copy or soothsayer and suddenly every time I read or write.

I have the impression of a romantic nature, that the poet is an island that speak a language isolate, initially for himself. I know that may sound drastic. And yet, my poetry reading and living has led me to this strange kind of reduction. I have become, in a sense, more flexible, in others more radical. Isolated language that has the charm, transparency and expressiveness which called for 27, would be great. It also has the added richness of certain mechanisms of American poetry, which have been so sensitive in Mexico, would be another worthwhile. That creative dialogue with the avant-garde, or rather with the work of those who departed from them to invent the modern expression, would become optimal. When I remember those notes for twenty years, I realize that I could not become a critic of poetry because I was looking for in others, was even demanding other, the values \u200b\u200bI wanted for me.

Maybe that's why I can not think of a better way to end this speech with reading a poem, perhaps more expressive way to express my reading of the tradition that much of what can I say. Appeared in January in the journal Conspiratio and is dedicated to Florencia Molfino.

While I like a cherimoya

Florencia Molfino

1

While I like a cherimoya, and see through the window sparrows

rob the thunder peeks at my desk,

warn that destroy rather than swallow,

causing a trail of seeds that fall on multiples

infinitesimally small

waterfalls

in the street bounce

like sparks in the welding workshop, and I understand that destroy

the integrity of the inflorescences,

waste and no matter what mess is part

of the trade.

2

While I like a cherimoya, and I see the window sparrows

rob thunder looming on my desk,

I think they eat a few

of the many

they lose, and I think the few that reach

crop cavity

peak of sewage will

safe, to be dropped this afternoon or the other on the same street

or beyond, in order to propagate,

their contribution payment,

intact.

3.

While I like a cherimoya, and see through the window sparrows

rob thunder looming on my desk,

carefully spit

seeds culled from the soft flesh,

and I keep getting into the mouth because they are the heart

of the sweet fruit,

; and see them on the plate , ovoid,

blackish, many, I imagine the tree

I do not know

and thank you, thank dutifully have nothing to do

with its spread .

_______________________

This text was read on Thursday April 14 at the Casa del Poeta in a roundtable called "Poetry and Tradition" which was also attended by poets Jorge Fernandez Granados and Julio Trujillo. Maria Rivera moderated.

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Propellerhead Record Dongle Emu

JL Fernández Tolhurst, ornithology Brief

Although born in Mexico City in 1978, took him to live in Sydney when I was ten and since then has become one century but few sometimes fleeting. With a important exception: a little over three years, at the end of a long stay in Europe, Mexico went through I think that with the vague but irresistible desire to stay. It did not take long to realize that this country, with its inherent chaos, their bitterness and bad bugs, it was not for him, someone, after all, raised on the values \u200b\u200bof a culture less rough-and what he did again suitcase and went back to Australia.

Here was anything but waste time, experienced the atmosphere of the city, traveled, took pictures. Among other work done the editing of the documentary Flowers in the Desert, of his cousin Jose Alvarez ( http://bit.ly/wvmP3 ), and advised the Alamar editing, the film of Pedro Gonzalez Rubio two years ago won the Morelia Festival ( http://bit.ly/f9kjeg ). Crisp to force balance and good taste, the style of José Luis Fernández Tolhurst can be seen especially in the first of two movies, a work that shows with beautiful pictures in the family and some of the major rites Huichol.

In the spring of 2009, in the days contingency (caused by influenza) we spent in the house of our cousin Amatlán filmmaker, Morelos, with provisions for two weeks-a situation that a friend who did the story of the circumstances seemed removed from the Decameron - I lived closely with José Luis and Louise, his namesake girl, Australian like him, which was known to Croatia while traveling in Europe and is a partner since then. In the last decade also had the honor of sharing with him the friendship of Xavier Pascual Aguilar, whose wedding in Aranjuez, which sadly could not attend, served as best man at my place.

few weeks ago I published a beautiful portrait of José Luis did to our common grandfather, in which we see Santos Fernández Well in the last years of his life, looking out west from the eighth floor of the Polanco ( http://bit.ly/hgnYc0 ). On another occasion, he portrayed his father, Pepe Luis, with the latter's uncle, Florentino (our uncle) in the kitchen of the house of Felix Niembro Simon, doors Cabrales, a summer afternoon in 2006.

image accounts for the continuity of a way of being with identical angles despite of physical distance and time, a migration chain connecting the Asturian mountains with America and Oceania.

Jose Luis is on the network several spaces with their work, displayed by discipline. Perhaps the one I like is the photo. I asked him permission to take some pictures to share with readers in the breeze century.

Aranjuez, 2006

Salamanca, 2008

Canberra, 2007

Split, Croatia, 2007

London, 2008

Madrid, 2006

London, 2008

Istanbul, 2007

_____________________________

The beautiful picture that opens this post was taken in Cambridge in 2007.


The image of the movie Flowers in the Desert I took of the page Stingray Productions.

Some personal work JLFT video can be seen in http://vimeo.com/josefernandez

Highest Hand Held Yahtzee Score

photographer Baron rampant

Curious how the mind: some time after reading first Baron rampant, in a copy I got from a public library in Oviedo, arose in me a sense that Italo Calvino might not sufficiently explored the link for your main character with the birds.

Not that I had noticed that detail, but slowly they began to revive in my mind the main features of this delicious novel, for the days when I had just crystallized in my love-I got to feel that there were fewer birds than expected from the biographical story of noble Italian who spent most of my life gone to the trees. That feeling, at first vague and indefinable, and never confirmed in a book he had read borrowed gradually began to become the idea that there were virtually no bird references therein. The thing came to a head just a month ago when, after exposure to Florence the reasons for my enthusiasm for the novel, declared, breast swelling with pride: "And yet, it is an incomprehensible default: do not show birds!".

Last week, finally went back to read it. Back in October 2006, when I returned from Spain, I realized I had the novel in my books, in a commercial edition of thirty years ago, Mexican pink cover with magenta shooting, but neither then nor later I Splashed even occurred. As Thursday of every week I encourage a reading circle in which I have been proposing read some that I liked from the first time (in Flaubert, Coetzee, García Márquez, Thomas Mann ...), eventually reaching the turn of Calvino's novel. I take my land back, or I should say-of Ombrossa fronds (note the lucky name of a region best known for its forests) to record any mention of bird, if nevertheless it was the case there was any. He also had an enormous desire to read again my favorite episode of all that make life Piovasco of Cosimo Rondo, Biaggio told by his brother: his encounter in Olivabassa population, with a group of English families in exile that as he lived among the branches of trees.

Rarely have I read a very keen and intuitive portrait of the English character - Bacon says no need to acknowledge that great art can be a cartoonish element? - The women of blanket, weaving; men ruined because of ill will and machinations confusing, and they delivered them and sigh and a nostalgia for lost greatness, physical and moral, with all the gravity of their lives on their backs, suspended a few feet off the ground. Because of an edict had forbidden them to tread even those lands, they decided to jump into the leaves, and lived there under the conditions of this strange circumstance, which helps improve Cosimo. Our hero falls in love there an Andalusian to have waived once the decree is revoked and the English decide to start back, as they would go with good footing, which has vowed never will again.

revisit The Baron in the Trees has helped me to remember the kind of anomalies that are subject to my memory and has warned me again about the consistency of my certainties when I have no care to examine them again and again. But above everything is back to show me curious mind works, or at least mine, even - or especially! - when it comes to the things that excite me. Or how to explain, if not, the thick bird shop that fills the novel? I do not understand how I got rid of all these allusions as tight flocks, which vibrate, chirp, flutter and stir in many pages of The Baron in the Trees, to stop monopolizing your pages with a profusion worthy of a baroque altarpiece.

The scoring was genuine at first experimental effort, then the habit a bit mechanical, but never failing to smile, and finally when the flock became a busy crowd was laughing uproariously in the selectivity of my memory, I confess, and with a certain ennui.

The translation, of one Francesc Miravitlles, is not very reliable if only because from time to time we do see a holly Cosimo jump to another and even among the bushes one of them, which anyone who knows this tree, whose leaves pierce like knives, may encourage even imagine.

With such prevention, and my almost total ignorance ornithological I can say that in the book are blackbirds, starlings, agates, finches, wrens, francolins, sparrows, thrushes, shrikes, owls, jays, chickens, more blackbirds, snipe, quails, orioles, woodcocks, finches, quail, crows, greenfinches, snipe, plover, more and more blackbirds blackbirds, robins, doves, finches, birds countless anonymous Upupa other greenfinches, woodpeckers, pigeons and owls ...

To make matters worse, the image the bird just chairing the novel, to the extent that our hunter Baron becomes first of which, after his friend and finally a bird himself! Calvin has it: "In the midst of these conflicting judgments, Cosimo was really mad. Where once was completely dressed in furs, now began to adorn the head of feathers, as the aborigines of America, hoopoe feathers [I read that it is the hoopoe] and Verderol, bright colors, and in addition to the head [sic ], the clothes had been scattered. Fraques eventually be completely covered with feathers, and imitate the habits of various birds, like woodpeckers [which I understand is the woodpecker], taking the logs worms and larvae and praising them with great wealth " (P. 209). Nothing I say the end of the beautiful fable, in order not to spoil the reading of whom still do not know.

________________

The Baron in the Trees by Italo Calvino , number 14 Club Bruguera, Editorial Bruguera, first edition, Barcelona, \u200b\u200bApril 1980.

The poster of the book I borrowed from http://escvdero.blogspot.com/