sábado, 14 de diciembre de 2013

Poesia: Miguel Hernandez - Poemas de amor - Parte 4 - Me tiraste un limón, y tan amargo - Umbrío por la pena - Fuera menos penado si no fuera - Links







Me tiraste un limón, y tan amargo

Me tiraste un limón, y tan amargo,
con una mano cálida, y tan pura,
que no menoscabó su arquitectura
y probé su amargura sin embargo.

Con el golpe amarillo, de un letargo
dulce pasó a una ansiosa calentura
mi sangre, que sintió la mordedura
de una punta de seno duro y largo.

Pero al mirarte y verte la sonrisa
que te produjo el limonado hecho,
a mi voraz malicia tan ajena,

se me durmió la sangre en la camisa,
y se volvió el poroso y áureo pecho
una picuda y deslumbrante pena.


Umbrío por la pena, casi bruno

Umbrío por la pena, casi bruno,
porque la pena tizna cuando estalla,
donde yo no me hallo no se halla
hombre más apenado que ninguno.

Sobre la pena duermo solo y uno,
pena es mi paz y pena mi batalla,
perro que ni me deja ni se calla,
siempre a su dueño fiel, pero importuno.

Cardos y penas llevo por corona,
cardos y penas siembran sus leopardos
y no me dejan bueno hueso alguno.

No podrá con la pena mi persona
rodeada de penas y de cardos:
¡cuánto penar para morirse uno!



Fuera menos penado si no fuera

Fuera menos penado si no fuera
nardo tu tez para mi vista, nardo,
cardo tu piel para mi tacto, cardo,
tuera tu voz para mi oído, tuera.

Tuera es tu voz para mi oído, tuera,
y ardo en tu voz y en tu alrededor ardo,
y tardo a arder lo que a ofrecerte tardo
miera, mi voz para la tuya, miera.

Zarza es tu mano si la tiento, zarza,
ola tu cuerpo si lo alcanzo, ola,
cerca una vez, pero un millar no cerca.

Garza es mi pena, esbelta y triste garza,
sola como un suspiro y un ay, sola,
terca en su error y en su desgracia terca.


Sonetos de los libros Imagen de tu huella, El silbo vulnerado y El rayo que no cesa. De aquellos que existen dos versiones se ha tomado la que figura en el último, 1934 a 1936.


Links





Poesia: Miguel Hernandez - Poemas de amor - Parte 4 - Me tiraste un limón, y tan amargo - Umbrío por la pena - Fuera menos penado si no fuera - Links






Ricardo M Marcenaro - Facebook

Blogs in operation of The Solitary Dog:

Solitary Dog Sculptor:
byricardomarcenaro.blogspot.com
Solitary Dog Sculptor I:
byricardomarcenaroi.blogspot.com/

Para:
comunicarse conmigo,
enviar materiales para publicar,
propuestas comerciales:
marcenaroescultor@gmail.com

For:
contact me,
submit materials for publication,
commercial proposals:
marcenaroescultor@gmail.com

My blogs are an open house to all cultures, religions and countries. Be a follower if you like it, with this action you are building a new culture of tolerance, open mind and heart for peace, love and human respect. Thanks :)


Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano. Gracias:)



(::)


NASA: Pacific and Atlantic Oceans - A Tale of Two Cyclone Seasons - 12.14.13



A Tale of Two Cyclone Seasons
acquired January 1 - December 4, 2013 download large image (2 MB, PDF)
Color bar for A Tale of Two Cyclone Seasons
acquired May 1 - December 4, 2013 download large image (1 MB, PDF) 
 
The basins are roughly 180 degrees apart, and in 2013, so were the tropical cyclone seasons. While the Atlantic hurricane season was remarkably quiet and mostly uneventful, the typhoon season was active and intense in the Western Pacific Ocean, though not necessarily out of character for the region.
The maps above show the tracks and intensity of the tropical storms in both basins this year. The color and width of each line reflects the intensity of the storm on each day of its activity.
In the Atlantic, 13 tropical storms were observed (plus one tropical depression), with just two developing into hurricanes—the fewest since 1982. None of the storms became major hurricanes, the first time that has happened since 1994. The U.S. National Weather Service ranked 2013 as “the sixth-least-active Atlantic hurricane season since 1950.”
“This unexpectedly low activity is linked to an unpredictable atmospheric pattern that prevented the growth of storms by producing exceptionally dry, sinking air and strong vertical wind shear in much of the main hurricane formation region,” said Gerry Bell, lead seasonal hurricane forecaster at NOAA’s Climate Prediction Center. “Also detrimental were several strong outbreaks of dry and stable air that originated over Africa.”
In the Western Pacific in 2013, there were between 28 and 31 tropical storms, and 13 to 16 typhoons—six of which reached super typhoon strength. (Note: different institutions, including the Joint Typhoon Warning Center and the Japanese Meteorological Agency, have arrived at slightly different counts for the region.) According to the Tropical Storm Risk Consortium, the average is 26 tropical storms and 16 typhoons. The most active Western Pacific typhoon season was 1964 with 39 tropical storms.
Nearly one third of the world’s tropical storms form in the Western Pacific in any given year. “The Western Pacific is the world’s largest breeding ground of tropical cyclones, and storms tend to be larger and more intense there,” said research meteorologist Jeff Halverson of the University of Maryland, Baltimore County. This is because the sea surface temperatures are among the warmest in the world; the mixed layer of the ocean is deeper; there are fewer land barriers; and the tropopause—the boundary between the lower atmosphere and the stratosphere—is very high and cold. Essentially, storms have more fuel and more room (horizontally and vertically) to grow in the Western Pacific.
Sitting near the equator on the edge of those warm waters, the Philippine Islands are affected each year by roughly ten typhoons, five to six tropical storms, and four tropical depressions. Trade and monsoon winds tend to steer storms toward the archipelago. In 2013, several storms passed through the Philippines, bringing repeated and devastating rainfall that is depicted in this new animation from scientists at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center.
“The heaviest typhoon traffic in the Western Pacific is just to the northeast of the Philippines,” said Bill Patzert, a climatologist at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory. “For land-impacting typhoons, the Philippines is the bullseye.”
  1. References

  2. NOAA (2013, November 25) Slow Atlantic hurricane season coming to a close. Accessed December 6, 2013.
  3. Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services Adminstration Climate Information and Statistics. Accessed December 6, 2013.
  4. Unisys Weather (2013) 2013 Hurricane/Tropical Data for Western Pacific. Accessed December 6, 2013.
  5. Weather Underground (2013, November 29) The Unusually Quiet Atlantic Hurricane Season of 2013 Ends. Accessed December 6, 2013.
  6. WikiPedia 2013 Pacific typhoon season. Accessed December 6, 2013.
NASA Earth Observatory images by Jesse Allen and Robert Simmon. Caption by Mike Carlowicz, with reporting help from Bill Patzert, JPL; Jeff Masters, Weather Underground; Rob Gutro, NASA Goddard; and Jeff Halverson, UMBC.
Instrument: 
Model


NASA: Pacific and Atlantic Oceans - A Tale of Two Cyclone Seasons - 12.14.13






Ricardo M Marcenaro - Facebook

Blogs in operation of The Solitary Dog:

Solitary Dog Sculptor:
byricardomarcenaro.blogspot.com
Solitary Dog Sculptor I:
byricardomarcenaroi.blogspot.com/

Para:
comunicarse conmigo,
enviar materiales para publicar,
propuestas comerciales:
marcenaroescultor@gmail.com

For:
contact me,
submit materials for publication,
commercial proposals:
marcenaroescultor@gmail.com

My blogs are an open house to all cultures, religions and countries. Be a follower if you like it, with this action you are building a new culture of tolerance, open mind and heart for peace, love and human respect. Thanks :)


Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano. Gracias:)



(::)


Short Stories: Edgar Allan Poe - The Tell Tale Heart - Links to more Short Stories







The Tell Tale Heart

True! - nervous - very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses - not destroyed - not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily - how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
     It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture - a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees - very gradually - I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
     Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded - with what caution - with what foresight - with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it - oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly - very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! - would a madman have been so wise ass this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously - oh, so cautiously - cautiously (for the hinges creaked) - I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights - very night just at midnight - but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spike courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked upon him while he slept.
     Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night, had I felt the extent of my own powers - of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back - but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
     I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out - 'Who's there?'
     I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; - just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
     Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief - oh, no! - it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself - 'It is nothing but the wind in the chimney - it is only a mouse crossing the floor,' or 'it is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp.' Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of ht unperceived shadow that caused him to feel - although he neither saw nor heard - to feel the presence of my head within the room.
     When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little - a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it - you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily - until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.
     It was open - wide, wide open - and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness - all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.
     And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses? - now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
     But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! - do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me - the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once - once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more. 


     If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned; and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.
     Then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye - not even his - could have detected any thing wrong. there was nothing to wash out - no stain of any kind - no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all - ha! ha!
     When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o'clock - still dark as midnight. A the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, - for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.
     I smiled, - for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search - search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.
     The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They say, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: - it continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness - until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.
     No doubt I now grew very pale; - but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased - and what could I do? I was a low, dull, quick sound - much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath - and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly - more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men - but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed - I raved - I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder - louder - louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! - no, no! They heard! - they suspected! - they knew! - they were making a mockery of my horror! - this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now - again! - hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!
     'Villains!' I shrieked, 'dissemble no more! I admit the deed! - tear up the planks! here, here! - it is the beating of his hideous heart!'


Links

Ana María Shua
Ambrose Bierce
Arthur Conan Doyle
Edgar Allan Poe
Edith Wharton
Ernest William Hornung
G.K. Chesterton
Guy de Maupassant
Honore De Balzac
Oscar Wilde
Sherwood Anderson









Short Stories: Edgar Allan Poe - The Tell Tale Heart - Links to more Short Stories






Ricardo M Marcenaro - Facebook

Blogs in operation of The Solitary Dog:

Solitary Dog Sculptor:
byricardomarcenaro.blogspot.com
Solitary Dog Sculptor I:
byricardomarcenaroi.blogspot.com/

Para:
comunicarse conmigo,
enviar materiales para publicar,
propuestas comerciales:
marcenaroescultor@gmail.com

For:
contact me,
submit materials for publication,
commercial proposals:
marcenaroescultor@gmail.com

My blogs are an open house to all cultures, religions and countries. Be a follower if you like it, with this action you are building a new culture of tolerance, open mind and heart for peace, love and human respect. Thanks :)


Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano. Gracias:)



(::)