solitary dog sculptor

sábado, 9 de junio de 2012

Poesia: Alfonsina Storni - Part 12 - Noche Divina - Soy Esa Flor - Links

NOCHE DIVINA

Este jardín nos cede su delicia,
Nos cede el árbol de manzanas lleno.
Fuente de dioses a la sed propicia,
Pan del instinto, para el hambre, bueno.

Mas blanco mármol sin igual pudicia
Fija en nosotros su mirar sereno;
Muslo desnudo, vigoroso el seno,
Puro, como la luz que lo acaricia.

Se hacen tus ojos demasiado azules
Cubren tus manos impalpables tules
Y algo divino te levanta en vuelo

No cortemos la fruta deleitosa
Y mira el alma en una nube rosa,
Cómo es de azul la beatitud del cielo.

SOY ESA FLOR

Tu vida es un gran río, va caudalosamente,
A su orilla, invisible, yo broto dulcemente.
Soy esa flor perdida entre juncos y achiras
Que piadoso alimentas, pero acaso ni miras.

Cuando creces me arrastras y me muero en tu seno,
Cuando secas me muero poco a poco en el cieno;
Pero de nuevo vuelvo a brotar dulcemente
Cuando en los días bellos vas caudalosamente.

Soy esa flor perdida que brota en tus riberas
Humilde y silenciosa todas las primaveras.

Poesía: Alfonsina Storni - Tú me quieres blanca

Poesía: Alfonsina Storni - Un Día

Poesía: Alfonsina Storni - Viva - Así

Poesía: Alfonsina Storni - Esta Tarde

Poesía: Alfonsina Storni - Piedra Miserable

Poesía: Alfonsina Storni - Soy

Poesia: Alfonsina Storni - Part 7 - Sabado - Dulce Tortura - Dos Palabras - Links

Poesia: Alfonsina Storni - Part 8 - Presentimiento - Aspecto - Parasitos - Sabeis Algo? - Este Libro - Links

Poesia: Alfonsina Storni - Part 9 - Vida - Sabado - Links

Poesia: Alfonsina Storni - Part 10 - Alma Desnuda - Links

Poesia: Alfonsina Storni - Part 11 - Este Libro - Links

Ricardo M Marcenaro - Facebook

Operative blogs of The Solitary Dog:

solitary dog sculptor:
http://byricardomarcenaro.blogspot.com

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

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

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

Diario La Nación
Argentina
Cuenta Comentarista en el Foro:
Capiscum

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 :)

Poesia: Nicolas Guillen - Guitarra

GUITARRA

Tendida en la madrugada,
la firme guitarra espera:
voz de profunda madera
desesperada.

Su clamorosa cintura,
en la que el pueblo suspira,
preñada de son, estira
la carne dura.

¿Arde la guitarra sola?
mientras la luna se acaba;
arde libre de su esclava
bata de cola.

Dejó al borracho en su coche,
dejó el cabaret sombrío,
donde se muere de frío,
noche tras noche,

y alzó la cabeza fina,
universal y cubana,
sin opio, ni mariguana,
ni cocaína.

¡Venga la guitarra vieja,
nueva otra vez al castigo
con que la espera el amigo,
que no la deja!

Alta siempre, no caída,
traiga su risa y su llanto,
clave las uñas de amianto
sobre la vida.

Cógela tú, guitarrero,
límpiale de alcohol la boca,
y en esa guitarra, toca
tu son entero.

El son del querer maduro,
tu son entero;
el del abierto futuro,
tu son entero;
el del pie por sobre el muro,
tu son entero. . .

Cógela tú, guitarrero,
límpiale de alcohol la boca,
y en esa guitarra, toca
tu son entero.

viernes, 8 de junio de 2012

Poetry: William Wordsworth - Goody Blake and Harry Gill - Links

GOODY BLAKE &HARRY GILL

A TRUE STORY

Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?

What is't that ails young Harry Gill?

That evermore his teeth they chatter,

Chatter, chatter, chatter still.

Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,

Good duffle grey, and flannel fine;

He has a blanket on his back,

And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July,

'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;

The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,

His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

At night, at morning, and at noon,

'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;

Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,

His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

Young Harry was a lusty drover,

And who so stout of limb as he?

His cheeks were red as ruddy clover,

His voice was like the voice of three.

Auld Goody Blake was old and poor,

Ill fed she was, and thinly clad;

And any man who pass'd her door,

Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling,

And then her three hours' work at night!

Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,

It would not pay for candle−light.

—This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,

Her hut was on a cold hill−side,

And in that country coals are dear,

For they come far by wind and tide.

By the same fire to boil their pottage,

Two poor old dames as I have known,

Will often live in one small cottage,

But she, poor woman, dwelt alone.

'Twas well enough when summer came,

The long, warm, lightsome summer−day,

Then at her door the canty dame

Would sit, as any linnet gay.

But when the ice our streams did fetter,

Oh! then how her old bones would shake!

You would have said, if you had met her,

'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.

Her evenings then were dull and dead;

Sad case it was, as you may think,

For very cold to go to bed,

And then for cold not sleep a wink.

Oh joy for her! whene'er in winter

The winds at night had made a rout,

And scatter'd many a lusty splinter,

And many a rotten bough about.

Yet never had she, well or sick,

As every man who knew her says,

A pile before hand, wood or stick,

Enough to warm her for three days.

Now when the frost was past enduring,

And made her poor old bones to ache,

Could any thing be more alluring,

Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?

And now and then, it must be said,

When her old bones were cold and chill,

She left her fire, or left her bed,

To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry he had long suspected

This trespass of old Goody Blake,

And vow'd that she should be detected,

And he on her would vengeance take.

And oft from his warm fire he'd go,

And to the fields his road would take,

And there, at night, in frost and snow,

He watch'd to seize old Goody Blake.

And once, behind a rick of barley,

Thus looking out did Harry stand;

The moon was full and shining clearly,

And crisp with frost the stubble land. —He hears a noise—he's all awake—

Again?—on tip−toe down the hill

He softly creeps—'Tis Goody Blake,

She's at the hedge of Harry Gill.

Right glad was he when he beheld her;

Stick after stick did Goody pull,

He stood behind a bush of elder,

Till she had filled her apron full.

When with her load she turned about,

The bye−road back again to take,

He started forward with a shout,

And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her,

And by the arm he held her fast,

And fiercely by the arm he shook her,

And cried, “I've caught you then at last!”

Then Goody, who had nothing said,

Her bundle from her lap let fall;

And kneeling on the sticks, she pray'd

To God that is the judge of all.

She pray'd, her wither'd hand uprearing,

While Harry held her by the arm—

“God! who art never out of hearing,

O may he never more be warm!”

The cold, cold moon above her head,

Thus on her knees did Goody pray,

Young Harry heard what she had said;

And icy−cold he turned away.

He went complaining all the morrow

That he was cold and very chill:

His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,

Alas! that day for Harry Gill!

That day he wore a riding−coat,

But not a whit the warmer he:

Another was on Thursday brought,

And ere the Sabbath he had three.

'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,

And blankets were about him pinn'd;

Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter,

Like a loose casement in the wind.

And Harry's flesh it fell away;

And all who see him say 'tis plain,

That, live as long as live he may,

He never will be warm again.

No word to any man he utters,

A−bed or up, to young or old;

But ever to himself he mutters,

“Poor Harry Gill is very cold.”

A−bed or up, by night or day;

His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,

Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.

jueves, 7 de junio de 2012

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 6 - El Terrón y el Guijarro - Link

El Terrón y el Guijarro

"El amor no anhela complacerse a sí
mismo
ni por sí mismo se inquieta,
en cambio al otro da sosiego,
y construye un Cielo en la desolación
del Infierno."
Así cantaba un diminuto Terrón
de Arcilla
pisoteado por las patas del ganado,
pero un Guijarro del cañadón
murmuró estos versos apropiados:
"El amor sólo busca darse el gusto,
y encadenar al otro a su deleite,
se regocija con el desconsuelo ajeno,
y construye un Infierno a expensas
del Cielo."

NASA: Botswana - Not Your Usual Flooding - 07.06.12

Click the photo to enlarge it

Click sobre la foto para agrandarla

acquired May 26, 2012 download large image (4 MB, JPEG, 3600x2400)

acquired May 26, 2012 download GeoTIFF file (16 MB, TIFF)

The Okavango Delta is an oasis in Africa’s Kalahari Desert. When the Kalahari reaches its driest phase—when plants wither and animals hunt for drinking water—the Okavango provides it. But starting in 2009, the delta provided more than usual, and excess water overflowed into other land depressions in the region.
One of the waterways linked to the Okavango Delta is the Savuti River, roughly 80 kilometers (50 miles) northeast of the sprawling inland delta. On May 26, 2012, the Advanced Land Imager (ALI) on NASA’s Earth Observing-1 (EO-1) satellite captured this natural-color image of water flowing through the Savuti River and into Savuti Swamp. The swamp sits inside the larger Mababe Depression within Botswana’s Chobe National Park.
Unlike the seasonal flooding that affects the Okavango Delta every year, the flooding in 2012 was unusual. Guido van Langenhove of Hydrological Services Namibia characterized it as “an exceptional hyrological event.”
The rains that fill the Okavango don’t actually fall over the delta itself. Instead, the rains fall in the Angolan Highlands and travel about 450 kilometers (280 miles) through meandering rivers and over an extremely shallow gradient. As a result, rains that typically fall over Angola from October through March don’t usually reach the bottom of the Okavango Delta until July. But in May 2012, water had already arrived in the Okavango and was overflowing into other waterways such as the Savuti River.
“The Okavango Delta has had record floods for a few years now,” said Frank Eckardt of the University of Cape Town. “We have seen the Boteti River in flood since 2009, and have also seen water in Lake Xau, southeast of the delta. Now we are seeing water in the Selinda Channel, heading into the Mababe Depression northeast of the delta. Some of these depressions only fill with water after decades of dryness.”
Van Langenhove concurs, remarking that the flooding had reactivated waterways in the region regarded by some observers as “fossil rivers.”

Related Resources
BirdLife Botswana. (2009, September 22) Will Lake Xau fill? Accessed June 4, 2012.
Burrough, S.L., Thomas, D.S.G. (2008) Late Quaternary lake-level fluctuations in the Mababe Depression: Middle Kalahari palaeolakes and the role of Zambezi inflows. Quaternary Research, 69(3), 388–403.
Global Flood Detection System – Version 2. (2012) Selinda Channel. Accessed June 4, 2012.
Okavango-Delta.net. Okavango Delta Information. Accessed June 4, 2012.

Links

Chobe National Park. Botswana Tourism.

Okavango Delta. NASA Earth Observatory.
Boteti River, Botswana. NASA Earth Observatory.

NASA Earth Observatory image by Jesse Allen and Robert Simmon, using EO-1 ALI data provided courtesy of the NASA EO-1 team. Caption by Michon Scott with information from Frank Eckardt, University of Cape Town; and Guido van Langenhove, Hydrological Services Namibia.

Instrument:: EO-1 - ALI; Ricardo M Marcenaro - Facebook

Operative blogs of The Solitary Dog:

solitary dog sculptor:
http://byricardomarcenaro.blogspot.com

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

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

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

Diario La Nación
Argentina
Cuenta Comentarista en el Foro:
Capiscum

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 :)

Music: Joe Bonamassa - Around the bend - Lyrics

Lord I've come a long way.
Here's another bright day.
I pay what I gotta pay,
To play what I gotta play.

I was born in the country, straight into town.
I go anywhere to see what goin' down.
I see cowards and heros, fast as the wind.
I go down any road there is, to see what's around the bend.

Girls I've hadn't and knew,
Some were false and some were true.
Tasted the honey and dew,
Lovin' I never get through.

I was born in the country, straight into town.
I go anywhere to see what goin' down.
I see cowards and heros, fast as the wind.
I go down any road there is, to see what's around the bend.

You let me rest my weary head, weary head.
Let's find out what this life is,
Before we're dead, Oh, before we're dead.

I was born in the country, straight into town.
I go anywhere to see what goin' down.
I see cowards and heros, fast as the wind.
I go down any road there is,
I've been down every road there is,
To see what's around the bend.

To see what's around the bend...
To see what's around the bend...

miércoles, 6 de junio de 2012

Cartas. Testimonios – Letters. Testimonials: Friedrich Nietzsche - 1871 - Carta a von Gersdorff. En Español - Links

1871

21 de junio, en Basilea, a von Gersdorff:

Convendremos, en qué sentido precisamente ese fenómeno de nuestra vida moderna, y para hablar con propiedad, de la Europa cristiana y su Estado, ante todo la “civilización” romana ahora predomínate en todas partes, descubren la enorme tara que afecta a nuestro mundo: todos nosotros, con todo nuestro pasado, somos culpables, de semejante terror manifestado a la luz del día: de modo que, desde lo alto del sentimiento por nosotros mismos, deberíamos estar muy lejos de querer imputar el crimen de un combate contra
la cultura a estos desdichados. Sé lo que quiere decir esto: el combate contra la cultura. La noticia del incendio parisino [se refiere a los episodios de La Comuna y a la noticia falsa y que para esta época él ya debía saber que era falsa del incendio del Louvre] me dejó anonadado durante varios días, me deshacía en lagrimas y dudas: empecé a ver el conjunto de nuestra existencia científica, filosófica y artística como un absurdo, porque un solo día basta para borrar las supremas maravillas quizá de periodos enteros del arte: me aferré con firme convicción al valor metafísico del arte, que no puede existir por culpa de la pobre gente, pero debe cumplir misiones más altas. Pero, a pesar de mi
extremo pesar, no estaba en condiciones de arrojar la más mínima piedra a esos profanadores, que, para mí, sólo eran agentes de la culpabilidad universal, ¡sobre la que hay tanto que meditar

Cartas. Testimonios – Letters. Testimonials: Friedrich Nietzsche - 1868 Carta a Erwin Rhode. Letter to Erwin Rhode. Fragmento. Fragment - Music: Richard Wagner. Z. Mehta . Tristan e Isolde prelude

Cartas. Testimonios – Letters. Testimonials: Friedrich Nietzsche - 1870 Carta a Erwin Rhode. En Español - Link

Music: Nina Simone - Sinnerman full lenght - Lyrics

Sinnerman where you gunna run to
Sinnerman where you gunna run to
Where you gunna run to
All on that day

Well I run to the rock
Please hide me I run to the rock
Please hide me I run to the rock
Please hide me lord
All on that day

Well the rock cried out
I can’t hide you the rock cried out
I can’t hide you the rock cried out
I ain’t gunna hide you god
All on that day

I said rock what’s a matter with you rock
Don’t you see I need you rock
Don’t let down
All on that day

So I run to the river
It was bleedin I run to the sea
It was bleedin I run to the sea
It was bleedin all on that day

So I run to the river it was boilin
I run to the sea it was boilin
I run to the sea it was boilin
All on that day

So I run to the lord
Please help me lord
Don’t you see me prayin
Don’t you see me down here prayin

But the lord said
Go to the devil
The lord said
Go to the devil
He said go to the devil
All on that day

So I ran to the devil
He was waiting
I ran to the devil he was waiting
I ran to the devil he was waiting
All on that day

Oh yeah

Oh I run to the river
It was boilin I run to the sea
It was boilin I run to the sea
It was boilin all on that day

So I ran to the lord
I said lord hide me
Please hide me
Please help me
All on that day

Said God where were you
When you are old and prayin

Lord lord hear me prayin
Lord lord hear me prayin
Lord lord hear me prayin
All on that day

Sinnerman you oughta be prayin
Oughta be prayin sinnerman
Oughta be prayin all on that day

solitary dog sculptor

sábado, 9 de junio de 2012

Poesia: Alfonsina Storni - Part 12 - Noche Divina - Soy Esa Flor - Links

Poesia: Nicolas Guillen - Guitarra

viernes, 8 de junio de 2012

Poetry: William Wordsworth - Goody Blake and Harry Gill - Links

jueves, 7 de junio de 2012

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 6 - El Terrón y el Guijarro - Link

NASA: Botswana - Not Your Usual Flooding - 07.06.12

Related Resources

Links

Music: Joe Bonamassa - Around the bend - Lyrics

miércoles, 6 de junio de 2012

Cartas. Testimonios – Letters. Testimonials: Friedrich Nietzsche - 1871 - Carta a von Gersdorff. En Español - Links

Music: Nina Simone - Sinnerman full lenght - Lyrics

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