April 28, 2011

POST 100

MEMORIES. In celebration, mi song of all times: Mad Man Moon.


Was it summer when the river ran dry,
Or was it just another dam.
When the evil of a snowflake in June
Could still be a source of relief.
O how I love you, I once cried long ago,
But I was the one who decided to go.
To search beyond the final crest,
Though I'd heard it said just birds could dwell so high.

So I pretended to have wings for my arms
And took off in the air.
I flew to places which the clouds never see,
Too close to the deserts of sand,
Where a thousand mirages, the shepherds of lies
Forced me to land and take a disguise.
I would welcome a horse's kick to send me back
If I could find a horse not made of sand.

If this desert's all there'll ever be
Then tell me what becomes of me.
A fall of rain?
That must have been another of your dreams,
A dream of mad man moon.

Hey man,
I'm the sand man.
And boy have I news for you;
They're gonna throw you in jail
And you know they can't fail
'Cos sand is thicker than blood.
But a prison in sand
Is a heaven in hell,
For a jail can give you a goal
[and a] goal can find you a role
On a muddy pitch in Newcastle,
Where it rains so much
You can't wait for a touch
Of sun and sand, sun and sand...

Within the valley of shadowless death
They pray for thunderclouds and rain,
But to the multitude who stand in the rain
Heaven is where the sun shines.
The grass will be greener till the stems turn to brown
And thoughts will fly higher till the earth brings them down.
Forever caught in desert lands one has to learn
To disbelieve the sea.

If this desert's all there'll ever be
Then tell me what becomes of me.
A fall of rain?
That must have been another of your dreams,
A dream of mad man moon.

April 25, 2011

BOTTICELLI à Biarritz

ART. I didn't find it in Sussex (See PARADISE LOST Post). This time it was at the Salon de Design des années 50 aux années 70 in Biarritz. I would have liked to buy this Yves Clerc's variation on Botticelli, if only to celebrate Easter :) but it was 40.000 euros.
The day had started with local cider from the barrell at Arbonne, a little town in the French Basque countryside, and then lunch under the canopy of trees of L'Auberge d'Achtal in Arcangues, another small village, with friends Willi and Arantza and a good bottle of Pessac (claret), cèpes and magret. And to forget about the "Botticelli" in good spirit, we ended the day with Kir Royale's by the sea, at the garden bar of La Reserve in St Jean de Luz.

No lo encontré en Sussex (Ver PARADISE LOST). Esta vez fue en el Salon de Design des années 50 aux années 70 en Biarritz. Me hubiera gustado comprar esta variación de Botticelli de Yves Clerc, aunque solo fuera para celebrar la Pascua :) pero costaba 40.000 euros.
El día había empezado con sidra local, de barril, en Arbonne, un pueblito del Pais Vasco francés, y luego la comida bajo la carpa de árboles del Auberge d'Achtal en Arcangues, otro pequeño pueblo, con Willi y Arantza y una buena botella de Pessac(Burdeos), setas y magret. Y para olvidar el "Botticelli" sin pena, acabamos el día tomando Kir Royales, junto al mar, en el bar del jardín de La Reserve, en San Juan de Luz.

April 20, 2011

84 CHARING CROSS ROAD by Helene Hanff

BOOKS. Just a few letters between an American writer and a British bookseller that put me on tears.
The bookshop at 84 Charing Cross Road is not there any more.
Unas pocas cartas entre una escritora americana y un librero inglés, y me hicieron llorar.

Y ya no hay libreria en el 84 de Charing Cross.

April 16, 2011

OCKENDEN MANOR

PLACES. Cuckfield is a small town in Sussex. Bill had booked a room for me the first time I stayed in the Ockenden Manor. We had dinner there together.
The last time I stayed at the Ockenden Manor I had dinner with him there too. It was summer and we drank the Villamagna bottle I had brought him from Spain.
-Charge it as house wine, he told the waitress, handing her the bottle.
Bill retired soon after and died pretty soon too from a cancer. I had left the Company some time before, to pursue a different career back in Spain.
Bill used to live in Cuckfield the years he worked in the UK. Even when he was posted in Japan and Australia he always kept his house, but he couldn't enjoy it much on his retirement.
At least the years we worked together in the UK he could enjoy Cuckfield. During that time he organized many dinners and business meetings at the Ockenden Manor too. I always enjoyed the place and the food.
The last time was a hot summer day, and after the dinner with Bill, I walked in the common in the night. On the cricket ground, where I had played sometimes against the  Advertising Agencies' teams, I laid on the ground looking at the stars, holding tightly with my hands to the fair grass of England.
Cuckfield es un pequeño pueblo de Sussex. La primera vez que estuve en el Ockenden Manor, fue Bill quien había reservado una habitación para mi, y cenamos allí juntos.
La última vez que dormí en Ockenden Manor también cené allí con él. Era verano. Recuerdo también que con la cena bebimos la botella de Villamagna que le había traído de España.
- Cóbrelo como vino de la casa, le dijo a la camarera dándole la botella.
Bill se retiró de la Compañía poco después y murió casi seguido de un cancer. Yo la había dejado algún tiempo antes para seguir una carrera distinta de vuelta en España.
Los años que vivió en Inglaterra Bill vivía en Cuckfield. Incluso durante los años que estuvo en Japón y Australia mantuvo su casa allí, aunque no pudo disfrutarla mucho cuando se retiró.
Al menos los años que coincidimos en Inglaterra pudo disfrutar de Cuckfield y organizaba muchas cenas y reuniones en Ockenden Manor. Siempre disfruté del lugar y su cocina.
La última vez fue un día caluroso de verano. Después de cenar con Bill, salí a pasear por la noche por el campo. En el lugar en que solíamos jugar al cricket a veces, con las Agencias de Publicidad, me tumbé sobre la hierba mirando las estrellas, agarrándome fuerte a la fina hierba de Inglaterra.

April 14, 2011

LAST DAYS OF WINTER?

SAN SEBASTIAN. Winter seems to be taking refuge, slowly, elsewhere. The trees by the sea haven't grown their leaves yet, but the days search, still shy, another light. It might rain any moment but I like these days, calm as they are. 
 El invierno parece, poco a poco, buscar refugio en otra parte. Los árboles, junto al mar, aún no han crecido sus hojas, pero los días, tímidamente, ya buscan otra luz. Lo mismo llueve al rato, pero me gustan estos días, de calma tranquila, como son.

April 12, 2011

THE GRENADIER

PLACES. I used to go there with a friend, Capi, when we both lived in London. Then we kept going there each time we visited London, together or separately. We always drank Bloody Marys and chewed the long piece of celery that came with it and stayed there for dinner too sometimes. I've read in a really nice -and exhuberant too - blog, Wise Take, about The Rail, the place in Chicago for a Bloody Mary. Wonderful world.
We also used to have Pimms, in Oriel!
Solía ir a The Grenadier con un amigo, Capi, cuando los dos vivíamos en Londres. Luego hemos continuado yendo cuando de visita en Londres, juntos y por separado también.  Siempre tomamos Bloody Marys, mordiendo las largas piezas de apio con que las servían, y alguna vez acabamos quedándonos a cenar también. He leído, en un bonito y exhuberante blog, Wise Take, acerca de The Rail, el lugar en Chicago para tomarse un Bloody Mary. Maravilloso mundo.
Solíamos tomarnos también nuestros Pimms, en Oriel!

April 8, 2011

CUBA LIBRE

PLACES. I had always this dream of Cuba, of people brought up with a deep sense of justice and of humanity as fellow beings. Then I met a few Cubans throughout Europe and I found that they were hard working and proud, with their heads held high, and that they still had a dreamer in themselves, like Diana. Then, the last time we met, she told me that even her grandmother - who fought the Revolution, donated her properties to the cause and participated actively in the alphabetization program of the whole country - is now disillusioned with the repressive police regime in which all has ended.
I remember that once, many years ago, in a business gala dinner, I spoke in favor of the Cuban Revolution. It just happened that I was seated, side by side, by a grandaughter of Batista. She took it as a personal offense. I only knew her husband, an American businessman, and had no idea of her family background. The Vicepresidents of our respective companies, present at the dinner, had to intervene. My Vicepresident, J., closed the argument saying: "Forgive P., he is a philosopher".


Siempre tuve este sueño de Cuba, de su gente educada en un sentido profundo de la justicia y de la humanidad como seres todos iguales. Luego me fui encontrando algunos cubanos, desparramados por Europa. Me parecieron gente que trabajaba duro, orgullosa con la cabeza alta, y que aún llevaban un soñador dentro, como Diana. Luego, la última vez que estuve con ella, me dijo que ya hasta su abuela - que luchó en la Revolución, donó sus propiedades a la causa, y participó activamente en los programas de alfabetización por toda Cuba -  estaba ahora desilusionada con el régimen policial represivo en que había acabado todo.
Recuerdo una vez, hace años, en una cena de gala, me puse a hablar a favor de la Revolución Cubana, y resulta que estaba sentado, silla con silla, junto a una nieta de Batista. Se lo tomó como una ofensa personal. Yo solo conocía a su marido, un hombre de negocios americano. No tenía ni idea del origen familiar de ella. Los Vicepresidentes de nuestras dos compañias, presentes en la cena, tuvieron que intervenir. El mío, J., cerró la discusión con un: "Disulparle, es que P. es un filósofo".

April 6, 2011

ICE CREAM SODA

MEMORIES. It was an almost unremarkable afternoon. We walked up Broadway. I, Cristina (Maria's sister), my niece Karla (her daughter) and my youngest son Nicolas. We went into several shops. Karla and Nicolas played with each other like small kids, non stop. I bought a hat on the advice of Cristina and a Russian woman. And we had ice cream soda, a chocolate milkshake, and tiramisu, with coffee, at Caffe Reggio. To passersby we had almost to look like a happy family too.
Washington Square was beautiful under the snow, like forever in my mind.
Fue casi una tarde sin más. Subimos andando por Broadway. Yo, Cristina (la hermana de Maria), mi sobrina Karla (su hija) y mi hijo pequeño Nicolas. Entramos en varias tiendas. Karla y Nicolas jugaban juntos sin parar, como niños pequeños.  Me compré un sombrero aconsejado por Cristina y una mujer rusa. Y tomamos Ice Cream Soda, un batido de chocolate, y tiramisu, con café, en Caffe Reggio. A los viandantes les tuvimos que parecer casi una familia feliz también.
Washington Square estaba bella bajo la nieve, como para siempre en mi recuerdo.

I cannot help it. The last thought goes with Henry James and his book (and Billy Wilder's film too).
No puedo evitar que el último pensamiento vaya con Henry James y su libro (y la película de Billy Wilder también).

April 3, 2011

THE WINDOW
THE WINDOW
THE WINDOW

April 1, 2011

THE LUCK OF BARRY LYNDON

MUSIC. There are stories that - for some reason or another - make one think more than other ones. Barry Lyndon's is the story of the man who learns enough to rise in society but not enough to prevent his fall.
William Thackeray's masterpiece was brought to the cinema by Stanley Kubrick in another masterpiece, and with the film, Franz Schubert's Piano Trio No. 2 in E flat major was linked to Redmond Barry's fate forever.


Hay historias que - por una u otra razón - le hacen a uno pensar más que otras. La de Barry Lyndon es la historia del hombre que aprende lo suficiente para subir en la sociedad de su tiempo pero no lo suficiente para prevenir su caída.
Una obra maestra de William Thackeray llevada al cine en otra obra maestra de Stanley Kubrick, y con la película, el Trio número 2 en Mi bemol mayor de Franz Schubert queda unido, para siempre, al destino de Redmond Barry.