tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76230562149545565692024-03-05T19:39:10.335-06:00Cuaderno Americano / American NotebookPostetry/Postesía by Marcos Neroy
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-23470956361369997282016-01-24T17:07:00.002-06:002016-01-24T17:30:19.372-06:00Traveling PoemsJust found out today that, thanks to my “Scottish” pal Iskandar (whose name is one of the many names of Alexander the Great, in case you were wondering), a fragment of one of my poems in English is being published in Uzbekistan, as part of a book for English learners, with activities and all… how cool is that? Read it below :) (Oh, and I reached 20,000 plays on SoundCloud:)<br />
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Acabo de enterarme hoy de que, gracias a mi amigo “escocés” Iskandar (cuyo nombre es uno de los muchos nombres de Alejandro el Grande, por si os lo estabais preguntando), el fragmento de uno de mis poemas en inglés se va a publicar en Uzbekistán, como parte de un libro para estudiantes de inglés, con actividades y todo… ¿qué guay, no? Lo podéis leer aquí... (Ah, y ya tengo 20,000 plays en SoundCloud:)<br />
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<b>Hatching</b><br />
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<i>To Borges and Nabokov</i><br />
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Let’s assume from the start a poem can never be a butterfly. After all, butterflies, especially the kind we adored as children, are kooky insects, with lurid wings, of itty-bitty size, whose only purpose in life is to grow, reproduce and die. They are useless. Of little consequence beyond their interaction in an ecosystem or the admiration they inspire in us. Nobody buys the butterfly effect: the flutter of a butterfly bears no relation to a tornado unleashed at the other side of the world. Saying otherwise is nonsense. Consequently, we think: a poem is a poem, a butterfly a butterfly, a snail is… Well, snails are sly little creatures. Hermaphrodites. After copulating they rip their own phallus and penetrate themselves to avoid being impregnated in turn. Butterflies, it turns out, are rather conventional in comparison.<br />
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Anyway: a poem couldn’t possibly be a butterfly. After a brief glance at any book anyone can gather that poems, today, are unique artificial graphematic constructions that distance themselves from their author and, through conspicuous language, try to come to terms in meaningful ways with all dimensions of human life, with great pleasure of readers, and they even rhyme, sometimes. It’s ludicrous to point out they are the opposite of what a butterfly should be for, ultimately, butterflies are only of aesthetic value if they are alive and whenever a butterfly dies, naturally stabbed by a pin, it always causes a little unrest in the most unfeeling of hearts. It then becomes an object of scientific value or, at worst, something of great interest to occasional admirers of lifeless butterflies. Over time it so happens that not even lacquer can prevent its frail body from turning into dust. <br />
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On the other hand, there is empirical proof that poems are of greatest aesthetic value if they behave like one of those famed Scots who lent themselves, by virtue of ideals, to be disemboweled alive by the English: always with great resistance and never uttering a single cry… Men who would pass out in pain and, eventually, away, but whose implied screeches should still bring joy to all of us and, while the progenitors of these brave souls are almost never to be found, when found they are dumbfounded with prose and put to sleep. Or, better still, shut out, starved to death, piled up, layered and fossilized until they become dark lunar stones some human beings still burn in atavistic rituals meant to keep their limbs warm, without fear of subversion this time around. Besides, the skirt of a Scotsman is nothing like a butterfly... <br />
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Moreover, it is well known, male butterflies are more colorful than their female counterparts. Females prefer males with bright iridescent ornamentation [1]. All of which amounts to the innocent fact that a female butterfly landing on a certain leaf of a willow tree, at dawn, will have an entirely different take on a male than another butterfly that happens to land on the trunk of the same tree, at dusk. Quite similarly, those of us who assume the possibility of access to beauty; those who think beauty can only be seized from one leaf; those who deny the existence of beauty, the butterfly or the leaf; and particularly those desperate ones, trapped in the trunk of their car who want us to believe that, whenever they please, they can hack their way out with theory shards have all deeply misunderstood the true nature of poems and butterflies.<br />
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And we can already anticipate one inevitable conclusion to such an affair: death. For most people end up becoming traitors to themselves. Children who, after trapping a butterfly, cry when they realize it will never fly away, but take comfort in the fascinating glitter of wing-dust stuck to their palms. Once the insect dies they are off to trap another one, and another, and another more. They are nothing similar and, at the same time, so much like female butterflies who forever seek what is lost whenever they change the position from which they look at the butterfly they love. <br />
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In short, a poem could never be mistaken for a butterfly, so why have you fluttered all along those delicate wings that lead the way to your lurid, iridescent, human eyes? Didn’t you realize this is a snail?<br />
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[1] J. Kemp, Darrell. “Female butterflies prefer males bearing bright iridescent ornamentation.” <i>Proceedings of the Royal Society B</i>. 274.1613 (2007) 1043-1047. </div>
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Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-38637038931861030282015-06-16T18:56:00.001-05:002015-06-23T06:16:21.758-05:00All Things ConsideredMe abandoné a la tesis para luego regresar al punto de partida —es decir, a mi vida española— y, en el proceso, como pasaron tantas cosas —¡cuánto!, que decía mi bisabuela, así, como exclamación y cláusula independiente, obvia— abandoné un poco el blog. Pero si algo nos enseña el famoso tango es que siempre se puede volver y yo, aunque vuelva a la tesis y otros quehaceres, os traigo para resarcirme un poema que presenté —en inglés, en mi vida anterior— en una linda lectura que organizó el Chazen Museum de Madison, en octubre del año pasado, con quince o veinte poetas locales, que escribieron sobre una exhibición de esculturas cerámicas titulada "The Human Condition".<br />
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"All Things Considered" es un poema ekfrástico, que escribí a partir de una obra de arte, aunque la tomara sólo como punto de partida: "Man and His World", una escultura de la talentosa Viola Frey. El poema trata, como la obra de Frey, de considerar todo: al ser humano y nuestro mundo y acaba, inevitablemente, no entendiendo absolutamente nada, ni de la condición humana ni de los usos de la contingencia, de lo variable, de lo que llamamos suerte, destino, providencia o casualidad, que gobierna nuestras vidas aunque no mande sobre nuestros corazones.<br />
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Creo que es uno de los mejores que he escrito, así que, queridos hispanohablantes estrictos, lo siento en el alma: hasta que me presentéis a mi traductora ideal os recomiendo paciencia y mucho té y Roald Dahl y un diccionario...<br />
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<a href="http://www.chazen.wisc.edu/images/uploads/Files/Bridge_14_11-Neroy.pdf">http://www.chazen.wisc.edu/images/uploads/Files/Bridge_14_11-Neroy.pdf</a><br />
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<b style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">("</b><b style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">All Things Considered</b><b style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">" first appeared on the Chazen Museum website, October. 2014 [USA])</b></div>
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* Como dudo que pueda reproducir (legalmente) la escultura de Frey (googleadla), pongo una foto que da impresión de totalidad y tomé yo mismo, hace poco, en la Albufera :)<br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
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Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-7060528625346232142014-10-18T01:11:00.000-05:002015-06-16T18:56:51.455-05:00"Os amaría" de Félix GrandeLas hojas caen sobre Madison y abril parece un pasado lejano pero, en realidad, el PAD no acabó, no del todo. Yo compuse con mi amigo y erudito, Gokulananda Nandan, una musicalización del poema "Os amaría" de Félix Grande, quien se nos escurrió entre los dedos a comienzos de este mismo año. Las circunstancias no nos permitieron grabar el tema en condiciones, pero esta tarde tocamos y grabamos y cumplimos la promesa pendiente... Aquí está, sólo para vuestros oídos trasnochadores: un sitar, una guitarra, dos voces y una armonía hispano-hindú, disfrutad :)<br />
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Leaves fall over Madison and April seems to be far in the past, but the PAD challenge isn't over, well, not entirely. I composed with my friend and polymath, Gokulananda Nandan, a musicalization of the poem "I would love you" by Félix Grande, who slipped away from our fingers at the turn of the year. We weren't able to record the song properly at the time, but this afternoon we played and recorded and fulfilled the promise... Here it is, just for your late-night ears: a sitar, a guitar, two voices and a Spanish-Hindi harmony, enjoy :)<br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/172678039&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-2734739146719566502014-09-16T18:27:00.002-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.625-05:00Arte Mélica / Melic Art en RNEUn maravilloso mini-reportaje de Alex Pina para RNE sobre mi proyecto músico-poético bilingüe <i>Arte Mélica/Melic Art</i>... qué alegría, che :)<br />
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A wonderful mini feature by Alex Pina for RNE (Spanish National Radio) about my bilingual musico-poetic project <i>Arte Mélica/Melic Art</i>... damn, what a joy :)<br />
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/168042554&color=ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-3320982313752514382014-08-25T08:46:00.000-05:002014-09-06T17:04:22.202-05:00Hitos Fatuos / Milestones of Conceit<div>
Cuaderno Americano celebra hoy el hito (fatuo) de sus primeras 10.000 visitas —y casi 10.000 escuchas en SoundCloud... 9.633 para ser exactos— con un poema inédito del poemario homónimo que quién sabe cuándo o cómo acabaré... / American Notebook celebrates today (with conceit) the milestone of its first 10,000 visits —and almost 10,000 plays on SoundCloud... 9,633 to be more specific— with an unpublished poem from the homonymous poetry book that I'll finish who knows when or how...</div>
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<b>Las estrellas no serán tuyas </b><br />
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<i> Para Dani, para Belén, para Luna María. </i><br />
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Luna María,<br />
apenas te estás naciendo <br />
a un mundo crónicamente injusto,<br />
desesperanzado.<br />
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Un mundo de un billón <br />
de hambrientos boqueantes,<br />
de lenguas desvanecidas<br />
en cuerpos olvidados.<br />
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Y lo peor es<br />
que nada de todo esto,<br />
escúchame bien,<br />
nada de todo esto<br />
te quedará en herencia,<br />
¡que no te engañen!<br />
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Cada uno de tus átomos<br />
y tus palabras<br />
y hasta las estrellas serán de otros,<br />
—serán de nadie—<br />
pero que no te quiten el sueño,<br />
Luna María,<br />
si tú apenas te estás naciendo<br />
y lloras, lloras porque nacerse<br />
es un llanto de amor y mierda,<br />
Luna María, nacer<br />
es morirse un poco,<br />
pero no, no llores...<br />
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O sí, ¡llora, llora! <br />
que esta noche,<br />
después de nacerte,<br />
dormirás en brazos de Belén<br />
el sueño de los justos,<br />
la utopía de lo innominado;<br />
y en la casa del pan<br />
Daniel se arrancará<br />
en un cante flamenco,<br />
sobrecogedor pero suavecito,<br />
para no despertarte,<br />
como la justicia de un Dios ausente.<br />
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Y para qué más, <br />
¡si ya estás aquí!,<br />
¡si hasta aquí te has llegado!<br />
si ya respiras tu principio<br />
y su esperanza<br />
y en tu ceño escondes,<br />
bien arrugadito<br />
—aunque nadie lo crea,<br />
yo lo he visto—<br />
todo nuestro soñar.<!--EndFragment--><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-7950238059617838372014-06-03T01:18:00.000-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.657-05:00Abdica, Felipe VI<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/152569945&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<b>Abdica, Felipe VI</b><br />
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A la Pepa nos la arrancaron,<br />
la Segunda quebró la paz:<br />
¡abdica, Felipe VI,<br />
no nos vayas a traicionar!<br />
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Tus ancestros nos oprimieron,<br />
tu padre nos fue a salvar:<br />
¡abdica, Felipe VI,<br />
que el pueblo sabe reinar!<br />
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No queremos más soberanos,<br />
ni Cortes por remendar:<br />
¡abdica, Felipe VI,<br />
no nos vayas a traicionar!<br />
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Tus ancestros nos oprimieron,<br />
tu padre nos fue a salvar:<br />
¡si abdicas, Felipe VI,<br />
no lo vamos a olvidar!<br />
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¡Abdica, Felipe VI,<br />
que tu pueblo sabe reinar!<br />
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¡Abdica, Felipe VI,<br />
y con nosotros vencerás!<br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-16755431709800384192014-04-18T11:28:00.001-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.621-05:00PAD Día 14: "Amor" de Gabriel García MárquezPAD Día 14:<br />
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Ayer le dijimos ayer a Gabo y hoy os traigo, como homenaje, una suerte de vallenato con uno de sus sonetos de juventud... (he adaptado la versión popular que circula de este soneto y no la publicada en Lecturas Dominicales el 31 de agosto de 1969)<br />
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PAD Day 14:<br />
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We bid farewell to Gabo yesterday and today, as a homage, I bring you a vallenato of sorts which sets to music a sonnet he wrote in his youth... (I have adapted the popular version of this sonnet, and not the one published in Lecturas Dominicales on August 31, 1969)<br />
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/145326338&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-65573461636530879562014-04-17T16:20:00.002-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.644-05:00PAD Day 13: "Dover Beach" by Matthew ArnoldPAD Day 13:<br />
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Today I bring you a melancholic poem by an English man, so very fitting to this afternoon's literary mood, having just found out that Gabriel García Márquez passed away... I remember that anecdote he tells in "Vivir para contarla" assuring that he was really close to becoming a bolero singer when, by chance, he wasn't allowed to sing on a radio program (or was it that he lost a bolero radio competition? my memory fails me) and was directed instead, by fate, to becoming a writer...<br />
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PAD Día 13:<br />
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Hoy os traigo un poema melancólico escrito por un británico que se adecua muy bien al ánimo literario de esta tarde, ahora que acabamos de saber que nos dejó Gabriel García Márquez... Y recuerdo esa anécdota que cuenta en "Vivir para contarla" asegurando como estuvo cerca de convertirse en cantante de boleros y cómo, de pura casualidad, no le permitieron cantar en un programa de radio (¿o fue acaso que perdió una competencia de boleros en la radio? la memoria me falla) y el destino lo dirigió, en cambio, a convertirse en escritor...<br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/145211813&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-11116148421776869182014-04-16T13:57:00.001-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.611-05:00PAD Día 12: "Proverbios y cantares" de Antonio MachadoPAD Día 12:<br />
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Hoy os traigo una selección de un poema que es en sí muchos poemas y que ha cautivado la imaginación de muchas generaciones de hispanohablantes con sus perlas de sabiduría popular: los “Proverbios y cantares” de Antonio Machado.<br />
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PAD Day 12:<br />
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I bring you today an excerpt of a poem which is many poems in itself, and has captured the imagination of many Spanish-speaking generations with its tidbits of old folk lore: Antonio Machado’s “Proverbios y cantares”.<br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
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Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-82717624364180275542014-04-11T11:55:00.003-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.661-05:00PAD Día 11: "Olvide" de Marcos NeroyPAD Día 11:<br />
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Y después de tantos años, ya era hora de musicar uno de mis propios poemas... Os traigo un poema que nace de la indignación ante todo aquello a lo que parece abocarnos el sistema capitalista: militarismo, utilitarismo, desmemoria... Podría parecer un poema surrealista o una jitanjáfora y lo es, hasta cierto punto, pero no deja de tener referentes reales e identificables. El sentido "original" es a veces un anagrama (llenar de siesta/asesinar), una transformación (portaplumas/portaaviones), una simple rima (melifluas/películas, estancos/bancos), y a veces no existe relación alguna (viaje a otros perros/viaje a otros países), más allá de la ironía de ver a las personas como pulgas trasladándose de un perro a otro…<br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/144221716&color=ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_artwork=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-48847585512706328732014-04-10T17:03:00.000-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.637-05:00PAD Día 10: "Hombres Necios" de Sor Juana Inés De La CruzPad Día 10:<br />
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Hoy me acompaña una poeta para la que sobran presentaciones... Ha pasado tanto tiempo desde que escribiera este poema sobre la necedad de los hombres y, a la vez, parece como si no hubiera pasado nada...<br />
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PAD Day 10:<br />
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I am joined today by a poet who needs no introduction... She wrote this poem about the folly of men so long ago and, at the same time, it seems as though not a single day has gone by...<br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-42019815344269189002014-04-09T12:01:00.000-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.634-05:00PAD Día 9: "Demà Serà Una Cançó" de Vicent Andrés EstellésPAD Día 9<br />
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Ya hace cinco años que me pierdo Sant Josep, así que esta musicalización de Vicent Andrés Estellés va especialmente dedicada a todos los que celebrasteis (o lamentasteis) las Fallas este año... y sí, canto en valenciano, increíble pero cierto... perdonaréis mi mal acento...<br />
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PAD Day 9<br />
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I’ve missed Sant Josep for five years on a row, so this musicalization of Vicent Andrés Estellés is dedicated to all of you who celebrated (and complained about) Fallas this year... and yes, I sing in Valencian, hard to believe but true... pardon my awful accent...<br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/138776263&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-64311932789770361002014-04-08T11:31:00.004-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.640-05:00PAD Día 8: "Idilio" de José Emilio PachecoPAD Día 8:<br />
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Hoy os traigo un bello poema de un poeta que se nos fue hace poco, José Emilio Pacheco. Un poema que habla de la esperanza de la pasión, de un erotismo que —como dijera Georges Bataille— nos promete una salida al “sufrimiento fundamental”, pero que también significa un imposible, una alegoría de la pérdida que Pacheco capta tan bien en su poema. Yo no conseguí incorporar el final a mi canción y olvidé así, felizmente, esa pérdida: “Como un tañido funerario entró / En el bosque un olor de muerte / Las aguas / se mancharon de lodo y de veneno / Y los guardias / llegaron a ahuyentarnos / Porque sin darnos cuenta pisábamos / el terreno prohibido / de la fábrica atroz / en que elaboran / defoliador y gas paralizante”.<br />
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PAD Day 8:<br />
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I bring you today a beautiful poem by a poet who left us recently, José Emilio Pacheco. A poem that speaks about the hope we find in passion, in erotism, which —according to Georges Bataille—offers an escape route to our “fundamental suffering”, but also entails an impossibility, an allegory of loss which Pacheco captures so well in his poem. I wasn't able to incorporate his ending to my song and forgot, merrily, about that loss: “Like a funerary gong / a scent of death entered the woods / The waters / were stained by mud and poison / The guards / arrived to break us up / Because we were treading, unknowingly / the forbidden grounds / of the ghastly factory / in which they manufacture / Agent Orange and paralyzing gas.” (translation is my own)<br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
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Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-88913196622117996902014-04-07T11:53:00.001-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.665-05:00PAD Day 7: "Sonnet XVIII" by William ShakespeareDay 7:<br />
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Today I bring you one of the most well-known sonnets by the most universally recognized English writer... with a Southern twang.<br />
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Día 7:<br />
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Hoy os traigo uno de los sonetos más conocidos del escritor inglés más universal... con aire sureño.<br />
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/143544011&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-15268527411199496492014-04-06T10:33:00.002-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.615-05:00PAD Día 6: "En Spring Green" de Marcelo PellegriniPAD Día 6:<br />
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Hoy os traigo un poema de un poeta de sobra conocido por todos en Madison: Marcelo Pellegrini. El poeta mismo dice que "En Spring Green" es pura joda... pero eso sí, joda elevada, joda sobre tierras yermas que nos recuerdan a "La tierra baldía" que escribiera T.S. Eliot.<br />
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PAD Day 6:<br />
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Today I bring you the work of a poet who is well known to all of us in Madison: Marcelo Pellegrini. The poet himself says his poem is pure "joda" or jest, but an elevated jest, jest about barren lands that remind us vividly of T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land".<br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/143284106%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-6p911&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-39732964258624573122014-04-05T09:27:00.003-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.630-05:00PAD Day 5: "This Be The Verse" by Philip LarkinPAD Day 5:<br />
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Although I’m all in to honor parents (mine have been particularly understanding of my human condition to this day), there are many miseries in parenthood which Larkin’s “This Be The Verse” aptly and mockingly captures...<br />
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PAD Día 5:<br />
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Aunque yo esté absolutamente a favor de honrar a los progenitores (los míos han sido especialmente comprensivos conmigo y mi condición humana hasta el día de hoy), hay muchas miserias en la vida paterno-filial que “This Be The Verse” de Larkin capta, burlonamente, muy bien...<br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/140372433&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-7199557209689103072014-04-04T10:45:00.000-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.654-05:00PAD Día 4: "¿Qué putas puedo?" de Jaime Sabines<div class="MsoNormal">
PAD Día 4<o:p></o:p></div>
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Hoy os traigo un poema-canción del grande Sabines que trata
el tema existencial por excelencia: ¿qué putas puedo hacer yo?<o:p></o:p></div>
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PAD Day 4<br />
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Today I bring you a poem-song of the great Sabines that
deals with the existential theme par excellence: what the fuck can I do?</div>
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/143048906&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-68765803000889529632014-04-03T10:41:00.000-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.647-05:00PAD Day 3: “One Art”, by Elizabeth BishopPAD Day 3<br />
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If according to Husserl, retention and protention (i.e. retaining past events and anticipating them, respectively) are a fundamental aspect of consciousness, subjectivity and what makes us human beings human, Bishop’s poem pours her heart out about that most exacting of arts, which no one can ever hope to master: loosing, forgetting.<br />
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PAD Día 3<br />
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Si, según Husserl, retención y protensión (el retener eventos pasados y anticiparlos, respectivamente) son aspectos fundamentales de nuestra conciencia, subjetividad y aquello que nos hace humanos a los seres humanos, el poema de Bishop se sincera con nosotros sobre el arte más exigente, el que nadie podrá dominar jamás: la pérdida, el olvido.<br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
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Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-15785825568950595022014-04-02T10:37:00.000-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.618-05:00PAD Día 2: “Los Heraldos Negros” de César VallejoPAD Día 2<br />
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Así como siempre llega el momento en el que, inevitablemente, todos sentimos los heraldos negros de la vida, en carne propia o en la de aquellos a los que queremos, así nos sigue llegando este poema de Vallejo, que no suaviza los golpes pero los explica bellamente...<br />
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PAD Day 2<br />
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Just as there always comes a time in which we feel, inevitably, the dark heralds of life arriving upon us, to beat on our flesh or the flesh of those we love; Vallejo’s poem still gets us again and again, and while it doesn’t soften the blows, it explains them beautifully...<br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-35396436667120140632014-04-01T12:00:00.000-05:002015-06-16T18:57:18.627-05:00PAD Day 1: "The Flower Boat" by Robert FrostPAD Day 1:<br />
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The Flower Boat is about to set sail... everyone on board!<br />
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PAD Día 1:<br />
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El Barco de las Flores suelta amarras... ¡todos a bordo!<br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
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Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-37780738540162347022014-03-21T14:43:00.003-05:002014-09-06T17:08:33.915-05:00De guayes y gatosHoy es el Día Mundial de la Poesía y Cuaderno Americano os trae un poemita que habla sobre el amor y la vida, la vida y los guayes, los guayes y los gatos... y más concretamente sobre un gato llamado Jacky que, una noche, habló —yo estaba allí, yo fui testigo— quejándose poéticamente de sus guayes o achaques...<br />
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<b>Guay</b><br />
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Jacky,<br />
hermano, <br />
¿hablarías aún si pudieras<br />
por los pasillos de casa?<br />
¿te lamentarías como aquella noche?<br />
<i>¡guay!, ¡guay!</i><br />
En lo último<br />
tenías muchos guayes,<br />
te apenaba la corrupción<br />
gradual de tu cuerpo<br />
y nos lo hacías saber<br />
con tu voz minina.<br />
<br />
Ahora tus cenizas <br />
callan, por amor vives<br />
entre tantos libros,<br />
cerca, lejos, de ella,<br />
tú ya sabes de quién hablo.<br />
<br />
<b>("La singularidad de llamarse Kurzweil" first appeared in Vulture Magazine, Sept. 2010 [Spain])</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-40154866787705796652014-02-09T01:27:00.002-06:002014-09-06T17:08:47.262-05:00Poetas cibernéticos / Cybernetic poets Hace algunos años descubrí las ideas iluminadoras (e inquietantes) de Raymond Kurzweil y otros futuristas, que aseguran que nos encaminamos hacia una nueva <i>singularidad</i>, o momento en el cual nuestra civilización habrá avanzado hasta el punto de resultar incomprensible para las generaciones previas. Para Kurzweil, esta <i>singularidad</i> se verá propiciada por el progreso tecnológico, y señala como punto de inflexión el momento en que una máquina adquiera conciencia de sí, es decir, el de una inteligencia artificial perfecta.<br />
<div>
<br />
Intoxicado por estas ideas, escribí este poema, cuyo proceso de escritura resultó ser más interesante que el poema en sí. Descargué el programa <i><a href="http://www.kurzweilcyberart.com/poetry/rkcp_overview.php">Cybernetic Poet</a></i> —una carraca antediluviana de 15MB— que programó el propio Kurzweil. Introduje en el sistema la frase “Raymond Kurzweil quiere ser inmortal”. Y di rienda suelta a mi imaginación y a esa maquinita de rimas, tratando de simular las críticas que habrían dispensado en su día autores como Poe, Donne, Keats y Wilde, de haberse enterado de sus incautas intenciones. Las críticas eran absurdamente verosímiles porque las palabras y frases sugeridas eran de su puño y letra: derivaban del estilo y vocabulario que utilizaron en sus propias obras. </div>
<div>
<br />
Quizá la <i>singularidad</i> no sea más que una pamplina. La Ley de Moore, aseguran algunos, se topará pronto con las leyes microfísicas, y entonces no habrá crecimiento exponencial del número de transistores que valga. Yo, sin embargo, tengo una fe inquebrantable en la capacidad de superación del ser humano... Mi vecino, sin ir más lejos, está diseñando un nuevo ordenador cuántico más efectivo. Me lo explicó hace poco de camino a la oficina; él a la suya, la científica, y yo a la literaria, pero íbamos montados en el mismo autobús. Estos sucesivos avances en computación cuántica (que permite procesar bits de unos y ceros simultáneamente y multiplicar la capacidad de cálculo) podrían evitar esa falla trágica del mundo o nuestra perspectiva, que provoca que cuanto más grande o más pequeño sea algo, más y más problemático e incomprensible se vuelva a nuestros ojos, ya sean artificiales o no. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Lo que hagamos o no con esa tecnología, o lo que esa tecnología haga consigo misma, ya será otra historia: como dijo Bertrand Russel, "el cambio es científico, y el progreso es ético; el cambio es incuestionable, mientras que el progreso es un tema abierto a la controversia."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Y aquí, el poema:</div>
<div>
<br />
<b>La singularidad de llamarse Kurzweil</b><br />
<br />
"Raymond Kurzweil quiere ser inmortal”<br />
escribo,<br />
frente al ordenador,<br />
y al instante aparecen ante mí,<br />
en inglés,<br />
las palabras que generarán<br />
una aliteración, más versos,<br />
sugerencias que al fin conforman<br />
una estrofa con sentido:<br />
<br />
an imbued image impels his<br />
impotent idea<br />
(una imagen imbuida impele<br />
su idea impotente)<br />
esto es lo que responde<br />
un asistente informático,<br />
saturado de estrofas y cadencias à la Poe,<br />
y aún hay más;<br />
<br />
el perfil de Donne asevera:<br />
Imposture imprints his<br />
Interre’d infinity<br />
(la impostura marca<br />
su infinitud enterrada);<br />
<br />
Keats clama al cielo:<br />
impassion’d he implores<br />
an impossible import<br />
(él implora, apasionado,<br />
una importancia imposible);<br />
<br />
y Wilde, muy esteta:<br />
I see ivory, iris-plumaged indolence,<br />
indeed, he's Icarus<br />
(veo indolencia marfileña, de plumaje irisado,<br />
sin duda alguna, él es Ícaro) <br />
<br />
Nuestra virtualidad,<br />
nuestra huella,<br />
cosificada en software,<br />
una antigualla de apenas 15 MB<br />
que propone y dispone: crea.<br />
<br />
La cosificación avanza,<br />
avanza sibilina,<br />
desconocida aún de sí misma y de nosotros<br />
—¿quién es Raymond Kurzweil?—<br />
avanza, sí,<br />
Sibila carente aún de conciencia,<br />
avanza, sí, hacia la llamada<br />
<br />
<br />
singularidad</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
que estallará algún día,<br />
pese a Poe-Donne-Keats-Wilde.<br />
<br />
Se nota que hasta su virtualidad<br />
tiene el miedo metido en el cuerpo<br />
y la inteligencia creativa y solidaria<br />
del hombre y la máquina<br />
será un eufemismo del relevo efectivo<br />
de quien escribe (escribía) este poema.<br />
<br />
<b>("La singularidad de llamarse Kurzweil" first appeared in Vulture Magazine, Sept. 2010 [Spain])</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
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Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-62424630110847083252014-01-19T08:34:00.000-06:002015-10-14T14:09:39.722-05:00The Writer and the GirlAmerican Notebook brings you today a candid poem, “The Writer and the Girl”, published last November in <i>Poems to Talk about 2013</i>, and inspired by an apocryphal story about the last months in Franz Kafka’s life, which writers like César Aira (in his article <a href="http://elpais.com/diario/2004/05/08/babelia/1083973160_850215.html">“The travelling doll”</a>) and Paul Auster (in <i><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/446.The_Brooklyn_Follies">The Brooklyn Follies</a></i>) have retold... and if you’re feeling all fancy-schmancy like a patron of the arts you can <a href="http://www.poeticrepublic.com/poems-to-talk-about-ebooks-books/">buy the e-book</a> and support <a href="http://www.poeticrepublic.com/about-us/">Poetic Republic</a>, a one of a kind poetry competition in which participating poets select their own favorite poems...<br />
<br />
Cuaderno Americano os trae hoy el cándido poema “The Writer and the Girl”, que se publicó el pasado noviembre en <i>Poems to Talk about 2013,</i> para que practiquéis vuestro inglés :) Está inspirado en una historia apócrifa sobre los últimos meses de la vida de Franz Kafka de la que escritores como César Aira (en su artículo <a href="http://elpais.com/diario/2004/05/08/babelia/1083973160_850215.html">“La muñeca viajera”</a>) y Paul Auster (en <i><a href="http://www.lecturalia.com/libro/212/brooklyn-follies">Brooklyn Follies</a></i>) se han hecho eco... y si además os sentís espléndidos y un poco mecenas del arte podéis <a href="http://www.poeticrepublic.com/poems-to-talk-about-ebooks-books/">comprar el e-book</a> y apoyar a <a href="http://www.poeticrepublic.com/about-us/">Poetic Republic</a>, una competición poética única en la que los propios poetas participantes eligen sus poemas favoritos...<br />
<br />
<b>The Writer and the Girl</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i> To Franz Kafka, César Aira and Paul Auster </i><br />
<br />
November, 1923.<br />
<br />
In Berlin, days are grim <br />
and after writing<br />
I take a walk in Steglitz Park.<br />
<br />
One must try to keep spirits high.<br />
<br />
Only yesterday <br />
a loaf of bread was one hundred and forty billion marks<br />
and crowds wiped out<br />
Scheunenviertel’s Jewish stands.<br />
<br />
A girl is crying in her mother’s arms,<br />
I say, <i>What’s wrong with you sweetheart?</i><br />
<div>
<br />
<i>My doll Seele got lost, Sir</i>— <br />
she babbles out.<br />
<br />
I tell her the doll didn’t get lost, <br />
that I saw her leaving town,<br />
that she gave me a letter for her, <br />
that she seemed happy when she waved goodbye. <br />
<br />
Her eyes sparkle as I promise to read it out loud<br />
and her mother smiles approvingly:<br />
we arrange to meet again, the following day.<br />
<br />
Back at home I tell Dora about the little girl,<br />
she says <i>You are an adorable creature, Franz.</i><br />
<br />
And Seele writes back everyday from afar, <br />
and how delightful her travels are, <br />
and how fascinating the wondrous people she meets,<br />
and how fantastic all that prevents her from coming back,<br />
and how exciting falling head over heels for a charming Doll,<br />
and how thrilling setting off with him to a foreign land.<br />
<br />
Three weeks after leaving Berlin<br />
Seele’s last letter arrived.<br />
<br />
I was taken up by guilt<br />
but the little girl was almost happy, <br />
enthralled by Seele’s adventures:<br />
she hugged me and told me to wish her good luck.<br />
<br />
In Berlin, days are grim<br />
and whenever silence weighs down on me<br />
I take a walk in Steglitz Park:<br />
when I get back home<br />
Dora always seems to find her way<br />
around my heart.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>("The Writer and the Girl" first appeared in the <i>Poetic Republic Poetry Competition E-book </i>(http://www.poeticrepublic.com), 2013 [USA])</b></div>
<br />
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<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
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Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-46255408797938086712013-12-24T09:25:00.003-06:002015-10-14T12:36:35.453-05:00The World Declares Independence from the USA / El mundo declara su independencia de EEUU<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I owe the USA so much I wouldn’t know where to begin: Madison took me in and became my second home. That doesn't mean I'm oblivious to its place in the world and the problems and conflicts that arise from it. This poem, a pacifist manifesto, published a couple of years ago in Mobius: The Journal for Social Change, was borne out of that contradiction: I started cutting out the Declaration of Independence of 1776 and realized, in the process, that many of the indignities denounced at the time were now being inflicted on the world and its own population. So here you go, “A Ration of America”, a poem in which the world announces its independence from the USA, with a tongue-in-cheek ending:) American Notebook wishes you the best for the coming year and many years to come...<br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">Tengo tanto que
agradecer a Estados Unidos que no sabría por donde empezar: Madison me acogió y
se ha convertido en mi segundo hogar. Eso no significa que ignore el lugar que ocupa en el
mundo y los problemas y conflictos que provoca. Este poema, un manifiesto
pacifista, publicado hace un par de años en </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US">Mobius: The Journal for
Social Change</span></i><span style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">, nació de esa contradicción: empecé a recortar la Declaración de Independencia de 1776
y me di cuenta, en el proceso, de que muchas de las indignidades denunciadas entonces, estaban
siendo impuestas, hoy en día, sobre el mundo y su propia población. Así que ahí va, “Una
ración de América”, un poema en el que el mundo anuncia su independencia de
EEUU, con un final algo burlón:) Cuaderno Americano les desea lo mejor para el
año próximo y los muchísimos años que vendrán...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<b>A Ration of America</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><i> [Cut-out Poem from the United States Declaration of Independence]</i><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
When in the Course of human events<br />
one People dissolve the Other<br />
to assume the powers of Nature,<br />
Mankind requires separation.<br />
<br />
We hold these truths to be self-evident:<br />
that all men are, that Life, Liberty and Happiness<br />
are transient and accordingly, while evils are sufferable,<br />
when a long train of abuses evinces Despotism<br />
<br />
<div>
it is their duty to throw off such Tyranny.<br />
To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a world:<br />
<br />
Laws utterly neglect people, call together bodies<br />
for the sole purpose of Annihilation,<br />
endeavor to prevent the Naturalization of Foreigners,<br />
obstruct Justice by establishing<br />
<br />
Standing Armies superior to Civil power,<br />
protecting them from punishment<br />
for any Murders which they should commit<br />
on the Inhabitants of the world,<br />
<br />
imposing taxes on us<br />
an Arbitrary government<br />
has plundered seas, ravaged Coasts, burnt towns<br />
and destroyed the lives of people,<br />
<br />
at this time transporting Armies of Mercenaries<br />
to compleat works of death, desolation, cruelty<br />
and perfidy paralleled in the most barbarous ages,<br />
totally worthy of executioners.<br />
<br />
Our repeated Petitions have been answered<br />
only by repeated injury. Wanting Peace<br />
we, therefore, ate America,<br />
in General Congress, Assembled.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5u37k5m8in42U0A7vNSc7ubP0pyNoZGv2eV4M6ZioigXuWfTNhCzXH-6JqZO27BY1t8FT9HYcM3l8AvQDQTggaCa4SxEGN1odlaBXrUeB49onji0g0CqmO9boG38Hb2TKj9xZXMI-zn8/s1600/A+ration+of+America.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5u37k5m8in42U0A7vNSc7ubP0pyNoZGv2eV4M6ZioigXuWfTNhCzXH-6JqZO27BY1t8FT9HYcM3l8AvQDQTggaCa4SxEGN1odlaBXrUeB49onji0g0CqmO9boG38Hb2TKj9xZXMI-zn8/s400/A+ration+of+America.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_540774959"></span><span id="goog_540774960"></span><br />
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<b style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">("</b><b style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">A Ration of America</b><b style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">" first appeared in <i>Mobius: The Journal of Social Change </i>(</b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><b>http://mobiusmagazine.com</b></span></span><b style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">), vol. 22 nº 3, 2011, [USA])</b><br />
<b style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/4.0/80x15.png" style="border-width: 0px;" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
</div>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623056214954556569.post-16739238170721818292013-11-01T00:29:00.003-05:002014-09-06T17:12:16.390-05:00SisterToday I bring you a poem written in English which, as a matter of fact, is one of the many stories my grandmother told me about her harsh childhood in Castile, picking up saffron with her sister in October, walking barefoot and dressed with potato sacks. Laurie Beth Clark was kind enough to include it in her collective project <i>Ossuary</i>, which has been on display at the <i>University of Tennessee Downtown Gallery</i> in Knoxville for the last month.<br />
///<br />
Hoy os traigo hoy un poema en inglés que es, en realidad, una de tantas historias que me contó mi abuela sobre su durísima infancia en Castilla, recogiendo azafrán con su hermana en pleno octubre, descalzas y vestidas con sacos de patatas. Laurie Beth Clark tuvo a bien incluirlo en su proyecto colectivo Ossuary, que lleva un mes expuesto en la <i>University of Tenesse Downtown Gallery</i> de Knoxville. <br />
<br />
More on Ossuary here/Más sobre Ossuary aquí:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://ossuaries.wordpress.com/about/">http://ossuaries.wordpress.com/about/</a><br />
<br />
Here is the poem/Aquí está el poema: <br />
<br />
<b>Sister</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Barefooted<br />
I said sister are we done yet<br />
not quite she said the basket<br />
despondent on our back<br />
clouds stalking the light<br />
as we bend down to pick flowers<br />
our feet sliced open blood burning<br />
we have been trudging<br />
the land for hours have we not<br />
are we not done sister said I<br />
but she my older sister<br />
who’s six years old<br />
does not answer instead she<br />
takes my lips with her fingers<br />
pinching them shut<br />
<br />
only when the light starts<br />
to sink meekly do we carry back<br />
our baskets full of saffron<br />
to huddle together in the barn<br />
dressed with potato sacks<br />
why everything I tell you<br />
of those days is true son<br />
but be careful to always<br />
keep to yourself a little more<br />
than what you tell<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7CEVMH7OlgfAWlQsZc3IO9dbSrD0hRDlYgTGkySNiixaEaMU9zb5kKDX2JTh0TA-zAl5KbwWnPbpo42QscjlbxeCpYILYCVOeI1h6QavfAOl70VsXMU3rTxfgp5-YrxflY9c8YC7U-3rl/s1600/IMG_7385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7CEVMH7OlgfAWlQsZc3IO9dbSrD0hRDlYgTGkySNiixaEaMU9zb5kKDX2JTh0TA-zAl5KbwWnPbpo42QscjlbxeCpYILYCVOeI1h6QavfAOl70VsXMU3rTxfgp5-YrxflY9c8YC7U-3rl/s400/IMG_7385.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Fotografía de Laurie Beth Clark)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0Y-oC7Z3Z4PungpTOsbFzn1RT6XdTLnCoKH1NH66Oo8QrppTMgKXoyVaN7Utp1-maViqS8Tfnn1lypkJBk4YkjWvS1xq7XC6_tX8tjXUdAAh9ORUb_aYwpMENks1eJiQ69qSE2X6_S_o/s1600/IMG_7372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0Y-oC7Z3Z4PungpTOsbFzn1RT6XdTLnCoKH1NH66Oo8QrppTMgKXoyVaN7Utp1-maViqS8Tfnn1lypkJBk4YkjWvS1xq7XC6_tX8tjXUdAAh9ORUb_aYwpMENks1eJiQ69qSE2X6_S_o/s400/IMG_7372.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
(Fotografía de Laurie Beth Clark)</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-size: medium;">
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/4.0/80x15.png" style="border-width: 0px;" /></a></div>
<div style="font-size: medium;">
<span property="dct:title" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">Cuaderno Americano</span> by <a href="http://cuadernoamericano.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Marcos Neroy</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Marcos Neroyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04082474214646858076noreply@blogger.com0