lunes, 30 de junio de 2008
A un examen del final de todo...
Y me quedo un poquitin con Mr. Tarantino para desestresarme un rato despues de un examen de 4 horas!!!
viernes, 27 de junio de 2008
2 examenes y seré libre...
Una semana, dos examenes y un concierto... Entonces acabará todo y yo volveré por aqui. Mientras tanto os dejo un poema de T.S.Eliott, el primero de su libro "The Waste Land"...
I. The Burial of the Dead
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out if this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frish weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
"You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
They called me the hyacinth girl."
--Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed' und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring,
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: "Stetson!
You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
O keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
'You! Hypocrite lecteur!---mon semblable,--mon frere!'
(T.S.Eliott, THE WASTE LAND, 1922)
Abrazos para todos!!!!
I. The Burial of the Dead
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out if this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frish weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
"You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
They called me the hyacinth girl."
--Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed' und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring,
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: "Stetson!
You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
O keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
'You! Hypocrite lecteur!---mon semblable,--mon frere!'
(T.S.Eliott, THE WASTE LAND, 1922)
Abrazos para todos!!!!
jueves, 26 de junio de 2008
FELIZ CUMPLE WIND!!!
Entre tanto stress de examenes, un descanso para celebrar el cumpleaños del GRAN WINDGASSEN, uno de mis tenores favoritos. Aqui os dejo tres momentos de un espectacular Parsifal con Gotlob Frick, simplemente acojonante:
A disfrutarlo, y a partir de la semana que viene estaré con vosotros...
A disfrutarlo, y a partir de la semana que viene estaré con vosotros...
lunes, 23 de junio de 2008
sábado, 21 de junio de 2008
A un glipollas disfrazado de besugo...
Te salió mal, eh??? Y yo que me alegro...
Te dedico una faena del MAESTRO, ya que eres anti-taurino:
Y AHORA TE JODES QUE NO CONSEGUISTE TU OBJETIVO!!! Juas, juas, juas...
A mis lectores normales disculpad, rencillas personales que nunca están mal recordar!!!
Te dedico una faena del MAESTRO, ya que eres anti-taurino:
Y AHORA TE JODES QUE NO CONSEGUISTE TU OBJETIVO!!! Juas, juas, juas...
A mis lectores normales disculpad, rencillas personales que nunca están mal recordar!!!
miércoles, 18 de junio de 2008
DIOS DEL CANTO: Blake (Il Crociato in Egitto, Carnegie Hall, 1979)
Arrollindemonos ante este monstruo canoro:
Esta es la gran escena de entrada de Adriano de Monfort, en Il Crociato in Egitto, Opera seria de Giacomo Meyerbeer. Fijaos como canta el aria con los fraseos, el legato y el sentido dramático, y como ataca la tremenda cabaletta, rematandola con varios Dos sobreagudos y un Re sobreagudo que quita la respiración...
Juzgad por vosotros mismos!!!
La gran Lorraine Hunt...
Brava!!!
Y menos de dos semanas para estar con vosotros todos los dias... Aunque ya he terminado 3 examenes, todavia quedan varios.
Portaos bien!!!
lunes, 16 de junio de 2008
sábado, 14 de junio de 2008
ENTREVISTA: Francisco González Romero
Queridos lectores,
hoy os traigo una entrevista con una de las personas que a mi me ha marcado más. Se trata de mi abuelo, Francisco González Romero, artísta plástico que con 85 años (si quereis ver su biografía lo teneis aqui) y que sigue al pie del cañón trabajando sobre cuestiones artísticas y creando. Gran parte de su trabajo ha estado marcada en torno al arte sacro, pero también a la reflexión estética y sobre todo al diseño, el cual fue su modo de vida durante gran parte de los años 50 y 60.
Aqui lo podeis ver esta misma mañana, acabando su nueva y actualísima obra sobre El Exodo, en su estudio de Málaga.
La entrevista de unos 30 minutos, versa acerca de la gran dificultad de la compresión del arte actual, de las posibilidades del arte actual, del trabajo artístico y el estético, de la dimensión del arte sacro y las posibilidades de evolución, e incluso ha accedido a hablarnos acerca de las escenografías (el realizó una breve incursión en este mundo, mientras estudiaba en Madrid) y el arte contemporaneo. Se ennuncian verdades como puños, sin medias tintas y desde la claridad y experiencia de un hombre de su edad. Él no se coacciona ante la pretendida religión y corrupción del arte...
Espero que os haya gustado, y sin duda le dedicaremos otros post a él y a su obra, que tanto juego puede dar en un panorama cultural como el nuestro. Muchas gracias abuelo!!!
F. González Romero: El Monje. 2005.
Más información en:
miércoles, 11 de junio de 2008
Vamos a hacer propaganda: BEGOÑA ALBERDI
Queridos lectores,
Pausa en el estudio de Fª de la Mente y pongo algo en el blog. Se trata de una de las voces más bellas que yo he escuchado nunca, y aparte de cantar como los mismísimos ángeles es una profesora excepcional, mi maestra, Begoña Alberdi. Aqui teneis dos de sus impresionantes interpretaciones en el Liceu:
Senza Mamma (Suor Angelica, Puccini)
Sgombra la selva (Norma, Bellini)
A disfrutar!!!
Pausa en el estudio de Fª de la Mente y pongo algo en el blog. Se trata de una de las voces más bellas que yo he escuchado nunca, y aparte de cantar como los mismísimos ángeles es una profesora excepcional, mi maestra, Begoña Alberdi. Aqui teneis dos de sus impresionantes interpretaciones en el Liceu:
Senza Mamma (Suor Angelica, Puccini)
Sgombra la selva (Norma, Bellini)
A disfrutar!!!
domingo, 8 de junio de 2008
L' angue ofessa...
Mi contratenor favorito, Max Cencic canta L'angue offeso mai riposa, con el recitativo...
Os dejo esto mientras estudio, unos dias más y estaré con todos vosotros!!!!
Os dejo esto mientras estudio, unos dias más y estaré con todos vosotros!!!!
viernes, 6 de junio de 2008
Purusha Sûktam
Una frikada que acabo de encontrar, pero que se enmarca fabulosamente en la idea del Blog, el himno del Purusha (Rg-Veda, 10.90), el himno de la creación del Universo a través del desmenbramiento del hombre cósmico. Solo teneis que oir ese canto, que lleva 2500 años siendo recitado IGUAL que en sus origenes. Quizás la conservación de los Vedas sea una de las cosas más impresionantes que ha hecho la humanidad.
Puruṣa sūkta (Rg-Veda, 10.90)
Traducción de Ralph T.H. Griffith (1896):
1. A thousand heads hath Purusa, a thousand eyes, a thousand feet.
On every side pervading earth he fills a space ten fingers wide.
2. This Purusa is all that yet hath been and all that is to be;
The Lord of Immortality which waxes greater still by food.
3. So mighty is his greatness; yea, greater than this is Purusa.
All creatures are one-fourth of him, three-fourths eternal life in heaven.
4. With three-fourths Purusa went up: one fourth of him again was here.
Thence he strode out to every side over what eats not and what eats.
5. From him Viraj was born; again Purusa from Viraj was born.
As soon as he was born he spread eastward and westward o'er the earth.
6. When Gods prepared the sacrifice with Purusa as their offering,
Its oil was spring, the holy gift was autumn; summer was the wood.
7. They balmed as victim on the grass Purusa born in earliest time.
With him the Deities and all Sadhyas and Rsis sacrificed.
8. From that great general sacrifice the dripping fat was gathered up.
He formed the creatures of-the air, and animals both wild and tame.
9. From that great general sacrifice Rcas and Sama-hymns were born:
Therefrom were spells and charms produced; the Yajus had its birth from it.
10. From it were horses born, from it all cattle with two rows of teeth:
From it were generated kine, from it the goats and sheep were born.
11. When they divided Purusa how many portions did they make?
What do they call his mouth, his arms? What do they call his thighs and feet?
12. The Brahman was his mouth, of both his arms was the Rajanya made.
His thighs became the Vaisya, from his feet the Sudra was produced.
13. The Moon was gendered from his mind, and from his eye the Sun had birth;
Indra and Agni from his mouth were born, and Vayu from his breath.
14. Forth from his navel came mid-air the sky was fashioned from his head
Earth from his feet, and from his ear the regions. Thus they formed the worlds.
15. Seven fencing-sticks had he, thrice seven layers of fuel were prepared,
When the Gods, offering sacrifice, bound, as their victim, Purusa.
16. Gods, sacrificing, sacrificed the victim these were the earliest holy ordinances.
The Mighty Ones attained the height of heaven, there where the Sidhyas, Gods of old, are dwelling.
Un poco de Jazz para tiempos de examenes...
Paul Godwin Jazz-Symphoniker, Refrainges. Leo Monosson - Du, lieber Geiger, Grammophon 1930
MARAVILLOSO, y me relaja mientras estudio con los dias a tope!!!!
Perdonad por tener abandonado el blog, pero es que ahora no vivo nada más que para estudiar...
Cuidaos y en breve estaré con vosotros!!!
domingo, 1 de junio de 2008
Finde BCN (2): La grabación de Walkiria
Queridos lectores,
Lo prometido es deuda, esta es una de las Walkirias más impresionantes que he escuchado. Aqui está para todos:
R.Wagner
DIE WALKÜRE
Siegmund: Placido Domingo
Sieglinde: Waltraud Meier
Hunding: Rene Pape
Wotan: Alan Held
Brünnhilde: Evelyn Herlitzius
Fricka: Jane Henschel
Orquesta Sinfónica del Gran teatre del Liceu
Dir: Sebastian Weigle
Gran Teatre del Liceu de Barcelona
31-05-08
(Grabación desde el 5º piso del GTL, pero de muy buena calidad)
Foto de los saludos finales de Meier, Domingo y Henschel.http://rapidshare.com/files/119362398/01_Die_Walkuere_Acto_GTL.mp3
http://rapidshare.com/files/119366728/02_Die_Walkuere_Acto_GTL.mp3
http://rapidshare.com/files/119370682/03_Die_Walkuere_Acto_GTL.mp3
http://rapidshare.com/files/119356075/04_Die_Walkuere_Acto_GTL.mp3
A disfrutarla!!! Hojotohooooooo!!!
Finde en BCN...
Queridos lectores,
ACOJONANTE el finde en BCN...
1º Muerte en Venecia esplendida, y esa misma noche cena/encuentro de la Tertulia del Foyer.
2º LA WALKIRIA DE MI VIDA. Domingo+ Meier+ Pape+ Weigle. UNA FUNCIÓN HISTÓRICA E INIGUALABLE.
Aqui os dejo la foto con D. Placido:
Ya ire a lo largo de esta semana poniendo las grabaciones y más fotos...
GRACIAS D. PLACIDO POR DARME LA MEJOR FUNCIÓN DE MI VIDA!!!!
hojotohooooooooo!!! Heiatohoooooooooo!!!!
ACOJONANTE el finde en BCN...
1º Muerte en Venecia esplendida, y esa misma noche cena/encuentro de la Tertulia del Foyer.
2º LA WALKIRIA DE MI VIDA. Domingo+ Meier+ Pape+ Weigle. UNA FUNCIÓN HISTÓRICA E INIGUALABLE.
Aqui os dejo la foto con D. Placido:
Ya ire a lo largo de esta semana poniendo las grabaciones y más fotos...
GRACIAS D. PLACIDO POR DARME LA MEJOR FUNCIÓN DE MI VIDA!!!!
hojotohooooooooo!!! Heiatohoooooooooo!!!!
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