The Magic of the Cities.

Zen promotes the rediscovery of the obvious, which is so often lost in its familiarity and simplicity. It sees the miraculous in the common and magic in our everyday surroundings. When we are not rushed, and our minds are unclouded by conceptualizations, a veil will sometimes drop, introducing the viewer to a world unseen since childhood. ~ John Greer

Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Carlos Fuentes



1928 - 2012
Mexico lost a leading novelist Tuesday when Carlos Fuentes died at 83. Carlos Fuentes was many things: acclaimed author, brilliant mind, ambassador to France, literary award winner, and a recipient of France’s Legion of Honor medal and Spain’s Prince of Asturias Award.

Here's some of AP's obituary:
He wrote his first novel, "Where the Air Is Clear," at age 29, laying the foundation for a boom in Spanish contemporary literature during the 1960s and 1970s. He published an essay on the change of power in France in the newspaper Reforma the day he died.
His generation of writers, including Colombia's Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Peru's Mario Vargas Llosa, drew global readership and attention to Latin American culture during a period when strongmen ruled much of the region.
"The Death of Artemio Cruz," a novel about a post-revolutionary Mexico that failed to keep its promise of narrowing social gaps, brought Fuentes international notoriety.
The elegant, mustachioed author's other contemporary classics included "Aura," "Terra Nostra," and "The Good Conscience." Many American readers know him for "The Old Gringo," a novel about San Francisco journalist Ambrose Bierce, who disappeared at the height of the 1910-1920 Mexican Revolution. That book was later made into a film starring Gregory Peck and Jane Fonda.
Fuentes was often mentioned as a candidate for the Nobel prize but never won one. A busy man, Fuentes wrote plays and short stories and co-founded a literary magazine. He was also a columnist, political analyst, essayist and critic.

Quotes:

“I need, therefore I imagine.” 

“I live through risk. Without risk there is no art. You should always be on the edge of a cliff about to fall down and break your neck.” 

“Religion is dogmatic. Politic is ideological. Reason must be logical, but literature has a privilege of being equivocal,”

“Perfect order is the forerunner of perfect horror.”

“There must be something beyond slaughter and barbarism to support the existence of mankind and we must all help search for it.” 

“What the United States does best is to understand itself. What it does worst is understand others.”

“Chaos: it has no plural.” 

“One wants to tell a story, like Scheherezade, in order not to die. It's one of the oldest urges in mankind. It's a way of stalling death.” 

― Carlos Fuentes



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Monday, March 12, 2012

No More Roads



Encounter
We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn.
A red wing rose in the darkness.

And suddenly a hare ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it with his hand.

That was long ago. Today neither of them is alive,
Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.

O my love, where are they, where are they going
The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder. 
Czeslaw Milosz     

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Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Parallel Roads

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Friday, May 21, 2010

Street Cross

Street offering to a death people.

Cross

Something is left
Over the warmest distances

On all the roads
there was blood from my feathers
As I tried to gather them
I saw that there were many

It is not Christ who went by
As slowly as the hours of the East

My cross did not burden my back
Nor does it fly above the roofs

THERE WERE RED SPECKS IN THE MEADOWS

My wingless cross was on my chest
And has never wished to close its eyes

A bird burns in the setting sun
The things we have forgotten

Gazing lifewards
I have seen my cigarette
smoking in the warmest distances.

From:
ARCTIC POEMS
VICENTE HUIDOBRO
Translation by Ian Barnett



Cruz
Algo se ha quedado
Sobre las más tibias lejanías

En todas las rutas
había sangre de mis plumas
Al querer recogerlas
he visto que eran muchas

No es el Cristo que ha pasado
Lento como las horas del Oriente

Mi cruz no cargó mis espaldas
Ni vuela sobre los techos

EN LA CAMPIÑA HABÍA PUNTOS ROJOS

Mi cruz sin alas iba en mi pecho
Y no ha querido nunca cerrar los ojos

Un pájaro se quema en el ocaso
Cuántas cosas hemos olvidado

Mirando hacia la vida
He visto mi cigarro
que humea en las más tibias lejanías.

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New York City and Washington series continue in Sketches of Cities. 
 (At Least Once A Week)
Gracias por su visita. / Thanks for visiting, please be sure that I read each and every one of your kind comments and I appreciate them all. Stay tune.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Theme Day: Doorways

Bowery at Spring St in Chinatown. New York City

Abandoned house in the Pink Zone of the city

Palace of Fine Arts / Palacio de Bellas Artes

Click Here To View Thumbnails For All Participants

A warrior-hunter deals intimately with his world, and yet he is inaccessible to that same world. He taps it lightly, stays for as long as he needs to, and then swiftly moves away, leaving hardly a mark.
For an average man, the world is weird because if he's not bored with it, he's at odds with it. For a warrior, the world is weird because it is stupendous, awesome, mysterious, unfathomable. A warrior must assume responsibility for being here, in this marvelous world, in this marvelous time.
A warrior must learn to make every act count, since he is going to be here in this world for only a short while, in fact, too short for witnessing all the marvels of it.
Acts have power. Especially when the warrior acting knows that those acts are his last battle. There is a strange consuming happiness in acting with the full knowledge that whatever he is doing may very well be his last act on earth.
A warrior must focus his attention on the link between himself and his death. Without remorse or sadness or worrying, he must focus his attention on the fact that he does not have time and let his acts flow accordingly. He must let each of his acts be his last battle on earth. Only under those conditions will his acts have their rightful power.
Otherwise they will be for as long as he lives, the acts of a fool.
Carlos Castaneda.

Happy Halloween!

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New York City and Washington series continue in Sketches of Cities.

Gracias por su visita. / Thanks for visiting, please be sure that I read each and every one of your kind comments and I appreciate them all. Stay tune.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Gratitude


Nobody, I think, ought to read poetry, or look at pictures or statues, who cannot find a great deal more in them than the poet or artist has actually expressed. Their highest merit is suggestiveness.
Nathaniel Hawthorne

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New York City and Washington series continue in Sketches of Cities.

Gracias por su visita. / Thanks for visiting, please be sure that I read each and every one of your kind comments and I appreciate them all. Stay tune.

Monday, October 1, 2007

Mortality


Funeral in the church of Chalco, a little town near Mexico City.


Gracias por su visita / Thanks for visiting!