miércoles, 19 de junio de 2013

The Blank paged book

Y uno, que nunca ganó nada, se infla como un pavo ante los éxitos de sus hijos. Más aún cuando vienen de la mano de la imaginación y de la literatura, cosas estas que uno valora y admira y para las que quisiera estar más dotado, carencia  de la que se ve resarcido con creces en ocasiones como esta.

Aquí, el relato ganador del  concurso de relatos en inglés de El Comercio- La Voz de Avilés:

                                                                  The Blank paged book

My name is Julia. I’m a 17 years old girl from England.
When I was four, my parents moved to Spain because of their jobs. Then, when I was 13, we moved to Paris. I’ve lived there ever since. At the moment, I’m living in another Paris. I’m living in Paris, 1890.
My story starts on a rainy afternoon in a park near Sacré Coeur. I was reading a book, like always. Have I forgotten to mention the books? Well, books are my whole life. I love all kinds of books: adventure books, frightening books, romantic books, in fact, any type of book. Well, so I was reading a book, “The blue pirate and the cave”, in a park. Suddenly, it started to rain heavily. I took my book and my bag, and I started to look for a safe place where I could shelter. In the middle of the street I saw something that would change my life forever. It was an old bookshop called “Ex Libris” written with gold letters over the old door. This was was my opportunity. I ran to the door, and through the glass I could see a chimney with a cosy fire burning in it, a big red armchair, and thousands of millions of books. I knocked on the door nervously, but no one answered. I knocked again, this time noisier. I heard the sound of broken glass and some words with no sense. Then, an old man appeared in front of me. He had small green eyes, decorated by half-moon glasses. He had a little white hair and a white beard. I supposed he was the bookseller. I made a sign that meant “Can I come in?” And he shook his head. I opened my mouth and shouted “Please, please!”
He raised his eyes and opened the door.
-          Come in…
-          Thank you – I said quietly. Then, he sat down again in the big, comfy armchair.
-          I was waiting for you, Julia…- he said.
-          How… how do you know my name? – I asked him.
He laughed.
-          Oh, Julia, tell me… Do you like reading?
-          Well… It’s… It’s my life. I love reading.
-          Okay.
Then, he threw me one dirty black book.
I caught it and I looked at that strange bookseller.
He was staring at me took, like waiting for something.
-          Come on! Take a seat and read it! he said.
I obeyed, like always, and I started to read. How could I imagine what would happen next? This book has got blank pages!
Before I read the title, the bookseller said:
-          Not all the stories are written before you read them, Julia… As you are going to find out…
I looked at him. Then the book. And I took the decision of my life.

A thunder clap woke me up from my dream. “Oh, thank God” I said. “It was a dream”.
I put my feet on the floor. But it wasn’t the normal floor of my room.
-          Wood? – I wondered.
I walked to my bedroom window. But instead of the normal street with the normal shops, there was a totally different street, with two shops, and… a … horse.
I shouted. Where am I?! Where is my home?!
I could see that I wasn’t wearing my jeans and t-shirt but instead, I was wearing an époque dress.
I saw a newspaper seller through the glass. I ran out of the house, grabbed a newspaper and read the date.
-          17th May … 1890 … – I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital. But I was still in 1890. A doctor came to my room.
I couldn’t see his face. I took off his mask. I couldn’t believe it.

-          Not all the stories are written before you read them, Julia – said the bookseller.


                                                                                 Carmen Mazoy

lunes, 3 de junio de 2013

Recuerdos de una infancia que no fue, o fue parecida pero en otro lugar.

Porque, como dijo Carballo Calero, onde están os lugueses está Lugo.

            A ESCOLA

A miña nai foi a miña escola.

Os días de chuvia, os bancos de madeira,
os mapas de todos os lugares do mundo,
o cartabón e a escuadra, as figuras
xeométricas, a brúxula,
os globos terráqueos, os compases,
resumen na lembranza
tanto tempo de tinta e de tiza.

A infancia fóiseme
polos ocos dos tinteiros
no alto dos pupitres.
(De tanto escoitalos no colexio
soupen os libros de memoria
antes de aprender a ler).

Na escola maternal
pequena e soa
aprendín o que sei
sempre a deshora.
                     Claudio Rodríguez Fer (Lugo Blues, 1987)

Este poema, que tanto me gusta, de mi primo Claudio, resume esa infancia sentida siempre, soñada a veces y también escuchada y leída, a la que sentimentalmente tantas veces he vuelto.