Archivos mensuales: marzo 2011


Canadian nature writer Ernest Thompson Seton had an odd bill presented to him on his twenty-first birthday. It was a record kept by his father of all the expenses connected with young Ernest’s childhood and youth, including the fee charged by the doctor for delivering him. Even more oddly, Ernest is said to have paid […]

Car Crash Blues

Car Crash Blues or Old Adrian Henri´s Interminable Talking Surrealistic Blues You make me feel like someone’s driven me into a wall baby You make me feel like Sunday night at the village hall baby You make me feel like a Desert Rat You make me feel like a Postman´s hat You make me feel […]


Personalmente, si llego a estar en la posición de Nakheel, me hubiera prohibido a mí mismo acercarme a ese demencial ejercicio de miniaturización, pues se trataba de una perita en dulce para cualquier humorista. Yo hubiera enviado unos acorazados pequeñitos para hundirme o unos minis submarinos que me torpedearan. La situación me recordaba la columna […]


The Sorrow of Socks. Some socks are loners- They can’t live in pairs. On washdays they’ve shown us They want to be loners. They puzzle their owners, They hide in dark lairs. Some socks are loners- They won’t live in pairs. Wendy Cope, “If I Don’t Know”.


Some are afraid of love, some are afraid to sing, some are afraid to say how fear becomes the dominant, shaping, tyrant thing. (…) ‘Why do I always put off till tomorrow what I  should do today?’ he asks himself. ‘Why am I so afraid of now?’ Brendan Kennelly, “Now”


Pick up the phone before its too late And dial my number. There’s no time to spare — Love is already turning into hate And very soon I’ll start to look elsewhere. Good, old-fashioned men like you are rare — You want to get to know me at a rate That’s guaranteed to drive me […]


if your neighbour disappears O if your neighbour disappears The quiet man who raked his lawn The girl who always took the sun Never mention it to your wife Never say at dinner time Whatever happened to that man Who used to rake his lawn Never say to your daughter As you’re walking home from […]


(…) The Japanese actor describes the Hiroshima smell. His eyes are pearls at the bottom of the sea. The strangest smell is the smell of hatred in the air between two people who once were friends. It’s deeper than the sea and knows no bounds. When she describes him now, she is describing the smell […]


‘There are certain lines-whole poems, even: I have no idea what they mean; It’s what I can’t grasp that draws me back to them.’ Yours used to be like that, so did his. Ian Hamilton, “Collected Poems”.


Happiness. So early it’s still almost dark out. I’m near the window with coffee, and the usual early morning stuff that passes for thought. When I see the boy and his friend walking up the road to deliver the newspaper. They wear caps and sweaters, and one boy has a bag over his shoulder. They […]