miércoles, 22 de abril de 2020

UN RELATO CORTO - LA DAMA DEL MUELLE.

Hola mis queridos amigos, hoy os dejo una relato corto, misterioso y sorprendente del escritor y poeta español Ángel Luis Romo, y que os hará pensar hasta el final  ¡Espero que os guste! 


Autor:  Ángel Luis Romo.
Del libro "Aquí está pasando Algo" 
Punto Rojo Libros.

Fotos: es.wikipedia.org  /  definicionyque.es  /   nauticexpo.es  /  pinterest.es




LA DAMA DEL MUELLE de Ángel Luis Romo.

Soy de mar, de brisas humedecidas con olor a salitre, de tempestad y viento.  Por eso he vuelto al puerto de éste mi pueblo pesquero escondido entre cerros y acantilados.  He vuelto por mí mismo, porque no puedo pasar sin esta sensación de recreo para mis sentidos, y por ella, a quien contemplé tantas veces desde mi orilla, desde un sentir sin mostrarme, sin hasta ahora haberle hecho saber mi deseo por esta invencible y terca timidez.

La vi por última vez justo aquí, a los pies del faro, después de soltar el amarre de mi embarcación para empezar la jornada de faena.  Fue en un día como hoy, de madrugada de mar gruesa, con esa niebla espesa que viene del piélago marino, y la vi, como casi siempre, desde la bocana, ese punto en que la niebla es ya bruma que tratan de romper en vano las primeras luces de la alborada.  No quise saber por qué aparecía tan temprano, ataviada con su largo y blanco vestido, la etérea pamela y aquella leve sombrilla que nunca llegó a abrir, pero lo cierto es que me paralizaba con su sola presencia, y lo dejaba todo por unos momentos para poder contemplarla rendido a su encanto. Luego, partía alejándome de ella sin dejar de mirarla.

Allí quedaba, apoyados los brazos en el barandal de la empalizada, con esas maderas hinchadas, casi tábidas de humedades sin tregua, la mirada en el horizonte.



La espero ansioso entre estos sonidos que me envuelven, que me pertenecen:  el suave rasar del viento, el leve choque de barcazas movidas por el vaivén del agua, el bramido de escolleras al impacto de las olas, sólo interrumpidos por una sirena aislada que escucho desde una cándida espera. Algo, tal vez esa corazonada que se apoya en el deseo, me dice que podría volver a verla.


Mi corazón se acelera cuando la veo aparecer, solemne, el andar lento y la esbeltez de su figura acercándose, como tantas veces, a la balaustrada.  Casi he podido sentir sus pasos hasta aquietarse en un punto del mirador desde el que fija sus ojos en el infinito.  Recorro su silueta  con embeleso, mientras el aire juega con los pliegues de su blanco atuendo.  Con la pereza de la duda me encamino hacia ella.  Esta vez tengo que decirle algo, aunque ni sé qué ni cómo, pero no puedo esperar más,  Sería imperdonable no intentarlo, que siguiera sin saber de esta pasión que anida en mí tanto tiempo, desde que mis ojos la descubrieron hasta esa última vez que pude contemplarla, aquella mañana de mar gruesa, uno de esos días que insinúan un faenar estéril.  Entonces pensé volver sin haber dejado aún la ensenada, cuando ella era ya un punto solo para mi vista.  Sopesé evitar el riesgo de una captura casi utópica para acercarme a decirle lo que sentía, pero el mar te llama siempre, sean cuales sean las circunstancias, es esa novia que te espera sin poner condiciones y que tú tratas de conquistar en cada singladura.  La voz del mar fue más fuerte.  Me adentré en él, entre un fuerte batir de olas, hasta que mis ojos dejaron de verla. Hoy, no hace mucho de eso, de nuevo siento que arde la misma llama.


Amplío el paso y dejo el sendero del faro haciéndome notar cuando subo a la empalizada. Me acerco a ella ya con pie firme, pero me ignora, ni siquiera se ha girado para verme llegar.  Parece ajena a todo, a la nívea y persistente neblina, al aislado graznido de una gaviota.  Estoy a su lado, mudo, trémulo, pero no me siente.  Quiero hablar y una fuerza interior me lo impide estrangulándome.  Estoy angustiado.  Por un momento, abandona su mirar al frente y se gira para darme la espalda.  Se aparta de mí.  Muevo los brazos, la sigo, confiando en que se vuelva y por fin se crucen nuestras miradas.  Parece que la pierdo porque no puedo adelantarla para que me vea, me quedo sin fuerzas.  Entre el soplar del viento y el eco del agua en las rocas, oigo el crujido de las tablas de la escalinata al paso de sus pies cuando baja. Aquel día de marejada debí volver con ella.  La dejé de ver entre olas rabiosas que azotaban mi barco...

Ahora sé que es tarde, porque mis pasos no hacen crujir las ajadas tablas de la pasarela de este viejo muelle.






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¡CUIDAOS MUCHO AMIGOS!

¡HASTA LA PRÓXIMA!


martes, 21 de abril de 2020

HAPPY CITIES / CIUDADES FELICES. WHAT REALLY MATTERS - LO QUE DE VERDAD IMPORTA.

Hi my dear friends, do you consider your city, town or village a happy one? What do you think it is necessary to be a happy place? Here you can read an article about this subject, happier cities. I hope you'll like it and you'll tell me if you agree.


Hola mis queridos amigos, ¿consideráis que vuestra ciudad, población o pueblo es feliz? ¿Qué es necesario para que sea un lugar feliz según vuestra opinión? Aquí os dejo un artículo sobre este tema, las ciudades más felices. Espero que os guste y que me digáis si estáis de acuerdo.




Info:  from Speak Up magazine.
Photos: amazon.es  /  smartcities.i.ambiente.es  /  internations.org  /  handluggeonly.co.uk. / jericho road.co.uk / blogvocakeyes.org




WHAT REALLY MATTERS   -  HAPPIER CITIES.

Imagine a world where government policy was based around nurturing the happiness and well-being of citizens.  A world where policy-makers concentrated not on economic growth but on the things that most people consider important:  health, education, integrated communities and the environment.  A world in which a government's only goal was to make people thrive.




BORN IN BRISTOL

This is not the blurb on the back cover of a fantasy novel, but a reality that is already starting to happen.  One of the driving forces behind this positive change is Happy City, a charity based in Bristol.  Founded in 2010, its mission is to "make what matters count"  Happy City works to develop innovative measures of progress and delivers training, projects and campaigns to make sure these measures are used in the places where we work and live.



KEY ISSUES

Their Thriving Places Index is another important tool that measures how well places are delivering the local conditions for people to thrive and if they're doing so equitably and sustainably.  This includes key issues such as education and learning, equality and mental and physical health.

Happy City Founder, Liz Zeidler, explained why economic growth and GDP (pib) can never be true indicators of the overall progress of society.  According to Liz, all too often we equate growing consumption with our capacity to flourish, but they are not the same thing.



AN IRRATIONAL VIEW

Liz also points out that GDP (pib) is a measure of how many goods and services we have collectively consumed. Incredibly, many natural and man-made disasters are "good" for GDP, cleaning up an oil spill employs people and things, emergency services, insurance, replaced items.



RETHINKING PROGRESS

These concepts are at the heart of Happy City's activities. Rejecting GDP as a marker of progress or prosperity, their new markers and measures have the wellbeing of people, place and planet as the end goal.  Growing social division and unrest together with the very real possibility of a climate or health crisis are obviously symptoms of a system that focuses on growing cosumption at all costs.

Few politicians are able to ignore these negative signs and trends and what local leaders, from all sectors need is a practical way of making a change.  And that's just what Happy City is offering.



A REAL DEBATE

They publish the Thriving Places Index for all the Local Authority areas in England and Wales every year, with the aim of starting a real debate in communities, businesses and public sector bodies about what sort of society we wanto to live in.  The measures are starting to be included in the policy and practice of some pioneering Local Authorities , Happy City is currently working closely with eight around UK)  They have also recently been used by the UK Government's Office for National Statistics -a clear sign of a change in maisntream thinking.




HAPPINESS PULSE

The "Happiness Pulse" is a tool to measure personal wellbeing in any community, from a few households to entire local authority areas.  Its aim is to give a clear picture of wellbeing, strengths and needs of a community in order to discover how the situation can be improved.  You can take your own happiness pulse and watch the explanatory video by visiting its website  www.happinesspulse.org


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VOCABULARY

-TO NURTURE: nutrir.
-WELL-BEING:  bienestar
-POLICY-MAKERS: legisladores.
-TO THRIVE:  prosperar-
-BLURB:  frase publicitaria.
-DRIVING FORCES.  fuerzas impulsoras.
-CHARITY: organización benéfica.
-GDP:  pib
-OVERALL:  global.
-OIL SPILL:  vertido de petróleo.
-UNREST:  malestar.
-AIM: objetivo.


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SEE YOU!

STAY SAFE AND HEALTHY!






sábado, 11 de abril de 2020

A LOVE AND MUSIC STORY / UNA HISTORIA DE AMOR Y MÚSICA.

Hi my dear friends, here you can read a new story , " a real love story" in which "music" has had a principal role.  I hope you'll like it!

Hola mis queridos amigos, aquí os dejo para leer una nueva historia, "una historia real de amor" en la que "la música" ha tenido un papel principal. ¡Espero que os guste!


Info:  from Speak up magazine.
Photos:  amazon.es (2)  /  thomam.es  /  bhtstring.net  /  walesfarmer.co.uk




EXPERIENCIES  -  "WE FELL IN LOVE WITHOUT SPEAKING"

I'll never forget the first moment I saw Branko. It was 2009 and I was 25, working as a musical director for a circus in the UK.  I'd travelled alone from Gloucestershire to the village of Gornja Grabovica in Serbia, on a mission to learn Roma-style accordion.  A week or so into my two-month trip, a friend called Dusan took me to meet his cousin Branko, who he said was one of the country's best violinists.

When we arrived, Branko came out of the house he shared with his aunt and grandmother, wearing a white vest and jeans. I don't remember thinking he was attractive. We all sat around a table in the garden.  I didn't speak a word of Serbian and Branko knew no English, so Dusan struggled to translate.  Branko was shy;  it wans't every day an English woman turned up at his house. The following day I went back, and we played music together late into the night.  We did this several more times, quickly developing a strong connection.  It was totally platonic, however;  nothing else entered my head, partly because he had a girlfriend.

After two months, I returned to Britain.  I was still determined to learn Roma accordion, but for the next couple of years I was busy touring with my work.  Then, in July 2011, I had a few weeks off, and felt I was being called back to Serbia.


As soon as Branko heard I was back in Gornja Grabovica, he came straight to see me.  With Dusan translating again, he told me he'd thought about me every day since I had left.  He had broken up with his girlfriend months earlier.  It felt unreal, like magic.  It was exciting, but unusual to feel something for each other without being able to communicate fully.


That night we went to a dance. I just enjoyed being near Branko. His body language was so open, and he was so kind and loving.  The next day we played music together for hours, creating new compositions.  He still couldn't say a word in English, and I'd only picked up basic things in Serbian, but it just felt right.




I stayed at his house that night, and we fell asleep in each other's arms. I'd never felt so happy. It was a relief for me to be able to just feel and be, rather than constantly talking.

After three weeks I had to leave for work in Britain. It was incredibly painful, and Branko worried I'd never come back.  But I was desperate to go straight back out there. My mum was very supportive, advising me to do what felt right.  I bought audio tapes to learn Serbian and booked a one-way flight.  This time I stayed for three months.


The type of Serbian Roma culture Branko lived in was very different from the English culture I knew. There isn't the same language to describe the process of starting a relationship;  if you start spending time with someone, then you're with them, and you immediately say, "I love you."


Branko and I planned to go to Britain together for a while to earn money and introduced him to my life;  but his tourist visa was refused twice.  It was difficult to go back alone. When I returned, we decided to get married, and in March 2012, we had a simple but chaotic wedding in Serbia. We built a house on the exact spot we first met in Branko's grandmother garden.


We formed a band, Faith & Branko, and have spent the last three years touring Europe, Australia and New Zealand, playing festivals and releasing an album.  Today my Serbian is pretty good, and while Branko still doesn't speak fluent English, he understands a lot.  They say music is the language of the soul.  We took a leap to find out if that is true, and music has held us together ever since.


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SOME VOCABULARY WORDS.

-VEST:  chaleco.
-TO STRUGGLE:  esforzarse.
-SHY: tímido.
-TO TURN UP:  presentarse.
-TO BREAK UP:  romper (una relación)
-TO ACKNOWLEDGE:  reconocer.
-TO PICK UP:  captar.
-RELIEF:  alivio.
-PAINFUL:  doloroso.
-SOUL:  alma.
-TO TAKE A LEAP:  arriesgarse.
-TO HOLD TOGETHER:  mantenerse unidos.
-EVER SINCE:  desde entonces.

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WRITE IN ENGLISH.

Acordeón romaní - ROMA-STYLE ACCORDION.

En Inglés, el gentilicio Roma se refiere a la etnia "romaní".  Originarios del norte de la India, los romaníes son un pueblo tradicionalmente nómada que se ha extendido por todo el mundo a lo largo de los siglos.  La música romaní tiene un papel muy importante en la cultura de Europa Central y del Este y el acordeón es uno de los instrumentos más utilizados junto con el violín y la guitarra.  En Inglés, el término "gypsy" - gitano- se considera hoy en día peyorativo.




SOLUTION TO THE INVERSE TRANSLATION - ROMA-STYLE ACCORDION

In  English, the denomym "Roma" refers to the "roma" ethnic group. Native to the North of India, the Roma people are nomadic and they have spread all around the world for centuries.  The Roma music has got a very important role in Central and Eastern culture and the accordion is one the most used instruments with the violin and the guitar.  In English, the word "gypsy" is considered pejorative nowadays.




martes, 7 de abril de 2020

A SHORT STORY / JUDGE FOR YOURSELF - UN CUENTO CORTO / JÚZGATE A TI MISMO

Hi my dear friends, today we will share another short story whose title is : "Judge for yourself".  I hope you'll like it!

Hola mis queridos amigos, hoy compartiremos otro cuento corto cuyo título es: "Júzgate a ti mismo". Espero que os guste.


From: Speak up magazine.
Photos: alamy.es  /  eoi.es




JUDGE FOR YOURSELF by Talitha Linehan

Francis T. Barrow was dying, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He was normally so sure of everything. He had to be in his role as Supreme Court judge. But he'd never given much thought or consideration to death.  Once you died you were gone and that was the end of it.

He didn't want to die of course, but he accepted that it was inevitable.  It was what happened after death that perplexed him. Was there life after death, and if there was, what was the nature of it?

People who believed in an afterlife generally believed in God., but Francis had never really thought about God either, notwithstanding the fact he'd asked innumerable people to swear to tell the truth so help you God.

If the believers in Christianity were right, then he would go to the gates of Heaven, where Saint Peter would judge him -judge the judge- and send him to Heaven or Hell.  Of course, Francis knew this theory was unfounded in science;  it certainly wouldn't stand up in his courtroom!

A few hours later, Francis went from dying to dead.  Tunnel. Bright Light. And there he was, at the gates of Heaven, with St. Peter before him.

-"It's exactly as I imagined," said Francis.
-"It always is", said St. Peter.

-"So now you judge me? Decide if I go to Heaven or Hell?"
-"No, I don't judge you. You judge you"

-"Ha!  So, those New Age spiritualists were right. We decide our own fate."

-"Quite so," said St. Peter. "All souls are born with the capacity to distinguish right from wrong, a conscience, if you will. You just have to tell us if you lived in accordance with your conscience or not".

That's easy, thought Francis, listing off the Ten Commandments in his head. He didn't have any "other gods" because he didn't have any god. He didn't idolize anyone, except himself perhaps, but that was undestandable. He didn't abuse God's name, because he thought it made people  sound stupid. He honored his parents, he would never have dishonored them and risked losing his inheritance.  He never murdered anyone, though he fantasized about murdering his wife many times. He never committed adultery;  he wouldn't have risked losing his reputation.  This was the same reason he didn't steal or lie.  And he never had any reason to feel envious of anyone;  he was everything he wanted to be.

-"I kept all Ten Commandments," he told St. Peter, with confidence.

"The what? Oh, those. No, only one rule defines your conscience. You might know it as the Golden Rule".  He gave a scroll and a pen to Francis.  "Now, please read and sign our Next Life Contract."

The contract said:

I swear to tell the truth, so help me God.
Did you live in accordance with the rule "TREAT OTHERS AS YOU WANT TO BE TREATED"?
If you circle YES, you will live your next life in a world under your rule; as you have lived, shall it be ruled. 
If you cirle NO, you will remain in the spirit world until you are ready to return to Earth in a life of your choosing.

Signed__________________.




This is not what Francis expected. He had heard of the Golden Rule, but much like God and death, never really thought about it.  His job as a Supreme Court judge wasn't to treat people as they wanted to be treated but as they needed to be treated. Certainly, a lof of the people he condemned were born into poverty or dysfunctional families, but that wasn't an excuse to commit crime. The courtroom was no place for compassion.


At least that's what he told himself as he circled YES, signed his name and returned the scroll to St. Peter. Immediately, another tunnel appeared before him.

-"Right" said St. Peter. "Well, you were a rich man in the last life, so let's make you a poor man in this one."

-"Wait, no, how will I become the ruler of my world if I'm poor? And a woman?" he said with contempt.

-"Oh dear...No, no, you won't be the ruler. You will live in a world ruled by your rule, where everyone treats each other as you treated others in your last life."


Francis T. Barrow screamed but there was nothing he could do. He was already flying through the tunnel and into the light (or darkness) of his new world.


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VOCABULARY

-NOTWITHSTANDING THE FACT:  pese a que.
-QUITE SO: casi.
-LISTING OFF:  repasando.
-INHERITANCE:  herencia.
-A SCROLL:  un pergamino.
-THE RULER OF MY WORLD: el dueño de mi mundo.
-WITH CONTEMPT: con condescendencia.


SEE YOU!!