The smell of earth after rain.
(Fuente: 100 Most beautiful words in the English language.)
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta english. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta english. Mostrar todas las entradas
12 de julio de 2011
10 de mayo de 2011
"If the desire to write is not accompanied by actual writing, then the desire is not to write."
Hugh Prather en Notes to Myself
(vía Mark Leslie)
Hugh Prather en Notes to Myself
(vía Mark Leslie)
15 de diciembre de 2010
Inglés
Cada idioma posee palabras o expresiones propias, imposibles o al menos muy difíciles de traducir, que son prodigios de sutileza, de precisión, de humor o de mala leche. De los idiomas que conozco (que no son tantos, tampoco vamos a fliparnos...), creo que el inglés es el que me descubre más perlas de ésas. Hoy me he encontrado con ésta, que me ha hecho gracia:
Where you stand depends on where you sit.
:)
Where you stand depends on where you sit.
:)
24 de febrero de 2010
Living on the edge
Grandísimo artículo de Tony Judt en el blog de la New York Review of Books. Lo copiaría entero, pero me reprimo y pongo sólo la mitad :-P:
I prefer the edge: the place where countries, communities, allegiances, affinities, and roots bump uncomfortably up against one another—where cosmopolitanism is not so much an identity as the normal condition of life. Such places once abounded. Well into the twentieth century there were many cities comprising multiple communities and languages—often mutually antagonistic, occasionally clashing, but somehow coexisting. Sarajevo was one, Alexandria another. Tangiers, Salonica, Odessa, Beirut, and Istanbul all qualified—as did smaller towns like Chernovitz and Uzhhorod. By the standards of American conformism, New York resembles aspects of these lost cosmopolitan cities: that is why I live here.
To be sure, there is something self-indulgent in the assertion that one is always at the edge, on the margin. Such a claim is only open to a certain kind of person exercising very particular privileges. Most people, most of the time, would rather not stand out: it is not safe. If everyone else is a Shia, better to be a Shia. If everyone in Denmark is tall and white, then who—given a choice—would opt to be short and brown? And even in an open democracy, it takes a certain obstinacy of character to work willfully against the grain of one's community, especially if it is small.
But if you are born at intersecting margins and—thanks to the peculiar institution of academic tenure—are at liberty to remain there, it seems to me a decidedly advantageous perch: What should they know of England, who only England know? If identification with a community of origin was fundamental to my sense of self, I would perhaps hesitate before criticizing Israel—the "Jewish State," "my people"—so roundly. Intellectuals with a more developed sense of organic affiliation instinctively self-censor: they think twice before washing dirty linen in public.
Unlike the late Edward Said, I believe I can understand and even empathize with those who know what it means to love a country. I don't regard such sentiments as incomprehensible; I just don't share them. But over the years these fierce unconditional loyalties—to a country, a God, an idea, or a man—have come to terrify me. The thin veneer of civilization rests upon what may well be an illusory faith in our common humanity. But illusory or not, we would do well to cling to it. Certainly, it is that faith—and the constraints it places upon human misbehavior—that is the first to go in times of war or civil unrest.
Tony Judt
I prefer the edge: the place where countries, communities, allegiances, affinities, and roots bump uncomfortably up against one another—where cosmopolitanism is not so much an identity as the normal condition of life. Such places once abounded. Well into the twentieth century there were many cities comprising multiple communities and languages—often mutually antagonistic, occasionally clashing, but somehow coexisting. Sarajevo was one, Alexandria another. Tangiers, Salonica, Odessa, Beirut, and Istanbul all qualified—as did smaller towns like Chernovitz and Uzhhorod. By the standards of American conformism, New York resembles aspects of these lost cosmopolitan cities: that is why I live here.
To be sure, there is something self-indulgent in the assertion that one is always at the edge, on the margin. Such a claim is only open to a certain kind of person exercising very particular privileges. Most people, most of the time, would rather not stand out: it is not safe. If everyone else is a Shia, better to be a Shia. If everyone in Denmark is tall and white, then who—given a choice—would opt to be short and brown? And even in an open democracy, it takes a certain obstinacy of character to work willfully against the grain of one's community, especially if it is small.
But if you are born at intersecting margins and—thanks to the peculiar institution of academic tenure—are at liberty to remain there, it seems to me a decidedly advantageous perch: What should they know of England, who only England know? If identification with a community of origin was fundamental to my sense of self, I would perhaps hesitate before criticizing Israel—the "Jewish State," "my people"—so roundly. Intellectuals with a more developed sense of organic affiliation instinctively self-censor: they think twice before washing dirty linen in public.
Unlike the late Edward Said, I believe I can understand and even empathize with those who know what it means to love a country. I don't regard such sentiments as incomprehensible; I just don't share them. But over the years these fierce unconditional loyalties—to a country, a God, an idea, or a man—have come to terrify me. The thin veneer of civilization rests upon what may well be an illusory faith in our common humanity. But illusory or not, we would do well to cling to it. Certainly, it is that faith—and the constraints it places upon human misbehavior—that is the first to go in times of war or civil unrest.
Tony Judt
26 de diciembre de 2009
El cachondo de Bob
Cualquier lectora habitual del blog sabe de mi debilidad por Bob Dylan. Son muchas las cosas de él que me gustan, pero la que más, sin duda, es que, pese a su pinta de viejo cascarrabias, es un puto cachondo. Como muestra, un botón:
Hace unos meses, en su programa semanal de radio, lanzó el rumor de que iba a poner su voz al sistema de navegación GPS de no sé qué coche. Y hubo varios periódicos "serios" que se lo creyeron, como cuentan en la revista Uncut que he comprado esta mañana, pese a que, añadía el bueno de Bob, "probablemente no debería hacerlo, porque, vaya donde vaya, siempre acabo en el mismo lugar: Lonely Avenue (la Avenida de los Solitarios).
In the wider culture, the notion that Dylan has a sense of humour at all is something people still struggle with. A great example comes in the summer, when serious newspapers from The Guardian to The Washington Post pick up a throwaway line in the BBC's repeat of a Theme Time Radio Hour show, and run with the news that the singer is in discussions with "two car companies" to become the voice of their SatNav systems -apparently oblivious to the fact that Dylan says screwy stuff like that al the time in Theme Time. ("I probably shouldn't do it," he went on in the original broadcast, "'cause whichever way I go, I always end up in one place: on Lonely Avenue.")
Uncut magazine, January 2010 issue.
Lonely Avenue
Well my room has got two windows
The sunlight never comes through
I'm so sad and lonely, baby
Since I broke off baby with you
I live on a lonely avenue
Little girl, since you said you're through
Now I feel so sad and blue
It's all because of you
I could die, I could die, I could die
I could die, I could die, I could die
I live on a lonely avenue
My pillow is made of lead
And my cover is made of stone
I toss and turn every night
I'm not used to livin' alone
I live on a lonely avenue
Girl, since you said we're through
And I feel so sad and blue
You know it's all because of you
I could die, I could die, I could die
I could cry, I could cry, I could cry
I live on a lonely avenue
A lonely avenue
Ray Charles
Hace unos meses, en su programa semanal de radio, lanzó el rumor de que iba a poner su voz al sistema de navegación GPS de no sé qué coche. Y hubo varios periódicos "serios" que se lo creyeron, como cuentan en la revista Uncut que he comprado esta mañana, pese a que, añadía el bueno de Bob, "probablemente no debería hacerlo, porque, vaya donde vaya, siempre acabo en el mismo lugar: Lonely Avenue (la Avenida de los Solitarios).
In the wider culture, the notion that Dylan has a sense of humour at all is something people still struggle with. A great example comes in the summer, when serious newspapers from The Guardian to The Washington Post pick up a throwaway line in the BBC's repeat of a Theme Time Radio Hour show, and run with the news that the singer is in discussions with "two car companies" to become the voice of their SatNav systems -apparently oblivious to the fact that Dylan says screwy stuff like that al the time in Theme Time. ("I probably shouldn't do it," he went on in the original broadcast, "'cause whichever way I go, I always end up in one place: on Lonely Avenue.")
Uncut magazine, January 2010 issue.
Lonely Avenue
Well my room has got two windows
The sunlight never comes through
I'm so sad and lonely, baby
Since I broke off baby with you
I live on a lonely avenue
Little girl, since you said you're through
Now I feel so sad and blue
It's all because of you
I could die, I could die, I could die
I could die, I could die, I could die
I live on a lonely avenue
My pillow is made of lead
And my cover is made of stone
I toss and turn every night
I'm not used to livin' alone
I live on a lonely avenue
Girl, since you said we're through
And I feel so sad and blue
You know it's all because of you
I could die, I could die, I could die
I could cry, I could cry, I could cry
I live on a lonely avenue
A lonely avenue
Ray Charles
1 de diciembre de 2009
Tom
[Es lo que tiene poner las cosas a ciegas. Ahora el vídeo ya se ve y se oye.]
Got no time for the corner boys,
Down in the street makin' all that noise,
Don't want no girls on Eighth Avenue,
'Cause tonight I'm gonna be with you.
'Cause tonight I'm gonna take that ride,
Across the river to the Jersey side,
Take my baby to the carnival,
And I'll take you on all the rides,
Down the shore everything's alright,
You with your baby on a Saturday night,
Don't you know that all my dreams come true,
When I'm walkin' down the street with you,
Sing sha la la la la la
She thrills me with all her charms,
When I'm wrapped up in my baby's arms,
My little girl gives me everything,
I know someday she'll wear my ring
Don't bother me, I got no time,
I'm on my way to see that girl of mine,
Nothin' else matters in the whole wide world,
When you're in love with a Jersey girl,
Sing sha la la la la la la
Oh, I'm in love with a Jersey girl,
Sing sha la la la la la la
And I call your name,
I can't sleep at night,
Sing sha la la la la la la
Oh, I'm in love with a Jersey girl,
Sing sha la la la la la la
Tom Waits
Got no time for the corner boys,
Down in the street makin' all that noise,
Don't want no girls on Eighth Avenue,
'Cause tonight I'm gonna be with you.
'Cause tonight I'm gonna take that ride,
Across the river to the Jersey side,
Take my baby to the carnival,
And I'll take you on all the rides,
Down the shore everything's alright,
You with your baby on a Saturday night,
Don't you know that all my dreams come true,
When I'm walkin' down the street with you,
Sing sha la la la la la
She thrills me with all her charms,
When I'm wrapped up in my baby's arms,
My little girl gives me everything,
I know someday she'll wear my ring
Don't bother me, I got no time,
I'm on my way to see that girl of mine,
Nothin' else matters in the whole wide world,
When you're in love with a Jersey girl,
Sing sha la la la la la la
Oh, I'm in love with a Jersey girl,
Sing sha la la la la la la
And I call your name,
I can't sleep at night,
Sing sha la la la la la la
Oh, I'm in love with a Jersey girl,
Sing sha la la la la la la
Tom Waits
29 de noviembre de 2009
What's in a name
That's all it took
The mention of your name
And all my love for you
Burst into flame
I tried so hard
To let you go, but look
How I still tremble at your name
That's all it took
That's all it took
To make me know that I still care
It seems my heart just can't give up
The dreams we used to share.
I tell my friends I'm happy,
But they read me like a book
And when today I heard them say
Your name that's all it took.
That s all it took to make me yearn for your embrace
I guess I might as well admit
No one can take your place
I fell for you completely
Sinker, line and hook
And when today I heard them say
Your name that's all it took.
And when today I heard them say
Your name that's all it took.
Darrell Edwards, Carlos Grier & George Jones
14 de noviembre de 2009
Slow New York
She's drunk enough when she is sober.
She don't need no alcohol,
Don't need no artificial means,
No amphetamines to cause her to fall.
She's like the rain in the middle of sunlight,
Leaves you confused, but still reborn.
I've been up all night, havin' a ball,
Starin' at the view of my brick wall in Slow New York.
I heard that creaking in the hallway,
I wiped my eyes and turned on the light.
I took some medicine from the shelf,
Just a bad influence on myself when you're out of sight.
I thought she asked me for the world once,
All she wanted was some comfort and nothing more.
But like the morning's on Monday, these things are colored grey in Slow New York.
And if you go back to the night,
We'll go by the Sunday times, a little salt, a couple lines to beat the heat.
You're gonna swear I make 'em better
Than the Mexicans on Remmington Street.
Took the latch off of the front gate.
I hid the key up over the door.
If you wanna come home like you once said,
I'm still on the same side of the bed in Slow New York.
If you wanna come home like you once said,
I'm still on the same side of the bed in Slow New York,
Slow New York.
Richard Julian
Richard es amiguito de Norah:
Y toca los lunes en L.I.C, en Queens.
Puede ser una opción, ¿no?
12 de noviembre de 2009
Insisto
Las etiquetas, las calificaciones, los estereotipos. Tan útiles y al mismo tiempo tan limitados, tan empobrecedores.
Supongo que mucha gente diría que la música que compone e interpreta Kris Kristofferson es country. (Literalmente, al menos como yo lo entiendo, country music no es más que música del país, música del terreno, casi otra forma de decir folk music...)
A mí, que tengo mucho más a favor que en contra de ese tipo de música, me parece que lo que hace el señor Kristofferson es simplemente expresar lo que siente. Los calificativos sobran. Únicamente está intentando, lleva toda la vida intentando, llegar cada vez más adentro, más cerca de lo que él llama alma.
Y, en mi opinión, no va desencaminado.
Su anterior disco, This old road, es para mí un instant classic. Tengo la absoluta certeza de que es de esos pocos discos que seguiré escuchando durante años, décadas, toda mi vida.
Kris Kristofferson - This Old Road from New West Records on Vimeo.
Su último disco, de hace unos meses, se acerca aún más al fondo, al núcleo, al hueso:
Closer to the bone
Kris Kristofferson - Closer To The Bone from New West Records on Vimeo.
Ain't it kinda funny
Ain't it just the way though
Ain't 'cha gettin' better
Runnin' out of time
Making pretty music
Closer to your feelings
Working on the reason
Running on the rhyme
Heading for the highway
Rolling like a river
Soaring like an eagle
Skippin' like a stone
Comin' from the heartbeat
Nothin' but the truth now
Everything is sweeter
Closer to the bone
Ain't afraid of moonlight
Ain't afraid of freedom
Love will make you crazy
But your soul will keep you sane
Singing to the starlight
Over the horizon
Open to the pleasure
Equal to the pain
Heading for the highway
Rolling like a river
Soaring like an eagle
Skippin' like a stone
Comin' from the heartbeat
Nothin' but the truth now
Everything is sweeter
Closer to the bone
Kris Kristofferson
Supongo que mucha gente diría que la música que compone e interpreta Kris Kristofferson es country. (Literalmente, al menos como yo lo entiendo, country music no es más que música del país, música del terreno, casi otra forma de decir folk music...)
A mí, que tengo mucho más a favor que en contra de ese tipo de música, me parece que lo que hace el señor Kristofferson es simplemente expresar lo que siente. Los calificativos sobran. Únicamente está intentando, lleva toda la vida intentando, llegar cada vez más adentro, más cerca de lo que él llama alma.
Y, en mi opinión, no va desencaminado.
Su anterior disco, This old road, es para mí un instant classic. Tengo la absoluta certeza de que es de esos pocos discos que seguiré escuchando durante años, décadas, toda mi vida.
Kris Kristofferson - This Old Road from New West Records on Vimeo.
Su último disco, de hace unos meses, se acerca aún más al fondo, al núcleo, al hueso:
Closer to the bone
Kris Kristofferson - Closer To The Bone from New West Records on Vimeo.
Ain't it kinda funny
Ain't it just the way though
Ain't 'cha gettin' better
Runnin' out of time
Making pretty music
Closer to your feelings
Working on the reason
Running on the rhyme
Heading for the highway
Rolling like a river
Soaring like an eagle
Skippin' like a stone
Comin' from the heartbeat
Nothin' but the truth now
Everything is sweeter
Closer to the bone
Ain't afraid of moonlight
Ain't afraid of freedom
Love will make you crazy
But your soul will keep you sane
Singing to the starlight
Over the horizon
Open to the pleasure
Equal to the pain
Heading for the highway
Rolling like a river
Soaring like an eagle
Skippin' like a stone
Comin' from the heartbeat
Nothin' but the truth now
Everything is sweeter
Closer to the bone
Kris Kristofferson
10 de noviembre de 2009
Is your love in vain?
Do you love me, or are you just extending goodwill?
Do you need me half as bad as you say, or are you just feeling guilt?
I've been burned before and I know the score
So you won't hear me complain.
Will I be able to count on you
Or is your love in vain?
Are you so fast that you cannot see that I must have solitude?
When I am in the darkness, why do you intrude?
Do you know my world, do you know my kind
Or must I explain?
Will you let me be myself
Or is your love in vain?
Well I've been to the mountain and I've been in the wind,
I've been in and out of happiness.
I have dined with kings, I've been offered wings
And I've never been too impressed.
All right, I'll take a chance, I will fall in love with you
If I'm a fool you can have the night, you can have the morning too.
Can you cook and sew, make flowers grow,
Do you understand my pain?
Are you willing to risk it all
Or is your love in vain?
Bob Dylan
24 de octubre de 2009
Aquellos maravillosos años
Teach your children
You, who are on the road
Must have a code
That you can live by.
And so, become yourself
Because the past
Is just a goodbye.
Teach, your children well
Their father's hell
Did slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick's
The one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would die
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.
And you (Can you hear and)
Of tender years (Do you care and)
Can't know the fears (Can you see we)
That your elders grew by (Must be free to)
And so please help (Teach your children)
Them with your youth (You believe and)
They seek the truth (Make a world that)
Before they can die (We can live in)
Teach your parents well
Their children’s hell
Will slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick's
The one you’ll know by.
Don’t you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.
Crosby, Stills, Nash (and Young)
25 de septiembre de 2009
Everything is (falling into place)
I know it sounds wrong
And I don't have the face
But lately everything
Is falling into place
I know it sounds dumb
But it ain't no disgrace
It just feels so damn good
To be out of the race
I know it sounds strange
To really feel free
But how can you complain
If it's the way it's meant to be
You know I got a pop heart
What else can I say?
I love a simple tune
That anyone can play
See this little girl
She's 7 years old
You listen to her sing
And you listen to her soul
So what is the need
For all (of) us as a race
So why, oh! all the greed
If it's gone in a day
And everything's falling into place...
(Everything is, everything is)
I know it sounds wrong…
Kevin Johansen
24 de septiembre de 2009
Am I too blue?
Am I too blue? - Lucinda Williams
Am I too blue for you?
Am I too blue?
When I cry like the sky
Like the sky sometime
Am I too blue?
Is the night too black?
Is the wind too rough?
Is it at your back?
Have you had enough?
Do you miss my touch?
Do you wanna stay?
Do you have so much
Still left to say?
Am I too blue for you?
Am I too blue?
When I cry like the sky
Like the sky somethime
Am I too blue?
When you're in the dark
Do ya call my name?
Is there still a spark?
Does it feel the same?
The sun beats down
It burns your skin
When you run into, my arms again
Lucinda Williams
12 de septiembre de 2009
Compro el periódico en papel (algo que ya me parece un vestigio de otro tiempo), y me encuentro una tremenda foto de Nick Cave en la portada de Babelia, que soy incapaz de encontrar en la web.
Y recuerdo el extraordinario The boatman's call, lleno de joyas como esta plegaria atea.
Y acabo escuchando:
(Are you) The one that I've been waiting for?
I've felt you coming girl, as you drew near
I knew you'd find me, cause I longed you here
Are you my desitiny? Is this how you'll appear?
Wrapped in a coat with tears in your eyes?
Well take that coat babe, and throw it on the floor
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
As you've been moving surely toward me
My soul has comforted and assured me
That in time my heart it will reward me
And that all will be revealed
So I've sat and I've watched an ice-age thaw
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
Out of sorrow entire worlds have been built
Out of longing great wonders have been willed
They're only little tears, darling, let them spill
And lay your head upon my shoulder
Outside my window the world has gone to war
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
O we will know, won't we?
The stars will explode in the sky
O but they don't, do they?
Stars have their moment and then they die
There's a man who spoke wonders though I've never met him
He said, "He who seeks finds and who knocks will be let in"
I think of you in motion and just how close you are getting
And how every little thing anticipates you
All down my veins my heart-strings call
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
Nick Cave
Y recuerdo el extraordinario The boatman's call, lleno de joyas como esta plegaria atea.
Y acabo escuchando:
(Are you) The one that I've been waiting for?
I've felt you coming girl, as you drew near
I knew you'd find me, cause I longed you here
Are you my desitiny? Is this how you'll appear?
Wrapped in a coat with tears in your eyes?
Well take that coat babe, and throw it on the floor
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
As you've been moving surely toward me
My soul has comforted and assured me
That in time my heart it will reward me
And that all will be revealed
So I've sat and I've watched an ice-age thaw
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
Out of sorrow entire worlds have been built
Out of longing great wonders have been willed
They're only little tears, darling, let them spill
And lay your head upon my shoulder
Outside my window the world has gone to war
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
O we will know, won't we?
The stars will explode in the sky
O but they don't, do they?
Stars have their moment and then they die
There's a man who spoke wonders though I've never met him
He said, "He who seeks finds and who knocks will be let in"
I think of you in motion and just how close you are getting
And how every little thing anticipates you
All down my veins my heart-strings call
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
Nick Cave
10 de septiembre de 2009
I greet you from the other side of sorrow and despair
Now I greet you from the other side
Of sorrow and despair
With a love so vast and so shattered
It will reach you everywhere
And I sing this for the captain
Whose ship has not been built
For the mother in confusion
Her cradle still unfilled
For the heart with no companion
For the soul without a king
For the prima ballerina
Who cannot dance to anything
Through the days of shame that are coming
Through the nights of wild distress
Though your promise count for nothing
You must keep it nonetheless
You must keep it for the captain
Whose ship has not been built
For the mother in confusion
Her cradle still unfilled
For the heart with no companion
For the soul without a king
For the prima ballerina
Who cannot dance to anything
Now I greet you from the other side
Of sorrow and despair
Ah with a love so vast and so shattered
It will reach you everywhere
And I sing this for the captain
Whose ship has not been built
For the mother in confusion
Her cradle still unfilled
For the heart with no companion
For the soul without a king
For the prima ballerina
Who cannot dance to anything
Leonard Cohen
Me en-can-ta la primera estrofa.
Por supuesto, tengo la sensación de que sé de lo que está hablando...
(Del título, mejor ni hablar... :-P)
30 de agosto de 2009
The man in me
The man in me will do nearly any task,
And as for compensation, there's little he would ask.
Take a woman like you
To get through to the man in me.
Storm clouds are raging all around my door,
I think to myself I might not take it any more.
Take a woman like your kind
To find the man in me.
But, oh, what a wonderful feeling
Just to know that you are near,
Sets my a heart a-reeling
From my toes up to my ears.
The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein' seen,
But that's just because he doesn't want to turn into some machine.
Took a woman like you
To get through to the man in me.
Bob Dylan
23 de agosto de 2009
All the world is green
I fell into the ocean
When you became my wife
I risked it all aganist the sea
To have a better life
Marie you're the wild blue sky
And men do foolish things
You turn kings into beggars
And beggars into kings
Pretend that you owe me nothing
And all the world is green
We can bring back the old days again
And all the world is green
The face forgives the mirror
The worm forgives the plow
The questions begs the answer
Can you forgive me somehow
Maybe when our story's over
We'll go where it's always spring
The band is playing our song again
And all the world is green
Pretend that you owe me nothing
And all the world is green
We can bring back the old days again
And all the world is green
The moon is yellow silver
Oh the things that summer brings
It's a love you'd kill for
And all the world is green
He is balancing a diamond
On a blade of grass
The dew will settle on our graves
When all the world is green
Tom Waits
29 de julio de 2009
Too hot to sleep...
Indeed.
Moon is high, shining down on the flowers
You and I while away the hours
Walk me down the sweltering street
I want to feel the city’s summer heat
They’re gonna play those old records till dawn
Let the music go on and on and on
It’s too hot to sleep anyway
So we might as well stay
It’s getting late, they’re closing their doors
Let’s go upstairs and dance some more
The words left unsaid can be told in time
You’ve gone to my head like sweet moonshine
Let’s play those old records till dawn
Let the music go on and on and on
It’s too hot to sleep anyway
So you might as well stay
Eilen Jewell
Moon is high, shining down on the flowers
You and I while away the hours
Walk me down the sweltering street
I want to feel the city’s summer heat
They’re gonna play those old records till dawn
Let the music go on and on and on
It’s too hot to sleep anyway
So we might as well stay
It’s getting late, they’re closing their doors
Let’s go upstairs and dance some more
The words left unsaid can be told in time
You’ve gone to my head like sweet moonshine
Let’s play those old records till dawn
Let the music go on and on and on
It’s too hot to sleep anyway
So you might as well stay
Eilen Jewell
27 de julio de 2009
Ya sabía yo que esto no era sólo un problema de mis hormonas revueltas...
For the female half of the population, it may bring a satisfied smile. Scientists have found that evolution is driving women to become ever more beautiful, while men remain as aesthetically unappealing as their caveman ancestors.
The researchers have found beautiful women have more children than their plainer counterparts and that a higher proportion of those children are female. Those daughters, once adult, also tend to be attractive and so repeat the pattern.
Over generations, the scientists argue, this has led to women becoming steadily more aesthetically pleasing, a “beauty race” that is still on. The findings have emerged from a series of studies of physical attractiveness and its links to reproductive success in humans.
Women are getting more beautiful, por Jonathan Leake, en el Times de Londres.
Ah, y también se confirma esto otro, que algunos teníamos ya bastante claro:
In men, by contrast, good looks appear to count for little, with handsome men being no more successful than others in terms of numbers of children. This means there has been little pressure for men’s appearance to evolve.
Eso sí, no todo son buenas noticias:
“For women, looks are much less important in a man than his ability to look after her when she is pregnant and nursing, periods when women are vulnerable to predators. Historically this has meant rich men tend to have more wives and many children. So the pressure is on men to be successful.”
:-P
For the female half of the population, it may bring a satisfied smile. Scientists have found that evolution is driving women to become ever more beautiful, while men remain as aesthetically unappealing as their caveman ancestors.
The researchers have found beautiful women have more children than their plainer counterparts and that a higher proportion of those children are female. Those daughters, once adult, also tend to be attractive and so repeat the pattern.
Over generations, the scientists argue, this has led to women becoming steadily more aesthetically pleasing, a “beauty race” that is still on. The findings have emerged from a series of studies of physical attractiveness and its links to reproductive success in humans.
Women are getting more beautiful, por Jonathan Leake, en el Times de Londres.
Ah, y también se confirma esto otro, que algunos teníamos ya bastante claro:
In men, by contrast, good looks appear to count for little, with handsome men being no more successful than others in terms of numbers of children. This means there has been little pressure for men’s appearance to evolve.
Eso sí, no todo son buenas noticias:
“For women, looks are much less important in a man than his ability to look after her when she is pregnant and nursing, periods when women are vulnerable to predators. Historically this has meant rich men tend to have more wives and many children. So the pressure is on men to be successful.”
:-P
26 de julio de 2009
There is a war between Cohen and Sabina
There is a war
There is a war between the rich and poor,
a war between the man and the woman.
There is a war between the ones who say there is a war
and the ones who say there isn't.
Why don't you come on back to the war, that's right, get in it,
why don't you come on back to the war, it's just beginning.
Well I live here with a woman and a child,
the situation makes me kind of nervous.
Yes, I rise up from her arms, she says "I guess you call this love";
I call it service.
Why don't you come on back to the war, don't be a tourist,
why don't you come on back to the war, before it hurts us,
why don't you come on back to the war, let's all get nervous.
You cannot stand what I've become,
you much prefer the gentleman I was before.
I was so easy to defeat, I was so easy to control,
I didn't even know there was a war.
Why don't you come on back to the war, don't be embarrassed,
why don't you come on back to the war, you can still get married.
There is a war between the rich and poor,
a war between the man and the woman.
There is a war between the left and right,
a war between the black and white,
a war between the odd and the even.
Why don't you come on back to the war, pick up your tiny burden,
why don't you come on back to the war, let's all get even,
why don't you come on back to the war, can't you hear me speaking?
Leonard Cohen
Y la totalmente sabiniana versión de Sabina:
En pie de guerra
Están en guerra el hombre y la mujer,
el tonto, el listo, el gordo y el flaco,
el negro, el blanco, el debe y el haber,
Mesalina y el tío del saco.
Están en guerra el mambo y el hip-hop,
el ying, el yang, el pibe y el viejo,
Jeckyll y Hide, monsieur de Sade, Masoc,
Pilatos, la razón y el pellejo.
Ven a la guerra, túmbate de una vez
en mitad de la vía.
Mientras la tierra gire y nade un pez
hay vida todavía.
En guerra están la baba y el carmín,
el duermevela y la pesadilla,
el chevalier y el puercoespín,
la extremaunción y las espinillas.
Están en guerra el cojo y el ciempiés,
los ascensores y el purgatorio,
mañana es víspera del día después
pasado flores en el velorio.
Desde la Conchinchina hasta el Magreb
en Rolls Royce o en camello.
En cada esquina
te hacen páginas web
o te sellan un sello.
Están en guerra el fresco y la calor,
la calma chicha y la marejada
el ten con ten, la dicha, el resquemor
el almacén del todo y la nada.
En pie e guerra el mártir y el desertor,
el tibio y el kamikaze,
puestos a desangrarnos tú contra yo,
¿por qué no hacemos las paces?
Están en guerra la sota y el as,
el espejo y el disimulo,
el hospiciano, el niño de papá,
el Einstein y el tonto del culo.
Yahvé, Mefisto, Buda, Cristo, Alá,
las solteronas y los maridos,
Bin Laden, Ché Guevara, Supermán,
lo que iba a ser, la mierda que ha sido.
Ven a la guerra, túmbate de una vez
en mitad de la via.
Mientras la tierra gire y nade un pez
hay vida todavía.
Desde la Conchinchina hasta el Magreb
en Rolls Royce o en camello.
En cada esquina
te hacen páginas web
o te sellan un sello.
En pie de guerra el mártir y el desertor,
el tibio y el kamikaze,
puestos a desangrarnos tú contra yo,
¿por qué no hacemos las paces?
Joaquín Sabina
There is a war between the rich and poor,
a war between the man and the woman.
There is a war between the ones who say there is a war
and the ones who say there isn't.
Why don't you come on back to the war, that's right, get in it,
why don't you come on back to the war, it's just beginning.
Well I live here with a woman and a child,
the situation makes me kind of nervous.
Yes, I rise up from her arms, she says "I guess you call this love";
I call it service.
Why don't you come on back to the war, don't be a tourist,
why don't you come on back to the war, before it hurts us,
why don't you come on back to the war, let's all get nervous.
You cannot stand what I've become,
you much prefer the gentleman I was before.
I was so easy to defeat, I was so easy to control,
I didn't even know there was a war.
Why don't you come on back to the war, don't be embarrassed,
why don't you come on back to the war, you can still get married.
There is a war between the rich and poor,
a war between the man and the woman.
There is a war between the left and right,
a war between the black and white,
a war between the odd and the even.
Why don't you come on back to the war, pick up your tiny burden,
why don't you come on back to the war, let's all get even,
why don't you come on back to the war, can't you hear me speaking?
Leonard Cohen
Y la totalmente sabiniana versión de Sabina:
En pie de guerra
Están en guerra el hombre y la mujer,
el tonto, el listo, el gordo y el flaco,
el negro, el blanco, el debe y el haber,
Mesalina y el tío del saco.
Están en guerra el mambo y el hip-hop,
el ying, el yang, el pibe y el viejo,
Jeckyll y Hide, monsieur de Sade, Masoc,
Pilatos, la razón y el pellejo.
Ven a la guerra, túmbate de una vez
en mitad de la vía.
Mientras la tierra gire y nade un pez
hay vida todavía.
En guerra están la baba y el carmín,
el duermevela y la pesadilla,
el chevalier y el puercoespín,
la extremaunción y las espinillas.
Están en guerra el cojo y el ciempiés,
los ascensores y el purgatorio,
mañana es víspera del día después
pasado flores en el velorio.
Desde la Conchinchina hasta el Magreb
en Rolls Royce o en camello.
En cada esquina
te hacen páginas web
o te sellan un sello.
Están en guerra el fresco y la calor,
la calma chicha y la marejada
el ten con ten, la dicha, el resquemor
el almacén del todo y la nada.
En pie e guerra el mártir y el desertor,
el tibio y el kamikaze,
puestos a desangrarnos tú contra yo,
¿por qué no hacemos las paces?
Están en guerra la sota y el as,
el espejo y el disimulo,
el hospiciano, el niño de papá,
el Einstein y el tonto del culo.
Yahvé, Mefisto, Buda, Cristo, Alá,
las solteronas y los maridos,
Bin Laden, Ché Guevara, Supermán,
lo que iba a ser, la mierda que ha sido.
Ven a la guerra, túmbate de una vez
en mitad de la via.
Mientras la tierra gire y nade un pez
hay vida todavía.
Desde la Conchinchina hasta el Magreb
en Rolls Royce o en camello.
En cada esquina
te hacen páginas web
o te sellan un sello.
En pie de guerra el mártir y el desertor,
el tibio y el kamikaze,
puestos a desangrarnos tú contra yo,
¿por qué no hacemos las paces?
Joaquín Sabina
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