Friday, October 22 in the circle
"Is it true what they say?" Ask me to come to the gathering after wearing ties delivery of the Prince of Asturias awards. "Is it true that this year, the Reconquista meal, no one took any notice of the princes and the queen, everyone anxiously awaited the arrival of the players? Is it true that Leticia went unnoticed in a corner, that Philip was walking back and forth with the food on one hand and a glass of beer in the other, that the queen was bored sitting in a Victor de la Concha never stopped talking and a sleepy Manuel Fraga? Is it true that everyone lined up to worship that Sara Carbonero, enthroned in the center of the courtyard, with the world cup in his lap, was the true queen of the party? Is it true that when he finally late, Iker Casillas was in the midst of other players, it was as if suddenly appeared among his disciples Christ? ".
"If that happened, which I doubt, I did not heard anything," I say.
"You do not you find out what does not suit you. The record you would have done in the time of the Journal of Oliver! What I have told Victor Boots! Who has seen and who sees you. An old Republican (mostly old, I think) bowing in court for a pittance: what you pay for jury duty ... "
" If you do not pay anything ... "
" For worse. You might even include verses by José Emilio Pacheco that you like to repeat: We're all that / what we are fighting for twenty years. " Already I'm
everything against which I fought for twenty years? Maybe. It is true that the Queen saw a little boring, between the director of the Academy and the persistent political, that the prince was walking with his plate in his hand without the usual coterie that Leticia did not wake up, let alone, the expectation other times, that all eyes were after the journalist who, on his throne television, hugged the Holy Grail, there were long queues to be photographed with the golden relic, made of such stuff as dreams. But I'd rather talk about the good friends with whom I shared table. I do not know if the old one becomes more wise or just more conformist, but for me there is no prize. Therefore
accept the invitation each year to supply these media awards. So for thirty years, I only missed three Fridays, and by reason of force majeure, to socialize on Fridays.
Saturday, October 23 PROVERBS BULGARIAN
Light a candle for God and two for the devil.
The good word goes a long way, but to bad no one can reach. If not try
evil know no good. Until
eat a kilo of salt with someone does not know what kind of person he is.
If you have good wine and good friends, do not throw any woman at fault.
who pursues two hares does not hunt any.
is better to be in hell with smart people in fools paradise.
Sages spoil the world.
who ignores everything, long known.
If the marriage was a good thing, God would have a wife.
Sunday, October 24
THREE PLAYERS
This hunting scene told you in the Colonial, I phoned a friend reminds me of a story by Amelia Edwards, "The ghost car." Even I remember that the menu served to two hunters lost, fried eggs with ham and a bottle of sherry, is the same. I do not know if your partner is not confuse old readings with reality. Although actually, I know from experience, not always realistic. I also had a few years ago, an experience that I have not told anyone. I'm going to tell you, but just between us. To me then I was very interested in the paranormal. I went several times to record EVP abandoned houses, you know those weird sounds sometimes heard where it should not hear anything. I was also with my recorder to the graveyard of St. Lazarus. Almost always I accompanied a friend who had less fear was Pelayo. But once I was alone. It was a summer night, full moon, with music of crickets, very nice, nothing spooky. I had drunk a bit, everybody had to leave, I wanted to go home (still living with my parents), so without thinking I went to San Lazaro will continue to do experiments. Had already jumped the walls when I realized that I carried the tape recorder. Was equal, would walk among the graves, imagine a poem. You know then I was very Byronic. I went to the tomb of Clarín and I saw that very closely, on a tombstone, three individuals seemed to play cards. Would you believe I scared? Well, a little bit, but before he could think of no one of them looked up and said: "We need one more to the game. Do you sign? ". "Okay" I replied. That husky voice was familiar and at once recognized the son of a law professor and lawyer famous, once we were at the Apollo, I do not remember his name. The other two, one with his white beard, the other with his glasses to Woody Allen, seemed strangely Angel Gonzalez and Victor Botas. They were very silent, with downcast eyes. "I have no money," he said. "No matter, we'll play the clothes. " And I was losing game after game all the clothes. "Well, until one night," said the youngest, the one who spoke. And all three stood up and disappeared, leaving me stunned and naked there. Suddenly I felt cold. I started shaking. I dressed quickly and went home. The next morning, what you thought, that everything had been an alcoholic hallucination.
But a few days later, Angel Gonzalez came to Oviedo. Lola Lucio and Juan Benito invited us to dinner with him at home. Were you, Almuzara, Lopez-Vega, I think he Silvia. We had dinner, talked, and then we went for a drink. Everyone retreated, you first, and I accompanied Angel to four. At that time I left the umbrella. The next day, remember we were in the party, and called us concerned Lola Lucio: Angel had not returned home, no one knew anything about him. A spree of more than twenty-four hours was too much partying, even for a poet of the fifties. You know the end of the story: he had entered the cathedral and had fallen asleep on a bench, when he woke up saying Mass, and he thought he had died and attended his funeral. I do not know is what I just said me: "Let's see when we take another game, but try to take money. " Boots Victor did not say anything, Victor boots by the time when he played poker with me on a tomb of St. Lazarus had been dead two years, just below the tomb: the recognized by the epitaph.
Monday, October 25
PRAISE OF THE PLANET
"You are wrong to mess with the Planet," another friend reproaches me. "What always misses? No award was made. Here the Nobel. Now everybody talks about Vargas Llosa, is the story of the century, especially for The Country and Alfaguara. But who remembers Nobel last year, one such Herta Müller? Your friend Colinas has just published two of his books. The titles say it all: The guard pulls out his comb and dwells in the bun lady . Automatic writing, as advocated by Dadaists a century ago. Boring games. I do not know why he has such a bad reputation as the planet and the Nobel good: in both cases correct answers by chance. It is not true what you say that the Metro, when rewards a good writer, she always does her worst novel. If so, Miles would not have obtained world, but perhaps What I know about the little men , but all things considered has other novels to choose from. "
Tuesday, October 26
Pending
Me
time t sit back and wait / time passes. many words / but I only listen to / old silences.
Wait. / From where does not get / have to return.
Night comes / and hidden behind her / the new day.
Do not you know? / When I'm more alone / you are with me.
few words. / What matter what he says / long silence. Time passes
/ shuffling / as another patient. In
the garden / waste their scent / all flowers.
phone rings / in the house with no one / every night.
I've never seen / and the sleepless nights / still remember you.
Do you know who I am? / Half of your soul / and do not know.
Say you love me. / After so many lies / one truth.
Wednesday, October 27 STILL LEARN
I'm not the people who praise themselves, I am not of those who say: "My last issue is like." I'm too vain to engage in such naivete, or reproduce the praise I get (no writer who does not receive praise from other writers generally expect them to be returned immediately and with interest). What I teach are the diatribes floor with my enemies do not flatter me as often as I would like. I know too well that these are the real praise. Nobody takes the trouble of attacking those who do not believe it is important, versus who does not like shade. Lately, everyone I show the broadside I found in the latest book by Miguel d'Ors (great poet, but as fascist seem to warm up the coterie of the COPE).
not do it again. Rereading A Winter in Majorca by George Sand, I find with these lines from the prologue: "If there is folly and vanity publishing compliments you received, is there no more nonsense and vanity to boast of attacks that is the subject?". Under
head in shame. I hope never to engage in such foolishness and vanity.
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