A Pair of Silk Stockings

  Little Mrs. Sommers one day found herself the unexpected possessor of fifteen dollars. It seemed to her a very large amount of money, and the way in which it stuffed and bulged her worn old porte-monnaie gave her a feeling of importance such as she had not enjoyed for years. The question of investment…

Before The Cask of Wine

  The spring wind comes from the east and quickly passes, Leaving faint ripples in the wine of the golden bowl. The flowers fall, flake after flake, myriads together. You, pretty girl, wine-flushed, Your rosy face is rosier still. How long may the peach and plum trees flower By the green-painted house? The fleeting light…

¿Qué les queda a los jóvenes?

¿Qué les queda por probar a los jóvenes
en este mundo de paciencia y asco?
¿sólo grafitti? ¿rock? ¿escepticismo?
también les queda no decir amén
no dejar que les maten el amor
recuperar el habla y la utopía
ser jóvenes sin prisa y con memoria
situarse en una historia que es la suya
no convertirse en viejos prematuros

Con la misma moneda, de Verity Bargate

Originally posted on Piélago de Lecturas:
? En puridad, el título de la novela debería de traducirse como Toma y daca ya que esta expresión corresponde exactamente al original Tit for tat, yendo en ambas implícito el hecho de que se trata de un intercambio de golpes. Ahora bien, la expresión inglesa, como acertadamente…

Noche de Insomnio

Estaba solo, completamente solo, incluso el sueño nocturno me había abandonado… De pronto me pareció oír no unas palabras sino unos sonidos, unos sonidos siempre en tres suspiros Como viento y harina… “¿Qué puede ser eso? ¡No hay tiempo que perder!”, mascullé, y enderezándome el cabello con un trago de vino me puse en pie…

The Tunnel by Ernesto Sabato — Winstonsdad’s Blog

The Tunnel by Ernesto Sabato Argentian fiction Original title –El túnel Translator – Margaret Sayers Peden Source – personal copy I was kindly sent this a few years ago by Annabelle of the blog Annabookbel here review is here . I had left this on my shelves to long Sabato is a writer I had…

In Search of Lost Time

We believe that we can change the things around us in accordance with our desires—we believe it because otherwise we can see no favourable outcome. We do not think of the outcome which generally comes to pass and is also favourable: we do not succeed in changing things in accordance with our desires, but gradually…

Desganas

  Si cuarenta mil niños diariamente  en el purgatorio del hambre y de la sed si la tortura de los pobres cuerpos envilece una a una a las almas y si el poder se ufana de sus cuarentenas o si los pobres de solemnidad son cada vez menos solemnes y más pobres ya es bastante…

An Alpine Divorce

  by Robert Barr In some natures there are no half-tones; nothing but raw primary colours. John Bodman was a man who was always at one extreme or the other. This probably would have mattered little had he not married a wife whose nature was an exact duplicate of his own. Doubtless there exists in…

When it Rains on Sunday

When it rains on Sunday and you are alone, open to the world but no thief comes and neither drunkard nor enemy knocks at the door, when it rains on Sunday and you’re deserted and can’t imagine living without the body or not living since you have it, when it rains on Sunday and you’re…

Todos los Putos Días

Elegir un libro, y que encima nos guste, no deja de ser un riesgo “asumido” por el lector.  ¿Qué es lo primero que nos atrae de un libro? ¿La portada, la sinopsis, una recomendación…? Sea lo que sea, las grandes editoriales, pese a su  gran maquinaria de marketing, no  pueden garantizan la calidad de un …

A Bread and Butter Miss

The young have aspirations that never come to pass, the old have reminiscences of what never
happened.
Saki

Ballad of Forgotten Places

My most beautiful hiding places, places that best fit my soul’s deepest colors, are made of all that others forgot. They are solitary sites hollowed out in the grass’s caress, in a shadow of wings, in a passing song; regions whose limits swirl with the ghostly carriages that transport the mist in the dawn, and…

Death in Spring by Mercè Rodoreda

Originally posted on Winstonsdad's Blog:
Death in Spring by  Mercè Rodoreda Spanish Catalan fiction Original title –  La mort i la primavera Translator – Martha Tennet Source – personnel copy Well, I read the first of my post-holiday reads in a day. This book came out a few years ago in the US and earlier this year…

Tony’s Wife

  by Alice Dunbar-Nelson “Gimme fi’ cents worth o’ candy, please.” It was the little Jew girl who spoke, and Tony’s wife roused herself from her knitting to rise and count out the multi-hued candy which should go in exchange for the dingy nickel grasped in warm, damp fingers. Three long sticks, carefully wrapped in crispest…

City that does not sleep

I will always be on the side of those who have nothing and who are not even allowed to enjoy the nothing they have in peace.
Federico García Lorca

A Dynamite Explosion

No one can tell, when two people walk closely together, what unconscious communication one mind may have with another.
Robert Barr

Ghostwriters

Nowadays, the demand for ghostwriters is on the rise. Some people like to use their services to write for their blogs and social media accouts to lessen their burden while others even hire them to write a book for them. Nonetheless, ghostwriting has been around for centuries, in one form or another. There are historians […]…

Taxi, de Carlos Zanón, una novela de película

Carlos Zanón, como es habitual, sabe cómo acariciar las llagas ocultas de sus personajes con el único fin de despertar sus miedos para que vomiten la vida al ritmo de un arrastrado tango.

Drink my soul, as if with a straw

Drink my soul, as if with a straw I know it’s bitter, intoxicating taste. I won’t disturb the torment with pleading, Oh, for weeks now I’ve been at peace. Tell me, when you’re done. No sadness, That my soul’s no more of this world. I’ll walk down that road nearby And see how children play….

Regret

The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies.
Kate Chopin

Fears

  Fears The sensation of being the only guest in a grand hotel on the outskirts of the city —and hearing the somnambulistic elevator and a scream— or being in an empty theater or in a lonely plaza of a lonely unknown city weighed down with suitcases and no money surrounded by escaped doves from…

In Black and White

My last look at Jun’ichirō Tanizaki’s work involved a short piece blending thriller and erotic themes, and today’s choice, on the surface at least, is a very similar novel. Once again, we’re off to Tokyo, in the company of a writer who becomes swept up in an intrigue involving a beautiful woman and night-time assignations. […]…

Life is fine

I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered! I came up twice and cried! If that water hadn’t a-been so cold I might’ve sunk and died. But it was Cold in that water!…

Was it an Illusion? A Parson’s Story

My first appointment was to a West of England district largely peopled with my personal friends and connections. It was, therefore, much to my annoyance that I found myself, after a couple of years of very pleasant work, transferred to what a policeman would call ‘a new beat,’ up in the North. Unfortunately for me, my new beat-a rambling…

Elena Ferrante — Poetry Curator

“I believe that books, once they are written, have no need of their authors. If they have something to say, they will sooner or later find readers; if not, they won’t. . . . I very much love those mysterious volumes, both ancient and modern, that have no definite author but have had and continue […]…

The Last Sixty Minutes

A clock is a little machine that shuts us out from the wonder of time.
Susan Glaspell

The Lumber Room

The young have aspirations that never come to pass, the old have reminiscences of what never
happened.
H.H. Munro (SAKI)

The Cats

Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering Flames of futility swirling below; Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering, Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow. Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers, Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun; Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun….

Monsieur Proust by Céleste Albaret – Wonderful

Originally posted on Book Around The Corner:
Monsieur Proust by Céleste Albaret (1973) – Remembrances collected by Georges Belmont. Céleste was a country girl from the Creuse department who married Odilon Albaret in 1913 and came to live in Paris. Her husband was a taxi driver, one of Marcel Proust’s preferred chauffeurs. This is how…

The Cactus

The most notable thing about Time is that it is so purely relative. A large amount of reminiscence is, by common consent, conceded to the drowning man; and it is not past belief that one may review an entire courtship while removing one’s gloves.

When You are Old — Poetry Curator

When You are Old William Butler Yeats, 1865-1939 When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved […]…

The Impostor by Javier Cercas

Originally posted on Winstonsdad's Blog:
? The Impostor by Javier Cercas Spanish Non-Fiction Original title – El Impostor Translator – Frank Wynne Source – review copy Well, a change from German lit month for a book from one of my favourite Spanish writers of recent years. Javier Cercas has featured on the blog three…