Posts Tagged ‘English’

Podcast “Entitled Opinions”

noviembre 20, 2011

El profesor Robert Harrison emite cada semana un programa radiofónico cultural desde la Universidad de Stanford, California.

Cada programa suele tener a un invitado, y se tocan temas tan variados como los poemas homéricos, Friedrich Nietzsche o Jimi Hendrix.

La emisión da lugar a un Podcast que se puede encontrar gratuitamente en iTunes.

Como recomendación, los programas sobre Pink Floyd, The Doors y la familia en la Antigua Roma, me han parecido especialmente buenos. De todas formas, dependiendo de los intereses de cada uno hay muchísimo donde elegir.

A continuación, un par de enlaces útiles:

iTunes – Podcasts – Entitled Opinions (About Life and Literature)

“Entitled Opinions” en la web del Departamento de Francés e Italiano de la Universidad de Stanford

Robert Harrison

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The Rolling Stones in the Playboy Mansion

agosto 17, 2011

We had the doc there, and we’d get in one of the Bunnies for him. The deal was “We get free dibs on your bag and you can have Debbie.” I felt the script had been written, play it to the hilt. Bobby and I played it a little far when we set fire to the bathroom. Well, we didn’t, the dope did. Not our fault. Bobby and I were just sitting in the john, comfortable, nice john, sitting on the floor, and we’ve got the doc’s bag and we’re just smorgasbording. “I wonder what these do?” Bong. And at a certain point… talk about hazy, or foggy, Bobby says, “It’s smoky in here.” And I’m looking at Bobby and can’t see him. And the drapes are smoldering away; everything was just about to go off big-time. To the point where I can’t see him, he’s disappeared in this fog. “Yes, I guess it is a bit smoky in here.” It was a really delayed reaction. And then suddenly a flurry at the door and the fire alarms start going, beep beep beep. “What’s that noise, Bob?” “I don’t know. Should we open the window?” Someone shouts through the door, “Are you all right?” “Oh yeah, we’re fucking great, man.” So he just turns away, and we don’t know exactly what to do. Maybe if we’re quiet and walk out and we pay for the reconstruction? And then a little later there was a thumping on the door, waiters and guys in black suits bringing buckets of water. They get the door open and we’re sitting on the floor, our pupils very pinned. I said, “We could have done that ourselves. How dare you burst in on our private affair?” Hugh decamped soon after that and moved to LA.

Keith Richards, Life

Keith Richards

Cuento de Kafka

mayo 2, 2011

“Alas,” said the mouse, “the world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when at last I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into.” “You only need to change your direction,” said the cat, and ate it up.

En inglés, porque así fue tal y como lo encontré en el ensayo “Some remarks on Kafka’s funinness from which probably not enough have been removed”, de David Foster Wallace.

America, 1966

enero 17, 2011

College kids where spitting on the American flag; suburban moms were marching against the war. The best-sellers lists included books challenging the conclusions of the Warren Commission report on Kennedy’s assassination. The President was an object of ridicule. That October, in Texas they wouldn’t believe Johnson if he told them that next month was November.

Leído en la revista Time (“Inalienable Nation”, Nancy Gibbs)

Una carta de Hunter S. Thompson

enero 23, 2010

Escrita en 1958, cuando Thompson contaba con 20 años de edad. Está publicada en la el primer volumen de “The Fear and Loathing letters”, titulado “The Proud Highway. Saga of a desperate southern gentelman. 1955-1967”.

TO HENRY EICHELBURGUER

Eichelburger was in his third year of studying biology and zoology at Tulane University. Thompson was looking to reap the fruits of an evening he had spent with “Ike” in the French Quarter, during which his friend did nothing but brag about the women he had conquered one summer in New York.

January 9, 1958
110 Morningside Drive
Apt. 53
New York, New York

Dear Ike,

I trust this missive finds you healthy, wealthy, and striving for the dean’s list. I wouldn’t have you any other way, you know.

Seriously, by now I’m sure that you’ve noticed the return address and that you’ve heaved the called-for sigh of relief at the realization that I’m not about to descend on you again… so let me come immediately to the point.

The point is very biological, and that should suit you rather well. To be brief, I am in New York for an indefinite period and I’m desperately in need of sexual satisfaction. I seem to remember now that you spent the summer up here in an apartment full of lusty young women. Where is that apartment: I must know. I would also like to know -just as soon as you can get a letter in the mail- any other names, places, addresses, and so forth, which would be of aid to a young rake prowling around this overpopulated isle. Come now, I’m sure you must know hundreds of uninhibited women I can comfort in my own peculiar manner. No living human could spend an entire summer here without making innumerable vital contacts. And I am indeed serious: if you know any drunks, bums, whores, etc. -by all means clue me in. I have come to write my way to fame and dortune, and I need colorful material.

I shall await your material by return post. (more…)

Big Boy

diciembre 3, 2009

Encontré este cuento en la cafetería de la Ruhr Universität de Bochum, Alemania. Forma parte del libro “Me Talk Pretty One Day” de David Sedaris.

It was Easter Sunday in Chicago, and my sister Amy and I were attending an afternoon dinner at the home of our friend John. The weather was nice, and he’d set up a table in the backyard so that we might sit in the sun. Everyone had taken their places, when I excused myself to visit the bathroom, and there, in the toilet, was the absolute biggest turd I have ever seen in my life – no toilet paper or anything, just this long and coiled specimen, as thick as a burrito.

Se puede leer completo [aquí]

Extraña tipografía

agosto 27, 2009

malcolm_lowry

Yo escribí: «en la oscura caverna de nuestro nacimiento».
El impresor puso «taberna», lo que parecía mejor:
Pero en eso reside el motivo de nuestra risa,
Dado que en la página siguiente «muerte» aparece como «suerte».
También puede ser que la palabra de Dios sea «distracción»
Y en nuestra extraña tipografía aparezca «destrucción»,
Lo que es cruel.

Extraña Tipografía. Malcom Lowry

Leído aquí

Su versión original:

I wrote: in the dark cavern of our birth.
The printer had it tavern, which seems better:
But herein lies the subject of our mirth,
Since on the next page death appears and dearth.
So it may be that God’s word was distraction,
Which to our strange type appears destruction,
Which is bitter.

(‘Strange Type’, from Selected Poems of Malcolm Lowry, 1962)

Encontrada acá

Pearl Harbor, Vietnam

julio 13, 2009

pearl harbor vietnam

Margaret MacMillan passes along a story originally told by the writer Susan Jacoby. She was in a New York bar on the evening of Sept. 11, 2001, and eavesdropped on a conversation between two “bewildered” men.

First man: “This is just like Pearl Harbor.”

Second man: “What is Pearl Harbor?”

First man: “That was when the Vietnamese dropped bombs in a harbor, and it started the Vietnam War.”

Leído en Washington Post, Sunday 12th July. [Link]


Bonito, ¿pero es Arte?

mayo 15, 2009

WHEN the flush of a newborn sun fell first on Eden’s green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mold;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves: “It’s pretty, but is it Art?

Rudyard Kipling

isitart

El poema completo se puede leer aquí.