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Ishtar and death and forgetfulness



I


Sumerian legend relates that on the death disappeared from the garden of eternal dawn, the birds did not encourage the world with their songs, the crickets and cicadas were silent, the wild blueberries did not come to fruition and rattles of rattlesnakes monody chanted a brutal blood-curdling in my veins. Had disappeared adventure and interest. The world became gray and opaque forever. Since that day, nor seen again the beautiful Ishtar, the girl that inspired the garden with their songs and laughter, illuminating the shadowy corners with their joy, their dances and their heady scent. Many were worried

the priests of Ur and Chaldea during the centuries that followed this terrible event, praying to Marduk, chief of the gods, trying to offer sacrifices at the top of the Zigurath (with a null result, because there was no way to run or lambs or goats or Babylonian prisoners) (1) and asking him to death again, that does not abandon his people, that the youngster had over 768 years and were all a little sick and tired.


II

The oracle had announced to her parents, Sin, moon god, and Nannar, the moon that Ishtar was to be a nympho carefully. To them, they were pretty frigid, "the prospect horrifies them, so the child being placed in the garden of eternal dawn, surrounded by swans, bright butterflies, jumping ciervecillos of songbirds and other kitsch that had been in that kind of Eden. Not a shadow of human male or centaur, or even an elf. And so it grew Ishtar, happy, until one day he began to feel strange sensations in your body and spirit. He wanted to tell the birds, but even if you did, still with its harmonious trills. He spoke to the deer, but were limited to her with his sad eyes. Cried to heaven. Both cried, that death who was there that day, heard his cries and went to see what happened.

Ishtar, delighted to talk to someone finally asked, Death, what's wrong? I feel I need love, that my body is twisted at night, my soul suffers ... tell me, death, what is it about love? Death, completely blown away by the beauty of the maid, looked with blank eyes and spoke of the meaning of love and death as the culmination (2). Ishtar, fascinated, fell into his arms, fused with her and in his delirium flew together into another dimension.



III Centuries later, Marduk, the chief of all the gods began to pity his elderly subjects that also not allowed to sleep at home all day making grilled with their prayers and incense. Cursing up as road every time they broke the knife going to execute a sheep or a chicken. Enough of such murga! "He said and called the death of his voice: Muerteeeeeee! And was soft! Fifteen centuries have you frolicking with Ishtar's no tomorrow! I will give you something! Come, come back to earth, they need you! And you, Ishtar, too! And seeing how good it gives you this scroll, you name God of love and fertility. Hale, down.




Epilogue that day, two hundred died millions of humans at a stretch. To organize it well, death rode a deluge that left no puppet head (3) Ishtar was devoted to his own, but always said that never happened to anyone as it happened when she was dead (4)

Notes:


(1) What was a nuisance, because he had to feed more and more prisoners and there was no way to kill chickens or chickens.

(2) The death and knew that many centuries later, Georges Bataille would write things like that.

(3) Some authors claim that survived as Noah, but this end is to be confirmed.

(4) De ahí viene el dicho: ¡Lo he pasado de muerte!

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Atonement




Expiación, como todos sabéis, queridos amigos que me escucháis (es que yo ya me oigo disertando en mitad de la plaza de mi pueblo), es una gran novela de Ian MacEwan, que es ese señor que aparece en la foto de cobertura, con esa cara de profesor de matemáticas. Despiste, es el mío, y ahora os explico por qué.

Me habían regalado hace años (no voy a decir quien, que luego todo se sabe, las paredes oyen y los ordenatas son una ventana abierta) la versión castellana, de editorial Anagrama. Desgraciadamente, por un error, la puse en la estantería donde están los libros que 1) ya he leído, ó, 2) no pienso leerlos jamás. Hela aquí, tan ricamente archivada:



Pero hete aquí, Cide Hamete Benengeli, que en uno de mis frecuentes viajes a Londres, pasé según costumbre por Waterstone's de Cambridge Circus antes de ir a calmar mi sed en los pubs de Soho. Siempre sigo los consejos de "Waterstone's recommends, etc, etc" y vi que recomendaba una novela llamada "atonement", de MacEwan. ¡Sielos!, me la compré, qué diablos, sin pensar que "atonement" quiere exactamente decir "expiación" en castellano. Es que uno es un ceporro. Total, que la puse en la estantería donde tengo los libros cuya lectura debe ser inmediata (o casi):




Pasaron los dias, pasaron las semanas, como decía Apollinaire en su famoso poema, y ambos ejemplares siguieron cada uno en su cómodo nicho. Si los hubiera mirado de cerca me habría apercibido que eran el mismo libro, como puede verse:





En fin, abrevio, al fin me he leído el libro en su versión original y me ha impresionado un montón. (prefiero las versiones originales si conozco la lengua en cuestión, o sea, en inglés y francés). Os lo recomiendo si no lo habéis leído. Han hecho una film, which also have seen and which I consider an insult to Mac Ewan's novel. I'm not going to have "spoilers" as they say in the Wiki, but all the great dramatic tension, anxiety, a mad crescendo of the first part of the book becomes an unfunny cartoon. The drama of British troops in their retreat to Dunkirk, full of terrible times, tragic, that make you almost to tears by the second part, becomes in the movie, almost, almost like a holiday in Benidorm a few drunken English hooligans. In fact, horrible. The only thing that saves the film is the speech that marks the end Vanessa Redgrave.

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Albacete there

years I've

tratando de explicarle a diversos amigotes y colegas sajones, anglos, valacos, vénetos, padanos, frisios, occitanos, ardeneses, suabos, carintios, reto rumanos, kosovares, etc.. dónde está un sitio llamado Albacete, describiendo con pelos y señales la llanura manchega, contando que es una ciudad a mitad de camino entre Madrid y Alicante, donde la gente para a ejem...(ya lo dice la desconsiderada rima: "Albacete, c_g_ y vete"). Lo único que he recibido son miradas escépticas y algún comentario entre dientes sobre antiguas leyendas del Marqués de Villena.

Y.. resulta que la solución era bien sencilla: conseguir que un chaval albaceteño metiera el gol que le ha supuesto a España ganar el mundial de fútbol. Gracias, Andresico, has puesto Albacete en el mapa. ¡Cómo no se nos habría ocurrido antes!

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Finland, the World Cup in 2006 and some little anecdote





Ya sé que me vais a criticar por traer a cuento cualquier tontuna para empezar un post, pero todo tiene su explicación (o casi todo, vaya). De acuerdo que lo de los comecalcetines estaba bastante traido por los pelánganos para hablar de Cabo Verde, pero oye, esas son cosas del "stream of consciuosness" que decía James Joyce. Bueno, y ahora que ya he quedado como un pedante, paso a contaros qué tiene que ver Finlandia con el mundial de 2006.

El día que eliminaron a España en el mundial 2006, I found myself, for reasons of gigs in Rauma, a small town in Finland, but not sound, is the heritage of humanity. It has a very rigged wooden houses in the old city, and some other museum






after a hard day of work (I exaggerate, of course), the day we returned to the car hotel my colleagues (an Italian and Ukrainian) and me. Both insisted that we would see the party in the Hotel Bar. Hey, I said, if you insist, okay. The bar was packed with people. After the first cervezotas, Spain scores a goal for France. A server, who was fired by the shouted beers: GOL!. People gave me looks grim not interpreted correctly, I thought 'how are these Finns, it must be because I cried. " But after a while, make France not once, but twice and the bar erupted in cheers darting glances of pity. Then I found out they were all French, who were working on a contract near Rauma. In short, a trip either given in life. Since then, I maintain a dignified silence on all football matches, even when in the solitude of my room.

Moreover, Rauma is an interesting city, without exaggeration. The strange thing is that the Village Supermarket had "Villa SOBRENA" Toro wine, a wine that I like a lot. I've only found in the "Eroski" Albacete, in the "Eurowine" in Brussels and there, in Rauma.

Rauma is crossed by canals and streams, as you see here:




But calm is not Finnish bathing, is a sculpture, but it gives the stick?

Back from Rauma, Helsinki went through, a nice town (I was lucky that the weather was excellent). If you go to see Santa Claus winter some of these, which is becoming fashionable in certain circles, do not fail to go through Helsinki (aunque en invierno debe hacer un frío que te desuella los intestinos). Los finlandeses son serios, pero acogedores. Yo tengo excelentes amigos de ahí, como mi amigote Jorma que me enseñó las palabras mágicas en finlandés: "Sátana, Pérkele, Vittu". Probad a decírselas a algún finlandés y observad con temperamento de antropólogo como salta horrorizado mientras se tapa las orejas. Si es una finlandesa, todavía mejor. La verdad es que no sé qué quieren decir, nadie -ni siquiera mi amigo Jorma- ha consentido en explicarme su significado. Debe ser algo terrible.






Foto curiosa del mercado de Helsinki donde, como se ve, las cerezas las venden por litros, no por kilos.




En esta otra, se ve que el pescado se vende en un barco, cosa que sería lógica, si no fuera porque ya está seco y ahumado

Vale, ya me callo, que para un domingo está bien de dar la brasa, pero en serio, Finlandia es un país interesante y la gente es seria, pero agradable.

Besotes a tod@s