Archive for the ‘Literatura’ Category

♠Paul Auster: Short Story “Auggie Wren’s Christmas”:

Click on the title above to read the story.-

Click on the title above to read the story.-

Click on the iamge above and then at the blue arrow to listen to Auster´s story

Click on the image above to enter to the site  and then on the blue arrow to listen to Auster´s story (Read By Himself).-


English: “Auggie Wren’s Christmas”: 

Click here to listen to Auster´s reading 

English: “Auggie Wren’s Christmas”:

Click here to read Auster´s story.




“Auggie Wren’s Christmas”  (“Smoke”):

Description: First part of the closing chapter (5. Auggie) of the 1995 movie Smoke.
Directed by Wayne Wang and Paul Auster. Writer: Paul Auster. Leading roles: Harvey Keitel and William Hur


♠ Truman Capote: Short Story: “A Christmas Memory”/ Cuento: “Un Recuerdo Navideño”: 

Click on teh image above to read Capote´s story.-

Click on the image above to read Capote´s story.-


►English: “A Christmas Memory”:

Click Here to read Capote´s Story.

►Castellano: “Un Recuerdo Navideño”:

Hacer click aquí para leer el relato de Capote


♠”A Christmas Memory” by Truman Capote (1/6):

(Note: Check Out the Following videos at Youtube linking from the first one)

Description: Narrated by Truman Capote himself, this Emmy award-winning television version of Capote’s “A Christmas Memory” is a faithful recreation of his wonderful short story (first published in Mademoiselle in 1956, later published in book form). It appeared on ABC Stage 67 in December of 1966. Starring Geraldine Page as Sook and Donnie Melvin as Buddy. Adapted for television by Capote and Eleanor Perry. Directed by Frank Perry.


♠”Un Poema Navideño por Aquileana” / “A Christmas Poem By Aquileana”:

♠Un Poema: “Breve Crónica Navideña”:

Escucha antes de hablar

porque las noches perdidas y ganadas son todas ellas también esta noche

Cada estrella es un nacimiento, 

aun en los perdidos trópicos del cielo inmenso

Cuando decís te quiero estemos juntos, bien sabés que 

no lo jurarías para no hacer vanas tus promesas… 

Porque el agua es clara en diciembre, el manantial fluye con las palabras y el entusiasmo declina

No preciso que me quieras cerca, ni aún  a la distancia justa como para extrañarme, 

hoy no se trata de nosotros, de los vaivenes a los que nos exponemos sin darnos tregua,  desde hace tanto y tan poco… 

No concluiremos en  caídas al vacío, preámbulos a los que nos sometemos antes de despeñarnos en el eco de un abismo insondable. 

No te muevas. Sólo permanece así con ese gesto de presunta estabilidad, tu mano apoyada apenas sobre tu cara. 

Este momento se quedará conmigo. Lo presiento. 

Hoy es noche de nacimiento. Las luces titilan en los arboles de navidad, los niños esperaron tanto este día como nosotros

el fin de la batalla, para volver a amarnos, incluso mejor… Casi  identificándonos  de nuevo como ajenos conocidos, como siempre,

Mira hacia arriba, pronto las luces de estruendo estallarán como olas amarillas contra una roca. 

En el cielo se abrirán como flores y entre las estrellas guían senderos de constelaciones perdidas.

La mesa navideña con velas rojas incluidas . Y vos y yo, los dos…

 frente a frente con las copas en las manos y la vista clavada en un  inevitable

punto fijo.  Las pupilas  negras en el centro perfecto de tus ojos (de los míos). 

Pero no ne mires complacientemente. Hoy no se trata de nosotros, sino del cielo, la permanencia y la celebración

Hoy es Navidad, y con Él todo nace nuevamente. 

Y así, nosotros…

Aquileana /Amalia Pedemonte. 24 de Diciembre de 2013.-


♠ A Poem: “Brief Christmas Chronicle”:

I beg you to listen before you talk 

because all the past nights, the lost ones, the ones we won are also this night

Each star entrains a new birth,

even if it is lost among the tropics of the never -ending sky

When you say I love you, I want us to be together , you know that you don´t mean it… 

You wouldn´t swear it as you don´t like to break  promises …

Water is clear in December, water runs out of clear springs,

And, as we flow within words, our enthusiasm declines…

I don´t want  you to remain close to you, not even at a fair distance well enough for you to miss me,

Today is not about us, nor about these fluctuations to which we expose ourselves without realizing  for how long we do.

No need to end by again falling in that nonsense vacuum preamble we are so used to… 

 To which we submit shivering before falling in a bottomless pit .

Do not move. Just stay like this, with this gesture of alleged stability; your hand softly resting just on your face.

This moment will stay with me forever . I can almost feel it…

Tonight is a night of birth . The lights flicker on Christmas trees, the kids have waited so long for this day to arrive 

the same way we beg for peace after a battle, in order to surrounder another time to love.

Probably better … Almost identifying ourselves again, as ever…

Look up now, soon the  fireworks will collide above as yellow waves against a heavenly rock …

In the sky they will blossom like  flowers and among the stars their paths will lead us to lost domain of golden constellations.

The Christmas table. Red candles glowing. And you and I, us, here …

 Face to face rising the glasses; whilst looking at an unswerving  point.

I stare at the black pupils of your eyes; and so you do…

But, don´t look  at me with that indulgently  glance

Today is not about you nor me neither us,

It is just about the sky, the festivities of birth and redemption

Today is Christmas, and with Him everything is born…

And so we are…

Aquileana / Amalia Pedemonte.December 24, 2013 . -




♠Bonustrack: John Lennon: “Happy Christmas” (War is Over):


♠Updates: Thanks Delvina Lavoie for The Prix Lighthouse Award Nomination:

At Migration X-3 (December 31st 2013):

Click on the image above to check out the Award Nomination.-

Click on the image above to check out the Award Nomination.-


♠Informe Anual WordPress 2013:





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♠Poetry / Poesía:

William Shakespeare: “Sonnet  CXVI” / “Soneto CXVI”:



♠Poesía: William Shakespeare: “Soneto CXVI”:


Soneto 116 en castellano.-


♠William Shakespeare: “Sonnet 116″:




♠William Shakespeare: “Sonnet 116″:  “Let me not to the marriage of true minds”:


♠William Shakespeare´s Sonnet 116:

“Summary & Analysis”:

Shakespeare´s Sonnet 116  was first published in 1609. Its structure and form are a typical example of the Shakespearean Sonnet

The poet begins by stating he should not stand in the way of true love. Love cannot be true if it changes for any reason. Love is supposed to be constant, through any difficulties. In the sixth line, a nautical reference is made, alluding that love is much like the north star to sailors. Love should also not fade with time; instead, true love lasts forever.

This sonnet attempts to define love, by telling both what it is and is not. In the first quatrain, the speaker says that love—”the marriage of true minds”—is perfect and unchanging; it does not “admit impediments,” and it does not change when it find changes in the loved one. In the second quatrain, the speaker tells what love is through a metaphor: a guiding star to lost ships (“wand’ring barks”) that is not susceptible to storms (it “looks on tempests and is never shaken”). In the third quatrain, the speaker again describes what love is not: it is not susceptible to time. Though beauty fades in time as rosy lips and cheeks come within “his bending sickle’s compass,” love does not change with hours and weeks: instead, it “bears it out ev’n to the edge of doom.” In the couplet, the speaker attests to his certainty that love is as he says: if his statements can be proved to be error, he declares, he must never have written a word, and no man can ever have been in love.

The poet makes his point clear from line 1: true love always perseveres, despite any obstacles that may arise. He goes on to define love by what it doesn’t do, claiming that it stays constant, even though people and circumstances may change. Love never dies, even when someone tries to destroy it. Rather than being something that comes and goes, love is eternal and unchanging – so much so that the poet compares it to the North Star, which never moves in the sky and guides lost ships home. This metaphorical star is mysterious and perhaps incomprehensible, even though we can chart its location.

Moving on to a new image, love isn’t at the beck and call of time (or time’s consequences, age and death); mortality isn’t an issue for true love, which doesn’t fade even when youth and beauty disappear. Love doesn’t change as the days go by; rather, it remains strong until the lover’s dying day (or beyond…chew on that for a while).

Finally, the poet stakes his own reputation on this definition, boldly claiming that if anyone can prove him wrong, he’ll eat his words. That is to say, if this idea of love turns out to be wrong, then he’ll take back everything he wrote and it’ll be as though it never existed. Furthermore, if this specific portrayal of love is somehow proved to be the wrong one, then nobody, as far as the poet is concerned, has ever loved at all.


Along with Sonnets 18 (“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”) and 130 (“My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun”), Sonnet 116 is one of the most famous poems in the entire sequence. The definition of love that it provides is among the most often quoted and anthologized in the poetic canon. Essentially, this sonnet presents the extreme ideal of romantic love: it never changes, it never fades, it outlasts death and admits no flaw. What is more, it insists that this ideal is the only love that can be called “true”—if love is mortal, changing, or impermanent, the speaker writes, then no man ever loved. 

In the first quatrain Shakespeare uses repetition of the words “love” and “love” (line 2), “alters” and “alteration” (line 3) and “remover” and “remove” (line 4) to create a feeling of constancy and strength.  This complements his allusion to the marriage ceremony in line one. (Grimes, 2007)

The second quatrain uses two metaphors to describe love, both concerned with light, navigation and the sea. 

The first metaphor compares love to “an ever-fixed mark” such as a lighthouse, used by sailors during bad weather to avoid peril. 

The second compares love to a star, a light in the heavens which can be used to navigate by, but “whose worth’s unknown”.  This second image is the most interesting for how many decisions are made on a daily basis in the name of an emotion that is not really understood.

The second quatrain explains how love is unchanging. According to  Neely, “Love is a star, remote, immovable, self-contained, and perhaps, like the ‘lords and owners of their faces,’ improbably and even somewhat unpleasantly cold and distant.”  The second quatrain continues Shakespeare’s attempt to define love, but in a more direct way

Shakespeare mentions “it” in the second quatrain according to Douglas Trevor, “The constancy of love in sonnet 116, the “it” of line five of the poem, is also – for the poet – the poetry, the object of love itself.” Not only is there a direct address to love itself, the style Shakespeare’s contemplation becomes more direct. Erne states, “Lines five to eight stand in contrast to their adjacent quatrains, and they have their special importance by saying what love is rather than what it is not.” This represents a change in Shakespeare’s view that love is completely undefinable. This concept of unchanging love is focused in the statement, “love is an ever-fixed mark’. 

The first two lines of quatrain three (lines 9 – 10) tell us that although physical beauty, “rosy lips and cheeks”, may fade and die, love is not affected by time. This sentence is interesting for a few reasons. Firstly Time is personified by referring to it as “him” but it is also compared to Death, always a close relative anyway, by giving “him” a “bending sickle”, the Grim Reapers scythe.

The last two lines of quatrain three (11-12) sum up the point of the whole poem: love doesn’t change over time. It endures the passing of time, which is depicted as fleeting and “brief,” and lasts until “the edge of doom,” otherwise known as Judgment Day, the end of time, or whatever you want to call it.

The final two lines of the sonnet (couplet) provide a dramatic and quite bold closing statement.

Line 13 uses rather legalistic language to basically say, “If these ideas are wrong and anyone can prove that I’m incorrect…”

The final line resolves this challenge through a somewhat complicated twist; by saying that the poet has never written anything and that nobody has ever really been in love before if love actually turns out to be less than eternal, the poem’s truth immediately becomes impossible to dispute.

As Linda Gregerson highlights in her article on Shakespeare´s “Sonnet 116″:

“The couplet represents a last, desperate attempt to regain control. It rests upon a sort of buried syllogism: I am obviously a writer (witness this poem); I assert that love is constant; therefore love must be constant. As any logician could testify, however, these premises have no necessary relationship to their conclusion. The couplet is designed to shut down all opposition, to secure the thing (unchanging love) the poem has staked its heart on. It is sheer bravado, and of course it fails. What fails as logical proof, however, succeeds quite brilliantly as poetry”.


“Shakespeare´s Sonnet 116″: “Slideshare”:

Click above to watch the video.

“Which is the Central Idea in Sonnet 116?”. Click above to watch the video.

 Click above to search for topics regarding Sonnet 116.-

Click above to search for more topics regarding Sonnet 116.-




William Shakespeare (1564-1616).-

William Shakespeare (1564-1616).-


Links Post:


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♠Poetry / Poesia: John Keats:

“Bright Star”  (Sonnet) / “Estrella Brillante” (Soneto):

John Keats

John Keats (1795 / 1821).-


♠Poesía: John Keats: “Estrella Brillante”: Reseña:

“Si firme y constante fuera yo, brillante estrella, como tú”… es el inicio del último poema que escribió John Keats el 28 de septiembre de 1820, mientras se alejaba de la isla de Wight,  rumbo a  Nápoles. El viaje a Italia era la última oportunidad de conquistar lo imposible, que en su caso, era buscar una posibilidad de sanar de la tuberculosis que persiguió como una epidemia a varios miembros de su familia. 

El poema “Estrella Brillante “fue  uno de sus últimos poemas, dedicándoselo a su amada Fanny Brawne. Exceptuando los que escribió por pura desesperación en el puerto de Nápoles durante la cuarentena que le obligó a estar encerrado en el navío María Crowther durante una semana. 

 “Estrella Brillante ” es uno de los poemas románticos de Keats, que tanto su amigo Charles Brown en Inglaterra como su fiel y último compañero Joseph Severn en Italia, coincidieron en definirlos como la melancolía de lo inalcanzable.

John Keats murió en los brazos de su amigo Joseph Severn el 23 de febrero de 1821, en el 26 de la Plaza de España, en la ciudad de Roma. Está enterrado en el Cementerio Protestante de aquella ciudad. Junto a él está enterrado Joseph Severn y también las cenizas del poeta Shelley.

Según lo reglamentado por las autoridades italianas, todos los muebles de Keats fueron quemados, menos un piano, porque era alquilado. Los suelos, ventanas y paredes del cuarto fueron destruidos y mandados a hacer de nuevo. Los empapelados de las paredes fueron removidos y renovados. Se hacía así siempre con las víctimas de tuberculosis.

Fanny Brawne se enteró de la muerte de John Keats un mes después. Pasó en duelo seis años. El poema “Estrella brillante” se publicó por primera vez en 1838, diecisiete años después de la muerte de Keats.

En su lápida está labrada una lira de ocho cuerdas, cuatro de ellas rotas. Y las palabras que pidió fueran grabadas sobre su tumba: “Aquí yace aquel cuyo nombre fue escrito en el agua” (“Here Lies One whose name was writ in water”).





♠Poetry: John Keats: “Bright Star” (Sonnet):

John Keats´s poem: Bright Star".-

John Keats´s poem: Bright Star”.-


♠Audio Video: Sonnet By John Keats:

“Bright Star” (“Bright Star, Would I were Stedfast as thou Art”)


♠”Analysis of John Keats´s Sonnet Bright Star”: 

Colleen Walles highlights on her thorough article on Romanticism at  HSC Online that:

“The bright star in the sonnet can be a metaphorical conceit for the appeal and danger of fickle, female sexuality as in “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”. Keats identifies with the evening star and the symbolism is organic in the octave even when he rejects isolation and identification with nature. He implicitly contrasts the sublime and eternal beauty of nature to human life and individual freedom. The sestet privileges concrete over abstract but undermine notions of permanence by paradoxical passivity and a downward movement to acceptance of loss and death”.

As Patrick Gillespie craftily highlights on his post Bright Star by John Keats, His Sonnetat PoemShape.wordpress.com

“Bright Star is one of Keats’s earlier poems and I can’t help but detect the opening of Shakespeare´s Sonnet 116

Shakespeare equates love to a star and this association was surely present in Keats’ s mind from the time he first read Shakespeare’s Sonnet. That is, the star isn’t only a symbol of steadfastness and stability, but also love. And love, in Keats’s mind, is unchangeable and ever-fixèd (or else it isn’t love)”.



Click on Shakespeare´s Sonnet to read its analysis.-


John Keats (1795 / 1821).-

John Keats (1795 / 1821).-


♠”Bright Star” By John Keats: Sonnet Structure:

(Credit: Patrick Gillespie, Bright Star by John Keats, His Sonnet” at PoemShape.wordpress.com)



♠Structure of John Keats´s  Sonnet “Bright Star”:

In many of Keats’s poems, the speaker leaves the real world to explore a transcendent, mythical, or aesthetic realm. At the end of the poem, the speaker returns to his ordinary life transformed in some way and armed with a new understanding. Often the appearance or contemplation of a beautiful object makes the departure possible. The ability to get lost in a reverie, to depart conscious life for imaginative life without wondering about plausibility or rationality, is part of Keats’s concept of negative capability. In “Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art,” the speaker imagines a state of “sweet unrest” in which he will remain half-conscious on his lover’s breast forever. As speakers depart this world for an imaginative world, they have experiences and insights that they can then impart into poetry once they’ve returned to conscious life. 

The final rhyming couplet speaks of life and death. He wishes to ‘live ever’ listening to her ‘tender-taken breath’, ‘or else swoon in death’. Here once again we can observe the interaction between the moment and eternity – if he continues to love her he will live eternally, stedfast like the star. If he ceases to hear her breath – ceases to love – he will die. Interestingly, this last line could almost be the volta in the poem – as the love seems to for the first time to question whether the moment, love, will last forever, and what the alternative would be.

As Lilia Melani points out in her analysis of Keats ´s sonnet at academicbrooklyn.cuny.edu:

“Once the poet eliminates the non-human qualities of the star, he is left with just the quality of steadfastness. He can now define steadfastness in terms of human life on earth, in the world of love and movement. As in so many poems, Keats is grappling with the paradox of the desire for permanence and a world of timelessness and eternity (the star) while living in a world of time and flux. The paradox is resolved by the end of the poem: joy and fulfillment are to be found here, now; he needs no more. There is a possible ambiguity in the last line; is Keats saying that even if love doesn’t enable him to live forever, he will die content in ecstasy and love?”


♠John Keats´s  Sonnet “Bright Star”: Allusions & Meanings (Modern English):

(Credit: Lilia Melani: Analysis of “Bright Star”)




♠Original Manuscript of  Keats´s Sonnet “Bright Star” (1819):

This famous sonnet was written by Keats in his copy of 'The Poetical Works of William Shakespeare' (1819).-

This famous sonnet was written by Keats in his copy of ‘The Poetical Works of William Shakespeare’ (1819).-


♠Links Post:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fg2QoGJ4-h0 (Trailer”Bright Star”)
http://aquileana.wordpress.com/2013/09/21/poesia-john-keats-al-otono-poetry-john-keats-to-autumn/ (“To Autumn”, Poem By John Keats)
http://aquileana.wordpress.com/2009/04/25/john-keats-la-belle-dame-sans-merci/ (“La Belle Dame Sans Merci”. Poem By John Keats).

❖Worth Reading❖ A Sonnet by Irina Dimitric:

“My Sweet Rose” at Irina´s Poetry Corner


How sweet and pure thy perfume grows,
As sweet as seasoned showers to the ground
Upon which thy gracious beauty glows,
I swear my love for ever to thee bound.
Ah, my sweetest rose! I long and pine
For cosy softness of thy velvet shine.
Come, do not tarry! Make haste ere Time’s quick pace
Hath ploughed the furrow through my flesh and bones.
Why did thou forsake me? Thou needed space?
For thou did love me, that too, the Almighty knows.
But when I sleep, our two hearts meet in dreams,
My groaning melancholy gone in thy embrace.

All days as nights do seem to me
Until the day my eyes see thee.

© irina dimitric 2013



Irina Dimitric Dixit:

The first version of this poem was written in 2011 for Wednesday Writing Essential prompt at gather.com:

‘Write a response without any verbs of being and at least one allusion to Shakespeare.’ We were allowed to borrow a line from Shakespeare. Line Two in this poem is borrowed from one of his sonnets; I might still, one day, find which one! Or, perhaps you could find it for me. However, I did find the sonnet which provided the idea for my final couplet: it is Sonnet 43

I started revising the poem three days ago, polishing the metre and rhyme. It was Aquileana’s brilliant post on John Keats http://aquileana.wordpress.com/ that renewed my interest in the sonnet. When I looked up Sonnet on Google, I realised my original version was only a sonnet-like poem: it consisted of three quatrains and a couplet, but the rhyme in the second half of the second quatrain had to be altered and consequently adjusted in the third quatrain; and I paid more attention to metre. Although the language is archaic in some lines, I can call it a Modern Sonnet owing to its peculiar rhyming scheme:  a b a b c c d a d a a d e e.

This is my very first and only sonnet. I hope you like it. ~  Have a nice weekend! ~ Irina :) 


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♠Cat Forsley: “100 Days of Love” (Poetry AudioBook):

Book Cover "100 Days of Love" by canadian author Cat Forsley.

Book Cover “100 Days of Love” by Cat Forsley.


♠Review Cat Forsley´s “100 Days of Love”:

(By Aquileana ).-
Cat Forsley´s book explores the nature of loving feelings since it begins to shyly grow between a boy and a girl until it becomes real love later on. 
All through the  poems we can see how love is a glowing feeling that travels throughout spaces and time, reaching everything.
The circle of love is in fact the circle of life: Love´s way of taking and giving back life to earth.
Love represents the infinite nature of energy and change: the boy and the girl soon become man and woman but then they return to innocence and finally take part of the main process: integration.
As love take part of all union, love is the universal way of joining Life: the union of the opposites (genre:, male/female)  in a perfect circular structure.
The main topics are as the ones that lays beneath the surface of the words.
That is to say: poetic images which entrain deep feelings. Underlying senses that unwrap specific sensations and inexhaustible meanings.
The feeling of identity and union in “The Everlasting now”.  Affinity patterns within questions and answers in “Philosophy 101″. Complexity of simple things in “This Tiny Daisy”. Reconnaissance and new beginnings in “Garden”. Eternity in “No Time”. Finally, return to the essential priorities, union of opposites and  integration in “Last Days”…
Forsley´s poetry is highly symbolic and richly meaningful. And, above all, open-hearted and genuine. Her poems whispered to the soul and touches the heart.  Forsley´s voice is her main strength. Her reading is perfectly clear and as pure as the fresh water of a flowing river. 
Her audiobook, which  is 40 minutes of poetry (30 tracks/poems) is truly beautiful and I absolutely recommend it.
Love as the main feeling, viewed from a multiple and comprehensive perspective. Holistically conceived as the source of Life, and its inexhaustible light. Forsley´s trip is a challenge, a way to dive into the depths of human soul…
Tiny Daisy.  Excerpts form "100 Days Of Love", by Cat Forsley.

A Poem: “Tiny Daisy”. Excerpts from “100 Days Of Love”, by Cat Forsley.


♠”Listening to Previews and Buying 100 Days of Love“:

Click on the image to purchase the book.  If You mouse over the individual pieces on CDBaby, You can hear Previews of "100 Days of Love".-

Click on the image to purchase the book. If You mouse over the individual pieces on CDBaby, You can hear Previews of “100 Days of Love”.-

Review at CDBaby. click on the image to visit the site.-

Review at CDBaby. Click on the image above to visit the site.-


Cat Forsley´s “100 Days of Love”

 Available On Amazon, CDBaby and iTunes. ► 



♠”100 Days of Love”: “Poems´s Excerpts”:






♠”100 Days of Love”:

“More Interviews and Reviews at Cat Forsley´s  Website”:

Click above to get more information at Cat Forsley´s wenbsite.-

Click above to get more information at Cat Forsley´s site.-

Click above to visit Cat Forsley´s website.

Click above to visit Cat Forsley´s website.


♠Links Post:


♠Bonustrack: This Post Has been Rebbloged at Partager la Magie.

Many thanks Delvina Lavoie:

Click on Cat´s picture above to check out this post  at "Partager la Magie".-

Click on Cat´s picture above to check out this post at “Partager la Magie”.-


♠Last But Not Least:

“Prize Sisterhood of The World Bloggers”:

Merci Delvina d´avoir nominé mon blog dans Migrationx3

Click on the Image to check out the post.-

Click on the Image to check out the post.-


“Premio Blog del Año 2013″:

Gracias Rotze por haberme nominado en En Algún Lugar de Mi Alma

Hacer click sobre la imagen para ver el post de la nominación.-

Hacer click sobre la imagen para ver el post-


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♠Marcel Proust: “En Busca del Tiempo Perdido”: “Por el Camino de Swann” / “Remembrance of Things Past”: “Swann´s Way”:



♠Reseña Sinótica: “En Busca del Tiempo Perdido”: “Por el Camino de Swann”:

“Por el camino de Swann” (“Du côté de chez Swann”) es el primer volumen, publicado en 1913, de los siete que componen “En Busca del Tiempo Perdido” (“À la recherche du temps perdu”), de Marcel Proust

El volumen está compuesto de tres partes (“Combray I” “Combray II”, “Un amour de Swann” (“Un amor de Swann”)- y “Nom de pays : le Nom”  (“Nombre de País:  el Nombre”), contiene ya todos los núcleos temáticos y formales esenciales de la escritura proustiana, a saber: la recuperación poética de lugares y anécdotas de la infancia y la juventud del protagonista; las reflexiones metaliterarias y la enunciación, a partir de las anécdotas particulares de los distintos personajes y del protagonista, de leyes psicológicas o verdades generales sobre la naturaleza humana.

La primera parte de este volumen contiene el célebre episodio de la magdalena (madeleine) mojada en el té caliente por el protagonista, cuyo gusto supone para éste la recuperación epifánica de un recuerdo infantil hasta entonces perdido: el recuerdo de las magdalena humedecidas en té que su tía Léonie le daba en Combray, cuando era niño.  Este episodio contiene en su totalidad la teoría proustiana sobre la memoria ( influida por las ideas del filósofo Henri Bergson).

Durante los siguientes seis tomos, el protagonista proustiano se encontrará una y otra vez con esta epifanía sensorial y mnemónica que lo llevará a lugares de su memoria que estarán vedados a la simple rememoración sistemática. Esta experiencia del «tiempo puro», como la llama Blanchot, configurará la estructura de la novela hasta su tomo final (“El Tiempo Recobrado”).


♠Marcel Proust: “En Busca del Tiempo Perdido”:  “Por el Camino de Swann”:

♠Aportes desde la filosofía de Henri Bergson:

 Henri Bergson (1859/1941).-

Henri Bergson (1859/1941).-

Bergson elabora la idea de duración: no solamente el hombre se percibe a sí mismo como duración (durée réelle), sino que también la realidad entera es duración y élan vital. En el yo interior, los estados de conciencia se organizan en una unidad que no es espacial, sino que posee las características de la duración

En “Materia y Memoria”,  Bergson considera que la memoria recoge y conserva todos los aspectos de la existencia, y que es el cuerpo, y especialmente el cerebro, el medio que permite recobrar los datos mnémicos haciendo aflorar recuerdos de forma concomitante a percepciones.  En cualquier caso, la concepción de la memoria en Bergson es radicalmente nueva: según él no vamos del presente al pasado; de la percepción al recuerdo, sino del pasado al presente, del recuerdo a la percepción. En “La Evolución creadora”, Bergson extiende la noción de duración. Entonces, la duración no constituye solamente el ser de la conciencia; la realidad exterior también es duración, siempre cambiante. El aspecto ontológico de la duración, que se manifiesta como «evolución creadora», se manifiesta especialmente en los procesos evolutivos de los seres vivos, que son expresión de un élan vital, impulso creador. Todo se debe a la acción del impulso vital, que es la actualización de lo virtual.


 ♠”En Busca del Tiempo Perdido”: “Por el Camino de Swann”:

♠”Extracto de La Magdalena”  (“Sobre el Tiempo Puro/ Durée Réelle, y la Memoria Involuntaria”)

“Hacía ya muchos años que no existía para mí de Combray más que el escenario y el drama del momento de acostarme, cuando un día de invierno, al volver a casa, mi madre, viendo que yo tenía frío, me propuso que tomara, en contra de mi costumbre, una taza de té. Primero dije que no, pero luego, sin saber por qué, volví de mi acuerdo. Mandó mi madre por uno de esos bollos, cortos y abultados, que llama magdalenas, que parece que tienen por molde una valva de concha de peregrino. Y muy pronto, abrumado por el triste día que había pasado y por la perspectiva de otro tan melancólico por venir, me llevé a los labios una cucharada de té en el que había echado un trozo de magdalena. Pero en el mismo instante en que aquel trago, con las migas del bollo, tocó mi paladar, me estremecí, fija mi atención en algo extraordinario que ocurría en mi interior. Un placer delicioso me invadió, me aisló, sin noción de lo que lo causaba. Y él me convirtió las vicisitudes de la vida en indiferentes, sus desastres en inofensivos y su brevedad en ilusoria, todo del mismo modo que opera el amor, llenándose de una esencia preciosa; pero, mejor dicho, esa esencia no es que estuviera en mí, es que era yo mismo. Dejé de sentirme mediocre, contingente y mortal. ¿De dónde podría venirme aquella alegría tan fuerte? Me daba cuenta de que iba unida al sabor del té y del bollo, pero le excedía en mucho, y no debía de ser de la misma naturaleza. ¿De dónde venía y qué significaba? (…)

Dejo la taza y me vuelvo hacia mi alma. Ella es la que tiene que dar con la verdad. Pero ¿cómo? Grave incertidumbre ésta, cuando el alma se siente superada por sí misma, cuando ella, la que busca, es juntamente el país oscuro por donde ha de buscar, sin que le sirva para nada su bagaje. ¿Buscar? No sólo buscar, crear. Se encuentra ante una cosa que todavía no existe y a la que ella sola puede dar realidad y entrarla en el campo de su visión.

Y, de pronto, el recuerdo surge. Ese sabor es el que tenía el pedazo de magdalena que mi tía Léonie me ofrecía, después de mojado en su infusión de té o de tila, los domingos por la mañana en Combray (porque los domingos yo no salía hasta la hora de misa) cuando iba a darle los buenos días a su cuarto.

Y como ese entretenimiento de los japoneses que meten en un cacharro de porcelana pedacitos de papel, al parecer, informes, que en cuanto se mojan empiezan a estirarse, a tomar forma, a colorearse y a distinguirse, convirtiéndose en flores, en casas, en personajes consistentes y cognoscibles, así ahora todas las flores de nuestro jardín y las del parque del señor Swann y las ninfas del Vivonne y las buenas gentes del pueblo y sus viviendas chiquitas y la iglesia y Combray entero y sus alrededores, todo eso, pueblo y jardines, que va tomando forma y consistencia, sale de mi taza de té”.


Madeleine: “Un de ces gâteaux courts et dodus appelés Petites Madeleines qui semblaient avoir été moulées dans la valve rainurée d’une coquille de Saint-Jacques”

“Un de ces gâteaux courts et dodus appelés Petites Madeleines qui semblaient avoir été moulées dans la valve rainurée d’une coquille de Saint-Jacques”…

“Une Madeleine Proustienne ”…

Madeleine en molde clásico al estilo Combray.-

Madeleine en molde clásico al estilo Combray.-


 Marcel Proust  (1871-1922).-

Marcel Proust (1871-1922).-


Lista Títulos Siete Tomos de “En Busca del Tiempo Perdido” (Francés/ Inglés).-



♠Descargar: “En Busca del Tiempo Perdido”: “Por el Camino de Swann” de Marcel Proust”:

Hacer click sobre la imagen de la portada del libro para leer "Por el Camino De Swann", de Marcel Proust".-

Hacer click sobre la imagen para leer “Por el Camino De Swann”, de Marcel Proust”.-



♠”Remembrance of Things Past”: “Swann´s Way”: “Synopsis”:

“Swann´s Way” (“Du côté de chez Swann”) is divided into four parts: “Combray I ” (or “Overture”), “Combray II,” “Un Amour de Swann,” and “Noms de pays: Le Nom.” (“Names of places: the Name”).

A third-person novella within “Du côté de chez Swann”, “Un Amour de Swann” is sometimes published as a volume by itself. As it forms the self-contained story of Charles Swann’s love affair with Odette de Crécy and is relatively short, it is generally considered a good introduction to Proust´s  work.

“Combray I” is also similarly excerpted; it ends with the famous madeleine cake episode, introducing the theme of involuntary memory, in which the narrator remembers having a similar snack as a child with his invalid aunt Leonie, and it leads to more memories of Combray.

Involuntary memory, also known as involuntary explicit memory, involuntary conscious memory, involuntary aware memory, and most commonly, involuntary autobiographical memory, is a subcomponent of memory that occurs when cues encountered in everyday life evoke recollections of the past without conscious effort. Voluntary memory, its binary opposite, is characterized by a deliberate effort to recall the past.

Proust viewed involuntary memory as containing the “essence of the past”, claiming that it was lacking from voluntary memory. In his novel, he describes an incident where he was eating tea soaked cake, and a childhood memory of eating tea soaked cake with his aunt was “revealed” to him. From this memory, he then proceeded to be reminded of the childhood home he was in, and even the town itself. This becomes a theme throughout In Search of Lost Time, with sensations reminding Proust of previous experiences. He dubbed these Involuntary memories.


♠Exhibition Review: “Proust, For Those With A Memory” (Article of The New York Times)

Some of Proust’s notes for “Swann’s Way,” with doodles. Click on the image to read the article.-

Some of Proust’s notes for “Swann’s Way,” with doodles. Click on the image to read the article.-


♠Quotes: “Remembrance of Things Past”: “Swann´s Way”:

“The places we have known do not belong solely to the world of space in which we situate them for our greater convenience. They were only a thin slice among contiguous impressions which formed our life at that time; the memory of a certain image is but regret for a certain moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fleeting, alas, as the years.”

“One cannot change, that is to say become a different person, while continuing to acquiesce to the feelings of the person one has ceased to be.”

“For what we suppose to be our love or our jealousy is never a single, continuous and indivisible passion. It is composed of an infinity of successive loves, of different jealousies, each of which is ephemeral, although by their uninterrupted multiplicity they give us the impression of continuity, the illusion of unity.”

“Always try to keep a patch of sky above your life.”

“A little tap at the window, as though some missile had struck it, followed by a plentiful, falling sound, as light, though, as if a shower of sand were being sprinkled from a window overhead; then the fall spread, took on an order, a rhythm, became liquid, loud, drumming, musical, innumerable, universal. It was the rain”.


More quotes. Click on the Logo to read them.-

“Swann´s Way”. More quotes. Click on the Logo to read them.-


Marcel Proust´s Biography.-

Marcel Proust´s Biography.-


♠Excerpt: “Remembrance of Things Past”: “Swann´s Way”: “La Madeleine de Combray”:

kkkkk“Many years had elapsed during which nothing of Combray, save what was comprised in the theatre and the drama of my going to bed there, had any existence for me, when one day in winter, on my return home, my mother, seeing that I was cold, offered me some tea, a thing I did not ordinarily take. I declined at first, and then, for no particular reason, changed my mind. She sent for one of those squat, plump little cakes called “petites madeleines,” which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted valve of a scallop shell. And soon, mechanically, dispirited after a dreary day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory – this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I sensed that it was connected with the taste of the tea and the cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could, no, indeed, be of the same nature. Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it?

I drink a second mouthful, in which I find nothing more than in the first, then a third, which gives me rather less than the second. It is time to stop; the potion is losing it magic. It is plain that the truth I am seeking lies not in the cup but in myself. The drink has called it into being, but does not know it, and can only repeat indefinitely, with a progressive diminution of strength, the same message which I cannot interpret, though I hope at least to be able to call it forth again and to find it there presently, intact and at my disposal, for my final enlightenment. I put down the cup and examine my own mind. It alone can discover the truth. But how: What an abyss of uncertainty, whenever the mind feels overtaken by itself; when it, the seeker, is at the same time the dark region through which it must go seeking and where all its equipment will avail it nothing. Seek? More than that: create. It is face to face with something which does not yet exist, to which it alone can give reality and substance, which it alone can bring into the light of day.

And I begin to ask myself what it could have been, this unremembered state which brought with it no logical proof, but the indisputable evidence, of its felicity, its reality, and in whose presence other states of consciousness melted and vanished. I decide to attempt to make it reappear. I retrace my thoughts to the moment at which I drank the first spoonful of tea. I rediscover the same state, illuminated by no fresh light. I ask my mind to make one further effort, to bring back once more the fleeting sensation. And so that nothing may interrupt it in its course I shut out every obstacle, every extraneous idea, I stop my ears and inhibit all attention against the sound from the next room. And then, feeling that my mind is tiring itself without having any success to report, I compel it for a change to enjoy the distraction which I have just denied it, to think of other things, to rest refresh itself before making a final effort. And then for the second time I clear an empty space in front of it; I place in position before my mind’s eye the still recent taste of that first mouthful, and I feel something start within me, something that leaves its resting-place and attempts to rise, something that has been embedded like an anchor at a great depth; I do not know yet what it is, but I can feel it mounting slowly; I can measure the resistance, I can hear the echo of great spaces traversed.

Undoubtedly what is thus palpitating in the depths of my being must be the image, the visual memory which, being linked to that taste, is trying to follow it into my conscious mind. But its struggles are too far off, too confused and chaotic; scarcely can I perceive the neutral glow into which the elusive whirling medley of stirred-up colours is fused, and I cannot distinguish its form, cannot invite it, as the one possible interpreter, to translate for me the evidence of its contemporary, its inseparable paramour, the taste, cannot ask it to inform me what special circumstance is in question, from what period in my past life.

Will it ultimately reach the clear surface of my consciousness, this memory, this old, dead moment which the magnetism of an identical moment has traveled so far to importune, to disturb, to raise up out of the very depths of my being? I cannot tell. Now I feel nothing; it has stopped, has perhaps sunk back into its darkness, from which who can say whether it will ever rise again? Ten times over I must essay the task, must lean down over the abyss. And each time the cowardice that deters us from every difficult task, every important enterprise, has urged me to leave the thing alone, to drink my tea and to think merely of the worries of to-day and my hopes for to-morrow, which can be brooded over painlessly.

And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom , my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it; perhaps because I had so often seen such things in the meantime, without tasting them, on the trays in pastry-cooks’ windows, that their image had dissociated itself from those Combray days to take its place among others more recent; perhaps because of those memories, so long abandoned and put out of mind, nothing now survived, everything was scattered; the shapes of things, including that of the little scallop-shell of pastry, so richly sensual under its severe, religious folds, were either obliterated or had been so long dormant as to have lost the power of expansion which would have allowed them to resume their place in my consciousness. But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

And as soon as I had recognized the taste of the piece of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy) immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like a stage set to attach itself to the little pavilion opening on to the garden which had been built out behind it for my parents (the isolated segment which until that moment had been all that I could see); and with the house the town, from morning to night and in all weathers, the Square where I used to be sent before lunch, the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine. And as in the game wherein the Japanese amuse themselves by filling a porcelain bowl with water and steeping in it little pieces of paper which until then are without character or form, but, the moment they become wet, stretch and twist and take on colour and distinctive shape, become flowers or houses or people, solid and recognizable, so in that moment all the flowers in our garden and in M. Swann’s park, and the water-lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and the whole of Combray and its surroundings, taking shape and solidity, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea”.


 Marcel Proust  (1871-1922).-

Marcel Proust (1871-1922).-


♠Download: “Remembrance of Things Past”: “Swann´s Way”, by Marcel Proust:

Click on the cover book to read "Swann´s Way" by Marcel Proust.-

Click on the cover book to read “Swann´s Way” by Marcel Proust.-


♠Bonustrack: Recipe: “Proust´s Madeleines de Commercy”




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