nocturnus33: (To the sea)
Good and bad news for me. The possibility, which was a good one, of an exchange to Sao Paulo, has officially died. I was going nuts trying to contact the professor there, because the date due for the scholarship was near. She has just answer me that they are on a strike. So there is "zero" possibility of presenting the papers on time. I'm relieved I must confess, the thought of leaving behind a husband with depression wasn't at the least alluring. (He is a little better by the way, at least he is talking about his feelings)

At the same time there is a chance , cross fingers tightly, to go into a public call (?) to evaluate a very important program. That will mean MONEY, enough for paying debts. Please lord let it happens!

(Edit, so not to spam):

In HP side: Harry Potter: Capitalist neo-liberal or anti-globalist lefty?
http://www.the-leaky-cauldron.org/MTarchives/004867.html

What is your opinion on this matter?
nocturnus33: (To the sea)
A few days ago I went to a popular restaurant to taste Pablo Neruda's Conger Chowder, here is the ode. Beautiful Ode, tasty Chowder.


Ode To Conger Chowder
In the storm-tossed
Chilean
sea

lives the rosy conger,
giant eel
of snowy flesh.
And in Chilean
stewpots,
along the coast,
was born the chowder,
thick and succulent,
a boon to man.
You bring the conger, skinned,
to the kitchen
(its mottled skin slips off
like a glove,
leaving the
grape of the sea
exposed to the world),
naked,
the tender eel
glistens,
prepared
to serve our appetites.
Now
you take
garlic,
first, caress
that precious
ivory,
smell
its irate fragrance,
then
blend the minced garlic
with onion
and tomato
until the onion
is the color of gold.
Meanwhile steam
our regal
ocean prawns,
and when
they are
tender,
when the savor is
set in a sauce
combining the liquors
of the ocean
and the clear water
released from the light of the onion,
then
you add the eel
that it may be immersed in glory,
that it may steep in the oils
of the pot,
shrink and be saturated.
Now all that remains is to
drop a dollop of cream
into the concoction,
a heavy rose,
then slowly
deliver
the treasure to the flame,
until in the chowder
are warmed
the essences of Chile,
and to the table
come, newly wed,
the savors
of land and sea,
that in this dish
you may know heaven.
nocturnus33: (To the sea)
Caldillo de congrio )
nocturnus33: (Default)
But is it true that the vests are preparing to revolt?

Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities?

Or will it not be a clarity
between two dark triangles?

Or will life not be a fish
prepared to be a bird?

Will death consist of nonbeing
or of dangerous substances?


Books of Questions, Pablo Neruda.
nocturnus33: (Default)
"Am I allowed to ask my book whether it's true I wrote it?"

Pablo Neruda's book of Questions.
nocturnus33: (Default)
Why do leaves commit suicide
When they feel yellow?
nocturnus33: (Default)
Let came and play with me!
One of my favorite books is "The book of question", from Neruda, they are paradoxs in the form of questions. Is very common in Chile to give this question to little children and dare them to answer.
I've made this quiz to conmemorate Pablo Neruda, I also invite you to comment on this, and create your own question or answer to Neruda's work.
I want to thant Little Athenea (eldest daughter, age 7) who help my with some alternatives for the quizz. (Guess wich ones)



Wow, since Neruda we haven't found a better poet.
You look life by the spectacles of poetry.


How much poetry runs through your veins?
brought to you by Quizilla

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