A trapeze artist-Un artista del trapecio

A trapeze artist (Extract. Franz Kafka, 1922)

A trapeze artist—this art, practiced high in the vaulted domes of the great variety theaters, is admittedly one of the most difficult humanity can achieve—had so arranged his life that, as long as he kept working in the same building, he never came down from his trapeze by night or day, at first only from a desire to perfect his skill, but later because custom was too strong for him. All his needs, very modest needs at that, were supplied by relays of attendants who watched from below and sent up and hauled down again in specially constructed containers whatever he required. This way of living caused no particular inconvenience to the theatrical people, except that, when other turns were on the stage, his being still up aloft, which could not be dissembled, proved somewhat distracting, as also the fact that, although at such times he mostly kept very still, he drew a stray glance here and there from the public. Yet the management overlooked this, because he was an extraordinary and unique artist. And of course they recognized that this mode of life was no mere prank, and that only in this way could he really keep himself in constant practice and his art at the pitch of its perfection.

Un artista del trapecio (Extracto. Franz Kafka, 1922)

Un artista del trapecio -como se sabe, este arte que se practica en lo alto de las cúpulas de los grandes circos es uno de los más difíciles entre todos los asequibles al hombre- había organizado su vida de tal manera -primero por afán profesional de perfección, después por costumbre que se había hecho tiránica- que, mientras trabajaba en la misma empresa, permanecía día y noche en el trapecio. Todas sus necesidades -por otra parte muy pequeñas- eran satisfechas por criados que se relevaban a intervalos y vigilaban debajo. Todo lo que arriba se necesitaba lo subían y bajaban en cestillos construidos para el caso.
De esta manera de vivir no se deducían para el trapecista dificultades con el resto del mundo. Sólo resultaba un poco molesto durante los demás números del programa, porque como no se podía ocultar que se había quedado allá arriba, aunque permanecía quieto, siempre alguna mirada del público se desviaba hacia él. Pero los directores se lo perdonaban, porque era un artista extraordinario, insustituible. Además era sabido que no vivía así por capricho y que sólo de aquella manera podía estar siempre entrenado y conservar la extrema perfección de su arte.

Old Prague-Vieja Praga

Mr. K walks Miss Boop in Old Prague

The Next Village

The next village (Franz Kafka, 1917/23)

My grandfather used to say: “Life is astonishingly short. Now, in my memory, it is so compressed that I can hardly understand, for example, how a young person can decide to ride to the next village without being afraid that—apart from accidents—even the time allotted to a normal, happy life is far too short for such a journey.”

El Pueblo Mas Proximo (Franz Kafka, 1917/23)

Mi abuelo solía decir: «La vida es increíblemente corta. Ahora, al recordarla, la veo tan apretada que, por ejemplo, casi no comprendo cómo un joven puede tomar la decisión de ir a caballo hasta el pueblo más próximo sin temer ( y descontando, por supuesto, la posibilidad de una desgracia ) que ni el espacio de una vida normal y sin contratiempos baste para empezar siquiera semejante viaje»

Ein Hungerkünstler

Un artista del hambre (Franz Kafka, 1922. Extracto)

En los últimos decenios, el interés por los ayunadores ha disminuido muchísimo. Antes era un buen negocio organizar grandes exhibiciones de este género como espectáculo independiente, cosa que hoy, en cambio, es imposible del todo. Eran otros los tiempos. Entonces, toda la ciudad se ocupaba del ayunador; aumentaba su interés a cada día de ayuno; todos querían verlo siquiera una vez al día; en los últimos del ayuno no faltaba quien se estuviera días enteros sentado ante la pequeña jaula del ayunador; había, además, exhibiciones nocturnas, cuyo efecto era realzado por medio de antorchas; en los días buenos, se sacaba la jaula al aire libre, y era entonces cuando les mostraban el ayunador a los niños. Para los adultos aquello solía no ser más que una broma, en la que tomaban parte medio por moda; pero los niños, cogidos de las manos por prudencia, miraban asombrados y boquiabiertos a aquel hombre pálido, con camiseta oscura, de costillas salientes, que, desdeñando un asiento, permanecía tendido en la paja esparcida por el suelo, y saludaba, a veces, cortésmente o respondía con forzada sonrisa a las preguntas que se le dirigían o sacaba, quizá, un brazo por entre los hierros para hacer notar su delgadez, y volvía después a sumirse en su propio interior, sin preocuparse de nadie ni de nada, ni siquiera de la marcha del reloj, para él tan importante, única pieza de mobiliario que se veía en su jaula. Entonces se quedaba mirando al vacío, delante de sí, con ojos semicerrados, y sólo de cuando en cuando bebía en un diminuto vaso un sorbito de agua para humedecerse los labios.

A Hunger Artist (Franz Kafka 1922. Extract)

During these last decades the interest in professional fasting has markedly diminished. It used to pay very well to stage such great performances under one's own management, but today that is quite impossible. We live in a different world now. At one time the whole town took a lively interest in the hunger artist; from day to day of his fast the excitement mounted; everybody wanted to see him at least once a day; there were people who bought season tickets for the last few days and sat from morning till night in front of his small barred cage; even in the nighttime there were visiting hours, when the whole effect was heightened by torch flares; on fine days the cage was set out in the open air, and then it was the children's special treat to see the hunger artist; for their elders he was often just a joke that happened to be in fashion, but the children stood openmouthed, holding each other's hands for greater security, marveling at him as he sat there pallid in black tights, with his ribs sticking out so prominently, not even on a seat but down among straw on the ground, sometimes giving a courteous nod, answering questions with a constrained smile, or perhaps stretching an arm through the bars so that one might feel how thin it was, and then again withdrawing deep into himself, paying no attention to anyone or anything, not even to the all-important striking of the clock that was the only piece of furniture in his cage, but merely staring into vacancy with half-shut eyes, now and then taking a sip from a tiny glass of water to moisten his lips.

About Apparent Death

De la muerte aparente (Franz Kafka, 1918)

Quien haya padecido alguna vez de muerte aparente, podrá contar cosas

espantosas; sin embargo, no podrá decir cómo es después de la
muerte. Es más, ni ha estado más cerca de ella que otros; en el fondo,
tan sólo ha "sentido" algo especial, y la vida común, no la extraordinaria,
se ha "convertido en algo más valioso con ello. A todo aquel que
haya experimentado algo peculiar le sucede una cosa similar. Con toda
seguridad Moisés, por ejemplo, experimentó sobre el Monte Sinaí algo
"especial"; pero, en lugar de abandonarse a ello, como tal vez lo haría
un muerto aparente, que no se anuncia y se queda en el ataúd, bajó
corriendo del Monte y, desde luego, tuvo cosas importantes que contar,
y amó a los hombres, de los cuales había huido, mucho más que antes,
dando entonces su vida por ellos, casi podría decirse por agradecimiento.
De ambos, sin embargo, del que vuelve de la muerte aparente, y de
Moisés que regresa, puede aprenderse mucho, pero no podemos conocer
lo decisivo, pues ellos mismos no lo han llegado a saber. Y si lo
hubieran llegado a saber, no hubieran regresado. Esto podría verificarse
si, por ejemplo, alguna vez quisiésemos vivir "con un salvoconducto"
para tener la certeza del retorno, la experiencia del muerto aparente o
de Moisés, o incluso que deseáramos la muerte, pero ni siquiera en
pensamiento querríamos permanecer en el Monte Sinaí o vivos en el
ataúd, sin posibilidad alguna de retorno...
(Esto, ciertamente, nada tiene que ver con el temor a la muerte...)

Franz Kafka, 1918, de "La muralla china y otros relatos"

"Description of a Struggle"

"Description of a Struggle" is one of Kafka's longer minor works and is divided into three chapters. The first chapter is narrated by a young man attending a party and tells of his "acquaintance" (as he is referred to in the story) that he meets there. The second chapter is the longest and is itself split into several sections. The narrator leaps onto his acquaintance's back and rides him like a horse and imagines a landscape that responds to his every whim. He then meets an extraordinarily fat man carried on a litter who tells him the story of a "supplicant" that prays by smashing his head into the ground. In the third chapter, the narrator returns to reality, so to speak, and continues his walk up the Laurenziberg in winter with his acquaintance.

Josephine, The Songstress and The Mice Folk.

Josephine is a rarity among the mouse people, for she has the innate ability to sing, which none other in the community has displayed. She can not only sing, but she can sing beautifully, helping all the mouse people tolerate their unusually hardworking lives. Some of the mouse people claim to dislike her and do not believe she is truly singing, while others adore her and consider her a communal treasure; regardless, all the mouse people gather round to listen to her, and once she is singing, forget their reservations about her; they use her feeble vocal cords to their utmost strength, and treasure her delicacy.

"Sometimes I have the impression that our people sees its relationship with Josephine rather like this: that she, this fragile, vulnerable, somehow distinguished creature, in her opinion distinguished by her song, has been entrusted to us and that we must look after her; the reason for this is not clear to anyone, only the fact seems to be established. But what has been entrusted to one's care one does not laugh at; to do so would be a breach of duty; the utmost spite that the most spiteful amongst us can vent on Josephine is when they sometimes say: 'When we see Josephine it is no laughing matter."

Some of the mouse people wonder if Josephine is truly singing, or simply whistling, which our narrator tells us all the mice people can do, are indeed prone to regularly do. Throughout the story, the narrator, who at first purports that whoever has not heard Josephine sing does not know the true power of music, begins to doubt his own judgment, the judgment of the mouse people, and the ability of Josephine herself. He suggests that what is held so dearly by the mouse people is not Josephine's 'ability' but the silence that falls over the people and their settlement when she is singing/whistling. While he never ostensibly decries or criticises the beloved singer, he gradually whittles away at her character, finally describing someone of little talent who dislikes and often shirks her work, and even sometimes brings danger to her people (for her singing can act as a beacon to the many enemies of the mouse people, and when attacked some are killed, although Josephine is always rushed to safety). She is still considered a gift and adored by the community, in spite of this; yet, when she 'disappears' (allegedly because she does not feel her music is appreciated, but this is not proven), while she is missed, little sleep is lost over the matter; the lives of the mouse people continue as normal.

"So perhaps we shall not miss so very much after all, while Josephine, for her part, delivered from earthly afflictions, which however to her mind are the privilege of chosen spirits, will happily lose herself in the countless throng of the heroes of our people, and soon, since we pursue no history, be accorded the heightened relief of being forgotten along with all her brethren."

It is of note that the mouse people are not ever described as such within the story. It is uncertain if they are actually mice. Many aspects of their lives are mouselike - the fact that they are so very hardworking and practical, that danger is always imminent and enemies many, the practice of children being turned out from their families into the wider community very shortly after birth, that they keep no written records, the terrain they live in. They are described by the narrator, one of their number, as, when Josephine begins to sing, falling "quiet as mice" - aside from the title, this is the only time that mice are referenced. It is probable that Kafka intended the issue to be left up to our own judgment, the suggestion playfully bandied about but no explicit answer given. Either way, whether they really are mice or not is of little importance to our understanding of the story, while the necessity for the idea to be in the reader's mind is central to the reading experience.

From Wikipedia

Awakening-Despertar

K. se despierta al lado de Gregor Samsa que esta teniendo un ataque de "Verwandlung"

The Silence of The Sirens

EL SILENCIO DE LAS SIRENAS (Franz Kafka,1917)

Existen métodos insuficientes, casi pueriles, que también pueden servir para la salvación. He aquí la prueba:

Para guardarse del canto de las sirenas, Ulises tapó sus oídos con cera y se hizo encadenar al mástil de la nave. Aunque todo el mundo sabía que este recurso era ineficaz, muchos navegantes podían haber hecho lo mismo, excepto aquellos que eran atraídos por las sirenas ya desde lejos. El canto de las sirenas lo traspasaba todo, la pasión de los seducidos habría hecho saltar prisiones mas fuertes que mástiles y cadenas. Ulises no pensó en eso, si bién quizá alguna vez, algo había llegado a sus oídos. Se confió por completo en aquel puñado de cera y en el manojo de cadenas. Contento con sus pequeñas estratagemas, navegó en pos de las sirenas con inocente alegría.

Sin embargo, las sirenas poseen un arma mucho más terrible que el canto: su silencio. No sucedió en realidad, pero es probable que alguien se hubiera salvado alguna vez de sus cantos, aunque nunca de su silencio. Ningún sentimiento terreno puede equipararse a la vanidad de haberlas vencido mediante las propias fuerzas.

En efecto, las terribles seductoras no cantaron cuando pasó Ulises; tal vez porque creyeron que a aquel enemigo sólo podía herirlo el silencio, tal vez porque el espectáculo de felicidad en el rostro de Ulises, quien sólo pensaba en ceras y cadenas les hizo olvidar toda canción.

Ulises, (para expresarlo de alguna manera) no oyó el silencio. Estaba convencido de que ellas cantaban y que sólo él se hallaba a salvo. Fugazmente, vió primero las curvas de sus cuellos, la respiración profunda, los ojos llenos de lágrimas, los labios entreabiertos. Creía que todo era parte de la melodía que fluía sorda en torno de él. El espectáculo comenzó a desvanecerse pronto; las sirenas se esfumaron de su horizonte personal, y precisamente cuando se hallaba más próximo, ya no supo mas acerca de ellas.

Y ellas, más hermosas que nunca, se estiraban, se contoneaban. Desplegaban sus húmedas cabelleras al viento, abrían sus garras acariciando la roca. Ya no pretendían seducir, tan sólo querían atrapar por un momento más el fulgor de los grandes ojos de Ulises.

Si las sirenas hubieran tenido conciencia, habrían desaparecido aquel día. Pero ellas permanecieron y Ulises escapó.

La tradición añade un comentario a la historia. Se dice que Ulises era tan astuto, tan ladino, que incluso los dioses del destino eran incapaces de penetrar en su fuero interno. Por más que esto sea inconcebible para la mente humana, tal vez Ulises supo del silencio de las sirenas y tan sólo representó tamaña farsa para ellas y para los dioses, en cierta manera a modo de escudo.

K Draws a Picture

K. and friends get their picture taken

K. Visits The Nature Theatre of Oklahoma

Hoy a las 19 horas abre la muestra colectiva Kafka-Borges en La Recoleta. No tengo ni idea de como sera. Los exhibidos son gente de merito por lo tanto puede ser que asco no dé....Aunque nunca se sabe.

Jackal

El Chacal habla con K.

Carta a Milena

K. Pone en el buzon una carta para Milena habiendose olvidado del franqueo postal.

The Judgement

The Judgment (Das Urteil) is a short story by Franz Kafka which depicts the conversation between a man and his father, where many conflicts arise. The father talks in an accusative way, and finally condemns his son to dying drowned. The man immediately runs to a nearby bridge, from which he throws himself to the river. The relationship between the characters bears some similarities with the one between Kafka and his father, which was also very difficult. The story has been analyzed under the scope of psychoanalysis. It was written in only two days (September 22-23 of 1912) in a time when Kafka wrote some of his best works, such as The Metamorphosis.

No tengo tiempo de traducir esto, pero si te interesa, podes "pegarlo" en http://translation2.paralink.com/ donde encontraras una traduccion bastante aceptable

The Truth About Sancho Panza

The Truth about Sancho Panza Without making any boast of it Sancho Panza succeeded in the course of years, by feeding him a great number of romances of chivalry and adventure in the evening and night hours, in so diverting from himself his demon, whom he later called Don Quixote, that this demon thereupon set out, uninhibited, on the maddest exploits, which, however, for the lack of a preordained object, which should have been Sancho Panza himself, harmed nobody. A free man, Sancho Panza philosophically followed Don Quixote on his crusades, perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, and had of them a great and edifying entertainment to the end of his days.

Purple Theater

If you are a theatre lover and live in London, don't miss this play and meet my lovely daughter Francesca and her handsome husband Tom.

The show call for Too Clever by Half has now been and gone, and the cast list has now been announced. But not to worry, you can still get involved - whilst all the acting roles are taken, we're always looking for people with enthusiasm and talent to help behind the scenes (lighting, sound, costumes, set building... you name it!), read below for more information about the show!

About the Show

Scheming villains, wisecracking sleuths and supernatural horrors await you in this disturbingly amusing and amusingly disturbing spoof of classic British detective stories. Join us and learn of the terrible Cardington Curse, the mysterious Boudoir of Death, and more besides.

Witty, farcical and just a little risqué, Too Clever by Half will have you laughing all the way home and then checking under the bed, just in case.

You’ll never look at a teapot in the same way again…

(With apologies to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Christopher Nolan, Conor McPherson and H. P. Lovecraft)

Too Clever by Half will be performed from Wednesday 28th April to Saturday 1st May 2010, 7.30pm at the Compass Theatre, Ickenham.

Find tickets clicking the theater's name above

hairpiece

Colimbas-Conscripts

Points of Leverage-Puntos de Apoyo

Los Hijos Del Crack

Gay Bar

De parla afranchutada, pinta maleva.

Manuelita

Monsieur Melies

Inertians

16 MM.

Leather Frame-Marco de Cuero

Red Carpet-Alfombra Roja

Finalmente cambiando de depto. en Baires consegui una buena linea de internet.
Finally and having changed apartments in Bs. As. I found a good internet line

Blue Background-Fondo Azul

Estoy en Buenos Aires con algunas dificultades de internet que espero que se resuelvan pronto.

I am in Buenos Aires with some internet dificulties that I hope to solve very soon.

Black Carpet-Alfombra Negra