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Book reviews TuesdayBookBlog

#TuesdayBookBlog By Any Other Name by Jodi Picoult (@jodipicoult) (@MichaelJBooks)

Hi all, I bring you a book by a very well-known and popular author, but one that has surprised many of her readers. Oh, and please, notice that this book won’t be on sale until the 10th of October, although you can place a preorder for it.

By Any Other Name by Jodi Picoult

By Any Other Name by Jodi Picoult


What if the greatest writer of all time isn’t who we think he is?
What if he isn’t even a he?
Step back four hundred years and discover the female author who hid behind the mask of the man we know as William Shakespeare . . .


In Elizabethan London, young Emilia Bassano is a ward of English aristocrats. Her education has endowed her with a sharp wit and a gift for storytelling, but still she is allowed no voice of her own.

Forced to become a mistress to the Lord Chamberlain, who oversees the theatre, Emilia discovers the power of stories to beguile audiences. Secretly, she forms a plan to bring a play of her own to the stage – by paying an actor named William Shakespeare to front her work.

In modern-day Manhattan, playwright Melina Green finds a woman’s voice is still worth less than a man’s. But, inspired by the life of her ancestor Emilia Bassano, Melina takes a lesson from history and submits a play under a male pseudonym . . .

Moving between Elizabethan England and modern day Manhattan, By Any Other Name is a beautifully written, compelling novel that explores the theme of identity and the ways in which two women, centuries apart—one of whom might just be the real author of Shakespeare’s plays—are both forced to hide behind another name to make their voices heard.
https://www.amazon.com/Any-Other-Name-Jodi-Picoult-ebook/dp/B0CKVMZL6D/

About the author:

Jodi Picoult is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of twenty-nine novels, including Mad Honey, Wish You Were Here, The Book of Two Ways, A Spark of Light, Small Great Things, Leaving Time, and My Sister’s Keeper, and, with daughter Samantha van Leer, two young adult novels, Between the Lines and Off the Page. Picoult lives in New Hampshire.

Follow Jodi Picoult on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, and Twitter: @jodipicoult

My review:

I thank NetGalley and Michael Joseph/Penguin Random House for providing me an ARC copy of this book, which I freely chose to review.

This is not the first book by Jodi Picoult I’ve read, although it has been a long time since I read any of her novels, and it is a totally different reading experience, or almost. Her writing is excellent, and she can make readers share in the feelings and thoughts of her characters and that is still the case here. But rather than being a contemporary story about some controversial or complex topic, this is a novel about two women, one in the present time (we meet Melina Green in 2013 and leave her in 2027) and the other in Elizabethan England (we meet Emilia in 1581 and accompany her until 1645). Apart from the chapters from each of the protagonists’ points of view, we also get some insights into the thoughts of a male character, Jasper Tolle (a New York Times theatre critic), and we read fragments of a play called… By Any Other Name, the play Melina has written about Emilia Bassano, her ancestor, and the first woman to publish a book of poetry in England.

Most people who are interested in classical theatre, Shakespeare in particular, will have heard about the academic debates surrounding the authorship of the plays that have been attributed to him. There are many reasons for that debate, and there have also been different candidates proposed as authors of the plays. In this novel, Picoult shares one of these theories, whilst at the same time creating a fascinating character (based on a real historical figure) and giving her readers a good sense of what living in England as a woman (a woman who was secretly Jewish) at such point was like. Emilia’s story is a tragic one in many ways, but one of the things the narrative does very well is show that her story was not unusual, and other than a few women who had been born in extraordinary circumstances (Queen Elizabeth I, for example), most women didn’t hold any power and were used, abused, ignored or made invisible by the men around them and the society of the time. I had never heard of Emilia Bassano before reading this book, and I was immediately fascinated by her, her eagerness to create, and the way she manages to survive all kinds of traumas and losses.

That part of the story is full of details that bring the era to life for readers, but they never get in the way of the action. She is surrounded by other historical figures, some better known than others (I was particularly fond of Christopher Marlowe, who in this novel becomes Emilia’s friend and a strong supporter of her writing), and she experiences all kinds of turmoil: she loses both parents, is taken as a ward by aristocrats who end up abandoning her, is sold to become a courtesan by her relatives, forced into marriage when she gets pregnant, her husband is violent and regularly abuses her, she has to hide her love for another man and her writing, submitting it under a false name, she has to abort a child by her lover and loses one of her children when still a toddler, she is left penniless on many occasions and has to find ways to support herself… Hers is a life full to the brim, and I found it compelling and moving.

Melina’s story illustrates the hurdles female playwrights face daily, even now. She almost gives up writing when a critic tells her, as a young female writer, that her work is too personal and is of no interest to anybody else (because we all know only men’s lives are of any interest), and she struggles to regain her confidence and submit her work because she does not trust herself. Her best friend, Andre, an African-American, is another playwright, and he also faces prejudices. Despite Melina’s refusal, he sends her play about her ancestor, Emilia Bassano, to a contest, under the name “Mel Green”. When he is mistaken for the playwright, Melina asks him to go along with it and pretend to be the author a bit longer, whilst she waits for the right time to reveal herself without risking the suspension of the play. But, of course, things get complicated.

I also enjoyed the part of the story about Melina, especially her interactions with Andre and Jasper (who, despite his previous negative opinion of Melina’s writing, ends up being quite a nice guy and whose neurodivergence makes him not fit easily in), although the insta-love didn’t totally work for me. I appreciated the arguments about the role of women in the theatre world, now and then, which remains mostly dominated by white men, and also the way it shows how the establishment seems intent on patting themselves on the back for any plays promoting diversity or written by anybody other than ‘the usual suspects’ (be it women, racially diverse, LGBTQ…) but find it difficult to truly level the playing field.

In my opinion, Emilia’s story is more compelling and more gripping, and although Melina’s story works well as a frame for the historical fiction part of the novel, I didn’t feel it was as strong. Emilia’s story is much longer, so those who don’t appreciate it or were expecting a novel much more in Picoult’s usual lines, might not enjoy this one.

I have mentioned the writing, and it is gorgeous. Of course, there are plenty of references to Shakespeare’s sonnets and his plays, and readers who are familiar with his(?) work are likely to enjoy picking up the references as they read (the author lists them all at the end of the novel). Anybody who has a very strong opinion about the authorship of the plays might disagree with the theory exposed here, I am sure, but Picoult makes a rather convincing case, and she also shares some of the sources of her research at the end, so that anybody interested can explore the matter further.

The novel is written in the third person throughout, and I must warn readers that there are some scenes of violence and sex (not the most explicit I’ve read, by any means, but this is not a ‘clean’ novel), so that should be taken into account when deciding to read the book or not. Oh, and don’t expect all to be doom and gloom (although there is plenty of that); there are light, joyful, and funny moments, and lots of witty repartee as well.

I enjoyed the ending. It felt like a nice closure for all the characters, and it is neither unexpected nor pedestrian.

The author includes a section of acknowledgements that gives a good insight into her process of research (evident through the pages of this novel), and as I’ve said, there is also a list of references to plays, poems, and other works included in the novel, and a bibliography with some of the sources she has studied. Some of the reviews mention an author’s note. I have only read an ARC copy, and it might be that the final version of the book has been slightly changed and something else added, but I can’t comment on that.

In sum, this is a novel that might surprise some of Picoult’s regular readers, but I think most people who love stories centred around women, historical fiction, dual-time stories, and especially those fond of Shakespeare’s plays and intrigued by the different theories about his authorship will enjoy this extraordinary novel.

A small sample of the writing.

As it turned out, you could take the pound of flesh without the blood. You could remove your heart and still feel its broken pieces rattling inside. (Reference to The Merchant of Venice)

By 1597, Emilia had lost all her angles and edges. She had sanded down whatever splinters remained, what parts of her stood out. It left her numb, which was the only way she could get through her days. If you didn’t dream, if you didn’t feel… you could not be disappointed.

Explosives. Opioids. Nuclear weapons. None of them could hold a candle to hope, the most dangerous commodity in the world.

“I do not think it made a difference.”

“Did it not? Even if you do not feel the shade of the tree you planted, others will.”

Thanks to NetGalley, the publishers, and the author for this fascinating and beautiful novel, thanks to all of you for visiting, liking, sharing, commenting, and for your support. Keep reading and smiling!

Categories
Book reviews TuesdayBookBlog

#TuesdayBookBlog Give My Regards to Nowhere: A Director’s Tale by Richard Engling (@RichardEngling)

Hi all:

Another discovery thanks to Rosie’s Book Review Team. A hilarious story that I recommend to those who love the world of theatre as much as I do.

Give My Regards to Nowhere by Richard Engling

Give My Regards to Nowhere: A Director’s Tale by Richard Engling

Chicago director Dwayne Finnegan has a long shot at the big time and only two obstacles: himself and everyone he knows.

Dwayne’s got an idea of how to direct Shakespeare’s least-favorite play that could set him on the road to Broadway. We’re talking Bob Fosse choreography, Jimi Hendrix guitars, and the hottest cast in the city of Chicago. But when the show’s producer cuts out with the cash, Dwayne decides to produce the show himself, putting his marriage and his meager finances at risk. What could go wrong?

About the author:

Richard Engling is a Chicago actor, playwright, and novelist, whose books include the novels, GIVE MY REGARDS TO NOWHERE: A DIRECTOR’S TALE, VISIONS OF ANNA and BODY MORTGAGE, and the collection of plays, ANTIGONE AND MACBETH: ADAPTATIONS FOR A WAR-TORN TIME. His plays also include GHOST WATCH and ANNA IN THE AFTERLIFE and have been produced in Chicago and elsewhere. https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B001KDVOAQ/about

My review:

I write this review as a member of Rosie’s Book Review Team (author, check here if you are interested in getting your book reviewed) and thank her and the author for this opportunity.

I had no previous knowledge of the author of this novel, although from his biography it is evident that he has plenty of experience in the world of theatre, especially Chicago theatre, in different roles, and as I have an interest in theatre and drama, as a spectator, student, and reader of plays, and in Shakespeare plays in particular, I couldn’t pass the occasion to check this out.

I was lucky to see an amateur production of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus at Sussex University many years back. I don’t remember it in detail, but despite this being one of the least well-liked and more controversial of the bard’s plays, I found it very moving and loved it, as much as one can love a play with murder, revenge, betrayal, rape, and cannibalism among its themes. So, the fact that the plot of the novel involved the staging of a modernised version of Titus Andronicus, with rock music, choreography, dance, and an alternative casting challenging preconceptions and racism running through the play (two African-American actors play two of the most important roles), added to the interest for me. And although I don’t know much about the Chicago theatre scene, the author is well-versed on the subject, as many of the reviewers have noted, so that was the cherry on the cake for me.

The main protagonist, the director of the play, Dwayne Finnegan, discovers that the main actor -and one of the motors behind the idea- has dropped it, but, with some encouragement from his wife, Angela, he decides to carry on. He is a theatre lover, well-intentioned but ambitious, and not beyond telling a lie (or three) to get his way. Although Dwayne is the main character, and his long-suffering wife, Angela, a teacher not directly involved in this world, also plays an important role (and is a fabulous character), this is an ensemble novel, very much like a repertoire theatre company, full of memorable characters: Dwayne’s friends and reluctant investors, Chaz and Aleister (one who helps and one who mostly hinders the proceeds while getting himself into trouble at the same time), Tom, choreographer, friend, inspiration and supporter, the cast of players: Coco, not always likeable but a force of nature and a woman who knows what she wants; an older star going through a crisis but a great actor nonetheless; an upcoming new actor full of existential doubts who needs to move beyond his preconceptions; a young actress whose plight mimics what happens in the play (and some of the themes and motifs of the play are revisited upon the cast members in one way or another); a musician who doesn’t always remember his role in the play; some other colourful individuals, like the owner of the theatre, for whom dates and times are a moveable feast… Most of all, I loved Joan, the stage manager, and Ingrid, who started as the set designer and ended up becoming so much more. Both are amazing.

There is plenty of comedy and even slapstick (electroshocks and all. Don’t ask, you’ll have to read the novel), and some might get a bit repetitive after a while, especially Dwayne’s invocations of a variety of Saints and religious motifs to express his amazement, surprise, annoyance, horror… but, let’s say that by the end we get to understand that he is, perhaps, as peculiar and original are Joan and Ingrid are, in his own special way.

The novel is written in the third person, in chronological order, from Dwayne’s point-of-view, and it takes the reader through the whole process of creation, rehearsals, performances, and the aftermath. The writing is dynamic, easy to follow, and contains just enough detail for theatre lovers to enjoy it without the action getting bogged down or slowed with unnecessary trivia.

I don’t want to reveal too much, but I’ll only say that I enjoyed the ending, and I think most readers will be happy with it as well. I was also pleased to read that there might be more adventures for Dwayne (and I hope the whole company) in the future, and I’d love to read them.

If I had to make a suggestion to the author it would be to, perhaps, add a cast of characters, which might be helpful as well if there are future novels involving the company, both to refresh the memory of those who had read the first one and to familiarise new readers with the Psychedelic Dream Theater.

Especially recommended to those who like the theatre and are curious about how things work backstage, those who enjoy novels with a large and varied cast of characters, and anybody who appreciates slapstick, Shakespeare, and stories with a heart.

Thanks to Rosie and her team for their support, thanks to the author for this fun story, and thanks to all of you for reading, sharing, commenting, and, don’t forget to always keep smiling.

Categories
Miscelánea

Sant Jordi (Jorge) en Barcelona. La rosa i el llibre. La rosa i el libro. El día de los enamorados estilo catalán

Pan de St Jordi (con queso y sobrasada) en una panadería local. Y tambén podéis ver algunos dragones) en Barcelona
Pan de St Jordi (con queso y sobrasada) en una panadería local. Y tambén podéis ver algunos dragones) en Barcelona

Volví a Barcelona por unas cuantas semanas y me puse muy contenta cuando me di cuenta de que sin planearlo demasiado iba a estar allí por Sant. Jordi. Sant Jordi (San Jorge en Catalán) se celebra el 23 de Abril. Tradicionalmente es el día de la rosa y el libro. Creo que hoy en día la mayoría de lugares adoptan tradiciones globales y actualmente San Valentín se celebra en casi todo el mundo (al menos en los países occidentales, aunque sospecho que con películas y anuncios debe ser difícil escapar su influencia incluso muy lejos), pero cuando era niña, en Cataluña era más tradicional celebrar el amor romántico y su parafernalia por Sant Jordi. El día coincide con el aniversario de la muerte de Cervantes (en 1616) y es el día del libro. Las mujeres reciben como regalo una rosa (y os puedo decir que ese día son especialmente caras y no podréis ir a lugar alguno sin encontrar una parada intentando venderos una rosa. Según las leyendas, al matar al dragón Sant Jordi, de su sangre nació una rosa roja que le dio a la dama a la que había salvado) y luego están los libros. Paradas vendiendo libros también surgen en todas partes, autores más y menos famosos firmando libros, y los libros se venden con descuento. Ah, Sant Jordi es el santo patrón de Cataluña (sí, ya sé que también es el patrón de Inglaterra, y ese día se celebra el aniversario de la muerte de Shakespeare, tantas coincidencias) y aunque no es un día festivo como tal, muchos edificios oficiales (como el ayuntamiento, la Generalitat…) están abiertos al público.

No había estado en Barcelona por Sant Jordi hacía más de 20 años. Recuerdo haber hablado sobre ello con una amiga, Silvia, y ella me advirtió que se llena muchísimo de gente ese día y que hay que estar preparado. Al final nos vimos ese día, y fuimos a visitar a su hijo (Daniel, Dani) que estaba vendiendo rosas cerca de la Sagrada Familia. Yo había ido a dar una vuelta por la mañana, había estado paseándome por las paradas y había querido comprobar si algún autor amigo estaba firmando libros (algunos lo hicieron, pero no en Barcelona o no por donde yo visité). El día era algo ventoso pero soleado, buen día para rosas y libros. Vi una parada dedicada a leer El Quijote. Cuando pasé por allí estaban leyendo el capítulo cinco, así que aún había para rato.

Aquí la parada donde estaban leyendo El Quijote por capítulos, en La Diagonal
Aquí la parada donde estaban leyendo El Quijote por capítulos, en La Diagonal

Recibí varios mensajes de otros autores que viven en la ciudad o cerca y que planeaban ir a comer juntos. Silvia y yo conseguimos encontrarlos cuando estaban a punto de irse del restaurante y hablamos un poco (sobre la vida, la escritura, ser una súper-mujer y hacerlo todo, Egipto, medios sociales, vender libros, alcaldes, salud, padres)* y luego Silvia sugirió que podríamos ir a l’Ateneu Barcelonés, donde su marido (Bernardo) está estudiando un curso sobre escritura de novelas. El edificio normalmente solo lo pueden visitar los miembros, pero como era Sant Jordi hacían una excepción. Es un edificio maravilloso e incluyo algunas fotos. La biblioteca es excepcional.

La bibliotec de l'Ateneu Barcelonés
La bibliotec de l’Ateneu Barcelonés

L'Ateneu Barcelonés. Quién no querría leer aquí?
L’Ateneu Barcelonés. Quién no querría leer aquí?

Después de nuestro descanso en el Ateneu nos atrevimos a bajar por Las Ramblas. Si habéis visitado Barcelona alguna vez, conoceréis Las Ramblas. Es la meca para los turistas, llena de personalidad, una avenida que os lleva al puerto, con flores, suvenires, tiendas de artesanía, artistas callejeros y estatuas vivientes, la Boquería (El Mercado de Sant Antoni) un mercado como no habréis visto muchos, de visita obligada, con la Fuente de Canaletas a un extremo (al lado de la Plaza de Cataluña, y que la leyenda dice que si bebes de ella volverás a Barcelona) y Colón (el monumento a Cristóbal Colón donde apunta a las Américas. Me extrañó no ver a ninguna paloma ni en su dedo ni en su cabeza…) al otro extremo. Y casi me olvido del Liceu, el teatro de ópera de Barcelona, también en las Ramblas y que se merece una visita (y tiene una acústica fabulosa). Silvia tenía razón. Estaba a rebosar. Pero, sorprendentemente, ya que es la avenida más turística de la ciudad, la mayoría de los paseantes eran locales. Rosas, autores firmando libros, excitación…

La pastelería Vives ofrecía cajas de bombones en forma de libro con portadas de libros de verdad (naturalmente la caja también hecha de chocolate). Si os gustan los libros y el chocolate...irresistible!
La pastelería Vives ofrecía cajas de bombones en forma de libro con portadas de libros de verdad (naturalmente la caja también hecha de chocolate). Si os gustan los libros y el chocolate…irresistible!

Se hizo tarde y dejé a Silvia que tenía que ir a encontrarse con su marido y su hijo y volver a casa (ya que no viven en Barcelona sino en Terrassa) y yo volví a casa también. A esa hora las rosas se vendían mucho más baratas ya que no quedaba mucho del día.

Me encantó volver a estar en Barcelona por Sant Jordi. Y si tenéis la oportunidad, también os lo recomiendo a vosotros.

Gracias por leer y si os ha gustado, dadle al like, compartid, comentad y… a ver si podéis ir de visita!

*La verdad es que no tuve ocasión de hablar con todo el mundo y sé que me perdí a gente que se unió luego o que se había ido ya, pero pude hablar un poco con David de Luca, Antonia Romero (y marido), Josep Capsir, Pat Casalà…A ver si en un futuro cercano somos muchos más.

Categories
Miscellaneous

Sant Jordi (St George’s) in Barcelona. The rose and the book.The day of love Catalan style.

St Jordi's bread (cheese and sobrasada) in a bakery in Barcelona
St Jordi’s bread (cheese and sobrasada) in a bakery in Barcelona

I went back to Barcelona for a few weeks and I was pleased when I realised that without much planning on my side I was going to be there for Sant. Jordi. Sant Jordi (St George, in Catalan) is celebrated on the 23rd of April. Traditionally it is the day of the rose (from the blood of the slayed dragon was born a red rose that the knight gave the lady, as the legend goes, but check some of links at the bottom for more information) and the book. I think most places tend to adopt global traditions and nowadays St Valentine’s Day is celebrated nearly everywhere (at least Western countries, although I suspect with movies and advertisements it might be difficult to escape it even farther away), but when I was a child, in Catalonia is was more traditional to celebrate love and all its accoutrements for Sant Jordi. The day coincides with the anniversary of Cervante’s death (in 1616) and therefore it also became the day of the book. Women would get a rose (and I must tell you they are particularly expensive that day and you won’t be able to go anywhere and not find a stall trying to sell you a rose) and then you have the books. Stalls selling books also everywhere, famous (and less famous) authors doing book signings, and books at a discount. Oh, Sant Jordi is the patron saint of Catalonia (yes, I know it’s also patron saint of England and the same date also celebrates Shakespeare’s death, so many coincidences), and although it is not a bank holiday, many official buildings (like the Town Hall, la Generalitat…) will be open to the public that day.

I hadn’t been back in Barcelona for Sant Jordi for well over 20 years. I remember talking to a friend, Silvia, about it; she warned me that it gets very crowded that day and you have to be prepared. We ended up meeting on the day, and going to visit her son (Daniel, Dani) who was selling roses near la Sagrada Familia. I had gone for a walk in the morning, checked the stalls trying to see if some of my author friends were signing (some were, but not in Barcelona or in the area I visited). A bit windy but a sunny day, good for both roses and books. I saw the stall dedicated to reading El Quijote from beginning to end. A volunteer would step in and read a chapter, and so on. At that point in the morning they were reading chapter 5. A fair way to go.

Stall where they were reading El Quijote by chapters, in La Diagonal
Stall where they were reading El Quijote by chapters, in La Diagonal

I had received many messages from other authors in the city who were planning on meeting for lunch. Silvia and I joined them briefly and managed to have chat (about life, writing, being a superwoman and doing everything, Egypt, mayors, social media, selling, health and parents) and then Silvia suggested we could go and visit l’Ateneu Barcelonés, where her husband (Bernardo) is studying a course on novel writing. The building is normally only open to members, but it was Sant Jordi and they opened it to general public. It is a gorgeous building and I include some pictures. The library is truly amazing.

The library at the Ateneu Barcelonés
The library at the Ateneu Barcelonés

L'Ateneu Barcelonés. Who wouldn't want to read there?
L’Ateneu Barcelonés. Who wouldn’t want to read there?

After our break at the Ateneu we ventured down Las Ramblas. If you’ve ever been to Barcelona, you’ll know Las Ramblas. It’s the Mecca for tourists, full of character, an avenue that walks you down to the port, with flowers, souvenirs, craft shops, street performers, the must-see Boquería (El Mercat de St Antoni) a market the likes of which you’ve probably never seen, with la Font de Canaletas at the top (legend has it that if you drink from it you’ll go back to Barcelona) and Colón (the monument to Christopher Columbus pointing towards America) at the bottom. I nearly forgot el Liceu, the Opera Theatre well-worth a visit, also in Las Ramblas. (And it has fabulous acoustics.) Silvia was right. It was crowded. But surprisingly enough, this being the most touristic avenue of the city, most people that day were locals. Roses, people signing books, buzz…

A well-known cake-shop (Vives) decided that books in chocolate were the way to go. These books made on chocolate reproduce covers or real books
A well-known cake-shop (Vives) decided that books in chocolate were the way to go. These books made of chocolate reproduce covers or real books. And you’ve guessed it, inside there were more chocolates!

It got quite late and I left Silvia, who was going to meet with her husband and son and go back home (as they live outside in Terrassa) and I got back too. At that point the roses were selling much cheaper as there wasn’t much day left.

I loved being back in Barcelona for Sant Jordi. If you have a chance, I’d recommend it too. I leave you links to some information on the web, just in case you feel curious:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_George’s_Day

http://barcelona.de/en/barcelona-sant-jordi.html

http://www.spain.info/en_GB/reportajes/la_fiesta_sant_jordi.html

And an article in The Guardian by Matthew Tree, one of their correspondents, who seems to quite like it too!

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2011/apr/23/st-georges-day-catalonia

 

Thanks for reading and if you’ve enjoyed it, like, share, comment and CLICK…and see if you can go and visit!

 

Categories
Especial San Valentín

Celebremos San Valentín con poemas de amor!

Como bien sabéis los viernes os traigo autores invitados, pero como este viernes coincidió que es San Valentín, me apeteció hacer algo diferente. Así, sin orden ni concierto, busqué algunos de mis poemas románticos favoritos y que me llamaron la atención, y aquí os los traigo. En inglés, español y catalán, para que haya un poco de todo. Shakespeare tocaba porque hace tiempo que ando pensando que lo tengo que traer de invitado, pero da para tanto que no me decido. E. E. Cummings (o e.e. cummings, ya que su ortografía es tan especial como su obra) siempre me hace sonreír. Estaba pensando en uno de los poemas de Luís Cernuda y buscando encontré el cortido que me gustó mucho. El de Vicent Andrés Estellés me gusta por lo directo, y la canción de Serrat… me pone la piel de gallina. Añadí un video de él muy jovencito cantándola en 1968 para que no falte nada. Y un juego tonto por aquello de pasar el rato.

 Love Cakes 1

 

 

William Shakespeare

Sonnet XVIII

 Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

Sonnet CXVI

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
  If this be error and upon me proved,
  I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Sonnet CXXX

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.

E.E. Cummings (or e e cummings)

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) 

 

Luís Cernuda

No decía palabras

No decía palabras,
acercaba tan sólo un cuerpo interrogante,
porque ignoraba que el deseo es una pregunta
cuya respuesta no existe,
una hoja cuya rama no existe,
un mundo cuyo cielo no existe.

La angustia se abre paso entre los huesos,
remonta por las venas
hasta abrirse en la piel,
surtidores de sueño
hechos carne en interrogación vuelta a las nubes.

Un roce al paso,
una mirada fugaz entre las sombras,
bastan para que el cuerpo se abra en dos,
ávido de recibir en sí mismo
otro cuerpo que sueñe;
mitad y mitad, sueño y sueño, carne y carne,
iguales en figura, iguales en amor, iguales en deseo.
Auque sólo sea una esperanza
porque el deseo es pregunta cuya respuesta nadie sabe.
Lee todo en: No decía palabras – Poemas de Luis Cernuda http://www.poemas-del-alma.com/no-decia-palabras.htm#ixzz2sH7iPEmp

 

Contigo

¿Mi tierra?
Mi tierra eres tú.

¿Mi gente?
Mi gente eres tú.

El destierro y la muerte
para mi están adonde
no estés tú.

¿Y mi vida?
Dime, mi vida,
¿qué es, si no eres tú?
Lee todo en: Contigo – Poemas de Luis Cernuda http://www.poemas-del-alma.com/contigo.htm#ixzz2sH7wO9WQ

 

Vicent Andrés Estellés:

Els amants

No hi havia a València dos amants com nosaltres.

Feroçment ens amàvem del matí a la nit.
Tot ho recorde mentre vas estenent la roba.
Han passat anys, molt anys; han passat moltes coses.
De sobte encara em pren aquell vent o l’amor
i rodolem per terra entre abraços i besos.
No comprenem l’amor com un costum amable,
com un costum pacífic de compliment i teles
(i que ens perdone el cast senyor López-Picó).
Es desperta, de sobte, com un vell huracà,
i ens tomba en terra els dos, ens ajunta, ens empeny.
Jo desitjava, a voltes, un amor educat
i en marxa el tocadiscos, negligentment besant-te,
ara un muscle i després el peço d’una orella.
El nostre amor és un amor brusc i salvatge
i tenim l’enyorança amarga de la terra,
d’anar a rebolcons entre besos i arraps.
Què voleu que hi faça! Elemental, ja ho sé.
Ignorem el Petrarca i ignorem moltes coses.
Les Estances de Riba i les Rimas de Bécquer.
Després, tombats en terra de qualsevol manera,
comprenem que som bàrbars, i que això no deu ser,
que no estem en l’edat, i tot això i allò.

No hi havia a València dos amants com nosaltres,
car d’amants com nosaltres en són parits ben pocs.

Joan Manuel Serrat

Paraules d’amor

Paraules d’amor (Serrat)
Ella em va estimar tant…
Jo me l’estimo encara.
Plegats vam travessar
una porta tancada.

Ella, com us ho podré dir,
era tot el meu món llavors
quan en la llar cremàvem
només paraules d’amor…

Paraules d’amor senzilles i tendres.
No en sabíem més, teníem quinze anys.
No havíem tingut massa temps per aprendre’n,
tot just despertàvem del son dels infants.

En teníem prou amb tres frases fetes
que havíem après d’antics comediants.
D’històries d’amor, somnis de poetes,
no en sabíem més, teníem quinze anys…

Ella qui sap on és,
ella qui sap on para.
La vaig perdre i mai més
he tornat a trobar-la.

Però sovint en fer-se fosc,
de lluny m’arriba una cançó.
Velles notes, vells acords,
velles paraules d’amor…

Aquí el video (molt jovenet):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6da-yrtBIY

Y el juego es el Love Calculator. Escribís los nombres de los dos enamorados y os da un porcentaje de compatibilidad. Parece realmente científico y riguroso… (:))

Love calculator:

http://www.glamourmagazine.co.uk/features/love-calculator

Gracias por leer, y ya sabéis, si os ha gustado, dadle al me gusta, comentad, compartid, y sobre todo, quereos mucho!

Categories
Valentine Day's Special

Let’s Celebrate Valentine’s Day with a bit of poetry.

Love Cakes 1Dear all:

As you know normally I bring you a guest on Fridays. As today is Valentine’s day, I fancied doing something different. I randomly chose some poems I like (I’ve shared some of my other favourite ones when posting about their authors and there are more to come) that I thought were suitable for the day. I decided to post them in English, Spanish and Catalan. You can pick and choose. I could not help but post Shakespeare (I’ve been feeling quite bad for not bringing him as a guest yet, but there is so much I haven’t decided how to do it yet), and e.e. cummings (or E. E. Cummings, he had his own punctuation style) always makes me smile. Regarding Luis Cernuda, I was thinking of a particular poem and looking for it could not help but add another one. The Catalan ones I just like the directness of Vicent Andrés Estellés  and love the song by Serrat (that now I can’t stop singing).

And here they are: 

William Shakespeare

Sonnet XVIII 

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

Sonnet CXVI

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
  If this be error and upon me proved,
  I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Sonnet CXXX

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.

E.E. Cummings (or e e cummings)

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) 

 

Luís Cernuda

No decía palabras

No decía palabras,
acercaba tan sólo un cuerpo interrogante,
porque ignoraba que el deseo es una pregunta
cuya respuesta no existe,
una hoja cuya rama no existe,
un mundo cuyo cielo no existe.

La angustia se abre paso entre los huesos,
remonta por las venas
hasta abrirse en la piel,
surtidores de sueño
hechos carne en interrogación vuelta a las nubes.

Un roce al paso,
una mirada fugaz entre las sombras,
bastan para que el cuerpo se abra en dos,
ávido de recibir en sí mismo
otro cuerpo que sueñe;
mitad y mitad, sueño y sueño, carne y carne,
iguales en figura, iguales en amor, iguales en deseo.
Auque sólo sea una esperanza
porque el deseo es pregunta cuya respuesta nadie sabe.
Lee todo en: No decía palabras – Poemas de Luis Cernuda http://www.poemas-del-alma.com/no-decia-palabras.htm#ixzz2sH7iPEmp

 

Contigo

¿Mi tierra?
Mi tierra eres tú.

¿Mi gente?
Mi gente eres tú.

El destierro y la muerte
para mi están adonde
no estés tú.

¿Y mi vida?
Dime, mi vida,
¿qué es, si no eres tú?
Lee todo en: Contigo – Poemas de Luis Cernuda http://www.poemas-del-alma.com/contigo.htm#ixzz2sH7wO9WQ

 

Vicent Andrés Estellés:

Els amants

No hi havia a València dos amants com nosaltres.

Feroçment ens amàvem del matí a la nit.
Tot ho recorde mentre vas estenent la roba.
Han passat anys, molt anys; han passat moltes coses.
De sobte encara em pren aquell vent o l’amor
i rodolem per terra entre abraços i besos.
No comprenem l’amor com un costum amable,
com un costum pacífic de compliment i teles
(i que ens perdone el cast senyor López-Picó).
Es desperta, de sobte, com un vell huracà,
i ens tomba en terra els dos, ens ajunta, ens empeny.
Jo desitjava, a voltes, un amor educat
i en marxa el tocadiscos, negligentment besant-te,
ara un muscle i després el peço d’una orella.
El nostre amor és un amor brusc i salvatge
i tenim l’enyorança amarga de la terra,
d’anar a rebolcons entre besos i arraps.
Què voleu que hi faça! Elemental, ja ho sé.
Ignorem el Petrarca i ignorem moltes coses.
Les Estances de Riba i les Rimas de Bécquer.
Després, tombats en terra de qualsevol manera,
comprenem que som bàrbars, i que això no deu ser,
que no estem en l’edat, i tot això i allò.

No hi havia a València dos amants com nosaltres,
car d’amants com nosaltres en són parits ben pocs.

Joan Manuel Serrat

Paraules d’amor

Paraules d’amor (Serrat)
Ella em va estimar tant…
Jo me l’estimo encara.
Plegats vam travessar
una porta tancada.

Ella, com us ho podré dir,
era tot el meu món llavors
quan en la llar cremàvem
només paraules d’amor…

Paraules d’amor senzilles i tendres.
No en sabíem més, teníem quinze anys.
No havíem tingut massa temps per aprendre’n,
tot just despertàvem del son dels infants.

En teníem prou amb tres frases fetes
que havíem après d’antics comediants.
D’històries d’amor, somnis de poetes,
no en sabíem més, teníem quinze anys…

Ella qui sap on és,
ella qui sap on para.
La vaig perdre i mai més
he tornat a trobar-la.

Però sovint en fer-se fosc,
de lluny m’arriba una cançó.
Velles notes, vells acords,
velles paraules d’amor…

I could not resist adding the link to the You-Tube video of a very early rendering of ‘Paraules d’amor’ de Serrat (he was very young  there):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6da-yrtBIY

And just in case  you fancy a silly game, here it is:

Love calculator:

http://www.glamourmagazine.co.uk/features/love-calculator

Thanks for reading, and you know, if you’ve enjoyed it, don’t forget to like, share, comment and especially, love!

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