Desde la torre - Francisco de Quevedo

Retirado en la paz de estos desiertos,

con pocos, pero doctos libros juntos,

vivo en conversación con los difuntos,

y escucho con mis ojos a los muertos.

Si no siempre entendidos, siempre abiertos,

o enmiendan, o fecundan mis asuntos;

y en músicos callados contrapuntos

al sueño de la vida hablan despiertos.

Las grandes almas que la muerte ausenta,

de injurias de los años vengadora,

libra, ¡oh gran don Joseph!, docta la imprenta.

En fuga irrevocable huye la hora;

pero aquélla el mejor cálculo cuenta,

que en la lección y estudios nos mejora.

Los Justos (Borges)

Un hombre que cultiva un jardín, como quería Voltaire.

El que agradece que en la tierra haya música.

El que descubre con placer una etimología.

Dos empleados que en un café del Sur juegan un silencioso ajedrez.

El ceramista que premedita un color y una forma.

Un tipógrafo que compone bien esta página, que tal vez no le agrada.

Una mujer y un hombre que leen los tercetos finales de cierto canto.

El que acaricia a un animal dormido.

El que justifica o quiere justificar un mal que le han hecho.

El que agradece que en la tierra haya Stevenson.

El que prefiere que los otros tengan razón.

Esas personas, que se ignoran, están salvando el mundo.

THE LITTLE BOY - Helen E. Buckley

Once a little boy went to school.

One morning, when the little boy had been in school a while, his teacher said:

“Today we are going to make a picture.”

“Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make pictures. He could make all kinds. Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, trains and boats, and he took out his box of crayons and began to draw.

But the teacher said: “Wait! It is not time to begin!”

And she waited until everyone looked ready.

“Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.”

“Good!” thought the little boy, he liked to make flowers, and he began to make beautiful ones with his pink and orange and blue crayons.

But the teacher said “Wait! And I will show you how.”  And it was red with a green stem.

“There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s.

Then he looked at this own flower.

He liked his flower better than the teacher’s.  But he did not say this.  He just turned his paper over.

And made a flower like the teacher’s.  It was red with a green stem.

On another day, when the little boy had opened the door from the outside all by himself, the teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.”

“Good!” thought the little boy. Snakes and snowmen, elephants and mice, cars, and trucks, and he began to pull and pinch his ball of clay.

But the teacher said: “Wait!”  It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready.

“Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.”

He liked to make dishes.  And he began to make some that were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said, “Wait!  And I will show you how.”  And she showed everyone how to make a deep dish.  “There,” said the teacher.  “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish, then he looked at his own.  He liked his dish better than the teacher’s.  But he did not say this.  He just rolled his clay into a big ball again.  And made a dish like the teacher’s.  It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon the little boy learned to wait, and to watch and to make things just like the teacher.  And pretty soon he didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened that the little boy and his family moved to another house, in another city, and the little boy had to go to another school.

And the very first day he was there the teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.”

“Good!”  Thought the little boy and he waited for the teacher to tell him what to do.

But the teacher didn’t say anything.  She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy she said, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”

“Yes,” said the little boy.

“What are we going to make?”

“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.

 “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.

“Why, any way you like,” said the teacher.

“Any color?” asked the little boy.

“Any color,” said the teacher.

“If everyone made the same picture, and the used the same colors, how would I know who made what?”

“I don’t know,” said the little boy.

And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

The House of Judgement - Oscar Wilde

And there was silence in the House of Judgment, and the Man came naked before God.

And God opened the Book of the Life of the Man.

And God said to the Man, `Thy life hath been evil, and thou hast shown cruelty to those who were in need of succour, and to those who lacked help thou hast been bitter and hard of heart. The poor called to thee and thou didst not hearken, and thine ears were closed to the cry of My afflicted. The inheritance of the fatherless thou didst take unto thyself and thou didst send the foxes into the vineyard of thy neighbour's field. Thou didst take the bread of the children and give it to the dogs to eat, and My lepers who lived in the marshes, and were at peace and praised Me, thou didst drive forth on to the highways, and on Mine earth out of which I made thee thou didst spill innocent blood.'

And the Man made answer and said, `Even so did I.'

And again God opened the Book of the Life of the Man.

And God said to the Man, `Thy life hath been evil, and the Beauty I have shown thou hast sought for, and the Good I have hidden thou didst pass by. The walls of thy chamber were painted with images, and from the bed of thine abominations thou didst rise up to the sound of flutes. Thou didst build seven altars to the sins I have suffered, and didst eat of the thing that may not be eaten, and the purple of thy raiment was broidered with the three signs of shame. Thine idols were neither of gold nor of silver that endure, but of flesh that dieth. Thou didst stain their hair with perfumes and put pomegranates in their hands. Thou didst stain their feet with saffron and spread carpets before them. With antimony thou didst stain their eyelids and their bodies thou didst smear with myrrh. Thou didst bow thyself to the ground before them, and the thrones of thine idols were set in the sun. Thou didst show to the sun thy shame and to the moon thy madness.'

And the Man made answer and said, `Even so did I.'

And a third time God opened the Book of the Life of the Man.

And God said to the Man, `Evil hath been thy life, and with evil didst thou requite good, and with wrongdoing kindness. The hands that fed thee thou didst wound, and the breasts that gave thee suck thou didst despise. He who came to thee with water went away thirsting, and the outlawed men who hid thee in their tents at night thou didst betray before dawn. Thine enemy who spared thee thou didst snare in an ambush and the friend who walked with thee thou didst sell for a price, and to those who brought thee Love thou didst ever give Lust in thy turn.'

And the Man made answer and said, `Even so did I.'

And God closed the Book of the Life of the Man, and said, `Surely I will send thee into Hell. Even into Hell will I send thee.'

And the Man cried out, `Thou canst not.'

And God said to the Man, `Wherefore can I not send thee to Hell, and for what reason?'

`Because in Hell have I always lived,' answered the Man.

And after a space God spake, and said to the Man, `Seeing that I may not send thee into Hell, surely I will send thee unto Heaven. Even unto Heaven will I send thee.'

And the Man cried out, `Thou canst not.'

And God said to the Man, `Wherefore can I not send thee unto Heaven, and for what reason?'

`Because never, and in no place, have I been able to imagine it,' answered the Man.

And there was silence in the House of Judgment.

Ariadna Abandonada - Catulo 64. 52-75

"Pues al tender la mirada desde la fluentísona fuente de Día, contempla Ariadna, llevando en el corazón indómitas pasiones, a Teseo que se aleja en la rápida nave, y aún no cree estar viendo lo que ve, cuando liberada del poder del sueño falaz descubre que, mísera, ha sido abandonada en la solitaria arena. Desmemoriado, el joven que huye impulsa el agua con los remos, entregando sus promesas vanas a la ventosa tormenta. Y lejos, desde la playa, lo contempla la hija de Minos con sus ojitos tristes, pétrea como la efigie de una bacante, lo contempla, ¡ay!, y se agita en grandes olas de aflicción, sin sostener en la rubia cabeza la delicada mitra, no cubierto su velado pecho por el ligero manto, ni ciñendo con la ancha faja sus blancos senos; prendas todas en desorden, deslizadas de todo el cuerpo, con las que juegan a sus pies las salobres aguas.

Así, sin cuidarse entonces de la suerte de la mitra ni de los flotantes mantos, con todo el pecho, Teseo, con toda el alma, perdida, con su mente toda, pendía ella de ti. 

¡Ay mísera a quien perturbó con penas constantes la Ericina, sembrando por aquel tiempo espinosas aflicciones en tu pecho, desde el momento en que el intrépido Teseo, salido de las sinuosas orilla pireas, alcanzó los palacios gortinios del injusto rey!" 

Texto Latino - Catullus, ed. G. P. Goold, 1983

namque fluentisono prospectans litore Diae,
Thesea cedentem celeri cum classe tuetur
indomitos in corde gerens Ariadna furores,
necdum etiam sese quae visit visere credit,	55
utpote fallaci quae tum primum excita somno
desertam in sola miseram se cernat harena.
immemor at iuvenis fugiens pellit vada remis,
irrita ventosae linquens promissa procellae.
quem procul ex alga maestis Minois ocellis,	60
saxea ut effigies bacchantis, prospicit, eheu,
prospicit et magnis curarum fluctuat undis,
non flavo retinens subtilem vertice mitram,

non contecta levi velatum pectus amictu,
non tereti strophio lactentes vincta papillas,	65
omnia quae toto delapsa e corpore passim
ipsius ante pedes fluctus salis alludebant.
sed neque tum mitrae neque tum fluitantis amictus
illa vicem curans toto ex te pectore, Theseu,
toto animo, tota pendebat perdita mente.	70
ah misera, assiduis quam luctibus exsternavit
spinosas Erycina serens in pectore curas
illa ex tempestate, ferox quo tempore Theseus
egressus curvis a litoribus Piraei
attigit iniusti regis Gortynia tecta.	75

Imagen: Ariadne - J. H. Draper