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GIRL, A Vitanza MARA

Wine Post-war Italy, a day here in River City Bolivar established the School of the Arts of Fire: Alejandro Colina, taught drawing, painting and ceramics. His work has been recognized throughout the country, numerous catalogs tell us about his art, these forms of moon are beautiful and your hands have come with all the tenderness of a great artist. Mara is the time, no doubt. Now he is sick, that's life, has its cycle. I will not refer to its extensive biography as an artist, or her husband Franco Vitanza both fought for a Venezuela free of malaria and many other diseases that plagued the country those years when medicine was the field's value and personal effort Full. I just want to give him a few letters, perhaps a few, for how much it deserves: She's girl Firenze.

in the photo is accompanied by his son Richard, an architect and former director of Tourism of the State of Bolivar, who in the room read to her the gift of a woman who admires and wants, with that silence and admiration tenderness. (Photo by Nancy Belgrabe)

Coraspe Teresa.

FIRENZE GIRL

She owned the space and forms

high
house and castle of light and color

beautiful girl She
Firenze
of eternal darkness between the eyes and warm
soft /
the tropics came on


long ago and live and grow among the roots
your hand flying and smiling

traced in the depth of the walls and canvas
in the glow of the moon and green terra cotta sand

shifting between your hands
open to the timeless beauty of growing
have not
between
corners of the house or a room where the magic gloomy
unraveled
clothes torn
You are ethereal and fly beyond the go

of what can only be perceived by the soul


Firenze Girl


dreamer dreamer of dreams
image forever young and everlasting timeless

the celestial feathered dawn

lady of your hands forever.

to: Mara Vitanza
26.10.2010

Asin Woman Molested On Train

De Pablo Mora, La Calle 4 (Venezuelan writer)

4

STREET


Pablo Mora Street 4 ... where I launched the village with two old, three brothers and four pieces in between, where I met the tears of willows, where I love time, of that cave, this cave that taught me the face of life, that of Christ showed me the skin tan when the power goes war, Rafael, dangling from a tree forever, Ofelia and his jolly daubs lost cruse not know what the healing of Doña Jabiela maldeojo to both rich and poor beggar, which led me to the chapel, the my father tending his canaries, that of the early morning in search of prayer, Mary Bonita, Muela 'e Gallo, Pedro fudge, Mary turned and always green with his eternal oblivion, Elio and the first rhyme, of the old seminary of my father, with his grades always red, the Vanguard Pedrito, who went to heaven to collect their benefits, to hang habits to go through life making war. Street 4, for the journey by the sea and snow, the highest nightmare, the day he lost my niece, that of the English nun who looked both way to church or the altar, the first item and the first poem, the Acosta Salmerón Blue poem and the sonnet lover of Francisco Luis Bernardez, the God of desiring and desired by Juan Ramón Jiménez next to Goethe's Faust, Vallejo's Human Poems, the Land and Homes in Neruda's Canto General, that of Mayakovsky , Hernandez, Pound, Whitman, and Pavese, that of Dante, Huidobro, Benedetti, Cardinal, Cote Lamus and Gaitán Durán, Fidel, Che, Camilo, Ojeda, Ugarte Pelayo and Argimiro ... of Peter Paul, Dionysius, Olivera, Ilia, Mora Carrero, Manuel Beroes and Philip, the Reuben, Michelangeli, Castro Medina, Mendoza, Alviarez, Augustine or Detuski Brun, Rafael and Carlos Guérin, Myriam, Pereyra, Fields and Ulacio, the Opera Carmen near the brazier of the five pm, the first class at the Santa Teresita, the ounces of sweet and struts, of the Blessed Sacrament, who helped me keep the faith, the sisters Alix and Linda Ruiz with his Album of the Rotunda lines 1902 and 1800, the Sisters Ocariz of Rubio, the moon's three in the morning, the napalm when the lark to take the trip to Cannes and the Alps. Where one evening I went in search of love and I found the monument of France. The lane 4, with Russian missiles, Cuba, Radio Havana, guns and guerrillas, January 23 and the Moncada Barracks and May 68 in Turin in the cold. The black of Julian came from nowhere, that of the black boot where my mother came down and climbed up and down with your parent while I fool shoulder late at night with my friend and parliamentary parliament. Calle 4 No. 12-122. Calle 4 No. 11-61. Calle 4 No. 10-36 up, down and jump through life. Calle 4 No. 15-13. Calle 4 No. l5-l5, the underground struggle, the confinement of life. The peak lane 4 and No. 1-59 Las Acacias, waiting for what comes, crouched in the corner of a room where my life seems anchored to suddenly go any day if not a bastard comes from the CIA to take it ahead of time ... or a police toche screw us patience ... Calle 4 No. 10-36 before a pair of lions of stage ... The peak lane 4 and say ... Las Acacias, pod casting yet, to the beat of the terminal insomnia. De
Terminal Insomnia.

How To Control A Tech Deck

CARINA RUGGIERO (writer Argentina)

(Story sent by Maria Gabriela Abeal)

LA Llorona (Story)

Believe ... It is true that some people go crazy for love.
When I heard the story I'm about to narrate simply was stunned. My hands trembled and began to sweat inexhaustible sweat did not stop for days. And I could not sleep. So I walked for several days sweating and sleepless for life.
fifteen years I had gone to El Dorado (1) confused and disillusioned, the victim of a broken heart.
was deeply in love with Clara and she wanted me but the fate we met later. I was single and if Clara was a married woman fell in love deep, wild ... madly.
only alternative we had then to be together: Run away and let our love flourish in a place where no one will point the finger judging the forbidden passion between us and where we were to die unless killed by the husband of Clara, whose greatest skill lay in the excellent handling of the machete, then worked in the bush.
But the day that we meet at the bus station to escape she did not appear.
I was there from early morning. I waited two, four, twenty hours to two days without moving! I understood then that the absence betrayed his way of saying that it was unwilling to take risks and come with me to Buenos Aires.
I went alone. The first three years I was really sad. My heart was frozen and cold pierced my soul throbbing pain. I could not forget her, loved her too much to stop thinking about it. Then, I decided to finally remove the memories of my life and all feeling for Clara.
I thought if I was not risked because I really loved and aided by the resentment and time, his face in my mind was dissipated. Only a few nights
appeared in my dreams and just sometimes, I wondered what made it strange reasons desist and miss the Oct. 5 event.
The answer to my question was a mystery for fifteen long years.
But one evening I received a call from my wife in the office. Correspondence reached only living relative I had in Misiones.
Uncle Walter, my father's brother, called to go with my family to visit him saying not know my children, I could die at any moment and wanted to see me again. I must confess that despite being happily married rejected the idea of \u200b\u200breturning to that city. I had no intention of reliving the past and with it the suffering of those times. Plus I had sworn never to return. What if I ran to Clara? No. .. I could not resist! But my two sons and my wife insisted used the occasion to remind that since the honeymoon we never go on vacation.
The following weekend we traveled to El Dorado. We arrived at dawn.
was exciting to see again the red soil, the thick bush on the side of the path ... the mist covering the landscape subtly.
got off at the terminal and Uncle Walter was there, waiting.
Aging invaded their appearance without affecting the poise and elegance that characterized him. He stretched his arms and smiled when she recognized.
include greetings and introductions lost sight of the least of my children and I looked desperately sellers of chipa (2), taxi driver and passengers wandering around.
Then, from the same wooden bench on which I spent two days sitting, I saw my son standing in front of a tramp.
She emitted a continuous sorry ... indecipherable.
Someone said mockingly: - That Moaning is crying again! Poor crazy! ...
His feet were bare and his hands pulling at his hair matted as a rolling rhythm was consistent with his groans.
My child was still impressed by that horrific picture and when I ran to him taking his arm got a glimpse of the hobo. His eyes lost
rested on mine and smiled. Then issued a cry impressive, down to the floor and began to roll brutally.
We left quickly, and when we returned to the group where my wife was unloading luggage, I ran into the serious face of Uncle Walter.
This time he looked at me sadly.
-Gurisito (3) - said softly and without anesthesia, as he received me, their pats on the back "That's the Clara Remember? The wife of Fritz gringo. It seems the husband out of the window caught with bags ready to go with another man. He gave a tremendous beating, cut off his tongue with a machete and took to the streets. Everyone in the village refused him the salute, no one spoke to him again, not even his parents.
continued:
- went crazy right away and since then has been all night at the Terminal to mourn for their beloved. Poor thing! It was without a husband or lover. It's a shame So pretty woman! And see it now ... and rolling on the floor.
Believe ... I also felt sinking into madness ... Clara tried to escape! Clara had loved me! And I fled like a coward, not ever find out what had happened.
People go crazy for love and my love became La Llorona from El Dorado.
And I ... a man with trembling hands can not sleep, because it appears to me in dreams, lost his eye and face stiff ... aged.
Constantly yelling with pain, tearing their hair.
hope, every night at the Terminal, to run away with me to a dream that never came true.

Glossary: \u200b\u200b(1) El Dorado: City of the Province of Misiones 200 km North of Posadas and 100 km from Puerto Iguazu. (2) Chip: food based on corn starch or cassava, typical of the Coastal Zone of Argentina. (3) Gurisito: Child in Guarani language.