domingo, 15 de febrero de 2009

Yo sé, ciudadano presidente Chávez


Perdonen que utilice una de las frases de Roberto Saviano en su Gomorra, pero creo que es la mejor forma de iniciar este post.


Yo sé, ciudadano presidente, cómo es la vida en Venezuela, o, al menos, cómo es la vida de algunos ciudadanos. Yo sé, por ejemplo, que aunque el sistema burocrático y funcionarial de ese país apenas ha funcionado correctamente en decenas de años, asfixiado por la corrupción y el desorden, ahora sí funciona para mantener viva una lista negra de venezolanos no afectos al régimen. Yo sé que aquellos que firmaron libremente para solicitar su revocación como presidente están en esa lista negra. Yo sé que muchos ciudadanos venezolanos, tras llegar usted al poder comprobaron que, lejos de gobernar para todos democráticamente, usted pretendía, y lo consiguió, modificar la Constitución para perpetuarse en el poder. Yo sé que esos ciudadanos, de toda condición económica y social, están malditos en Venezuela.


Yo sé que hay maestros que han perdido su trabajo por haber firmado, yo sé que hay jubilados, ya ancianos, que no podrán beneficiarse de algunas ayudas estatales, muy convenientes a sus menguadas economías, porque firmaron, yo sé que hay funcionarios venezolanos amenazados con despidos y pérdidas de pensiones caso de pronunciarse en manifestaciones contrarias a su régimen. Yo sé que muchos empleados de la gran compañía petrolera que usted intervino tuvieron que salir de Venezuela escondiendo hasta sus documentos oficiales por miedo a las represalias de su régimen, porque también firmaron.


También sé que la vida en Venezuela vale cada vez menos. Que las fuerzas de seguridad del estado están implicadas en actos de acoso, chantaje, secuestro e intento de homicidio de muchos empresarios. Yo he visto las manos rudas, agarrotadas, de piel sufrida por años de trabajo físico de ganaderos que llevaron la riqueza a su país y han tenido que salir de él víctimas de amenazas que se podían cumplir en cualquier momento. Lo han perdido todo, y lo más triste, han perdido la ilusión de haber vivido en un país donde las orquídeas crecen en los árboles frondosos como los jaramagos crecen en los solares de mi tierra ibérica.


Yo sé, ciudadano presidente, que no debo firmar esto con mi nombre y apellidos, porque pondría en peligro vidas, porque pondría en peligro permisos y visados para ver familias reencontrarse. Yo sé, señor presidente, que Venezuela estaba mal antes de que usted llegara al poder, pero que tras su estancia presidencial, ad aeternum si nada lo remedia, solo ha hundido aún más a un país lleno de riqueza desaprovechada por filias y fobias políticas, por vanidades televisivas, por alianzas entre mediocres.


Yo sé, ciudadano Chávez.

sábado, 31 de enero de 2009

Un nuevo descubrimiento operístico

Les aseguro que nos la conocía. Se trata de Lucia Poop, Renata von Trap y Sarah Walker, esta última mezzosoprano de la que tenía alguna noticia.

Creo que he rescatado del olvido un documento artístico muy poco conocido en los medios de difusión español. En los años en los que Bernstein dirigía a Kiri Te Knawa y José Carreras en una versión de West Side Story, en Londres se preparaban adaptaciones de una tal Kylie Minogue. Espero que este rescuerdo de hace algunos años, dirigido por el director Carl Davis, les guste.


miércoles, 21 de enero de 2009

Bye, Bye, miss American...


Hacía tiempo que no se oían cierto tipo de discursos, esa es la verdad... siento curiosidad por saber si la estética estará reñida, finalmente, con la realidad que nos toque vivir.

Mientras, seguiremos abusando de los símbolos, como esta canción:






American Pie
A long, long time ago... I can still remember How that music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance That I could make those people dance And, maybe, they'd be happy for a while.
But February made me shiver With every paper I'd deliver. Bad news on the doorstep; I couldn't take one more step. I can't remember if I cried When I read about his widowed bride, But something touched me deep inside The day the music died.
So bye-bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my chevy to the levee, But the levee was dry. And them good old boys Were drinkin' whiskey and rye Singin', "This'll be the day that I die. "This'll be the day that I die."
Did you write the Book of Love, And do you have faith in God above, If the bible tells you so? Do you believe in rock 'n roll, Can music save your mortal soul, And can you teach me how to dance real slow?
Well, I know that you're in love with him `Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym. You both kicked off your shoes. Man, I dig those rhythm and blues. I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck With a pink carnation and a pickup truck, But I knew I was out of luck The day the music died. I started singin',
"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie." Drove my chevy to the levee, But the levee was dry. Them good old boys Were drinkin' whiskey and rye And singin', "This'll be the day that I die. "This'll be the day that I die."
Now for ten years we've been on our own And moss grows fat on a rollin' stone, But that's not how it used to be. When the jester sang for the King and Queen, In a coat he borrowed from James Dean And a voice that came from you and me,
Oh, and while the King was looking down, The jester stole his thorny crown. The courtroom was adjourned; No verdict was returned. And while Lennon read a book of Marx, The quartet practiced in the park, And we sang dirges in the dark The day the music died. We were singing,
"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie." Drove my chevy to the levee, But the levee was dry. Them good old boys Were drinkin' whiskey and rye And singin', "This'll be the day that I die. "This'll be the day that I die."
Helter Skelter in a summer swelter. The birds flew off with a fallout shelter, Eight miles high and falling fast. It landed foul on the grass. The players tried for a forward pass, With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.
Now the half-time air was sweet perfume While the Sergeants played a marching tune. We all got up to dance, Oh, but we never got the chance! `Cause the players tried to take the field; The marching band refused to yield. Do you recall what was revealed The day the music died? We started singing,
"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie." Drove my chevy to the levee, But the levee was dry. Them good old boys Were drinkin' whiskey and rye And singin', "This'll be the day that I die. "This'll be the day that I die."
Oh, and there we were all in one place, A generation lost in space With no time left to start again. So come on: Jack be nimble, Jack be quick! Jack Flash sat on a candlestick Cause fire is the Devil's only friend.
Oh, and as I watched him on the stage My hands were clenched in fists of rage. No angel born in hell Could break that Satan's spell. And as the flames climbed high into the night To light the sacrificial rite, I saw Satan laughing with delight The day the music died He was singing,
"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie." Drove my chevy to the levee, But the levee was dry. Them good old boys Were drinkin' whiskey and rye And singin', "This'll be the day that I die. "This'll be the day that I die."
I met a girl who sang the blues And I asked her for some happy news, But she just smiled and turned away. I went down to the sacred store Where I'd heard the music years before, But the man there said the music wouldn't play.
And in the streets: the children screamed, The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed. But not a word was spoken; The church bells all were broken. And the three men I admire most: The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, They caught the last train for the coast The day the music died.
And they were singing, "Bye-bye, Miss American Pie." Drove my chevy to the levee, But the levee was dry. And them good old boys Were drinkin' whiskey and rye Singin', "This'll be the day that I die. "This'll be the day that I die." They were singing, "Bye-bye, Miss American Pie." Drove my chevy to the levee, But the levee was dry. Them good old boys Were drinkin' whiskey and rye Singin', "This'll be the day that I die."