Baldomero Fernández Moreno : Vida y desaparición de un médico

Una lectura que comienza

La Ley

Foto : Colman 

Lugar : Plazoleta Dr. Avelino Gutiérrez 

Emilio Mitre - entre Laferrere y Avenida del Trabajo 

Buenos Aires (RA) 

22 de diciembre de 2004

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Eduardo A Dughera : La Pepa Gómez

Una lectura que comienza

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Monedas bajo la alfombra

Foto : Colman
Lugar : Parque Chacabuco
Buenos Aires (RA)
11 de noviembre de 2004

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Mateo Booz : Santa Fe, mi país

Una lectura que comienza

For sale : Books by James M Cain

          

Past All Dishonor

James M Cain

Signet

USA - 1948

144 páginas

Formato : 11 cm x 18 cm

Tapas blandas

Usado :

en buenas condiciones

un poco gastado

interior completo

tapa algo desmejorada

$44

Serenade

James M Cain

Penguin

NY - 1947

188 páginas 

Formato : 11 cm x 18 cm

Tapas blandas

Usado : 

En buenas condiciones 

Un poco gastado

Interior completo

Alguna marca que no impide la lectura

$44

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Omar Khayyám : Rubáiyát

Una lectura que comienza

Mary Shelley : Frankenstein

Una lectura que comienza

Vendo: Images. My Life In Film. Ingmar Bergman

Vendo:

Images: My Life In Film

Ingmar Bergman

Arcade Publishing
NY - 1994

En inglés
Traducido del danés por Marianne Ruuth

Formato : 16 cm x 22,5 cm
444 páginas

Tapas duras con sobrecubierta

Muchas fotos
 

Usado : en buenas condiciones
Sin leer - casi como nuevo

$420

(Envíos a cualquier parte del mundo)

Parker Generations

   
   

Parque Chacabuco, BA, RA. 20 de enero de 2013 

© Colman, 2013

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Vendo : Burning Your Boats. Angela Carter

Vendo :

Burning Your Boats.
Angela Carter

The Collected Short Stories

With an Introduction by Salman Rushdie

A John Macrae Book - Henry Holt and Company
NY - 1996

462 páginas
Formato : 16 cm x 24 cm

Tapas duras * con sobrecubiertas

Usado :
interior completo
impecable !!!
apenas gastado por el uso
como nuevo
tapas idem

$300 (pesos argentinos)
(Envío a cualquier lugar del mundo)

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Julio Cortázar : Prosa del Observatorio

Una lectura que comienza

Italo Calvino : Por último, el cuervo

Una lectura que comienza

Jack Kerouac : On the Road

Una lectura que comienza

Aldous Huxley : Brave New World

Una lectura que comienza

Kenneth Grahame : The Wind in the Willows

Una lectura que comienza

Robert Louis Stevenson : Virginibus Puerisque

Una lectura que comienza

Vicente Aleixandre : Noche cerrada

Una lectura que comienza

   

   

La vida

   
   

¡Farsa permanente! Mi inocencia me haría llorar. La vida es la farsa que hay que llevar adelante entre todos.

Farce continuelle! Mon innocence me ferait pleurer. La vie est la farce à mener par tous.

Una temporada en el infierno

Une Saison en Enfer

Arthur Rimbaud

Hiperión; Madrid, España, 1992

Traducción al español de Ramón Buenaventura

[ p.55 ]

Danza

   

   

¿Conozco al menos la naturaleza? ¿Me conozco? — Basta de palabras. Sepulto a los muertos en mi vientre. ¡Gritos, tambor, danza, danza, danza, ¡danza! Ni siquiera se me ocurre que a la hora en que los blancos desembarquen, yo caeré en la nada.

Hambre, sed, gritos, danza, danza, danza, ¡danza!

Connais-je encore la nature? me connais-je? — Plus de mots. J'ensevelis les morts dans mon ventre. Cris, tambour, danse, danse, danse, danse! Je ne vois même pas l'heure où, les blancs débarquant, je tomberai au néant.

Faim, soif, cris, danse, danse, danse, danse!

Una temporada en el infierno

Une Saison en Enfer

Arthur Rimbaud

Hiperión; Madrid, España, 1992

Traducción al español de Ramón Buenaventura
[ p.51 ]

Ray Bradbury : Fahrenheit 451

Una lectura que comienza

H G Wells : The Sea Lady

Una lectura que comienza

Many thanks to you — Long John

   

It was a strange collection, like Billy Bones’s hoard for the diversity of coinage, but so much larger and so much more varied that I think I never had more pleasure than in sorting them. English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Georges, and Louises, doubloons and double guineas and moidores and sequins, the pictures of all the kings of Europe for the last hundred years, strange Oriental pieces stamped with what looked like wisps of string or bits of spider’s web, round pieces and square pieces, and pieces bored through the middle, as if to wear them round your neck — nearly every variety of money in the world must, I think, have found a place in that collection; and for number, I am sure they were like autumn leaves, so that my back ached with stooping and my fingers with sorting them out.

(... )

At last, seeing the ship still bore on her course and was now swiftly drawing out of earshot, one of them — I know not which it was — leapt to his feet with a hoarse cry, whipped his musket to his shoulder, and sent a shot whistling over Silver’s head and through the mainsail.

After that, we kept under cover of the bulwarks, and when next I looked out they had disappeared from the spit, and the spit itself had almost melted out of sight in the growing distance. That was, at least, the end of that; and before noon, to my inexpressible joy, the highest rock of Treasure Island had sunk into the blue round of sea.

(... )

Ben Gunn was on deck alone, and as soon as we came on board he began, with wonderful contortions, to make us a confession. Silver was gone. The maroon had connived at his escape in a shore boat some hours ago, and he now assured us he had only done so to preserve our lives, which would certainly have been forfeit if “that man with the one leg had stayed aboard.” But this was not all. The sea cook had not gone empty-handed. He had cut through a bulkhead unobserved and had removed one of the sacks of coin, worth perhaps three or four hundred guineas, to help him on his further wanderings.

(... )

The bar silver and the arms still lie, for all that I know, where Flint buried them; and certainly they shall lie there for me. Oxen and wain-ropes would not bring me back again to that accursed island; and the worst dreams that ever I have are when I hear the surf booming about its coasts or start upright in bed with the sharp voice of Captain Flint still ringing in my ears: “Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!”

Karle Wilson Baker : The Garden of the Plynck

Una lectura que comienza

Captain Silver

   
There was a long pause after this. I stood straight up against the wall, my heart still going like a sledge-hammer, but with a ray of hope now shining in my bosom. Silver leant back against the wall, his arms crossed, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, as calm as though he had been in church; yet his eye kept wandering furtively, and he kept the tail of it on his unruly followers. They, on their part, drew gradually together towards the far end of the block house, and the low hiss of their whispering sounded in my ear continuously, like a stream. One after another, they would look up, and the red light of the torch would fall for a second on their nervous faces; but it was not towards me, it was towards Silver that they turned their eyes.

Theodore Sturgeon : The Dreaming Jewels

Una lectura que comienza

Israel Hands

   

Before he could recover, I was safe out of the corner where he had me trapped, with all the deck to dodge about. Just forward of the main-mast I stopped, drew a pistol from my pocket, took a cool aim, though he had already turned and was once more coming directly after me, and drew the trigger. The hammer fell, but there followed neither flash nor sound; the priming was useless with sea-water. I cursed myself for my neglect. Why had not I, long before, reprimed and reloaded my only weapons? Then I should not have been as now, a mere fleeing sheep before this butcher.

( . . . )

I was drinking in his words and smiling away, as conceited as a cock upon a wall, when, all in a breath, back went his right hand over his shoulder. Something sang like an arrow through the air; I felt a blow and then a sharp pang, and there I was pinned by the shoulder to the mast. In the horrid pain and surprise of the moment—I scarce can say it was by my own volition, and I am sure it was without a conscious aim— both my pistols went off, and both escaped out of my hands. They did not fall alone; with a choked cry, the coxswain loosed his grasp upon the shrouds and plunged head first into the water.

A deep silence filled the classroom at first; then we all burst into cheers — and so, another afternoon went by on 1965, forever ours, treasured and lost.

Angela Carter : The Magic Toyshop

Una lectura que comienza

That school afternoon . . .

   
   
All the time he was jerking out these phrases he was stumping up and down the tavern on his crutch, slapping tables with his hand, and giving such a show of excitement as would have convinced an Old Bailey judge or a Bow Street runner. My suspicions had been thoroughly reawakened on finding Black Dog at the ‘Spy-glass’, and I watched the cook narrowly. But he was too deep, and too ready, and too clever for me, and by the time the two men had come back out of breath and confessed that they had lost the track in a crowd, and been scolded like thieves, I would have gone bail for the innocence of Long John Silver.




And so it happened that, after reading that last paragraph, we all knew the fine boy was in deep trouble . . .