jueves, febrero 06, 2014

El solar de Penélope

Pronto estará al aire El solar de Penélope un nuevo programa de radio.

Estaremos en laQradiogenero.com

El solar de Penélope será una revista o magazine de poesía, algunas veces invitaremos a alguien, se leerán poemas y se tendrán otras sorpresas. Se emitirá durante 30 minutos, en dos ocasiones, con diferente horario, para que puedan escucharlo en todos los lugares.

La emisora también tendrá otras novedades como el programa 
la Qosecha sobre alimentación naturista,  un programa de Nuevas masculinidades y otro sobre Sexualidades

En cabina con el grupo creativo de LaQradiogenero.com

Escucha la emisora click aquí

11 comentarios:

  1. que bien que se pueda escuchar online. Me lo apunto, aunque me gustaría saber los horarios por eso de la diferencia horaria entre aquí y allí

    1. Gracias, ya tengo una oyente en tu ciudad!!! Qué bien. Ya te avisaré, porque pasaremos cada semana 1 programa de media hora, en dos horarios distintos.

  2. Gracias por tu poesía en mi entrada y el enlace a Mauro Phazan!
    Enhorabuena por el programa de radio!!



    1. Inaugural Poem

      A Rock, A River, A Tree
      Hosts to species long since departed,
      Marked the mastodon.
      The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
      Of their sojourn here
      On our planet floor,
      Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
      Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

      But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
      Come, you may stand upon my
      Back and face your distant destiny,
      But seek no haven in my shadow.

      I will give you no more hiding place down here.

      You, created only a little lower than
      The angels, have crouched too long in
      The bruising darkness,
      Have lain too long
      Face down in ignorance.

      Your mouths spilling words
      Armed for slaughter.

      The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
      But do not hide your face.

      Across the wall of the world,
      A River sings a beautiful song,
      Come rest here by my side.

      Each of you a bordered country,
      Delicate and strangely made proud,
      Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

      Your armed struggles for profit
      Have left collars of waste upon
      My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

      Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
      If you will study war no more. Come,

      Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
      The Creator gave to me when I and the
      Tree and the stone were one.

      Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
      Brow and when you yet knew you still
      Knew nothing.

      The River sings and sings on.

      There is a true yearning to respond to
      The singing River and the wise Rock.

      So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
      The African and Native American, the Sioux,
      The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
      The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
      The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
      The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
      They hear. They all hear
      The speaking of the Tree.

      Today, the first and last of every Tree
      Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

      Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

      Each of you, descendant of some passed
      On traveller, has been paid for.

      You, who gave me my first name, you
      Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
      Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
      Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
      Other seekers--desperate for gain,
      Starving for gold.

      You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot ...
      You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
      Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
      Praying for a dream.

      Here, root yourselves beside me.

      I am the Tree planted by the River,
      Which will not be moved.

      I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
      I am yours--your Passages have been paid.

      Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
      For this bright morning dawning for you.

      History, despite its wrenching pain,
      Cannot be unlived, and if faced
      With courage, need not be lived again.

      Lift up your eyes upon
      The day breaking for you.

      Give birth again
      To the dream.

      Women, children, men,
      Take it into the palms of your hands.

      Mold it into the shape of your most
      Private need. Sculpt it into
      The image of your most public self.
      Lift up your hearts
      Each new hour holds new chances
      For new beginnings.

      Do not be wedded forever
      To fear, yoked eternally
      To brutishness.

      The horizon leans forward,
      Offering you space to place new steps of change.
      Here, on the pulse of this fine day
      You may have the courage
      To look up and out upon me, the
      Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

      No less to Midas than the mendicant.

      No less to you now than the mastodon then.

      Here on the pulse of this new day
      You may have the grace to look up and out
      And into your sister's eyes, into
      Your brother's face, your country
      And say simply
      Very simply
      With hope
      Good morning.

  3. Con gusto. Trataré de seguir escribiendo y por supuesto, mejorando.
    Cuando tenga el dato te pongo los horarios del programa.

    1. Ode to Joy

      Wild and fearful in his cavern
      Hid the naked troglodyte,
      And the homeless nomad wandered
      Laying waste the fertile plain.
      Menacing with spear and arrow
      In the woods the hunter strayed ...
      Woe to all poor wreteches stranded
      On those cruel and hostile shores!
      From the peak of high Olympus
      Came the mother Ceres down,
      Seeeking in those savage regions
      Her lost daughter Prosperine.
      But the Goddess found no refuge,
      Found no kindly welcome there,
      And no temple bearing witness
      To the worship of the gods.

      From the fields and from the vineyards
      Came no fruit to deck the feasts,
      Only flesh of blood-stained victims
      Smouldered on the alter-fires,
      And where'er the grieving goddess
      Turns her melancholy gaze,
      Sunk in vilest degradation
      Man his loathsomeness displays.

      Would he purge his soul from vileness
      And attain to light and worth,
      He must turn and cling forever
      To his ancient Mother Earth.

      Joy everlasting fostereth
      The soul of all creation,
      It is her secret ferment fires
      The cup of life with flame.
      'Tis at her beck the grass hath turned
      Each blade toward the light
      and solar systems have evolved
      From chaos and dark night,
      Filling the realms of boundless space
      Beyond the sage's sight.

      At bounteous nature's kindly breast,
      All things that breath drink Joy,
      And bird and beasts and creaping things
      All follow where she leads.
      Her gifts to man are friends in need,
      The wreath, the foaming must,
      To angels -- visions of God's throne,
      To insects -- sensual lust.

  4. Holas, me encanta saber que podré oír tu voz en la radio. Qué ilusión. Danos pronto el horario para escucharte.
    Tu enamorado

    1. Dover Beach

      The sea is calm to-night.
      The tide is full, the moon lies fair
      Upon the straits;--on the French coast the light
      Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
      Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
      Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
      Only, from the long line of spray
      Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,
      Listen! you hear the grating roar
      Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
      At their return, up the high strand,
      Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
      With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
      The eternal note of sadness in.
      Sophocles long ago
      Heard it on the {AE}gean, and it brought
      Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
      Of human misery; we
      Find also in the sound a thought,
      Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

      The Sea of Faith
      Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
      Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd.
      But now I only hear
      Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
      Retreating, to the breath
      Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
      And naked shingles of the world.

      Ah, love, let us be true
      To one another! for the world, which seems
      To he before us like a land of dreams,
      So various, so beautiful, so new,
      Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

      Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
      And we are here as on a darkling plain
      Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
      Where ignorant armies clash by night.

  5. Te deseo lamejor suerte amiga cual es el tema principal comentame sere uno de tus fieles radioescucha besos daniela

  6. Ana Maria

    Muchos exitos, que rico saber que nuestra generacion cada dia esta mejor, con seguridad que lo haras super bien y de alli daras un brinco tan grande que mas rapido de lo que piensas estaras cumpliendo mas metas propuestas.
    Bendiciones y que coseches lo que siembras.

    Yaneth Varona

  7. hola escuche tu progeama no locogi al comienzo pero si gran parte se te escucha una vos muy bella y la programacion promete! felicitaciones!


Qué rico las opiniones son bienvenidas.
Ana María - Penélope