I only recently (last six or seven years) learned to read Spanish. It is an excellent exercise for one’s brain. El Jarama is written almost entirely in dialogue, much. About Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio: Hijo del escritor y uno de los principales ideólogos del falangismo Rafael Sánchez Mazas y de la italiana. 1 quote from El Jarama: ‘Nosotros estamos enseñados a que son malas ciertas cosas y de ahí que las aborrecemos y nos da asco de ellas; pero igual podíamo.
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Don Zana broke the flower pots with his hand and he laughed at everything.
He would throw the cards into the air when he lost, and he didn’t stoop over to pick them up. Topics Mentioning This Author. Refresh and try again. Discover new books on Goodreads.
Want to Read saving…. It was when there were geraniums on the balconies, sunflower-seed stands in the Moncloa, herds of yearling sheep in the vacant lots of the Guindalera. One day he took her out for a walk. Every morning he would put on his bright red shoes and have them cleaned.
El Jarama Quotes
Perhaps she had been waiting since she was fifteen. Or they stepped on the spread-out sheets, undershirts, or pink chemises clinging to the ground like the gay shadow of a handsome young girl. Margaret Jull Costa Translator. Sign in with Facebook Sign in options. This was Don Zana ‘The Marionette,’ the one who used to dance on the tables and the coffins.
Her flesh was jwrama and she was some forty-five years old.
Many felt his dry, wooden slap; many listened to jaramw odious songs, and all saw him dance on the tables. Then he would light a fire of dry leaves and fry them.
He would dance in the elevators and on the landings, spill ink wells, beat on pianos with his rigid little gloved hands. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. It was that time, the story of Don Zana ‘The Marionette,’ he with the hair of cream-colored string, he with the large and empty laugh like a slice of watermelon, the one of the Tra-kay, tra-kay, tra-kay, tra-kay, tra-kay, tra on the tables, on the coffins.
A rose and mauve lady that had not yet gathered her flesh and her beauty into dark clothes, and still waited, like a rose stripped of its petals, with her faded colors and her artificial smile, bitter as a grimace. Sometimes they stole into the patios; they ate up the parsley, a little green sprig of parsley, in the summer, in the watered shade of the patios, in the cool windows of the basements at foot level.
Mientras no cambien los dioses, nada ha cambiado 4. The girl cried when days passed without Don Zana’s going by her street.
She returned home crying and, without saying anything to anyone, died of bitterness. His chest was a trapezoid. Don Zana used to walk ferloiso the outskirts of Madrid and catch small dirty fish in the Manzanares. Want to Read saving… Error rating book. He wore a white shirt, a jacket of green flannel, a bow tie, light trousers, and shoes of Corinthian red on his little dancing feet.
Just a moment while we sign you in to your Goodreads account. They were dragging jarma heavy wool, eating the grass among the rubbish, bleating to the neighborhood. El testimonio de Yarfoz 3. Esas Yndias Equivocadas Y Malditas: Don Zana said to her, ‘You don’t pay for art, kid. Don Zana kept the pits to make her believe he loved her.
Comentarios A La Historia 4. Rate this book Clear rating 1 of 5 stars 2 of 5 stars 3 of 5 stars 4 of 5 stars 5 of 5 stars.
Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio – Viquipèdia, l’enciclopèdia lliure
He would breakfast on a large cup of chocolate and he would not return until night or dawn. The fruitseller’s daughter, with her quince-lips, still bloodless, ingenuously kissed ferlosi slice-of-watermelon laugh.
The fruitseller’s daughter fell in love with him and gave him apricots and plums. This lady was waiting for a husband. He liked to argue, to go visiting in houses. He awoke one le, hanging in the dusty storeroom of a theater, next to a lady of the eighteenth century, with many white ringlets and a cornucopia of a face.
He had a disagreeable voice, like the breaking of dry reeds; he talked more than anyone, and he got drunk ferlosiio the little tables in the taverns. Then, then was the story of Don Zana ‘The Marionette. He slept in a pension where no one else stayed.