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few days ago my house was light, suddenly, the auto-jump automatically, I suppose, and everything was dark. The electrician came, of course, but failed to find the reason for the blackouts. So a friend deduced that it must be a ghost.

I hope it's one of those ghost stories of Jose Miguel Vilar-Bou, in any case, not that given by pulling the TV as my friend suggests. By the way, Jose Miguel, in his blog, today also spoke of the author of ghost stories Margaret Oliphant. I read last year "Lady Mary" , and I really enjoyed, but did not review "is pending, because it is an exquisite story-

In any case, there are ghosts that are there in one's life. Invisible, persistent. And maybe we want to leave, they vanish, to forget them. O no, do not want.

HOST

look from the door dust suspended in late
light curtains, and all the time
the ghost is there: I can sense the blade

anything blink of an eye, the air
interrogating a page white, hard music
bones.

has taken his place alongside the other shadows.
A dent in the blood, a persistent scratching.
Something that I can not isolate even try.

It's fast and elusive, no hurry. Simple
as the night is simple, as night falls
soberly PLC.

words long ago ceased to help, but sometimes
call following an old habit.
He then shines a moment, waves and dissipates,

and a handful of darkness takes its place to delete it.
Old words, old habits ...
not even the night is enough. Light

and slow as a suspect,
the morning light travels
study groping and everything revolves
once again at the wheel of the apparitions.

Jordi Doce

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Ghosts ... Miscellaneous

In recent months I have accumulated an alarming rate the books on the bedside table (well, not exactly a table night, but to understand) is to blame part of 1840, no doubt, and also some worldly concerns.

So, I have "Botchan" by Natsume Soseki , a major Japanese literature that I never approached (in a nice edition that I got cheap precisely), Felix J. Palma ( author of "The weather map" ) with story collection "The smallest show on earth" , and "Plots night" , David B. (And comics, the latest in Dungeon Now I remember)

For finish, I hand to Terry Pratchett and "Guards!" Guards? " ; fun to tease me, but I do not know what happens to narrative pace, not getting hooked too long. So I alternate with something good, but rather Victorian: "Between women: friendship, desire and marriage in Victorian England" , Sharon Marcus (USP), wanted to review it soon in "1840", but of course, going to two bands are not much progress. I continue with Darwix , Anne Carson and Henrik Nordbrandt , neither of which contributes to my reading speed.

police in the field (what's funny, I always say 'police') the thing is multiplied: Basil, of Wilkie Collins (though this is a re-reading) Asa Larsson and "Aurora Borealis" (even though the other I did not like Larsson), my lifelong collection of Agatha Christie , who recently returned home, and well, a little something of Mankell is to come.

Because that's another: that lie ahead. Tales inhuman " Jose Miguel Vilar-Bou and Veronica Leonetti, " Cranford Chronicles ", Elizabeth Gaskell, and " Mrs. Lirriper ", the 'last' of Dickens (thanks, Samedimanche ) . Although, with all due respect, it seems that Alba Editorial - which publishes a great time, " lately making the distribution of his books in post-chaise; of the editorial Bag of Bones do not speak ... Or talk bad, so bad that talk brings out the people under attack. Just in case.

PS And do not forget me Richard Brautigan! One recommendation I do not want to lose for lack of time.

The image is Gorey, courtesy (I hope you do not mind) of the blog " Flora and Fauna"

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Miscellaneous: Mix , joining things together . Or or written work that addresses many unrelated and mixed materials.

The day I had dawned cloudy and noisy (very noisy), but now the sun shines, and the heat is not stifling (the breeze)

Our love is like Byzantium

Our love is like Byzantium

had to have been last night. It must have been

I imagine a glow on the faces of those who
thronged the streets or formed small groups

on street corners and squares
whispering,
a glow that had to have seemed to

having your face when you lie
hair back and look at me.

I guess not speak

lot and things just

quite indifferent,

would try to talk

and stopped

without having been said

they wanted

and tried again

and again ceased

and looked at each other

and looked down (...)

Henry Nordbrandt

I think my eye is an arbitrary selection criterion (My eye has its reasons)

"The Poetry is one thing seriosa " is, today, my favorite blog, without detracting from many others who are also great" Of this, especially:

Face the day is per fer, i as always, go on leave, good day, slowly, and I quede within a gray day in that what I proposed, pending, hanging in the brain, striking against the walls of the brain. (...) There is wisdom in Valga wounds of the heart.

Imagining and leer (imagine, and not leo, and sometimes I Piensa overlooking the balcony and I look at cats and the sun and sky. We also think that the end is beautiful pm)

has arrived number of Imaginary June, but I still have not been able to read. I'll read it, of course, because every time you look better, and I find most interesting. Its pages off enthusiasm summer fantasy. How not to read it, then.

Ausencia

SEPARATION

Your absence has gone through me

Like thread through a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color.

(Your absence has come to pierce

As the thread a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color)

WAS Merwin

And company

ME WHEN YOU

When you're with me I do not say: Here and Now

we're together. But I say: You and I and

surf eternity a nowhere.

(...)

not remember what country you were born,

and revived memories of what land.

air and water, and we, two birds on a star.

(...)

There is no love in love

but the mad desire of the soul to fly.

Mahmud Darwix