LOS ARROYOS RESERVOIR & EMILY DICKINSON

LOS ARROYOS RESERVOIR & EMILY DICKINSON

Only 44 km. from the center of Madrid, past Galapagar and taking the M505 road, in the upper part of the Valmayor reservoir there is a small paradise: Los Arroyos Reservoir.

 

The reflection of Mount Abantos in its calm waters, its sunsets, the peace that floods its banks, will make you enjoy contact with nature.

Walking along the path that surrounds the reservoir, between holm oak forests and riverside trees, is a delight.

In the spring, watching the flocks of ducks, with their small offspring moving gently through the water is one of those simple pleasures that reconcile you with the world.

If you keep quiet, you can hear how the duck mothers drive, reprimand, reward and cheer their little babies.

 

At the edge of the water, you can also see jumping, in search of the coveted mosquitoes, tents and perches that draw concentric circles on the smooth surface of the water.

 

Walk along the footbridge of the reservoir, and at the end of the afternoon, a beautiful line of water draws the landscape of the water that releases the reservoir to join its older brother, the Valmayor reservoir.

These late spring sunsets, when the warm wind blows over the water, reminded me of one of those wonderful poems by the great poet Emily Dickinson

EMILY DICKINSON

The great American poet Emily Elizabeth Dickinson died 133 years ago

His definition of what poetry is is a clear example of the kind of poetry of this brave, transgressive and magnificent poet:

«If I have the physical sensation of being lifted up with my brains, I know that is poetry »


Some Emily Dickinson poems

How Lonesome The Wind Must Feel Nights

 

How Lonesome The Wind Must Feel Nights

When people have put out the Lights

And everything that has an Inn

Closes the shutter and goes in –

 

How pompous the Wind must feel Noons

Stepping to incorporeal Tunes

Correcting errors of the sky

And clarifying scenery

 

How mighty the Wind must feel Morns

Encamping on a thousand dawns

Espousing each and spurning all

Then soaring to his Temple Tall –

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops — at all —

And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of Me

 

WHEN I COUNT THE SEEDS …

When I count the seeds
That are sown beneath,
To bloom so, bye and bye

When I con the people
Lain so low,
To be received as high —

When I believe the garden
Mortal shall not see —
Pick by faith its blossom
And avoid its Bee,
I can spare this summer, unreluctantly.

GÉVALO VALLEY and IDA VITALE

GÉVALO VALLEY and IDA VITALE

!Qué verde era mi valle!

 

Parafraseando al enorme John Ford… qué verde es mi valle .

Me tendréis que permitir este pequeño homenaje al lugar donde nací, donde está este corazón loco, donde siempre encuentro la paz aunque el mundo se vuelva loco a mi alrededor.

El Valle del Gévalo, en los montes de Toledo, es un lugar casi desconocido y que guarda enormes tesoros naturales.

 

Furrowed by the river Gévalo, it is a valley that occupies a great backbone within the region of La Jara in the westernmost end of the Montes de Toledo.

From Los Navalmorales, where the “civilization” ends, we begin to delve into the mountain.

From here, it’s all magic.

What will you find there?

Unspoiled nature, crystalline waters, a green valley populated with Oaks, Holm oaks, Gall, Cork oaks, arbutus, heather, birch, chestnut, Jara and ancient yew… Of those who have been the guardians of the valley for 2,000 years.

And if you are lucky, you will be able to cross with a stag, a deer, a boar, a badger, some otter, eagles, owls, frogs, some Roadrunner Fox and a myriad of birds.

What to see?

Everything, but there are two places of exceptional beauty.

The Microreserve of the biosphere La Garganta de las Lanchas, where you can see three waterfalls of spectacular beauty, and enjoy the Parrot (Prunus lusitanica), related to Prunos, rosebushes and similar species. This species has an age of more than 50 million years, in particular of a time when the climate was much warmer and moister than the present. When the weather was changing getting colder and drier, all the species were disappearing except the most resistant, they managed to survive in specific areas with favorable characteristics, so precisely for that reason they are very scarce.

And the hermitage of Piedraescrita, a hermitage of the 12th century, nestled in the rock, with a gabled roof that pours over the Tajo and Guadiana basins. Its main feature is a valuable tilework Talavera from the 16TH and 17TH century with scenes from the New Testament that cover its walls.

 

 

Here you have a video flying over the Garganta de las Lanchas … beautiful, right?

Ida Vitale

Who better than the winner of the Cervantes Prize 2018 to accompany you for this beautiful tour?

Uruguayan poet and critic born in Montevideo in 1924.
He studied humanities in his country, teaching literature until 1973 when the dictatorship forced her into exile.
He lived in Mexico from 1974 to 1984, settling definitively in Austin, Texas, since 1989.

 

 

 

Drops

Do they get hurt and melt?
They just ceased to be the rain.
Sleepers in recess,
kittens of a transparent kingdom,
they run free by glass and railings,
thresholds of his limbo,
are followed, pursued,
maybe they go, from solitude to weddings,
To melt and love each other.
they dream of another death.

Of “Infinity Reduction” 2002

Exiles

… after both here and there coming and going.
Francisco de Aldana

They are here and there: by the way,
nowhere.
every horizon: where an ember attracts.
They could go to any fissure.
No compass, no voices.

They cross deserts that the bravo Sun
or that the frost burn
and infinite fields without the limit
that makes them real,
that would make them solid and grassy.

The look lies like a dog,
without even the resource of moving a tail.
The gaze lies down or regresses,
is pulverized by air
If no one returns it.
Does not return to the blood or reach
to whom I should.

It dissolves, so alone.

Of “De procura lo imposible” 1998

 

Month of May

I write, write, write
And I don’t drive to anything, to anyone.
The words are frightening me
like doves, deafly crackling,
they root in their dark lump,
are prevailed with fine scruple
of the undeniable scandal:
over the vague written shadow
I care more about loving you.

From “Oidor Andante” 1972

 

Sums

horse and knight are already two animals

One plus one, we say. And we thought:
an apple plus an apple,
a glass and a glass,
always the same things.

What change when
one plus one be a puritan
more a gamelan
a jasmine plus an arab,
a nun and a cliff,
a song and a mask,
again a garrison and a maid,
someone hope
plus the dream of another.

Of “Infinity Reduction” 2002

! The journey has begun!

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Responsable Marisol Torres.

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Responsable Marisol Torres.

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