Caminante, no hay camino…

Here’s a petition you can sign:
(entitled save the lebanese civilians)

http://epetitions.net/julywar/
you will need to give a real email adress so that you can confirm your signature

and please make noise

On CNN, Shimon Peres claims that Israel has only been targetting Hizbollah strong holds, and not hitting civilians. As if the doctors and nurses in the Jebel Aamel HOSPITAL were terrorists, hiding guns and oh what do you know chemical weaponry behing the oxygen and rubbing alcohol.
As if the children in that bus, were all a danger to humanity. Ok I don’t want to be angry, but I have no choice.

There’s a flyer that I could post up here had I remembered how this is done
but the text of it goes like this:

Call for solidarity
Over 100 civilians have been killed and over 300 have been wounded
We call on you to picket the embassies and consulates of Israel and the United States,
as well as UN offices.
Organise sit-ins, rallies!
Demand an end to Israeli agression!

So these things you can do if you have the time and/or the inclination.
Alternatively, you can buy a white T-shirt, and a spray can, and spray Free Lebanon on it!
Or whatever you feel like writing for that matter

It’s sunday night, it’s been a calmer day in Beirut, but there’s been tragedies down south.
The airport has been hit again (fuel reserves), a whole building was collapsed on its inhabitants, a civil defense office was hit (civil defense the government’s branch of fire fighters and ambulance drivers etc.), and a distribution station for green produce(vegetables and others), and so much more.

I’m off now.
I’m hoping to have a better night than I did yesterday.

Day 5

It’s monday. I’m late to write, but that’s because I went out today. My neighbourhood is unscathed, but only a handful of shops are open, and all the cafes and restaurants have a little note pinned to their doors saying they’ll only be open until 7:00 pm. So much for the city that nevers sleeps, err well that sleeps pretty late.
I went around, bought me a black top, I’ve decided to be in mourning until this thing is over. However, as I walked in the heat and humidity, I doubted the intelligence of that idea.
People around me were all shopping for food and bread and water. Stopped at two friends’ stores, and debated the news, and the possibilities, which I won’t get into here, because it’s just too damn complicated.
The American ambassador was having talks with the speaker of the house, in Beirut today, and Dominique de Villepin, the french minister of foreign affairs has just landed in Beirut, and so Beirut has been spared the wrath of Israeli bombs.
However everywhere else, it’s still raining warm explosions of violence.

I’m a bit restless, still, I don’t feel like staying home.
I want to go out help people.
In one park in Beirut, refugees have gathered.
Imagine that. sleeping in a park, whole families, and every now and then hearing a bomb drop.
The public schools are overflowing. There is a lack of mattresses, that’s what I’ve been sent as text message, please provide mattresses to help refugees.

I still don’t know about work.
I’ll keep you posted.

Peace and light
gwen

Day 4

I’m ok
——–

I’m ok. I’m not good but ok. That’s what a friend texted me last night. I know, I’m not good either, but I’m ok. I’m ok means there’s a bit more of this shit I can take, with various levels of morale, before I completely crack, before I lose something. It could be hope, it could be nerves, it could be my mind, it could be any or all of them. But I’m not there yet. I’m ok.
————————————————–

Last night I could not sleep. I kept closing my eyes and hearing warplanes go by. My brother laughs and says it’s the same plane turning around. When I closed my eyes I thought I could hear the rumbling of its engine as it swoop down again. I tensed awaiting the drop of the bomb, the explosion. I closed off my ears, covered them with pillows. I could hear the sound resonating inside my body, making me sick to my stomach. Then I realise that it’s the AC that I have on. I’m still one of the lucky ones.
I’m ok.

————————————————–

Woke up an hour ago. All is well minus one more block of south Beirut.
I have to read the news.
I’ll see you later.

Day 3

It’s ironically a beautiful morning.
Quiet, and all. The sun is out, and I can hear the chirping birds, which I would not have heard, had it been any other saturday. The roads now would be full of activity. As it is, I sip my coffee, black, and I take another long drag from my cigarette, sitting on the balcony looking at an empty road.
Feels like the calm before the storm. Being aware of that, you know you have to restock on energy, positivity, will, stubbornness, and yes believe it or not a bit of pragmatism. And you do. You control your breathing.

It’s funny how old habits die hard.
I got home yesterday, and calmly prepared 3 bags: One has all my papers, my credit cards, my insurance, my passport, my keys, my glasses…
Another had a change of clothes, enough for three days and two small airplane blankets, deodorant, toothbrush.
The third had all my valuable gear, 2 cameras, my iPod, my video cam, and all the chargers thereof. A fourth (unpacked but neatly arranged on my bed) will contain all my diaries and pictures. This is the emergency last bag. I will go nowhere without my memories.

I was sitting with my family watching TV and hearing every now and then the Israeli planes combing the skies above us. We heard Nasrallah give an impassioned cry of war, promising total war, I don’t know how he thinks he can decide that for the country, really, but it’s been said, so we’ll see. Point being that we all looked at each other and you could see it on our faces, we were all mentally calculating the numbers of walls in each direction, figuring out which room in the house is the safest in case of an attack from the east or the west, from a plane or from a military ship…
It’s my room you’ll be happy to know.

But today, today… it’s the Shabat, and they don’t fight apparently on Shabat, they fly over Beirut, because that is restful, or something. Bah Humbug. Yesterday there were rumours of a cease-fire before i finally surrendered to sleep. I don’t know.
I am wondering how long this will last.
Maybe a week or so, maybe forever, and then the idea is to delete Lebanon as Lebanon, delete this idea of a beautiful country with excellent food and a mixed culture and 18 religions and all that jazz. Whoever the mastermind of it is, I have a few words to say to him/them.

A tender thought to all of you who have been replying, thank you very much, really, because it does mean a lot to me, your true concern, and the hope that I am able to promote another idea of the country and its citizens, other than the “terrorist” image that is the mainstream one. The victims who are terrorists.

There’s another Lebanese girl who visits the messageboard, her name is Sybille, I will contact her to see if she’s fine. I’ll connect later on today, or tomorrow to give you more news.

And Croppy adds another website you can log onto (if you can read spanish)
www.rebelion.org

And with that last website, I’ll use the Latin of refusal and say we will not surrender
and they shall not pass
NO PASARAN!

Day 2

I am fine
I am not scared
I am hurt
I am not scared
I am angry
I am not scared
But we’re all scarred

What you can do is talk about this.
Talk about a country that is now under blockade.
Talk about resources being cut, I have no electricity at home.
That’s why I am at the office again to type this.
Our boss does not want us to be here, so that we not get hit.
But no place is really safe, and we know it.

Talk about this. Talk about innocent civilians being killed.
Talk about respect of life. Or lack thereof.
Talk, because I can’t.

Israel has the right to defend itself.
Ah the wonderful irony.
In the jerusalem post today a father talks about the agony of having a son kidnapped.
In Lebanon 10,000 mothers await the release of their sons from Israeli prisons.
One has all the right to defend one’s own land.
Yes I agree. But this is MY LAND.
This is our just reward.
This is our justified war.

Tell people how a country is being crippled.
And that Hizbollah people will NEVER leave the border, and they will NEVER leave the country.
Anyway they could not afford it. Anyway they’ve lived, always, in poverty and pride.
Anyway everybody else who is educated can afford to flee, and then what hope is there?
More war.

I’ll keep posting as often as I can, from the office.
But as the work stops, and the ports are closed off, and the airport is down,
and the main exit roads to Syria are destroyed, as Syria is being threatened as well,
as trade and economy are crushed (AGAIN) I don’t know how long I’ll keep my job.

Talk about it, please. Or write.

For both sides of the news:
DON’T read CNN or Fox
Read
from Lebanon: the Daily Star: www.dailystar.com.lb, www.naharnet.com
from Israel: www.haaretz.com
the bbc, and then alternative media sources
www.bitterlemons.com
www.counterpunch.com
http://www.zmag.org/altmediawatch.htm
http://www.indymedia.org/en/index.shtml
Al Jazeera has an english website, but it’s as extreme as the Jerusalem post, so here are both:
http://english.aljazeera.net/HomePage
www.jpost.com

Tengo una amiga libanesa con la que hablo a veces por internet por internet. Ha escrito esto en el foro de Jeanette Winterson:

Just to tell you all that I am fine

Day 1

that’s in the case you know what’s happening and you’re worried
I live in Central Beirut which has yet to be hit by Israeli bombs. The airport however has been hit and currently all planes routed to Beirut are being diverted to Cyprus. Whoopy whoopy can’t leave even if I wanted to.
Life continues as normal as possible, we’ve been through this before.
I’ll not be at work where my connection is fast and accurate. I’ll probably be home glued to the TV as I watch another layer of powder and dust settle.
Don’t worry about me. I guess I’ll be fine, and my family as well.
If you want to contact me try my yahoo address which I am more likely to check than the message board.
Much love to the first world citizens
gwen

Ayer hice el viaje de Sevilla a Avignon en unas 12 horas. Suelo coger el avión a Barcelona temprano, después un tren de Barcelona a la parte francesa de la frontera, y finalmente, un tren que me deja en Avignon.

En esta época del año hay mucha gente que viaja, que viene que va. Conocí en el tren ya en Francia a un chico musulmán con pasaporte italiano. Me contó a mí y a los otros pasajeros lo que le acababa de ocurrir. Al intentar entrar en España, la policía lo detuvo por llevar el pasaporte caducado. Le registraron, le hicieron poner sus pertenencias en una caja, y le hicieron preguntas.

Le dijeron que no podía entrar en España, y lo devolvieron a Francia.

Hasta aquí todo bien, si no fuera por que al devolverle su cartera, faltaban 200 euros.

Realidad o ficción?

Espero que lo segundo… Siempre, siempre, esperando. Panglosiano por siempre. Hay que ver lo que inventa la gente para llamar la atención. Por qué hay tanto mentiroso por el mundo?

Me gustaría decir que una vez más, pero mentiría. Yo no soy así. Ayer estuve en un bar hasta casi que cerraron, hablando con el camarero, y con algunos “regulars” que pasaron por allí a eso de la 1 da la noche.

A todos, los conocí esa misma noche.

Vaya tertulia. Sin venir a qué, hablábamos de música,alcohol, series de dibujos animados de nuestra época (de la de cada uno, porque las edades eran dispares si bien todos pasábamos de la treintena). Eso sí, el tema estrella fue el Chavo del 8.

Un chico cubano nos habló de los dibujitos que ponían en Cuba, y de cómo la situación política determinaba qué series se veían en la isla. Así, los dibujos americanos de Hannah Barbera eran muy conocidos hasta principios de los 70. Entonces, por no sé qué crisis, les cerraron el grifo, y empezaron a llegar dibujitos animados soviéticos.

Claro, no nos sonaban de nada. Pero lo que más gracia tuvo fue cuando nos imaginábamos el choque cultural. ¿Qué pensaría un chico cubano viendo dibujitos de pingüinos, gente con anoraks, nieve, etc? Les debía parecer algo de otro mundo, de un mundo donde hace frío.

Después nos reimos un rato de los holandeses, no sé porqué. Quizás porque odian que todo el mundo les hable en alemán? O porque tienen una extraña afición por los grandes montajes de fichas de dominó? Sólo sé que algunos son muy crueles, y si algún pobre pajarillo se cuela en una exposición de figuras de dominó, los holandeses no pueden sino dispararle, porque cualquier aleteo puede echar por tierra el trabajo de meses.

Extraido de la columna de Jeanette Winterson en su página web, mes de Julio 2006:

I put up a poem this month that seems to me to be about the essential practicality of the poetic vision. You don’t need to be a poet to have a poetic vision. A poetic vision is prepared to be open, to let things in. The exactness of translation, vision into language, is the job of a poet, but the vision itself is probably the job of all of us.

We are grateful to poets because they put into words what we have felt/are feeling. I can’t say enough how important it is to go on feeling.

This month’s poem makes the poet and his poem a thing of practical application. I have never believed that poetry is disconnected from the real world, or is a pretty adjunct to it.

I believe that poetry is a user’s manual – a way of defining what things matter, and, as Coleridge put it, ‘keeping the heart alive to love and beauty.’

Poetry is there when we need it, and we need it regularly. Simply, it turns ordinary life into a meditation, and it reminds us that meditation – the ability to settle and focus and concentrate our energies, is a necessary part of ordinary life.

The whiz-faster, flick-through, hurry-past, phone-in-one-hand-sandwich-in-the-other-got-no-time-for-anything in life is not life, which is why poetry rebukes it. Poetry is slow enough for breathing and blood flow. It prevents cardiac arrest, calcification, and is even good for the common cold.

Take some with you on your summer holidays.

Interesantísimo artículo de Vicente Verdú en El País. Señala este escritor que hoy día, al ser humano le cuesta aceptar que algo ocurra de manera accidental. Todo debe tener una causa definida, un culpable claro. “El accidente como accidente es ya inadmisible o inasumible. El azar por el azar no interesa al sueño racional que requiere explicar las tragedias en términos de error humano y no de fatalidad, a través de circunstancias combatibles y no por destinos ineluctables”.
En un mundo donde Dios ya no es el jefe, cuando algo ocurre, se busca un responsable en la jerarquía de causas y efectos, alguien a quién castigar. Ante nuestra estupefacción, buscamos a dónde mirar, y vemos e intentamos comprender el porqué, olvidándonos del qué.
Para muchos, hay que creer en Dios, debe haber una causa, un sentido, etc. De no ser así no lo soportaríamos, la vida no tendría sentido . Bien, algunos lo hacemos, y es doloroso admitir que, quizás, la casualidad está en el origen de todo.

El artículo de Verdú se publicó en El País el jueves 6 de julio 2006, inspirado por el trágico accidente de metro de Valencia (del que se culpa al conductor, por cierto). Aparece en Elpais.es como artículo de pago, y no lo encuentro en otro lado. Se titulaba así: El papel del pecado en la época sin Dios

También podemos repasar el poema de Thomas Hardy llamado “Hap”:
En Inglés: http://www.poetry-online.org/hardy_hap.htm

La prière d’un païen

Ah ! ne ralentis pas tes flammes ;
Réchauffe mon coeur engourdi,
Volupté, torture des âmes !
Diva ! supplicem exaudi !

Déesse dans l’air répandue,
Flamme dans notre souterrain !
Exauce une âme morfondue,
Qui te consacre un chant d’airain.

Volupté, sois toujours ma reine !
Prends le masque d’une sirène
Faite de chair et de velours,

Ou verse-moi tes sommeils lourds
Dans le vin informe et mystique,
Volupté, fantôme élastique !

Charles BAUDELAIRE (1821-1867)

Traducción encontrada en internet:

La oracion de un pagano

Ayy , no detengas tu llamas
recalienta mi corazón entumecido,
¡voluptuosidad, tortura de las almas!
Diva! suplicem exaudi!

Diosa en el aire recostada,
brilla en nuestro subterráneo.
Acoge a un alma resignada a esperar,
que te consagra un canto de bronce.

¡Voluptuosidad, sé siempre mi reina!
Toma la máscara de una sirena
hecha de carne y terciopelo,

o derrámame tu sueños pesados
en el vino informe y místico,
¡voluptuosidad, fantásma elástico!

Baudelaire

voluptuosidad.
1. f. Complacencia en los deleites sensuales.
supplicem exaudi !Satisface al que te suplica.