dimecres, 14 de novembre de 2018

Floris i Blancaflor


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 Floris és el fill d’un rei moro i Blancaflor d’una noble captiva cristiana. Neixen el mateix dia i creixen junts, però el pare de Floris desaprova l’amor i el matrimoni de la parella i els separa.
L’amor, però, persisteix, per la qual cosa el rei decideix vendre Blancaflor com esclava i va a parar a l’harem de Babilònia.
 Floris surt a la recerca de la seva estimada i convenç el guardià de l’harem per entrar a veure-la. Els amants, però, són descoberts pel rei i aquest els vol matar. Finalment, els concedeix el perdó i tots es converteixen al cristianisme.

 La història de Floris i Blancaflor simbolitza el desig i el dolor que causa el distanciament, la llunyania entre els enamorats.

Curial i Güelfa, article de Jordi Llavina

Jordi Llavina,
La Vanguardia 14 nov 2018



dilluns, 12 de novembre de 2018

diumenge, 11 de novembre de 2018

Premis ARC de narrativa Juvenil - Guanyadora i finalistes!

Felicitem les alumnes de batxillerat de @stMiq Bruna Riera, Aloma Figueras i Laura Serrat per haver estat guanyadora i finalistes respectivament als premis ARC de narrativa juvenil que ha atorgat la @fundaciommp en les #jmmp2018! 
👏👏 Voldrem llegir les vostres narracions ! 😃


divendres, 2 de novembre de 2018

Lectura col·laborativa: Plany de Guilgameix per la mort d'Enkidu i La vida de l'home

Lectura col·laborativa del plany de Guilgameix per la mort del seu amic i company Enkidu, fragment de l'Epopeia de Guilgameix escrita en llengua acàdia, fa uns 4000 anys. 
Alumnes de 4t C ESO 
 Bibliografia: Serrallonga, Segimon: Versions de poesia antiga Edicions 62- Empúries Barcelona

 

 Els versos següents els recita la copera divina Siduri a Guilgameix, quan aquest cerca la immortalitat després del dolor que ha patit per la mort del seu company i amic Enkidu. És un cant a la vida i al gaudi. 
Alumnes de 4t ESO -
Bibliografia: Serrallonga, Segimon: Versions de poesia antiga Edicions 62- Empúries Barcelona



Curs 2016-2017: Plany de Ningal per la destrucció d'Ur
http://silviacaballeria.blogspot.com/2016/11/plany-de-ningal-per-la-destruccio-dur.html

Curs 2017-2018: Elogi de l'Escriba Vídeo Muntatge pòetic
https://silviacaballeria.blogspot.com/2017/11/elogi-de-lescriba-poema-egipci-traduit.html

diumenge, 28 d’octubre de 2018

Perles de la nit. Poetes andalusines

  Després de l'entrevista a Margarita Castells, traductora de l'àrab, ens va recitar aquests versos del llibre Perles de la nit. Poetes andalusines. Adesiara, editorial Col·lecció d'Ací d'Allà.

Es tracta d'una queixa pels estralls del pas del temps i de la vellesa de la poeta Maryam Bint Abí Yaqub (Sevilla, segle XI)


Què s'espera d'una de setanta-set primaveres
d'estiu? És com una fràgil i subtil teranyina; 

tentineja com un nen a la cerca del bastó
i amb l'anament dels captiu encadenat hi camina 

MOLTES GRÀCIES! Margarita 




I can see Odysseus


I can see Odysseus lashed to the mast of this ship, struggling to resist the Sirens’ song
The eerily beautiful wreck discovered in the Black Sea takes us right back to Homer’s Greece

Published: The Guardian
18:59 CEST dissabte, 27 d’octubre 2018



Its mast stands proud, its rowing benches are in neat lines’: a 2,400-year-old Greek ship found 2km underwater off the coast of Bulgaria. Photograph: Black Sea map


In 399BC, Socrates drank hemlock to fulfil the orders of the Athenian law court, which had sentenced him to death for impiety and corrupting the young.
His friends begged him to leave Athens instead, accompanying them into banishment. He refused and died as he had lived for 70 years, arguing the ethical superiority of his own decision. The scene was immortalised by Plato in his dialogue Phaedo and later by artists such as Jacques Louis David, whose painting hangs in New York’s Metropolitan Museum.
Last week, an intact shipwreck from the same era (archaeologists are dating it as at least 2,400 years old) was found off the coast of Bulgaria – Thrace, to Socrates and his contemporaries. Its eerie beauty is extraordinary, filmed in dim light more than two kilometres underwater. It could have sunk to the bottom of the ocean yesterday. Its mast stands proud, its rowing benches are in neat lines. Tantalisingly, the contents of its hold are also intact but not yet examined. If they include amphorae, the style and contents of the jars may enable us to work out more about the ship’s origin and destination.



There is something so moving about seeing an object from the ancient world in such perfect condition, as though the sailors might return any moment and take up their positions on the benches. The ship is the same type as the one painted on the Siren Vase in the British Museum. Homer called such ships korōnis – beaked or curved, so they might cut through the water more cleanly. The Siren Painter (who made his red-figure vase around 470BC) must have used as his model a ship very like the one we saw last week.
That the mast is intact is particularly astonishing. Extremities hardly ever survive – think how many statues are missing fingers or hands or even arms. There used to be a room at the Louvre that contained a vast collection of disembodied noses.


The Siren Vase shows Odysseus tied to the mast of a ship very like the one just found in the Black Sea. Photograph: Werner Forman/UIG via Getty Images
And how could that mast fail to make us think of Odysseus, painted on the Siren Vase, tied to his ship?
When Odysseus and his men left the island of Circe for the second time, they did so knowing they were about to encounter lethal monsters. They had already survived an encounter with a man-eating Cyclops, dodged the cannibalistic giant Laestrygonians and made a visit to the Underworld. But the Sirens were something else: half-woman, half-bird, their song was so alluring that it would draw men to their deaths. Desperate to hear them, men rowed or sailed on to the rocks and drowned.
On Circe’s advice, Odysseus gave small blocks of beeswax to his men to stop up their ears. But he – the great adventuring hero – wanted to be the only mortal who heard the Siren song and lived to tell the tale. He was lashed to the mast so that he could hear the Sirens but not hurl himself into the ocean to drown. He shouted, begged his men to free him, but the beeswax kept his words from their ears. And the Sirens knew the secrets of a man’s heart: it is no accident that they sing to Odysseus of his unrivalled fame, the thing he desires more than anything.
Artefacts from the ancient world have a particular resonance that nothing else can give us, even the poetry of Homer


I have spent the past 18 months writing a novel about the Trojan war, its causes and its aftermath, called A Thousand Ships. Odysseus and his meeting with the Sirens happens about halfway through the book. The jacket design came through last week. The cover is ocean-blue, with two beautiful golden ships – accidentally perfect copies of the one found off the Bulgarian coast – as its focus.
I don’t like to attribute meaning to coincidence, but I still had to suppress a small shiver. Every book starts out as a few, rough planks of wood lashed together with twine: an idea and a structure is something, but you couldn’t set sail in it. Only over the months of writing and editing does it gradually become seaworthy.
Artefacts from the ancient world have a resonance that nothing else can give us, even the poetry of Homer. I own a tiny bronze ram, a votive offering, probably from the 1st century AD. His wool is in tight clumps and his horns curl neatly around his face. I don’t touch him often, but when I do I know that I am holding something that was once held by someone in a temple, praying to a god, part of a society I have spent my adult life thinking about. The act of touching something touched by someone two millennia ago is a connection that never fails to jolt me out of complacency and back to work.
The ship will stay at the bottom of the ocean – a lack of oxygen will keep it preserved – but it has reminded us that the past is never lost. It’s just waiting for us to discover it.
Natalie Haynes’ books include The Ancient Guide to Modern Life
perspective matters – because it might well be your perspective, too.