Taberna la Sacristía, Carmona

Desaparece la madera y aparece el plástico 

 Yo vivía en la misma calle Flamencos

EN CONSTRUCCIÓN (EL POST NO EL LUGAR)

Calle Matahacas, al lado de la mía Lira

 Siento habérselo preguntado a la AI o IA, me ha picado la curiosidad después de ver una bandera palestina.

La calle Matahacas (código postal 41003) se ubica en el Casco Antiguo de Sevilla y su nombre tiene un origen histórico literal: proviene de un antiguo huerto o matadero en el que se sacrificaban "hacas" (caballos o yeguas de poca alza y tamaño pequeño). La leyenda local señala que en un terreno de la zona, conocido como el huerto del "Tío José", se sacrificaban estos animales enfermos para aprovechar sus pieles, lo que llevó a los vecinos a bautizar la vía popularmente como la calle donde se "matan hacas".

Más allá de su nombre original, esta calle es famosa en la historia y el folklore sevillano por las siguientes razones:

• La calle más larga del mundo: Aunque apenas mide unos 100 metros de longitud, los sevillanos la llamaban humorísticamente así. Esto se debe a que históricamente servía de unión exacta entre la calle Sol y la antigua calle Luna (actualmente llamada calle Escuelas Pías). El ingenioso juego de palabras popular decía que tardabas una eternidad en recorrerla porque "ibas del Sol a la Luna".
  
  
• Arquitectura destacada: Alberga construcciones con más de un siglo de antigüedad y una de sus fachadas principales fue diseñada por el célebre arquitecto regionalista Aníbal González. [
• Identidad de barrio: Comunica la Plaza de San Román con las Escuelas Pías y mantiene comercios tradicionales de toda la vida, como talleres artesanales de bicicletas y tiendas históricas de túnicas y capirotes de Semana Santa.

Las respuestas de la IA pueden contener errores. Más información Errores es poco, ideología, publicidad...

En Guernika hubo 200 o 300 muertos, en Sevilla más de 10.000, muchos de este barrio, pero no eran bascos!!!!!

Old Books, thanks Emily

 A precious — mouldering pleasure — ’tis —

To meet an Antique Book —
In just the Dress his Century wore —
A privilege — I think —

His venerable Hand to take —
And warming in our own —
A passage back — or two — to make —
To Times when he — was young —

His quaint opinions — to inspect —
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind —
The Literature of Man —

What interested Scholars — most —
What Competitions ran —
When Plato — was a Certainty —
And Sophocles — a Man —

When Sappho — was a living Girl —
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante — deified —
Facts Centuries before

He traverses — familiar —
As One should come to Town —
And tell you all your Dreams — were true —
He lived — where Dreams were born —

His presence is Enchantment —
You beg him not to go —
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize — just so —

Emily Dickinson

Ya no hay países para viejos

W. B. Yeats

Sailing to Byzantium

 That is no country for old men. The young

In one another’s arms, birds in the trees

—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Por culpa de los putos bancos, Ezra Pound

 XLV

With Usura

With usura hath no man a house of good stone 
each block cut smooth and well fitting 
that design might cover their face, 
with usura
hath no man a painted paradise on his church wall 
harpes et luthes
or where virgin receiveth message 
and halo projects from incision,
with usura
seeth no man Gonzaga his heirs and his concubines 
no picture is made to endure nor to live with 
but it is made to sell and sell quickly
with usura, sin against nature, 
is thy bread ever more of stale rags 
is thy bread dry as paper, 
with no mountain wheat, no strong flour 
with usura the line grows thick 
with usura is no clear demarcation 
and no man can find site for his dwelling. 
Stone cutter is kept from his stone 
weaver is kept from his loom
WITH USURA
wool comes not to market 
sheep bringeth no gain with usura
Usura is a murrain, usura 
blunteth the needle in the maid’s hand
and stoppeth the spinner’s cunning. Pietro Lombardo 
came not by usura
Duccio came not by usura
nor Pier della Francesca; Zuan Bellin’ not by usura 
nor was «La Calunnia» painted.
Came not by usura Angelico; came not Ambrogio Praedis,
Came no church of cut stone signed: Adamo me fecit.
Not by usura St Trophime
Not by usura Saint Hilaire,
Usura rusteth the chisel
It rusteth the craft and the craftsman
It gnaweth the thread in the loom
None learneth to weave gold in her pattern;
Azure hath a canker by usura; cramoisi is unbroidered
Emerald findeth no Memling
Usura slayeth the child in the womb
It stayeth the young man’s courting
It hath brought palsey to bed, lyeth
between the young bride and her bridegroom

CONTRA NATURAM

They have brought whores for Eleusis 
Corpses are set to banquet
at behest of usura.

Hola, holita, hola

 Hola holita hola como dice Flanders, el de los Simpson, el día que España ganó el mundial...