Joan Sutherland Balfe Siege of Rochelle T'was in the garden beauti...

Conferencia «Antonio Buero Vallejo, un teatro crítico, rebelde y esperanzado», a cargo de Antonio Chazarra. Te esperamos en el Ateneo de Madrid

Antonio Buero Vallejo

Centenario del nacimiento de Antonio Buero Vallejo (29/9/1916-29/4/2000)
Viernes 29 de enero.19.00 horas. Conferencia «Antonio Buero Vallejo, un teatro crítico, rebelde y esperanzado», a cargo de Antonio Chazarra. Preside Enrique Tierno. Presenta Francisco Castañón. Invitación. Sinopsis. Imágenes. Citas en medios: La Vanguardia | Te Interesa | Telecinco | Escritoadrede | El Economista | Spain News | Telemadrid | Madridpress | Literatura Noticias |
En el transcurso del acto rinden homenaje al activo ateneísta Antonio Buero Vallejo leyendo diversos textos:
Pedro Sánchez, Paz Ballesteros, Miguel Losada, Luz Olier, Manuel Espín, Rosa Bustelo, Rafael Simancas, Pedro López Arriba, Mercedes Lezcano, Ignacio Amestoy, Pilar Guerrero, Ángel M. Samperio, José María Alfaya,  Francisco Ortuño, Ana G. D’Atri, Eduardo G. Peribañez, Maripaz González, Graciela Rodríguez.

Ingresa en el Ateneo con fecha 21/07/1948, Socio nº 986, con la profesión de pintor. El 30/03/1985 es nombrado Socio de Mérito. Causa baja el 30/04/2000 por fallecimiento.
Durante años frecuentó el Ateneo casi a diario. Las mañanas se instalaba en la Biblioteca donde pasaba largas horas escribiendo y leyendo. En los pupitres de la Biblioteca del Ateneo escribe “Historia de una escalera” (según testimonio del ponente y miembro de la Junta de Gobierno Antonio  Chazarra). En un autógrafo que dedicó en un libro de la Biblioteca en 1995 se definía como “antiguo socio y muy agradecido a su biblioteca”.
"Por las tardes, frecuentaba la tertulia de la Galería de Retratos en las que se reunía entre otros con su amigo de siempre Ramón de Garciasol, con Felipe García Ibáñez, director de Ediciones Cid, con el abogado Rodolfo Vázquez y con Pedro Dicenta, sobrino del famoso actor Manuel Dicenta".(Del artículo "Antonio Buero Vallejo, en su ardiente oscuridad" de Miguel Losada. Libro Ateneístas Ilustres I).
El Ateneo de Madrid posee un retrato del dramaturgo que se expondrá en el evento.  

Te esperamos en el Ateneo de Madrid, el sábado 23. We really looking forward to meeting them

The Night Before Larry Was Stretched. "Talking about hanging. I´ll show you somenthing you never show". Cyclops.

The curse of my curses

Seven days every day
And seven dry Thursdays
On you, Barney Kiernan,
Has no sup of water
To cool my courage,
And my guts red roaring
After Lowry's lights.

Cyclops. Time: 5 p.m.

Easter 1916, by William Butler Yeats

I
I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

II

That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse.
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vain-glorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

III

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter, seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road,
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute change.
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim;
And a horse plashes within it
Where long-legged moor-hens dive
And hens to moor-cocks call.
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

IV

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death.
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead.
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse --
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.