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JUAN MIRALLES TRAYLLÓN, A Merchant from Havana who died in Washington’s Home

Jun 03, 2017

JUAN MIRALLES TRAYLLÓN, EL ESPAÑOL QUE MURIÓ EN LA CASA DE GEORGE WASHINGTON por Luis Manuel Moll Juan “En plena guerra de la independencia, este español, ayudó a George Washington a obtener la victoria sobre las fuerzas inglesas.” Juan de […]

JUAN MIRALLES TRAYLLÓN, EL ESPAÑOL QUE MURIÓ EN LA CASA DE GEORGE WASHINGTON

por Luis Manuel Moll Juan

“En plena guerra de la independencia, este español, ayudó a George Washington a obtener la victoria sobre las fuerzas inglesas .”

Juan de Miralles Trayllón , nació en la localidad alicantina de Petrer el 23 de julio de 1713, hijo de un capitán de infantería, que defendió la causa del rey Felipe V durante la guerra de la Secesión Española.

Su padre, que compartía su procedencia bearnesa con la mayoría de los franceses radicados en el levante español en aquella época, se había mudado a Alicante como oficial de las tropas felipistas para liderar los combates contra los partidarios del archiduque Carlos de Austria que se estaban librando en las inmediaciones de Petrer. Habiendo heredado la hacienda familiar, cercana a la villa de Monein, regresó a la Navarra francesa con la intención de restaurar la mansión —todavía se puede leer la inscripción “1731” en la clave del arco de entrada— e instalarse definitivamente en ella con su familia. Algo con lo que el joven Juan no parecía estar muy de acuerdo, pues cuatro años más tarde retornaría a España para no volver nunca más a Manaud.

En el año 1740, desembarca en a ciudad de La Habana, en Cuba, con unos 8400 pesos atesorados a lo largo de unos ocho años en España. Este destino de la Habana, no fue escogido por casualidad, la ciudad y su puerto eran los principales de todo el abanico del Nuevo Mundo debido a su estratégica situación dentro del Caribe.  Comenzó a trabajar con mercaderes ingleses y en el 22 de agosto de 1744 se casa con doña María Josefa Eligio de la Puente y González Cabello , hija de una de las más acaudaladas familias de la isla y descendiente de  un gobernador de la Florida, lugar éste, donde Miralle s pudo encaminarse para hacer sus negocios variopintos, desde la compra de buques hasta la venta de esclavos.

Juan Miralles

Juan Miralles

Miralles formó parte de la Compañía Gaditana de negros, que fue la empresa negrera más grande creada en el imperio español. Estas actividades encubrían su faceta de espía para la corona de España, dando en algunas ocasiones informaciones cruciales sobre los movimientos de tropas inglesas en la zona.

Tuvo buenos amigos entre los agentes a las órdenes de Floriblanca,, de ellos destaca el capitán Francisco Bouligni , que a postre se casó con un familiar de su mujer. Creó una red de espías a través del arco caribeño que fue fundamental para los intereses españoles en la zona, exponiendo inclusive en alguna ocasión su propia vida.

En el año 1777, partió desde La Habana, a bordo de la goleta Nuestra señora del Carmen, con rumbo a Charleston, pasando posteriormente a la ciudad de Philadelphia, donde hizo amistad con el embajador francés para los Estados Unidos  Conrad Alexander Gêrad. 

Carta secreta dirigida por D. Diego José Navarro al ministro de Indias José de Gálvez, informándole de la elección de Miralles y Eligio de la Puente como espías. Crédito: PARES.

Miralles, durante esa época, efectuó grandes negocios a través de sus rutas marítimas y con barcos fletados por él mismo, entre la ciudad de La Habana y Philadelphia. Dado su carácter, jovial y abierto, se hizo rápidamente conocedor de los ambientes aristocráticos de Philadelphia y, en alguna de las grandes cenas que celebraba en su villa, acudió el general George Washington , el marqués francés Lafayette , así como varios congresistas estadunidenses y embajadores franceses.

Miralles, como delegado de la corte de Madrid, encauzó grandes donaciones en ropa de abrigo, pólvora, armas, medicinas, etc. hacia las tropas del general Washingto n, a través de la ciudad española de Nueva Orleans, Don Bernárdo de Gálvez gobernador de la Luisiana, y don Francisco Bouligny, controlaban directamente estas donaciones secretas. De este modo y de otros, como el de entretener a las tropas inglesas  en la defensa de  la frontera del Mississippi, (impidiendo a estos el agruparse para combatir contra las formaciones del general Washington. Bouligny), fue el encargado de mantener a raya “a través de las labores de distracción” a las tropas inglesas hasta la batalla de Pensacola en el año 1781.

Miralles, se presento al general Washington con una carta de credenciales redactada por Diego Jose Navarro  en la que se alababan sus cualidades como persona  y muy pronto surgió una admiración y respeto mutuos, estableciendo un fuerte vínculo de amistad entre ellos.

El efecto causado por el futuro primer presidente de los Estados Unidos en Miralles   fue muy impresionante, hasta el punto que en sus informes que redactaba a La Habana se deshacía en elogios hacia el mandatario; llegó a encargar al pintor Charles Wilson Peale, once cuadros del general. Esta  relación con el general, le supuso un impulso de entusiasmo a la causa independentista norteamericana que llegó ha hacer como suya propia.

Uno de los retratos de Washington encargados por Miralles al pintor Wilson Peale

Apunto de cumplir los 67 años, el 19 de abril de 1780, llegó  a Nueva Jersey,  Las inclemencias del tiempo le hicieron  enfermar de una pulmonía con vómitos de sangre. Se  alojó en la casa de Ford, mansión del general Washington , futura residencia del Presidente de Estados Unidos,  y a pesar de disponer de los mejores médicos personales y la atención especial de Martha  – mujer del general – falleció el 28 de abril de 1780. Fue enterrado con los honores del ejército estadounidense  en el cementerio presbiteriano de Morristown. En el verano de 1780, sus restos fueron trasladados y depositados en la cripta de la iglesia del Espíritu Santo en La Habana

Después de su muerte en abril de 1780, Juan de Miralles se convirtió en el primer extranjero que recibió un funeral militar en Estados Unidos, aunque el país aún no había ganado la guerra y no era reconocido internacionalmente como un país independiente.

Washington, profundamente afectado por el fallecimiento de su amigo, escribió al gobernador español de Cuba, así como la viuda de Miralles ensalzando las maravillosas cualidades de su nuevo amigo y partidario político.

Miralles, fue una pieza importante en el comercio, la cultura y en los avatares políticos españoles del Caribe. ¡Y qué decir en la Historia de Estados Unidos

Nota:

Vicent Ribes, Catedrático de la Universidad de Valencia, en su artículo publicado en la revista Historia Moderna en su número 16,  NUEVOS DATOS BIOGRÁFICOS SOBRE JUAN DE MIRALLES, nos dice de Miralles lo siguiente:El carácter secreto de esta ayuda económica -hay que recordar que España no estaba oficialmente en guerra con Inglaterra- hace que hoy sea imposible calcular las cantidades de dinero enviadas por España y qué parte de esos capitales salían directamente de la fortuna privada de Miralles. El hecho de que estos trasvases de dinero se realizasen a través del conde de Aranda, embajador español en París, ha llevado a
muchos historiadores americanos al tremendo error de confundir dicha ayuda con la que los independentistas recibían de Francia. Pero, para darnos una idea de la trascendencia de la ayuda financiera española, bastará recordar que las inestables economías de los Estados de Virginia, North Carolina, Massachussets, New Hampshire, Connetticut, Rhode Island, Pennsilvania… giraban en torno a esos «Spanish milled dollars»  con los que mantenían la insurrección contra Inglaterra. Al mismo tiempo, Miralles, como delegado de la corte de Madrid, encauzó grandes donaciones de ropa de abrigo, pólvora, armas, medicinas, etc. hacia las tropas de Washington, a través de la española ciudad de Nueva Orleans. Don Bernardo de Gálvez, gobernador de Luisiana, y don Francisco Bouligny, controlaban directamente estas donaciones secretas. Algunas, sin embargo, nos son conocidas, y nos permiten afirmar que sin ellas el ejército del general  Washington no hubiese podido resistir los de la independencia. El mes de marzo de 1778 el Congreso de los Estados Unidos envió al capitán Willing y a Oliver Pollock a Nueva Orleans para que recogiesen una donación española de «9.000 varas de paño azul y diez y ocho mil varas de paño tinto de lana de las fábricas de Alcoi, 1.710 varas de paño blanco de id., 2.992 varas de estameña blanca…». Traducido a términos actuales, eso significa que absolutamente toda la ropa de abrigo y uniformes del ejército de Washington procedían de España. En la misma donación se incluían «…6 cajas de quinina, 8 cajas de otras medicinas, 108 rollos de telas de lana y estameña, 100 quintales de pólvora en cien barriles, y 300 fusiles con sus bayonetas en 30 cajas…» En otra ocasión, Franklin hacía patente al conde de Aranda su agradecimiento por haberse recibido en Boston doce mil fusiles de ayuda española… Si consideramos que las tropas del general Washington en Morristown apenas llegaban a cinco mil hombres, calibraremos mejor el sentido de la ayuda española. Pero, por si fuera poco, los españoles, además de dinero y pertrechos, ayudaron a las tropas de Washington de otro modo: manteniendo a los ingleses ocupados defendiendo sus fronteras en el valle del Mississippi y en la Florida, lo que hizo imposible el agrupamiento de las tropas inglesas contra Washington.  D(Los informes que Miralles enviaba a la Corte de Madrid están en el A.H.N., Estado, leg. 3884bis, exp. 6, nos. 1-17. Las noticias sobre los viajes de sus embarcaciones en el A.G.I., Santo Domingo, leg. 944 y 1598. 26. A.G.I., Santo Domingo, leg. 1197. 372)Don Francisco BouIigny fue el encargado de mantener a raya a los ingleses en el valle del Mississippi,llevando a cabo una política militar y de colonización en dichas tierras. Al mismo tiempo, participó, a las órdenes de Bernardo de Gálvez, en las labores de distracción de las tropas británicas en la Florida, que culminaron con la derrota inglesa de Pensacola el año 1781. Bien puede pues afirmarse que sin la colaboración de hombres como Miralles, Gálvez o Bouligny, la independencia de los Estados Unidos hubiese resultado, al menos, mucho más difícil de conseguir.Pero, además, parece que se estableció una corriente de gran simpatía entre el general Washington y Miralles. Una relación amistosa más profunda de lo que la estricta etiqueta establecía para con un representante de una potencia aliada. El 19 de abril de 1780 llegó Miralles, junto con el embajador francés, al campamento de Morristown, donde fueron recibidos con todos los honores. Un tiempo inclemente, sin embargo, había mermado las fuerzas de Miralles durante el camino desde Philadelphia, obligándole a guardar cama en la propia mansión Ford, donde Washington se hallaba hospedado. A pesar de contar con los cuidados de los mejores médicos disponibles, y atendido solícitamente por el general y su familia, Miralles falleció de una pulmonía el 28 de abril de 1780. Hasta que pudisen ser trasladados sus restos a La Habana, Miralles fue enterrado, lujosamente amortajado con excelentes ropas y un derroche de pedrería, en una ceremonia presidida por Washington, y con el ejército  estadounidense rindiéndole honores por decisión de su general, en el pequeño cementerio presbiteriano de Morristown. La estimación de Washington por Miralles quedó reflejada en multitud de ocasiones, pero pueden servir de ejemplo estas frases escritas por el general al embajador francés -«…las atenciones y los honores rendidos al Sr. de Miralles… fueron dictados por la sincera estimación que siempre le tuve»-, a su viuda -«Todas las atenciones que me fue posible dedicar a su fallecido esposo fueron dictadas por la amistad que sus dignas cualidades me habían inspirado»-, o al mariscal Navarro, capitán general  de Cuba -«I the more sincerely sympathize with you in the loss of so estimable friend, as ever since his residence with us, I have been happy in ranking him among the number of mine. It must however be some consolation to his connexions, to know that in this country he has been universally esteemed and will be universally regretted»-.

ESTE PERSONA, TRANSCENDENTAL EN LA HISTORIA, SI FUESE INGLES O FRANCES, TENFDRÍA UN GRAN MONUMENTO A SU MEMORIA, PERO… NACIÓ EN  ESPAÑA, Y AQUÍ A NUESTRO´HÉROES LOS DEJAMOS CASI OLVIDADOS, COMO QUE NOS MOLESTAN. DESDE ESTAS LETRAS REVINDICO LA PERSONALIDAD, REVINDICO LA HISTORIA DE ESTE PERSONAJE PARA QUE SEA TRATADO COMO MERECE, QUE NI SIQUIERA EN SU PUEBLO UNA CALLE TIENE.

By Chaz Mena 21 May, 2021
Trumbull's "Declaration of Independence," Oil on Canvas, 12' X 18'
By Chaz Mena 15 Mar, 2021
Interviewed by Chaz Mena 15 March, 2021 Celia, you've been a poet for a while, published in many literary journals around the country. You're a mother of two beautiful little girls, the editor of Prospectus: A Literary Offering. You’re keeping house with your husband, Rafael Montes , a renowned professor at St. Thomas University. HOW DO YOU DO IT? I don’t! I haven’t done the laundry in over a month! It seems like I do because I’m very good at assessing and prioritizing. I figure out what the most important thing that needs to get done now is, and I do it until it’s done. The bad part of that attitude is that I let things that are not priority no. 1 fall away, like the laundry, for example. But often it’s more serious things, like my writing and my constant battle with mommy guilt. But I’m a workaholic. It’s what I’m best at. Is Multiverses your first book-length collection? How did Finishing Line Press come across your manuscript? Was yours an unsolicited submission, or had they contacted you? Tell us. Yes, I had two chapbooks before Multiverses , my first full-length collection. I was looking for places to send it to when I came across the fact that Finishing Line was now publishing full-length collections. That was not the case when The Stones came out. Of course I sent it to them, and they accepted it right away. The genesis of Multiverses is clear to your reader. Would you feel comfortable describing to us that moment when you decided - if it was a conscious choice at all! - to have it become book-length? Were you planning an arc or a structure from the beginning? I knew I had a lot to say, and that it had a narrative arc, but I wasn’t thinking about length as I wrote. I wrote until I finished saying what I wanted to say, and then I looked at the page count and realized I had gone beyond chapbook length. At that point I was surprised because it’s very hard for me to write things that go well together, which is what you look for when you’re trying to write a full-length collection. My writing is all over the place, so it’s hard for me to publish more than individual poems in journals. I'm struck by the many epic conventions implemented: beginning in the middle, a tribute to ancestors, a type of arming for battle as you and Rafael prepare for the infant's arrival, the inciting loss as the gods turned their backs to you, the subsequent katabasis (descent into the Underworld) wherein long-passed relatives file in, rehearsing family memories helping you in your trials, etc. Think of it as a mini-epic. The events were epic to me, and I wrote them so. I still don’t believe it’s possible to capture in words the loss of a child. The gut-wrenching, universe-shaking, time-bending nature of seeing such a tiny, innocent creature suffer so much only to die in such a horrific way as my son did. It can’t be spoken of, only remembered. That’s the epicenter of the book, and from there sprout other losses and memories so that it seems like there’s a sort of temporal journey taking place. The past is haunted by the present—the glossy photographs and memories of parents and grandparents when they were young and full of vigor that you know now went nowhere. Our parents’ immigrant generation was epic. I still remember when they used to talk about getting back to their Ithaca, Cuba. They never made it. What was to be a temporary home became their last resting place. If there is no pathos in that, I don’t know where there is. Thinking about it makes me cringe. When I lost my son, I became unhinged. I had to remake someone new from scratch. The materials I had at hand were memory and desire. The memories grounded me while the desire to erase that one event in my life and make everything okay again sent me flying apart. Multiverses comprises pieces that don’t fit. They are shards of a broken mirror that can’t be glued back together no matter how hard you try. Pieces are lost, shattered irretrievably . From there comes the sense of an epic quest at hand, a quest to rebuild my psyche, perhaps. But it’s a failed quest that’s resolved only in fantasy. Let's talk about the verse. The meter is dactyl in the beginning, fitting for a lament, as it begins with a stressed syllable followed by two unstressed: a sudden lashing out, followed by a limping recovery. The narrator's voice is tripped up as if wounded, hobbling. It's very evocative and draws great sympathy from your reader. Later, the voice changes and more disparate tones (meters) play out. You also change lengths - even using alexandrines! Was this planned? Yes and no. I was very interested in preserving the breath of the words, of writing as if I were speaking directly. When I noticed there was a certain pattern or the possibility for a certain pattern—the dactyl and the alexandrine, as you point out, the trochee, too—I chose to follow that pattern as long as it didn’t result in violating my idea of the breath. I didn’t feel that this subject fit with too much structure; the whole point of the book is that “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; / Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.” That doesn’t jive well with neat little patterns, so I let anarchy reign when it should. There is one sonnet, but it’s a nonce sonnet. The word and/or concept of "illusion" in English and its translation into Spanish crop up. Illusion connotes a mirage or a quixotic striving for something not there, misinterpreted. But in Spanish, ' ilusión’ evokes hoping for a hidden desire, cherished and kept secret - a furtive wish for something beyond your means, perhaps. Is this a thread worth examining in this work? Definitely. In the English sense, illusion has somewhat of a negative connotation, a foolish belief that often occludes the truth. In that sense, all the narratives that take place in parallel universes, with the last poem especially, are illusions, frustrations of the mind that cannot accept the truth. You and a few other readers have mentioned that I give equal weight to the parallel universes as I do to the one we really inhabit. I meant to do that. I wanted the stories of the parallel universes to seem just as truthful as the truth. It was very satisfying emotionally, which is where the Spanish notion of ilusión comes in. I had ilusiones for my family that were broken. In the Spanish sense, there are a lot more pathos involved. I tried not to give in to that pathos (though I’m sure I failed a couple of times) because it would break the illusion in the English sense. The emotional charge of the real narrative would set it apart from the parallel narratives, and I did not want this to be a memoir plus fantasies (though I have used that word to describe the parallel narratives). I wanted to give credence to the multiverse theory by keeping the reader in a constant state of flux. OK, 'multiverses': one of the most satisfying aspects of this work is how you play out its conceit of alternate existence (s) with such detail. You give integrity and specificity to every life played out in alternate universes. Nothing is derivative, and all possibilities are legitimate. May you speak to that? This question is connected to your previous one. Had I made any of the parallel narratives anything less than hyper-realistic, the project would have fallen apart. It would have become a regular narrative, musing on different fantastical possibilities. So I tried very hard to keep to that notion that a butterfly flaps its wings halfway around the world and it can change everything. I think I achieved this mostly in the sequence of poems after they discharge my father from the hospital “healthy.” I have often berated myself for not having reacted to that situation differently—to have demanded a diagnosis for his collapse, to have been able to take him to a cardiologist or even to a witch doctor if necessary instead of having waited a month to watch him die. Could his death have been avoided by calling the social worker at the hospital and demanding he not be discharged so abruptly? By a phone call? I allowed myself to explore these possibilities in poems that are near identical, yet wholly different. The only poem in which I let the curtain part to reveal the wizard is the last poem which is so obviously a fantasy of closure impossible to achieve in the actual memoir. You've begun reading parts of the poem to audiences (online, for now); what has been the response so far? Mixed. Some people have commented that the poems moved them. My favorite comment I have received is from a woman who said she felt “met.” She is a caretaker and could relate to the poems where my father loses his mind. No one has accused me of being aloof, but the implication of some comments (such as “you are very brave to be able to write about these things so unflinchingly”) is that I perhaps don’t feel the weight of the emotions that’s because of the events I narrate. I think it might be difficult for some readers to realize the almost clinical detachment I had to create in order to write about this. I wanted the truth to be spoken, recorded, not glossed over in any way. To think of it cinematically, I wanted the camera to pan in and focus on the hardest events. Why I wanted that is difficult to explain. I think it has something to do with the way we grieve in this culture, how we are expected to show our strength by moving past disaster as quickly as possible. Like the old Nike slogan, “Acknowledge, move on.” That can be very helpful in minor situations, but I think catastrophic events are more suited to the mourning we used to do—covering mirrors, stopping clocks, wearing black for a full year. It was an acknowledgement that something horrible had happened. In Multiverses I don’t hesitate in including even the most gruesome details, because they happened, and I wanted them to be acknowledged. The narrator is so Miamian - Cuban. You bring in place names and ethnic food, contextualizing the poem so specifically. How did that help you tell this story (ies)? Multiverses was the first time I didn’t write with a white American audience in mind. I was writing these poems for myself, so I didn’t feel the need to explain baffling details such as my parents living with us, or to smatter the poems with Spanish words and then translate them. I did that only once, I think, when I called my father ‘un vividor’ and I couldn’t find the right word in English to express the same idea. Otherwise, I just wrote in English words that were spoken in Spanish. When my father, for example, confuses the words plane and bird, he is confusing avión and pájaro. But what would have been the point of emphasizing that? I wasn’t writing about being Cuban, I was writing about being human. So the references of my life just worked themselves into the book. I felt the Cuban influence more strongly when writing about my granduncle Arturito, who to the day he died loved tangos and reminisced about being young, which meant being in Cuba. Incorporating those details helped me pin him down as an individual, and not just some generic grandfather figure. What's next Celia, what are you working on between making meals, going through scores of submissions for Prospectus , and being interviewed? Has quarantining hindered or helped your writing? I hate to say it, but the pandemic has really helped my writing! I wrote the entirety of Multiverses at the beginning of the pandemic. I also started sending some older poems out again, and so far have found eight of them new homes. Now what I’m doing is assessing. I took a long hiatus from writing (four years) while I was teaching high school, so I’m reacquainting myself with my work and trying to see what’s there that has potential. I have a bunch of really good pop-culture poems, but that has so been done already (and by better poets than I) that I don’t know whether pursuing that theme is worth the time. I think I might just want to write all new poems, like I did with Multiverses . It was very liberating, not having to write to a “theme.” The problem is running Prospectus , which is time-consuming. I might just have to concentrate on being an editor for a little while. PREORDER SHIPS MAY 7, 2021 Multiverses by Celia Lisset Alvarez $19.99, Full-length, paper RESERVE YOUR COPY TODAY Celia Lisset Alvarez , born in Spain to Cuban parents fleeing Fidel Castro’s regime, immigrated to Miami in 1974, where she has been living since. She received an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Miami, and proceeded to publish two chapbooks of poetry, Shapeshifting (Spire Press, 2006) and The Stones (Finishing Line Press, 2006). Her stories and poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. Multiverses (Finishing Line Press, 2021) is her first full-length collection. She is currently the editor of Prospectus: A Literary Offering , and lives with her husband Rafael, daughters Lucy and Sara, and her mother, Sonia.
By Chaz Mena 30 Mar, 2020
All that made me split hairs in argument in debates over which end of the egg should be cracked, are muted by days which run out of purpose, blanketed over by a mimed virus. A dumb show. 'Scrambled or fried?' to my daughter who plays with a doll that has an eye missing. Another is armless for which we compensate. We hug her over and over. We join hands behind each other’s backs and keep at bay the dusk of reason and the dawn's caprice. I know that we have been here before, plagued by suspicion held close to our bosoms, cards kept close to our wheezing chests, a two-card draw where bets are sheared and yawned. We are at a littoral standstill, bereft of people whom would wade in slow moving tides - the marsh behind, the dunes' rise. ‘Taking your shawl?’ I ask my wife and she submits for once, itself an event. Whips it over her shoulders, evoked Iberian mothers who at Finisterre looked out at anarchy, an unkind ocean and waited for their lost men, though foretold of their deaths. Augured. Sure. We pack lunches and eat on marmalade porches, pour olive oil over salted bread. We eat in silence. We keep to ourselves in temps de peste , a virus which sends word ahead but comes and waits on the landing. We hide inside and not answer the door. Seclude. Have I forgot our deca millennium-old marches? Exoduses up a levant that skirted untread beaches sylvan sands where predecessors drew in deep breaths, filled their neolithic lungs with trekked salt spray our short-lived friends risked all as if called forward, as if summoned up from richer game and recorded sandprints that veered into being 'forever-ago.' I'll listen to them. They will call me and I'll answer.
By Chaz Mena 02 Dec, 2019
Tartarus Press has printed a limited edition of Robert Aickman‘s complete works in ten volumes. I have been reading this author–known as “Britain’s best-kept secret” in short story literature–for close to a month. His prose is among the best that […]
By Chaz Mena 10 Oct, 2019
…an impulse after all these years.
By Chaz Mena 09 Sep, 2019
El cannabis medicinal y las vivencias en Puerto Rico luego de los estragos del huracán María en 2017, sirvieron de base para la nueva película del director boricua Bruno Irizarry, titulada Yerba Buena y protagonizada por Karla Monroig. El filme, […]
By Chaz Mena 18 Aug, 2019
Diccionario Del Pensamiento Martiano by Ramiro Gallaraga, (Ciencias Sociales, Havana, 2002). Out of Print, alas. Galarraga’s seminal work (in Spanish) is an indispensable reference for all Martí readers and the result of thousands of hours of painstaking work, combing through […]
By Chaz Mena 12 Jul, 2019
CLICK HERE TO LISTEN: In this bonus episode there’s a chance to hear Franklin D Roosevelt’s speech after Pearl Harbour as performed by American actor Chaz Mena. Legendary broadcaster Ed Murrow and World at War narrator Laurence Olivier also get […]
By Chaz Mena 12 Jul, 2019
On a bicycle—and they rarely lie—down Martin Drove End it seemed as if the Wiltshire Hills winked as I rode past. Cradled w/in grassland waves the lambs bleated me into Blake’s epigraph: “Dost thou know who made thee …?” etc. […]
By Chaz Mena 29 Apr, 2019
A drawer you left open invited dead parents to visit demanding that you tidy up. Or it may be a promise unfulfilled or maybe the clue to a crime, or a prompt to mend your ways and reform. Suddenly, you […]
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