The IX Short Story Contest of Radio Lanzarote-Onda Cero, which this year pays tribute to César Manrique on the occasion of his centenary, has entered its final stretch. And it is that, it will be August 31 when the deadline to participate in this contest ends, which has continued to receive stories inspired by the artist.
The maximum length of the stories, as in previous editions, will have to be 100 words, including the title if it has one. However, on this occasion, the stories must be starring César Manrique, some of his works such as the tourist centers of Jameos del Agua or the Montañas del Fuego or some of the houses he inhabited.
Each author may send a maximum of five stories, which may be signed with a pseudonym, although they must always indicate a name and a contact telephone number. The stories will be published in order of receipt in La Voz de Lanzarote and will be read in the 'Reading on the Radio' space of Radio Lanzarote-Onda Cero. All those who wish to participate can send their writings to the email: [email protected].
The decision of the contest, organized in collaboration with the César Manrique Foundation, will be made public in the second half of September. As for the prizes, the winner will receive a television valued at about 300 euros, a pack of products from the centenary of Manrique and a pack of books published by the Foundation. The second prize will be a tablet valued at about 200 euros, a pack of centenary products and a pack of books published by the FCM; and the third winner will receive wireless headphones valued at about 100 euros, as well as a pack of centenary products and a pack of books.
Based on real events
You made me fall in love, little by little, as it should be but at the same time quickly so as not to miss me. I let myself go, that summer afternoon, in Famara. In the summer house of this Cesar you told me about. You chose well the perfect place to conquer me for the rest of my life. The place had something, it was impregnated with a special energy. Magic. I suspected it. Well, here you have me, surrounded by our volcanoes, with two wonderful and magical children, like the same house where I decided to be yours.
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We are all little brothers. We are orange like the volcanoes, like the cushions of Jameoss del Agua. We are very happy in our small lagoon where sometimes the smallest tourists find us. The big ones usually pay more attention to the main protagonists of our house. The Great-grandmother said that when Cesar put the last lava brick on the ground, all the cacti began to congratulate him. Since then, every night, the Male and Female" dance bathed in pleasure remembering the days when they saw each other for the first time.
Thank you Cesar for teaching us how to see and not just look ?
You, Cesar
The entrails of the volcano received Your body and Your soul pregnant with dreams and hopes the Island.
That September collected, a work, which continues to be built in this crazy world that we never finish understanding. For that, Your passionate voice, which is like the little rain that dresses us in green. Your hands created spaces for the wind and the light. Your luminous eyes, knew how to see beyond, the gaze that widens and breaks borders of all kinds. Your heart, beats, carries the blood, to all places, full of life and makes possible, Life.
A thousand colors
I want to believe that you already have the sky painted with a thousand colors. I want to believe that you have asked them to fill the beaches of Eternity with wind. I want to believe that they are counting on you to design the mornings and tell the moon how it should shine whiter. I want to believe that you are still alive in every hope woven with patience so that this world can be something more like your dreams.
Volcano of the Crown
There must be a gallery
secret that reaches the cemetery of Haria. Only explored by you, opened by the whims of Nature, full of jameos and lakes, more than 7, where the light seeps in. You chose the one of "La Corona" to warn all its brothers and relatives, spread around the World, that "you are still here"... They are happy because they know that He who saw in the blackness, the imperfect beauty, comes every day to his workshop to continue dreaming.
The Illusions
Until reaching the precipice he had walked discreetly among the group of tourists. He was fascinated with the Cueva de los Verdes until he felt a deep vertigo for that terrifying beauty and decided to end his life once and for all by throwing himself into the void. Stopping him was impossible. He moved away from the group, ran a little, shouted and broke free from a hand that tried to hold him. Unfortunately he was soaked, sprained his ankle and splashed everyone. The guide knew well that it is as difficult to deceive as it is to prevent someone from destroying their own illusions.
The work of life
You come into the world crossing the Jameos del Agua to the light. Your childhood is the Mirador del Río, from where you can see the dreams you want to fulfill. You tiptoe across the puddles of the Cueva de los Verdes towards your youth. You love. Love is sometimes fire like Timanfaya, other times a lake of calm water like Costa Martiánez. You live singing to the Fecundity of the arid land to which one day you must return. And when the time comes, sure of being just a toy of the wind, you embrace the breeze and let yourself be rocked.
A fabulous party
The award-winning Irish writer Simon L. O'Sullivan mentions in his diaries the night of August 2006 when César Manrique received him at his house in Haría and celebrated "a fabulous party". Before, according to his notes, he had dined frugally and tasted two bottles of Armagh cider, three jugs of beer, enough whiskey "to encourage a Scotsman" and a five-liter bottle of wine that "he had bought from Mingo for only 12 euros very satisfactory". Nothing seemed to remember of the subsequent alcoholic intoxication or of a certain complaint received for damages and trespassing.
Famara
The boy came out of the water and lay down on the sand. In the distance a too familiar female figure was beckoning him. His mother did not like it when he went so far into the sea. But this was one of César's favorite pastimes. He ran along the shore of Famara to where the cliff was born and then swam until he had a complete view of the majestic wall of rock in all its extension.
Francisca Cabrera walked along the beach ready to scold him. César did not know it, but one day he would build something wonderful on top of that crag.
The girl from the Canary Islands
?I will always be taking care of you ?César told the girl on the shore of the peaceful beach.
?And how will I know you'll be there? ?asked the girl curiously.
?Because I have built a little house on the cliff and from up there I can take care of you.
The girl followed the direction the artist was pointing and replied disgustedly:
?But there's nothing there!
César smiled. That was the idea. To build a viewpoint that would merge with the rock. A house from which the people of Lanzarote could take care of the smallest of their sisters.
Island Riddle
On the edge of a precipice, here I was born and here I will continue. One step forward and I fall, joining suicidal lanzaroteños, who decided to end their lives with five-star views. One step back and I stop seeing my beloved chinijas. There is nothing and nobody around, but I am never alone. Everyone comes to me, but not to see me. They come to see through me. They penetrate the emptiness of my belly, take their milk and contemplate the river that does not exist. What am I?
Dis-Amparo
I arrived second and being a woman. Destiny was written.
I drew in the corner of the kitchen. Leave the pencils, says the mother, we have to peel the potato.
Waiting for his letters from Madrid. It's like being there, even if it's just for a moment, before returning to "my chores"...
What a curious dream... New York skyscrapers, Rockefeller shaking my hand... Wake up, my girl, wake up.
This damn crossing... I told him, don't take the car. He never listened.
26 years later I die, being only his shadow.
We drew with César some little houses in the sea of clouds. We fought. We created. As equals. As brothers.
A Conejero in New York
César looked out the window and was surprised to discover that the breeze did not caress his face.
?You'll get used to it ?his friend and host Waldo Díaz-Balart told him.
A half smile appeared on the face of the lanzaroteño. It was going to be very difficult for him to get used to those moles of glass, cement and steel. To get used to breathing pollution instead of the clean air of his beloved Famara. To get used to stepping on asphalt, instead of the fine sand of the beaches of Papagayo. No, César knew that he could not get used to it. Lanzarote was already waiting for him.
Verses of fire
In the symphony of the malpaís he saw a paradise. The home where his muses lived. The land of fire, the home of lava; heat as the most powerful force on the planet. The red, brown, black, dark, and jet of the boiling waves of Timanfaya. The solidified time. The symbiosis of man with stone. That is the legacy of César: to open our eyes and show us the mute beauty of the volcanoes. A unique and intangible heritage carved in the mind of a simple man, a universal genius who loved the Canary Islands.
The island and the little devil
On a Canary Island lives a little devil who runs naked on the beaches. He spends the afternoons drawing and discovering small beings in the rivers of lava that cover the landscape in black and red. He plays with the wind, hides in caves of amazing colors and talks to blind crabs.
When someone dares to damage the island, he gets angry and roars with the force of a thousand volcanoes. When he laughs, you can hear him in the waves of the sea.
They say that the magical island is Lanzarote and that the little devil Manrique, in every corner, will accompany you.
Son of a thousand volcanoes
Lanzarote created his son, who took human form. He could be free. To be his own essence: volcano of unmeasured force his words, fire of overflowing intensity his gaze, wind that has fun with his toys, optimistic water creator of life?
He was sensitive like the ecosystem, humble and simple like the white houses of the peasants, wise like an old devil?
Son of a thousand volcanoes, born from the entrails of paradise, you changed the history of your land and fought for all of us. Now, César, the time has come for us to honor you and take care of you.
The letter
César, how much I miss you!
Those endless walks through Famara. Your body free of prejudices feeling wind, earth and ocean. I know that now you rest with me, and that fills me with pride. I miss the passion and strength that I could feel when you worked and, above all, when you defended your land against the pretensions of soulless people who wanted to destroy what thousands of years remained virgin, pure and wild.
Thank you for loving me without measure, for sculpting me with so much delicacy and affection, and for always carrying me in your heart.
How much I miss you, César!
Always yours:
Lanzarote.
Life in bubbles
They say that those who seem to be locked in their own world, behind the truth, live in a bubble. César lived in five and, quite the opposite of what one might think, it was others who were unable to see reality.
Very few understood him, many were uncomfortable because, although his body was aging, he was still a child with a pure soul and crystalline gaze.
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The boy runs wild along the shores of his beloved beach. The sea foams offer him jallos and shells, with which the child César creates his own universe. He paints bright fish in the sand, his brush the tip of his fingers. Time seems to stop while the sirens of Famara ruffle his soul. There, on that wild and solitary beach he feels a revelation. His heart speaks to him, and he listens to it. He understands that, in due time, he must leave in search of the necessary teaching. He knows that one day he will return to return the legacy of his muses.
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He is happy dreaming of the beauty of La Cueva de los Verdes, of the Cactus Garden, of the Mirador del Río?
He dreams of a clean Pond, between dunes; with a Lago Martiánez in El Confital; with the magic of the isthmus disappearing at the whim of the Atlantic.
Gran Canaria dreams of César.
But lights and sirens wake her up. The summit burns again. The asphalt covers its ravines. There is garbage everywhere. The island is a landfill.
Gran Canaria dies waiting for someone to love her as César loved Lanzarote.
Gran Canaria wants to sleep and dream with César. Only then does she find hope.
