“Quédate en casa leyendo en

tu idioma de estudio”
Día del Libro
EOI Sevilla-Macarena
ENGLISH
 “The Importance of Knowing”

Sitting in the park in the city

Tall green trees all around me
Sunlight filtering though every branch
Thus I will do my best to be quite witty
The silence in the park calms my spirit
People walking slowly so peacefully
Many of them sitting down reading a book
not far from me.
The sound of water in book
Who knows what tomorrow will brig
All of us sttrive to be happy
Sitting in the park, reading a book
So many things we want to say. Trini González -B1 G
 “Thoughts”
by Rosa María Simón Villalba C1.1 B
What's happening nowadays?
So many hidden faces under misterious masks
Why can't we breath freedom and optimism?
The only thing that I know is that
behind the mask there is someone like you
behind the mask there is someone feeling blue
Maybe the hidden face is like a wet weekend
but please don't cry your eyes out
because hope is waiting for you after rainy days.

A hateful intruder came into our lives

bringing us down in the mouth
and grieving our eyes
There are those that are in denial about this disaster,
There are those that are aware of this catastrophic situation
No matter if you are man or woman
No matter if you are young or old
This intruder doesn't understand about races or religions but its main purpose is to lead us to brick a wall.

But how should we grapple with this wall?

Maybe it would be a confusing question but
Hang in there!
Let's deal with grief
Let's work together to make the words empathy and solidarity understandable and mainly
let's thank the white-coat angels devoted to our souls,
the opportunity to see a glimpse of hope.
 “Stay at home”
It was many years ago, since the stormy day when a Young woman with
a baby in her arms, entered in his butcher shop confronted him with the
news that the baby was his and asked what was he going to do about it ?
Finally he offered to provide her with free meat until the boy was 16. She
agreed. He had been counting the years off on the calendar and one day
the teenager, who had been collecting the meat each week, come into the
shop and said I will be 16 tomorrow, I know said the butcher with a
smile, I have been countain too, Tell your mother, when you take this
piece of meat home, that is the last free meat she will ge, and watch the
expression on this face. When the boy arrived home he told his mother.
The women smiled and said son, go back to the butcher and tell him I
have also had free bread, free milk and free fruit for the last 16 years and
watch the expression of this face.

Manuel Jesús de la Hera Villalón A1 E

 “THE CASTLE”
by Franciso Hernández C1.1.A

I was born and bred in Adare, I was told many times my labour had been complicated, that was one reason
for not having more descendents, said my mother, besides the lack of almost anything. Never did I know why
I could remember my birth, was it real or just a picture made by the time I had listened to the same story?
When I was at the end of my first decade of life things were so difficult for a family that had recently lost their
livelihood, my father had passed away at the turn of the century, the lack of vaccines against the yellow fever
had left my village almost without population.
We were a family of farm workers, but some circumstances made my mother change her outlook, and one
stormy night, I can remember it so vividly as if it were today, my oldest brother and some friends decided to
go to the closest coast, near Limerick. Any of them were used to fishing and struggling against the waves, so
after some days trying to find their bodies and belongings, they were all given up for dead.
In an instant, my mother had in front of her four kids to feed, so I soon realized that I needed to make my
own decisions so as not to starve, which was rather common throughout the first years of the 20th century in
Ireland.
Despite having lived these demanding moments in my life, I perfectly knew how to overcome them, in fact, I
remember playing happily around a ruined castle by the river with some good friends, Desmond Castle was
called, although we were hardly ever so brave to go there at sunsets.
During the winter nights there was something hanging in the air, or at least that it was we believed. Suddenly
none of my friends considered my ideas, indeed, I was planning to share a night doing camping within the
ruins, I failed to understand why they never counted on me, even worse, I could not remember the last time
they talked to me. […]
 “THE CASTLE”
by Franciso Hernández C1.1.A

[…]Even at home things were from bad to worse, none seemed to appreciate my opinion. Never in my
short life had I felt so awfully mistreated.
One day, I decided to spend the night at the castle utterly alone. It was something I lately felt inwardly,
as if a kind of magnet would attract me, so after preparing some stuff, especially something to protect
myself from the freezing night, I took the road towards the ruins.
At first I felt absolutely confident, but no beyond the twilight, I started to feel uncomfortable, as though
someone were staring at me. Suddenly I saw something moving among the trees, I thought it was my
imagination, sadly, it was not. Just in a second, two manlike shadows were in front of me pointing out
my way back home. I ran as if the devil were chasing me. When I got home the shadows were at the
entrance, I could not believe how they had done it, however, the worrying thing was that in a specific
moment I felt completely relieved when another little shadow turned up out of the blue and joined the
others. When I entered the house I saw all my family crying in my bedroom. I felt my blood leaving my
body. Was it the palest thing I had ever seen.
It was me who was lying dead, it was me the reason why my mother was all day praying and crying, it
was me the reason why nobody talked to me, it was me the last who died for the yellow fever in my tiny
village, and of course, it was me the reason why there were now three shadows at the entrance instead
of two, because it was me the last that appeared.
As soon as I became one of them, they whispered their names, my brother and my father. The last
three residents of the castle.
 “Every Night They Come To Me”
by Juan Antonio Peral A2

Every night they come to me.

They are my old enemies. Every night you come to me. Doubts.
My old ghosts. My souls in pain. Taking me down never-chosen paths.
Every night they come to me. For decisions never made.
Every night, my doubts and my fears, come And screaming in my ear, all night long, a
to me. deafening one. What if.....

Every night they come to steal, Every night you come to me. The biggest and
to take away my only moment of peace. the worst of my ghosts.
To steal my dreams. The fear. Twisting my insides.
Making shake my heart
Every night you come to me. Failure. sticking in my eyes like a million blades
Just to make me shake.
Just to make me have a temperature.
Only your memory puts me in jake.
 “Tale”
by Pablo Salamanca Foncubierta A2.B.
This unpleasant story happened to my family and me. It happened thirty years ago, in
my previous home in Seville. One Sunday of September, my parents and my little sister
had gone away to Rota (Cádiz) earlier in the morning; after my other sister and me had
left our home at eleven o’clock to meet our friends.

I was having some beers with my friends at the bar. At two o’clock I got back home, and
when I was coming to it, a neighbour warned me that he had seen some suspicious
people that were carrying many things, left the house next to mine and then they got into
a taxi.

When I went into my home and went up the stairs on the first floor, I found all the things
were disorganized. Then I thought while we were outside home those suspicious people
had stolen things from us.

I called the police and they said to us that we shouldn’t touch anything. The following
day the forensic police came and they were checking possible fingerprints on the objects;
they found out a fingerprint of one hand on the window. The police found out about the
fingerprint and they went to the thieves’ address, so luckily we recovered most of the
loot.
 “THE GRAND PRESENT”
by Mª Carmen Fernández B2.2.

At this time in which we are confined at home

due to an unexpected quarantine. Enjoy time with your unemployed friends and
relatives
At this time of serious financial difficulty despite the stopping economy.
due to a rapid economic paralysis.
Enjoy anonymous letters of encouragement
At this time of suffering a solitary illness despite the extremely infectious virus.
due to the sudden appearance of a highly
contagious virus. Enjoy researching for reliable answers
despite the inefficient System.
At this time of uncertainty
due to an ineffective policy by the Government. Enjoy the never-ending friendly video calls
Despite the death toll.
At this time of grief and distress
due to an impossibility to bury your relatives. Summarising, enjoy the grand present that is
LIFE.
Enjoy home doing things you could not do
before
despite the pandemic.
 “Persepolis”
This a quote from “Persepolis”, one of my favourite books.
This is some advice that Marjane Satrapi's grandmother
gave her when she was a child.
“In life you’ll meet a lot of jerks. If they hurt you, tell
yourself that it’s because they’re stupid. That will help you
from reacting to their cruelty. Because there is nothing worse
than bitterness and vengeance… Always keep your dignity
and be true to yourself ”.
María Rosa García Serrano
"A perfect union of contrary things"

"A perfect union of contrary things" is the book I am

reading currently. It's the biography of Maynard James
Keenan, an American singer and songwriter. He is the lead
singer and lead lyricist for the rock bands Tool and A Perfect
Circle. He also created Puscifer as a side project.

María Rosa García Serrano

 Rudyard Kipling
“If—”
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can make one heap of all your winnings
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
But make allowance for their doubting too; And lose, and start again at your beginnings
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, And never breathe a word about your loss;
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can dream—and not make dreams your
master; If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
And treat those two imposters just the same; If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken If you can fill the unforgiving minute
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, With sixty seconds' worth of distance run
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools; And—which is more—you'll be a Man my son!

Juan Noel Rodriguez B1G

 Albert Einstein
“The Crisis”
“Let’s not pretend that things will change if we keep doing the same things. A crisis can be a real
blessing to any person, to any nation. For all crises bring progress.
Creativity is born from anguish, just like the day is born form the dark night. It’s in crisis that
inventive is born, as well as discoveries, and big strategies. Who overcomes crisis, overcomes
himself, without getting overcome. Who blames his failure to a crisis neglects his own talent, and
is more respectful to problems than to solutions. Incompetence is the true crisis.
The greatest inconvenience of people and nations is the laziness with which they attempt to find
the solutions to their problems. There’s no challenge without a crisis.
Without challenges, life becomes a routine, a slow agony. There’s no merit without. It’s in crisis
where we can show the very best in us. Without a crisis, any wind becomes a tender touch. To
speak about a crisis is to promote it. Not to speak about it is to exalt conformism. Let us work hard
instead.

Let us stop, once and for all, the menacing crisis that represents the tragedy of not being willing to
overcome it”
Emilia Picón A2
 “The Canterville Ghost”
The story begins when Mr. Otis and his family decided
to move from America to England. They bought
Canterville Chase. Lord Canterville, the owner of the
house, tells Mr. Otis that the house is haunted but the
Otis family didn’t care and moved there.

The housekeeper was the only person who lives there

and she told them it was haunted and nobody spent
more than a night there.

The Canterville Ghost tried to scare them during the

night but they didn’t get it. The whole family made fun
of him, except Virginia, Mr. and Mrs. Otis’ daughter.
The Ghost decided to ask her for help so he could rest
in peace since it was said that he had murdered his
wife. The girl helped him and her family and the
Ghost’s family made a funeral to him and she put
flowers in his tomb. The Ghost could rest in peace.
Emilia Picón A2
 Gustavo Adolfo Becquer
RHYME XXI
What is poetry? say you, while you nail me

In my pupil your blue pupil,

That is poetry¡ And you ask me?

Poetry… it’s you

Juan Francisco Rosso Ramos A1 E

 Platero and me
(Translation)

Platero is a little donkey, furry, soft, so soft on the side, it would

be said it´s all cotton, which doesn’t
have bones.
I let it loose and it goes to the meadow, I call It sweetly, It comes
to me with a happy smile.
It eat when I give it food, it likes oranges, the muscat grapes all of
them amber.
It´s tender and cuddly just like a child, but it´s strong and dry
inside like stone, when I ride it on Sunday through the last alleys
of the Town.
The country men dressed clean, they look at it, It has steel, steel
and silver moon at the same time.
Manuela Aragon A2
 “A Hundred Years of Solitude”

“MANY YEARS LATER as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano

Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to
discover ice. At that time Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built
on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones,
which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs. The world was so recent
that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to
point. Every year during the month of March a family of ragged gypsies would
set up their tents near the village, and with a great uproar of pipes and
kettledrums they would display new inventions. First they brought the magnet. A
heavy gypsy with an untamed beard and sparrow hands, who introduced himself
as Melquíades, put on a bold public demonstration of what he himself called the
eighth wonder of the learned alchemists of Macedonia. He went from house to
house dragging two metal ingots and everybody was amazed to see pots, pans,
tongs, and braziers tumble down from their places and beams creak from the
desperation of nails and screws trying to emerge, and even objects that had been
lost for a long time appeared from where they had been searched for most and
went dragging along in turbulent confusion behind Melquíades magical irons.
Things have a life of their own, the gypsy proclaimed with a harsh accent. Its
simply a matter of waking up their souls.”
Juan José López Martín C1.1 B
Hanae Cheraoui A1 A