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Cronopios and Famas av Julio Cortázar
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Cronopios and Famas (urspr publ 1962; utgåvan 1999)

av Julio Cortázar (Författare)

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1,2102812,033 (4.09)7
Kronoper & famer [1962] r̃ ett av den latinamerikanske 1900-talsms̃taren Julio Cortz̀ars mest ls̃ta och l̃skade verk. I bokens fr̲sta del dissekeras en absurd blandning av aktiviteter och fr̲eml̄. Dr̃efter redogr̲ bert̃taren fr̲ de besattheter och bj̲elser som kñnetecknar hans familj. Men det r̃ frm̃st p ̄historierna om kronoperna och famerna som bokens berm̲melse vilar. Cortz̀ar lt̄er sina fantasifigurer framtrd̃a i en rad bisarra situationer. Med lekfullt djupsinne och absurd humor vṽer han trd̄ar ln̄gt in i de mñskliga egenheternas labyrinter. Denna utgv̄a avslutas med tre nytillkomna historier om kronoperna och famerna. Dessa hittades i en byrl̄d̄a av Cortz̀ars ñka efter hans dd̲ och gr̲s hr̃ fr̲ fr̲sta gn̄gen tillgñgliga p ̄svenska i bokform. I v̲erst̃tning av Karin Sjs̲trand. Dessa absurda sm ̄historier r̃ om mj̲ligt ñnu underbarare ñ jag kunnat fr̲estl̃la mig. Fr̲ hr̃ stl̃ls inte bara verkligheten p ̄sin spets. Hr̃ frm̃mandegr̲s den, och dr̃med mñniskan sjl̃v, ñda in i sina grundvalar, och t̄eruppstr̄ dr̃med i en skinande ny dager. Det r̃ naturligtvis mycket oroande men ocks ̄fasansfullt roligt. Det r̃ faktiskt obeskrivligt befriande.± JENNY H GSTR M, HELSINGBORGS DAGBLAD Att ls̃a Cortz̀ar r̃ att, samtidigt man skrattar sig halvt fr̲dr̃vad, fyllas av den upplyftande och leende insikten att litteraturen fr̲mr̄ gr̲a allting nytt. Har man ñnu inte stiftat bekantskap med detta egensinniga fr̲fattarskap finns nu ett gyllene tillfl̃le. S ̄jag kapitulerar, sg̃er helt enkelt: ls̃ den...± JOHN SJ GREN, UPPSALA NYA TIDNING Det r̃ korta, roliga, underfundiga och helt vansinnigt absurda texter, egentligen omj̲liga att referera. Hr̃ stl̃ls p ̄fr̲fattarens typiska vis allt p ̄huvudet...± MATS GELLERFELT, SVENSKA DAGBLADET Cortz̀ar brñner av hela sitt fantasifulla fyrverkeri i dessa udda bert̃telser. Hans korta texter, helst 1-2 sidor, kan intas som medicin mot det trk̄iga, mot det okultiverade utan att det snobbiga tillt̄s st̃ta ned sina vl̃putsade skor. Det r̃ ett st̃t att tñka p ̄som gr̲ att du som ls̃are ms̄te hl̄la dig alert: beln̲ingen r̃ en str̲re, rikare vr̃ld.± BJ RN KOHLSTR M, BERNUR Cortz̉ar tar sn̲der bert̃telser, vinner ny mark och raserar t̄er, just fr̲ att uppn ̄raserandets uppfriskande eufori. Man skrattar. Man fr̲sk̲er komma bakom kulisserna och inser snart vad man gt̄t miste om i den anvñdbara fr̲mḡan att kunna se bortom det nr̃varande i denna fr̲dunklade vr̃ld.± BENNY HOLMBERG, TIDNINGEN KULTUREN [Publit]… (mer)
Medlem:RaiseHigh
Titel:Cronopios and Famas
Författare:Julio Cortázar (Författare)
Info:New Directions (1999), 162 pages
Samlingar:Ditt bibliotek
Betyg:
Taggar:Ingen/inga

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Kronoper & famer : historier av Julio Cortázar (1962)

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» Se även 7 omnämnanden

engelska (14)  spanska (11)  italienska (2)  franska (1)  Alla språk (28)
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> Cronopes et Fameux de Julio Cortázar (traduit par Laure Guille-Bataillon. Gallimard)
Se reporter au compte rendu de Chantal LABRE
In: Revue Esprit (1940-) No. 6 (6) (Juin 1977), pp. 130-132… ; (en ligne),
URL : https://esprit.presse.fr/article/labre-chantal/cronopes-et-fameux-par-julio-cort...
  Joop-le-philosophe | Sep 26, 2020 |
I bought this because I couldn't make sense of it in the bookstore and wanted to take it home. I still couldn't make sense of it! But I liked the title story a lot and will keep it kicking around, oh well. ( )
  uncleflannery | May 16, 2020 |
Cortázar se lee de corrido, pero merece releerse. Si bien es un libro pequeño en tamaño, no deja de ser una obra rica en imágenes, en ideas y en lentes para ver lo asombroso en lo cotidiano.

Cortázar tiene aún mucho que enseñarme, y no precisamente porque yo sea ignorante. Más bien es como ese himno: «estaba ciego pero ahora puedo ver». Algo así me pasa cuando leo con calma y cuidado a Cortázar. ( )
  andycyca | Aug 6, 2019 |


My piñata is overflowing! Julio, your Cronopios are driving me crazy!

Read Julio Cortázar! Transform the gray matter of your brain into a sparkling piñata, especially when reading Julio’s Cronopios and Famas, an assortment of dozens of the most micro of micro-fictions. And not only read, but let your piñata burst with streams of words, glittery, twinkling, flashing -- let your reading of each mini serve as a call to respond, yes, yes, you respond with your own shinny micro.

“Give us an example,” says a tiny Cronopio.

“Most certainly,” I reply, as I take the shape of a Fama. “Here are two plus two.”

INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO SING (Julio’s)
Begin by breaking all the mirrors of the house, let your arms fall to your side, gaze vacantly at the wall, forget yourself. Sing one singe note, listen to it from inside. If you hear (but this will happen much later) something like a landscape overwhelmed with dread, bonfires between the rocks with squatting half-naked silhouettes, I think you’ll be well on your way, and the same if you hear a river, boats painted yellow and black are coming down it, if you hear the smell of fresh bread, the shadow of a horse.

Afterwards, buy a manual of voice instruction and a dress jacket, and please, don’t sing through your nose and leave poor Schumann at peace.

THE SPEECH (mine)
I’m a guest speaker at a banquet. I start delivering my speech. Judging from the audience’s response, not a word of what I say is being understood. I try speaking louder. No luck. I try speaking slower. Once again, not a single word is being understood. I resort to simply moving my lips. The audience sits up and begins to understand. I stop moving my lips and start waving my arms. Everyone nods their head in approval. I stop waving my arms and simply stand there. I receive a round of applause. I remove my eyes, nose and mouth and tuck them in my pants pocket. The audience moves toward the podium – I can hear them – and each member takes a turn embracing me. “We’ve never seen such a speaker,” a deep voice intones. I wiggle my ears as a way of saying thank you. “Really, he utters, “you’ve said enough already.



STORY (Julio’s)
A small cronopto was looking for the key to the street door on the night table, the night table in the bedroom, the bedroom in the house, the house in the street. Here the cronopio pauses for to go into the street, he needed the key to the door.

HEAD GAMES (mine)
I woke up, head on the pillow but not anything else. I mean to say that there wasn’t any body attached; I was only head, nothing but head. I turned my head, my only me, and saw one of my arms, the left one, I think, on the bureau and my scrotum hanging on my clothes-tree. I turned my head the other way. My toes rested like ten pale Brazil nuts on the windowsill, the cheeks of my buttocks on the floor, a calf and knee poking out of the pants I threw over a chair last night. I looked up at the ceiling. More of the same: my neck, another leg, thumbs, and, yes, my penis, all dangle from the light cord.



By the time I gather myself together and I’m back in one piece, I’m really running late. I open my bedroom door and the rooms of my house and the rest of the neighborhood are scattered on a wide, grassy plain. Now I know I’m really going to be late.

THERAPIES ( Julio's)
A cronopio receives his medical degree and opens a practice in the calle Santiago del Estero. A patient arrives almost immediately and tells him how there are places that ache and how there are places that ache and how he doesn't sleep at night and eats nothing during the day.

--Buy a large bouquet of roses, the cronopio tells him.

The patient leaves, somewhat surprised, but he buys the bouquet and is instantly cured. Bursting with gratitude, he returns to the cronopio and not only plays him but, as a delicate testimonial, he presents him with the gift of a handsome bouquet of roses. He has hardly left the office when the cronopio falls ill, aches all over, can't sleep at night, and eats nothing during the day.



STRIKE UP THE BAND (mine)
Town doctors these days use band instruments for a surgical operation -- implanting brass from trombone, tuba and trumpet to replace stomach, liver and intestines.

In the recovery room, its time to strike up the band. Breakfast sounds like John Philip Sousa. Nurses wave flags, visitors toss confetti and the patient in the bed by the wall, who has been bedridden for over a month, gets up and starts marching around the room.

TURTLES AND CRONOPIOS (Julio’s)
Now it happens that turtles are great speed enthusiasts, which is natural.

The esperanzas know that and don’t bother about it.

The famas know it, and make fun of it.

The cronopios know it, and each time they meet a turtle, they haul out the box of colored chalks, and on the rounded blackboard of the turtle’s shell they draw a swallow.

FROG KITES (mine)
On sunny Sundays, Billy Boy fills his bullfrogs with helium and uses them for kites. The largest frogs he flies with a piece of cloth tied to one frog leg and string to the other.

For the smaller ones, he uses four pieces of balsa wood to stick two frogs together to make a box kite. The frogs can’t croak since Billy seals their mouths closed.

By passing gas, however, the frogs eventually run out of helium and glide back to earth slowly, trying to avoid tires of trucks and beaks of storks – and Billy, that naughty boy with his pathological knack for constructing frog kites.

( )
  Glenn_Russell | Nov 13, 2018 |


My piñata is overflowing! Julio, your Cronopios are driving me crazy!

Reading Julio Cortázar? Transform the gray matter of your brain into a sparkling piñata, especially when reading Julio’s Cronopios and Famas, an assortment of dozens of the most micro of micro-fictions. And not only read, but let your piñata burst with streams of words, glittery, twinkling, flashing -- let your reading of each mini serve as a call to respond, yes, yes, you respond with your own shinny micro.

“Give us an example,” says a tiny Cronopio.

“Most certainly,” I reply, as I take the shape of a Fama. “Here are two plus two.”

INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO SING (Julio’s)

Begin by breaking all the mirrors of the house, let your arms fall to your side, gaze vacantly at the wall, forget yourself. Sing one singe note, listen to it from inside. If you hear (but this will happen much later) something like a landscape overwhelmed with dread, bonfires between the rocks with squatting half-naked silhouettes, I think you’ll be well on your way, and the same if you hear a river, boats painted yellow and black are coming down it, if you hear the smell of fresh bread, the shadow of a horse.

Afterwards, buy a manual of voice instruction and a dress jacket, and please, don’t sing through your nose and leave poor Schumann at peace.

THE SPEECH (mine)

I’m a guest speaker at a banquet. I start delivering my speech. Judging from the audience’s response, not a word of what I say is being understood. I try speaking louder. No luck. I try speaking slower. Once again, not a single word is being understood. I resort to simply moving my lips. The audience sits up and begins to understand. I stop moving my lips and start waving my arms. Everyone nods their head in approval. I stop waving my arms and simply stand there. I receive a round of applause. I remove my eyes, nose and mouth and tuck them in my pants pocket. The audience moves toward the podium – I can hear them – and each member takes a turn embracing me. “We’ve never seen such a speaker,” a deep voice intones. I wiggle my ears as a way of saying thank you. “Really, he utters, “you’ve said enough already.


STORY (Julio’s)

A small cronopto was looking for the key to the street door on the night table, the night table in the bedroom, the bedroom in the house, the house in the street. Here the cronopio pauses for to go into the street, he needed the key to the door.

HEAD GAMES (mine)

I woke up, head on the pillow but not anything else. I mean to say that there wasn’t any body attached; I was only head, nothing but head. I turned my head, my only me, and saw one of my arms, the left one, I think, on the bureau and my scrotum hanging on my clothes-tree. I turned my head the other way. My toes rested like ten pale Brazil nuts on the windowsill, the cheeks of my buttocks on the floor, a calf and knee poking out of the pants I threw over a chair last night. I looked up at the ceiling. More of the same: my neck, another leg, thumbs, and, yes, my penis, all dangle from the light cord.


By the time I gather myself together and I’m back in one piece, I’m really running late. I open my bedroom door and the rooms of my house and the rest of the neighborhood are scattered on a wide, grassy plain. Now I know I’m really going to be late.

THERAPIES ( Julio's)

A cronopio receives his medical degree and opens a practice in the calle Santiago del Estero. A patient arrives almost immediately and tells him how there are places that ache and how there are places that ache and how he doesn't sleep at night and eats nothing during the day.

--Buy a large bouquet of roses, the cronopio tells him.

The patient leaves, somewhat surprised, but he buys the bouquet and is instantly cured. Bursting with gratitude, he returns to the cronopio and not only plays him but, as a delicate testimonial, he presents him with the gift of a handsome bouquet of roses. He has hardly left the office when the cronopio falls ill, aches all over, can't sleep at night, and eats nothing during the day.


STRIKE UP THE BAND (mine)

Town doctors these days use band instruments for a surgical operation -- implanting brass from trombone, tuba and trumpet to replace stomach, liver and intestines.

In the recovery room, its time to strike up the band. Breakfast sounds like John Philip Sousa. Nurses wave flags, visitors toss confetti and the patient in the bed by the wall, who has been bedridden for over a month, gets up and starts marching around the room.

Turtles and Cronopios (Julio’s)

Now it happens that turtles are great speed enthusiasts, which is natural.

The esperanzas know that and don’t bother about it.

The famas know it, and make fun of it.

The cronopios know it, and each time they meet a turtle, they haul out the box of colored chalks, and on the rounded blackboard of the turtle’s shell they draw a swallow.

Frog Kites (mine)

On sunny Sundays, Billy Boy fills his bullfrogs with helium and uses them for kites. The largest frogs he flies with a piece of cloth tied to one frog leg and string to the other.

For the smaller ones, he uses four pieces of balsa wood to stick two frogs together to make a box kite. The frogs can’t croak since Billy seals their mouths closed.

By passing gas, however, the frogs eventually run out of helium and glide back to earth slowly, trying to avoid tires of trucks and beaks of storks – and Billy, that naughty boy with his pathological knack for constructing frog kites.







( )
  GlennRussell | Feb 16, 2017 |
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Författarens namnRollTyp av författareVerk?Status
Julio Cortázarprimär författarealla utgåvorberäknat
Blackburn, PaulÖversättaremedförfattarevissa utgåvorbekräftat
Praag, J.A. vanÖversättaremedförfattarevissa utgåvorbekräftat
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Kronoper & famer [1962] r̃ ett av den latinamerikanske 1900-talsms̃taren Julio Cortz̀ars mest ls̃ta och l̃skade verk. I bokens fr̲sta del dissekeras en absurd blandning av aktiviteter och fr̲eml̄. Dr̃efter redogr̲ bert̃taren fr̲ de besattheter och bj̲elser som kñnetecknar hans familj. Men det r̃ frm̃st p ̄historierna om kronoperna och famerna som bokens berm̲melse vilar. Cortz̀ar lt̄er sina fantasifigurer framtrd̃a i en rad bisarra situationer. Med lekfullt djupsinne och absurd humor vṽer han trd̄ar ln̄gt in i de mñskliga egenheternas labyrinter. Denna utgv̄a avslutas med tre nytillkomna historier om kronoperna och famerna. Dessa hittades i en byrl̄d̄a av Cortz̀ars ñka efter hans dd̲ och gr̲s hr̃ fr̲ fr̲sta gn̄gen tillgñgliga p ̄svenska i bokform. I v̲erst̃tning av Karin Sjs̲trand. Dessa absurda sm ̄historier r̃ om mj̲ligt ñnu underbarare ñ jag kunnat fr̲estl̃la mig. Fr̲ hr̃ stl̃ls inte bara verkligheten p ̄sin spets. Hr̃ frm̃mandegr̲s den, och dr̃med mñniskan sjl̃v, ñda in i sina grundvalar, och t̄eruppstr̄ dr̃med i en skinande ny dager. Det r̃ naturligtvis mycket oroande men ocks ̄fasansfullt roligt. Det r̃ faktiskt obeskrivligt befriande.± JENNY H GSTR M, HELSINGBORGS DAGBLAD Att ls̃a Cortz̀ar r̃ att, samtidigt man skrattar sig halvt fr̲dr̃vad, fyllas av den upplyftande och leende insikten att litteraturen fr̲mr̄ gr̲a allting nytt. Har man ñnu inte stiftat bekantskap med detta egensinniga fr̲fattarskap finns nu ett gyllene tillfl̃le. S ̄jag kapitulerar, sg̃er helt enkelt: ls̃ den...± JOHN SJ GREN, UPPSALA NYA TIDNING Det r̃ korta, roliga, underfundiga och helt vansinnigt absurda texter, egentligen omj̲liga att referera. Hr̃ stl̃ls p ̄fr̲fattarens typiska vis allt p ̄huvudet...± MATS GELLERFELT, SVENSKA DAGBLADET Cortz̀ar brñner av hela sitt fantasifulla fyrverkeri i dessa udda bert̃telser. Hans korta texter, helst 1-2 sidor, kan intas som medicin mot det trk̄iga, mot det okultiverade utan att det snobbiga tillt̄s st̃ta ned sina vl̃putsade skor. Det r̃ ett st̃t att tñka p ̄som gr̲ att du som ls̃are ms̄te hl̄la dig alert: beln̲ingen r̃ en str̲re, rikare vr̃ld.± BJ RN KOHLSTR M, BERNUR Cortz̉ar tar sn̲der bert̃telser, vinner ny mark och raserar t̄er, just fr̲ att uppn ̄raserandets uppfriskande eufori. Man skrattar. Man fr̲sk̲er komma bakom kulisserna och inser snart vad man gt̄t miste om i den anvñdbara fr̲mḡan att kunna se bortom det nr̃varande i denna fr̲dunklade vr̃ld.± BENNY HOLMBERG, TIDNINGEN KULTUREN [Publit]

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