Mi foto
Nombre: Alforja Calasanz
Ubicación: Valencia, Malvarrosa, Spain

miércoles, abril 09, 2008

Los Escolapios de Guanabacoa

Fotos: Luis Bruzón
Revolución y Cultura; 2 (III - IV) 14 - 22

Colegio


Dibujo del conjunto arquitectónico
de los Escolapios
realizado en las primeras décadas del XX


Claustro antiguo del colegio




Galería superior




Claustro añadido al colegio
en el siglo XIX


Artesonado
El Convento se caracteriza
por la presencia mudejar
en la carpìntería



Etiquetas: , , , ,

8 Comments:

Blogger Conchita Bouza said...

He tomado una foto de su blog.

7:18 p. m.  
Blogger Conchita Bouza said...

Mis primeros estudios los
realice en el Colegio Maria
Auxiliadora en la barriada
de la Vibora Park. Recuerdo
el patio el colegio de Los
Escolapios de Guanabacoa.
Nuestro colegio era invitado
para asistir a las procesiones
que alli se efectuaban. Tengo
una foto de nuestro carro ale-
gorico. Era sencillo. Consistia
en una imagen de Maria Auxilia-
dora y angeles a su alrededor.
En la foto sale dos angelitos.
Uno es Rosmery y la otra yo.

2:05 p. m.  
Blogger Roberto Martinez said...

Fui un interno (pupilo) en este colegio de Guanabacoa. Indiscutiblemente uno de los mejores de Cuba. Cualquier deporte que te gustara, lo podias practicar, una disciplina extraordinaria, la ensenanza que impartian los sacerdotes y maestros era envidiable.La comida muy buena y sobre todo un cocina inmaculada.La limpieza de los dormitorios, increible. Siempre tendre en mi corazon estas bellas memorias.... Roberto Martinez

11:00 a. m.  
Blogger El Jigue said...

A todos

Preparando las memorias de mi famila "Love and War in Cuba."

Recuerdos a todos

Laurence Daley (Garcia-I~niguez)

daleyl@peak.org

12:46 p. m.  
Blogger Domingo said...

Recuerdo con gran carin-o, mis an-os de estudios en Los Escolapios, alli me gradue, de Perito Mercantil.Fueron muchos an-os de internado.Hasta, en una ocasion,pense, ingresar al seminario que alli habia.

2:23 p. m.  
Blogger El Jigue said...

My mother and sisters are in Havana. The Escolapios where my brother and I board during the school year slumbers in the warm summer sun behind its tall yellow outer walls of faraway Guanabacoa, Havana Province. There coming from their dens in the rafters the bats flit out in the evening as the tropical night came on dark on fast, and set about caching and eating mosquitos without bothersome boys who try to trap them, and force them to smoke cigarettes.
This evil deed was done by the most uncaring in the cruelty of the young student boarders. That evening as usual was warm, the air was as gentle and tepid as fresh milk. Insects were flying, moths as fluffy shadows, a few mosquitos buzzing in search of blood, perhaps a flight of winged male termites, chasing their queen.
Most a quiet boy who kept to himself observing, I saw that cruel sport only once. My vantage point was from under where a curved arch gave onto the early Twentieth Century “new cloister” entrance. I looked at the old 19th Century cloister.
To my left was the forbidden wide staircase which led up to the old Moorish style upper cloister and the cells where the priests slept and prayed. On the walls of the first level of the stair case and in part the first stair stage half way up, I could see paintings, large paintings, of saints or such. Details of these paintings, beyond figures in robes with halos on their tilted heads, their faces saintly, their hands in prayer escapes me now.
I look past the half doors of the dining hall into to the old cloister. In the center, in the open place, a patio of palms the giant rare Cuban cycads, tree ferns, hibiscus and the water of the little fountain was forward and to my right. Hung under the colonnade of sturdy simple columns were wooden rafters supporting the weight of the corridor above. To the left an off-white plain wall without windows but with framed photographs of old classes of students and the main entrance to the building, and forward at the end the long side of the church.
The poor animal was held down on the stone floor of that now centuries old part of the building. Then a lit cigarette was placed in its mouth, where the cigarettes came from I do not know because students there were forbidden to smoke, and we did not have common access to the streets of Guanabacoa.
The poor animal trying to breathe gasped and tried to gather oxygen for life, while it flopped about the lit cigarette in its mouth. Then an enraged priest emerged from somewhere, robes flapping as he ran forward shouting to the boys to stop. Perhaps he was the wounded Spanish Civil War Veteran, Father Masdiva, who had fought for the losing “Republican” left wing side. Perhaps he was the head master, the naturalist, the malacologist, the Reverend Modesto Galofré. For they were the most humane of all those Spanish priest at the school.
The boys saw the raging priest when he was almost by them. Now really frightened boys stopped messing with the bat, and crouched petrified in their places. The bat got free.
In my vague memory of the aftermath I recall a still frozen blurry image of a huddle of scared boys crouched on the stone flagstones, and a bat flying away in the dusk light. There would be some kind of punishment.
Yet there were other more serious evil doers beyond those cloister doors. Unknown to me the communists had been very busy in Guanabacoa, Havana and most of Cuba especially the Sierra Maestra; and most especially pertinent to me my extended family’s land. The organizer of all this was Fabio Grobart’s “agricultural reform” cadre leader Romárico Cordero Garcés.

Fragment from book in preparation "Love and War in Cuba."

Laurence Daley Garcia-I~niguez

Professor Emeritus

11:47 a. m.  
Blogger El Jigue said...

"My mother and sisters are in Havana. The Escolapios where my brother and I board during the school year slumbers in the warm summer sun behind its tall yellow outer walls of faraway Guanabacoa, Havana Province. There coming from their dens in the rafters the bats flit out in the evening as the tropical night came on dark on fast, and set about caching and eating mosquitos without bothersome boys who try to trap them, and force them to smoke cigarettes.
This evil deed was done by the most uncaring in the cruelty of the young student boarders. That evening as usual was warm, the air was as gentle and tepid as fresh milk. Insects were flying, moths as fluffy shadows, a few mosquitos buzzing in search of blood, perhaps a flight of winged male termites, chasing their queen.
Most a quiet boy who kept to himself observing, I saw that cruel sport only once. My vantage point was from under where a curved arch gave onto the early Twentieth Century “new cloister” entrance. I looked at the old 19th Century cloister.
To my left was the forbidden wide staircase which led up to the old Moorish style upper cloister and the cells where the priests slept and prayed. On the walls of the first level of the stair case and in part the first stair stage half way up, I could see paintings, large paintings, of saints or such. Details of these paintings, beyond figures in robes with halos on their tilted heads, their faces saintly, their hands in prayer escapes me now.
I look past the half doors of the dining hall into to the old cloister. In the center, in the open place, a patio of palms the giant rare Cuban cycads, tree ferns, hibiscus and the water of the little fountain was forward and to my right. Hung under the colonnade of sturdy simple columns were wooden rafters supporting the weight of the corridor above. To the left an off-white plain wall without windows but with framed photographs of old classes of students and the main entrance to the building, and forward at the end the long side of the church.
The poor animal was held down on the stone floor of that now centuries old part of the building. Then a lit cigarette was placed in its mouth, where the cigarettes came from I do not know because students there were forbidden to smoke, and we did not have common access to the streets of Guanabacoa.
The poor animal trying to breathe gasped and tried to gather oxygen for life, while it flopped about the lit cigarette in its mouth. Then an enraged priest emerged from somewhere, robes flapping as he ran forward shouting to the boys to stop. Perhaps he was the wounded Spanish Civil War Veteran, Father Masdiva, who had fought for the losing “Republican” left wing side. Perhaps he was the head master, the naturalist, the malacologist, the Reverend Modesto Galofré. For they were the most humane of all those Spanish priest at the school.
The boys saw the raging priest when he was almost by them. Now really frightened boys stopped messing with the bat, and crouched petrified in their places. The bat got free.
In my vague memory of the aftermath I recall a still frozen blurry image of a huddle of scared boys crouched on the stone flagstones, and a bat flying away in the dusk light. There would be some kind of punishment.
Yet there were other more serious evil doers beyond those cloister doors. Unknown to me the communists had been very busy in Guanabacoa, Havana and most of Cuba especially the Sierra Maestra; and most especially pertinent to me my extended family’s land. The organizer of all this was Fabio Grobart’s “agricultural reform” cadre leader Romárico Cordero Garcés. "

Fragment from book in progress "Love and War in Cuba"

Laurence Daley Garcia-I~niguez
Professor Emeritus

11:48 a. m.  
Blogger El Jigue said...

My mother and sisters are in Havana. The Escolapios where my brother and I board during the school year slumbers in the warm summer sun behind its tall yellow outer walls of faraway Guanabacoa, Havana Province. There coming from their dens in the rafters the bats flit out in the evening as the tropical night came on dark on fast, and set about caching and eating mosquitos without bothersome boys who try to trap them, and force them to smoke cigarettes.
This evil deed was done by the most uncaring in the cruelty of the young student boarders. That evening as usual was warm, the air was as gentle and tepid as fresh milk. Insects were flying, moths as fluffy shadows, a few mosquitos buzzing in search of blood, perhaps a flight of winged male termites, chasing their queen.
Most a quiet boy who kept to himself observing, I saw that cruel sport only once. My vantage point was from under where a curved arch gave onto the early Twentieth Century “new cloister” entrance. I looked at the old 19th Century cloister.
To my left was the forbidden wide staircase which led up to the old Moorish style upper cloister and the cells where the priests slept and prayed. On the walls of the first level of the stair case and in part the first stair stage half way up, I could see paintings, large paintings, of saints or such. Details of these paintings, beyond figures in robes with halos on their tilted heads, their faces saintly, their hands in prayer escapes me now.
I look past the half doors of the dining hall into to the old cloister. In the center, in the open place, a patio of palms the giant rare Cuban cycads, tree ferns, hibiscus and the water of the little fountain was forward and to my right. Hung under the colonnade of sturdy simple columns were wooden rafters supporting the weight of the corridor above. To the left an off-white plain wall without windows but with framed photographs of old classes of students and the main entrance to the building, and forward at the end the long side of the church.
The poor animal was held down on the stone floor of that now centuries old part of the building. Then a lit cigarette was placed in its mouth, where the cigarettes came from I do not know because students there were forbidden to smoke, and we did not have common access to the streets of Guanabacoa.
The poor animal trying to breathe gasped and tried to gather oxygen for life, while it flopped about the lit cigarette in its mouth. Then an enraged priest emerged from somewhere, robes flapping as he ran forward shouting to the boys to stop. Perhaps he was the wounded Spanish Civil War Veteran, Father Masdiva, who had fought for the losing “Republican” left wing side. Perhaps he was the head master, the naturalist, the malacologist, the Reverend Modesto Galofré. For they were the most humane of all those Spanish priest at the school.
The boys saw the raging priest when he was almost by them. Now really frightened boys stopped messing with the bat, and crouched petrified in their places. The bat got free.
In my vague memory of the aftermath I recall a still frozen blurry image of a huddle of scared boys crouched on the stone flagstones, and a bat flying away in the dusk light. There would be some kind of punishment.
Yet there were other more serious evil doers beyond those cloister doors. Unknown to me the communists had been very busy in Guanabacoa, Havana and most of Cuba especially the Sierra Maestra; and most especially pertinent to me my extended family’s land. The organizer of all this was Fabio Grobart’s “agricultural reform” cadre leader Romárico Cordero Garcés.

Fragment from book in preparation "Love and War in Cuba."

Laurence Daley Garcia-I~niguez

Professor Emeritus

11:49 a. m.  

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