Ramajes
sábado, 11 de octubre de 2014
viernes, 10 de octubre de 2014
jueves, 9 de octubre de 2014
Autumn en inglés
Leaves flying far away
covering my eyes
with dust
the sun shines
through the branches
black bag wandering
the click clack of my bike
the sound of the leaves
under my boots
orange, brown and blue
the wind in my face
the heat under my sweater
I run, I run away
my scarf ondeando like a cape
my scarf full of fall
covering my eyes
with dust
the sun shines
through the branches
black bag wandering
the click clack of my bike
the sound of the leaves
under my boots
orange, brown and blue
the wind in my face
the heat under my sweater
I run, I run away
my scarf ondeando like a cape
my scarf full of fall
miércoles, 8 de octubre de 2014
Spirits of the Dead
Spirits of the Dead
I
Thy soul shall find itself alone
’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone—
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
II
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness—for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee—and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
III
The night, tho’ clear, shall frown—
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given—
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
IV
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne’er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more—like dew-drop from the grass.
V
The breeze—the breath of God—is still—
And the mist upon the hill,
Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token—
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
miércoles, 13 de agosto de 2014
Frágil (idad)
Revisar las notas de mi diario
es como visitar el cementerio,
darle tres golpecitos a la lápida
y saludar,
como si la otra persona
(o las cenizas, o los huesos o los gusanos)
escucharan y entendieran
Hoy me encontré una tortuga (viva)
en el pasto
quería cruzar la calle
yo se lo impedía con mis pies
Crucé Beverly a toda velocidad
con una tortuga
en mi canasta
Qué absurdo suena todo
Lo escribo otra vez
Crucé dos avenidas y
quince cuadras
en mi bicicleta azul pastel
con una tortuga en
mi canasta de mimbre.
Qué volátil es todo
Cinco minutos después
de no querer despertar
y la tortuga habría acabado
debajo de un carro.
Qué frágil es todo
Qué frágil es escribirle esto
a alguien que ya no lee
a alguien que ya no es más que
huesos, cenizas y gusanos.
es como visitar el cementerio,
darle tres golpecitos a la lápida
y saludar,
como si la otra persona
(o las cenizas, o los huesos o los gusanos)
escucharan y entendieran
Hoy me encontré una tortuga (viva)
en el pasto
quería cruzar la calle
yo se lo impedía con mis pies
Crucé Beverly a toda velocidad
con una tortuga
en mi canasta
Qué absurdo suena todo
Lo escribo otra vez
Crucé dos avenidas y
quince cuadras
en mi bicicleta azul pastel
con una tortuga en
mi canasta de mimbre.
Qué volátil es todo
Cinco minutos después
de no querer despertar
y la tortuga habría acabado
debajo de un carro.
Qué frágil es todo
Qué frágil es escribirle esto
a alguien que ya no lee
a alguien que ya no es más que
huesos, cenizas y gusanos.
domingo, 10 de agosto de 2014
Nocturne
Nocturne
BY LOUISE GLÜCK
Mother died last night,
Mother who never dies.
Winter was in the air,
many months away
but in the air nevertheless.
It was the tenth of May.
Hyacinth and apple blossom
bloomed in the back garden.
We could hear
We could hear
Maria singing songs from Czechoslovakia —
How alone I am —
songs of that kind.
How alone I am,
How alone I am —
songs of that kind.
How alone I am,
no mother, no father —
my brain seems so empty without them.
Aromas drifted out of the earth;
the dishes were in the sink,
rinsed but not stacked.
Under the full moon
Maria was folding the washing;
the stiff sheets became
dry white rectangles of moonlight.
my brain seems so empty without them.
Aromas drifted out of the earth;
the dishes were in the sink,
rinsed but not stacked.
Under the full moon
Maria was folding the washing;
the stiff sheets became
dry white rectangles of moonlight.
How alone I am, but in music
my desolation is my rejoicing.
It was the tenth of May
as it had been the ninth, the eighth.
Mother slept in her bed,
her arms outstretched, her head
balanced between them.
my desolation is my rejoicing.
It was the tenth of May
as it had been the ninth, the eighth.
Mother slept in her bed,
her arms outstretched, her head
balanced between them.
Untranslatable.
Komorebi
"The sort of scattered, dapple light effect that happens when sunlight shines in through trees"
http://www.boredpanda.com/untranslatable-words-found-in-translation-anjana-iyer/
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