martes, 28 de febrero de 2012
lunes, 27 de febrero de 2012
A Song Of Joys - Walt Whitman
A Song Of Joys
O to make the most jubilant poem!
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death.
O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments! full of grain and trees.
O for the voices of animals! O for the swiftness and balance of
fishes!
O for the dropping of rain-drops in a poem!
O for the sunshine, and motion of waves in a poem.
O the joy of my spirit! it is uncaged! it darts like lightning!
It is not enough to have this globe, or a certain time--I will have
thousands of globes, and all time.
O the engineer's joys! 10
To go with a locomotive!
To hear the hiss of steam--the merry shriek--the steam-whistle--the
laughing locomotive!
To push with resistless way, and speed off in the distance.
O the gleesome saunter over fields and hill-sides!
The leaves and flowers of the commonest weeds--the moist fresh
stillness of the woods,
The exquisite smell of the earth at day-break, and all through the
forenoon.
O the horseman's and horsewoman's joys!
The saddle--the gallop--the pressure upon the seat--the cool gurgling
by the ears and hair.
O the fireman's joys!
I hear the alarm at dead of night, 20
I hear bells--shouts!--I pass the crowd--I run!
The sight of the flames maddens me with pleasure.
O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering in the arena, in
perfect condition, conscious of power, thirsting to meet his
opponent.
O the joy of that vast elemental sympathy which only the human Soul
is capable of generating and emitting in steady and limitless
floods.
O the mother's joys!
The watching--the endurance--the precious love--the anguish--the
patiently yielded life.
O the joy of increase, growth, recuperation;
The joy of soothing and pacifying--the joy of concord and harmony.
O to go back to the place where I was born!
To hear the birds sing once more! 30
To ramble about the house and barn, and over the fields, once more,
And through the orchard and along the old lanes once more.
O male and female!
O the presence of women! (I swear there is nothing more exquisite to
me than the mere presence of women;)
O for the girl, my mate! O for the happiness with my mate!
O the young man as I pass! O I am sick after the friendship of him
who, I fear, is indifferent to me.
O the streets of cities!
The flitting faces--the expressions, eyes, feet, costumes! O I cannot
tell how welcome they are to me.
O to have been brought up on bays, lagoons, creeks, or along the
coast!
O to continue and be employ'd there all my life! 40
O the briny and damp smell--the shore--the salt weeds exposed at low
water,
The work of fishermen--the work of the eel-fisher and clam-fisher.
O it is I!
I come with my clam-rake and spade! I come with my eel-spear;
Is the tide out? I join the group of clam-diggers on the flats,
I laugh and work with them--I joke at my work, like a mettlesome
young man.
In winter I take my eel-basket and eel-spear and travel out on foot
on the ice--I have a small axe to cut holes in the ice;
Behold me, well-clothed, going gaily, or returning in the afternoon--
my brood of tough boys accompaning me,
My brood of grown and part-grown boys, who love to be with no one
else so well as they love to be with me,
By day to work with me, and by night to sleep with me. 50
Or, another time, in warm weather, out in a boat, to lift the
lobster-pots, where they are sunk with heavy stones, (I know
the buoys;)
O the sweetness of the Fifth-month morning upon the water, as I row,
just before sunrise, toward the buoys;
I pull the wicker pots up slantingly--the dark-green lobsters are
desperate with their claws, as I take them out--I insert wooden
pegs in the joints of their pincers,
I go to all the places, one after another, and then row back to the
shore,
There, in a huge kettle of boiling water, the lobsters shall be
boil'd till their color becomes scarlet.
Or, another time, mackerel-taking,
Voracious, mad for the hook, near the surface, they seem to fill the
water for miles:
Or, another time, fishing for rock-fish, in Chesapeake Bay--I one of
the brown-faced crew:
Or, another time, trailing for blue-fish off Paumanok, I stand with
braced body,
My left foot is on the gunwale--my right arm throws the coils of
slender rope, 60
In sight around me the quick veering and darting of fifty skiffs, my
companions.
O boating on the rivers!
The voyage down the Niagara, (the St. Lawrence,)--the superb
scenery--the steamers,
The ships sailing--the Thousand Islands--the occasional timber-raft,
and the raftsmen with long-reaching sweep-oars,
The little huts on the rafts, and the stream of smoke when they cook
their supper at evening.
O something pernicious and dread!
Something far away from a puny and pious life!
Something unproved! Something in a trance!
Something escaped from the anchorage, and driving free.
O to work in mines, or forging iron! 70
Foundry casting--the foundry itself--the rude high roof--the ample
and shadow'd space,
The furnace--the hot liquid pour'd out and running.
O to resume the joys of the soldier:
To feel the presence of a brave general! to feel his sympathy!
To behold his calmness! to be warm'd in the rays of his smile!
To go to battle! to hear the bugles play, and the drums beat!
To hear the crash of artillery! to see the glittering of the bayonets
and musket-barrels in the sun!
To see men fall and die, and not complain!
To taste the savage taste of blood! to be so devilish!
To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy. 80
O the whaleman's joys! O I cruise my old cruise again!
I feel the ship's motion under me--I feel the Atlantic breezes
fanning me,
I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head--There--she blows!
--Again I spring up the rigging, to look with the rest--We see--we
descend, wild with excitement,
I leap in the lower'd boat--We row toward our prey, where he lies,
We approach, stealthy and silent--I see the mountainous mass,
lethargic, basking,
I see the harpooneer standing up--I see the weapon dart from his
vigorous arm:
O swift, again, now, far out in the ocean, the wounded whale,
settling, running to windward, tows me;
--Again I see him rise to breathe--We row close again,
I see a lance driven through his side, press'd deep, turn'd in the
wound, 90
Again we back off--I see him settle again--the life is leaving him
fast,
As he rises, he spouts blood--I see him swim in circles narrower and
narrower, swiftly cutting the water--I see him die;
He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle, and then
falls flat and still in the bloody foam.
O the old manhood of me, my joy!
My children and grand-children--my white hair and beard,
My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long stretch of my life.
O the ripen'd joy of womanhood!
O perfect happiness at last!
I am more than eighty years of age--my hair, too, is pure white--I am
the most venerable mother;
How clear is my mind! how all people draw nigh to me! 100
What attractions are these, beyond any before? what bloom, more than
the bloom of youth?
What beauty is this that descends upon me, and rises out of me?
O the orator's joys!
To inflate the chest--to roll the thunder of the voice out from the
ribs and throat,
To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with yourself,
To lead America--to quell America with a great tongue.
O the joy of my soul leaning pois'd on itself--receiving identity
through materials, and loving them--observing characters, and
absorbing them;
O my soul, vibrated back to me, from them--from facts, sight,
hearing, touch, my phrenology, reason, articulation,
comparison, memory, and the like;
The real life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and
flesh;
My body, done with materials--my sight, done with my material
eyes; 110
Proved to me this day, beyond cavil, that it is not my material
eyes which finally see,
Nor my material body which finally loves, walks, laughs, shouts,
embraces, procreates.
O the farmer's joys!
Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese', Kanadian's, Iowan's,
Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese' joys;
To rise at peep of day, and pass forth nimbly to work,
To plow land in the fall for winter-sown crops,
To plough land in the spring for maize,
To train orchards--to graft the trees--to gather apples in the fall.
O the pleasure with trees!
The orchard--the forest--the oak, cedar, pine, pekan-tree, 120
The honey-locust, black-walnut, cottonwood, and magnolia.
O Death! the voyage of Death!
The beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing a few moments,
for reasons;
Myself, discharging my excrementitious body, to be burn'd, or
render'd to powder, or buried,
My real body doubtless left to me for other spheres,
My voided body, nothing more to me, returning to the purifications,
further offices, eternal uses of the earth.
O to bathe in the swimming-bath, or in a good place along shore!
To splash the water! to walk ankle-deep--to race naked along the
shore.
O to realize space!
The plenteousness of all--that there are no bounds; 130
To emerge, and be of the sky--of the sun and moon, and the flying
clouds, as one with them.
O the joy of a manly self-hood!
Personality--to be servile to none--to defer to none--not to any
tyrant, known or unknown,
To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic,
To look with calm gaze, or with a flashing eye,
To speak with a full and sonorous voice, out of a broad chest,
To confront with your personality all the other personalities of the
earth.
Know'st thou the excellent joys of youth?
Joys of the dear companions, and of the merry word, and laughing
face?
Joys of the glad, light-beaming day--joy of the wide-breath'd
games? 140
Joy of sweet music--joy of the lighted ball-room, and the dancers?
Joy of the friendly, plenteous dinner--the strong carouse, and
drinking?
Yet, O my soul supreme!
Know'st thou the joys of pensive thought?
Joys of the free and lonesome heart--the tender, gloomy heart?
Joy of the solitary walk--the spirit bowed yet proud--the suffering
and the struggle?
The agonistic throes, the extasies--joys of the solemn musings, day
or night?
Joys of the thought of Death--the great spheres Time and Space?
Prophetic joys of better, loftier love's ideals--the Divine Wife--the
sweet, eternal, perfect Comrade?
Joys all thine own, undying one--joys worthy thee, O Soul. 150
O, while I live, to be the ruler of life--not a slave,
To meet life as a powerful conqueror,
No fumes--no ennui--no more complaints, or scornful criticisms.
O me repellent and ugly!
To these proud laws of the air, the water, and the ground, proving my
interior Soul impregnable,
And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me.
O to attract by more than attraction!
How it is I know not--yet behold! the something which obeys none of
the rest,
It is offensive, never defensive--yet how magnetic it draws.
O joy of suffering! 160
To struggle against great odds! to meet enemies undaunted!
To be entirely alone with them! to find how much one can stand!
To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, death, face to face!
To mount the scaffold! to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect
nonchalance!
To be indeed a God!
O, to sail to sea in a ship!
To leave this steady, unendurable land!
To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the
houses;
To leave you, O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship,
To sail, and sail, and sail! 170
O to have my life henceforth a poem of new joys!
To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on,
To be a sailor of the world, bound for all ports,
A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,)
A swift and swelling ship, full of rich words--full of joys.
Walt Whitman
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death.
O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments! full of grain and trees.
O for the voices of animals! O for the swiftness and balance of
fishes!
O for the dropping of rain-drops in a poem!
O for the sunshine, and motion of waves in a poem.
O the joy of my spirit! it is uncaged! it darts like lightning!
It is not enough to have this globe, or a certain time--I will have
thousands of globes, and all time.
O the engineer's joys! 10
To go with a locomotive!
To hear the hiss of steam--the merry shriek--the steam-whistle--the
laughing locomotive!
To push with resistless way, and speed off in the distance.
O the gleesome saunter over fields and hill-sides!
The leaves and flowers of the commonest weeds--the moist fresh
stillness of the woods,
The exquisite smell of the earth at day-break, and all through the
forenoon.
O the horseman's and horsewoman's joys!
The saddle--the gallop--the pressure upon the seat--the cool gurgling
by the ears and hair.
O the fireman's joys!
I hear the alarm at dead of night, 20
I hear bells--shouts!--I pass the crowd--I run!
The sight of the flames maddens me with pleasure.
O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering in the arena, in
perfect condition, conscious of power, thirsting to meet his
opponent.
O the joy of that vast elemental sympathy which only the human Soul
is capable of generating and emitting in steady and limitless
floods.
O the mother's joys!
The watching--the endurance--the precious love--the anguish--the
patiently yielded life.
O the joy of increase, growth, recuperation;
The joy of soothing and pacifying--the joy of concord and harmony.
O to go back to the place where I was born!
To hear the birds sing once more! 30
To ramble about the house and barn, and over the fields, once more,
And through the orchard and along the old lanes once more.
O male and female!
O the presence of women! (I swear there is nothing more exquisite to
me than the mere presence of women;)
O for the girl, my mate! O for the happiness with my mate!
O the young man as I pass! O I am sick after the friendship of him
who, I fear, is indifferent to me.
O the streets of cities!
The flitting faces--the expressions, eyes, feet, costumes! O I cannot
tell how welcome they are to me.
O to have been brought up on bays, lagoons, creeks, or along the
coast!
O to continue and be employ'd there all my life! 40
O the briny and damp smell--the shore--the salt weeds exposed at low
water,
The work of fishermen--the work of the eel-fisher and clam-fisher.
O it is I!
I come with my clam-rake and spade! I come with my eel-spear;
Is the tide out? I join the group of clam-diggers on the flats,
I laugh and work with them--I joke at my work, like a mettlesome
young man.
In winter I take my eel-basket and eel-spear and travel out on foot
on the ice--I have a small axe to cut holes in the ice;
Behold me, well-clothed, going gaily, or returning in the afternoon--
my brood of tough boys accompaning me,
My brood of grown and part-grown boys, who love to be with no one
else so well as they love to be with me,
By day to work with me, and by night to sleep with me. 50
Or, another time, in warm weather, out in a boat, to lift the
lobster-pots, where they are sunk with heavy stones, (I know
the buoys;)
O the sweetness of the Fifth-month morning upon the water, as I row,
just before sunrise, toward the buoys;
I pull the wicker pots up slantingly--the dark-green lobsters are
desperate with their claws, as I take them out--I insert wooden
pegs in the joints of their pincers,
I go to all the places, one after another, and then row back to the
shore,
There, in a huge kettle of boiling water, the lobsters shall be
boil'd till their color becomes scarlet.
Or, another time, mackerel-taking,
Voracious, mad for the hook, near the surface, they seem to fill the
water for miles:
Or, another time, fishing for rock-fish, in Chesapeake Bay--I one of
the brown-faced crew:
Or, another time, trailing for blue-fish off Paumanok, I stand with
braced body,
My left foot is on the gunwale--my right arm throws the coils of
slender rope, 60
In sight around me the quick veering and darting of fifty skiffs, my
companions.
O boating on the rivers!
The voyage down the Niagara, (the St. Lawrence,)--the superb
scenery--the steamers,
The ships sailing--the Thousand Islands--the occasional timber-raft,
and the raftsmen with long-reaching sweep-oars,
The little huts on the rafts, and the stream of smoke when they cook
their supper at evening.
O something pernicious and dread!
Something far away from a puny and pious life!
Something unproved! Something in a trance!
Something escaped from the anchorage, and driving free.
O to work in mines, or forging iron! 70
Foundry casting--the foundry itself--the rude high roof--the ample
and shadow'd space,
The furnace--the hot liquid pour'd out and running.
O to resume the joys of the soldier:
To feel the presence of a brave general! to feel his sympathy!
To behold his calmness! to be warm'd in the rays of his smile!
To go to battle! to hear the bugles play, and the drums beat!
To hear the crash of artillery! to see the glittering of the bayonets
and musket-barrels in the sun!
To see men fall and die, and not complain!
To taste the savage taste of blood! to be so devilish!
To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy. 80
O the whaleman's joys! O I cruise my old cruise again!
I feel the ship's motion under me--I feel the Atlantic breezes
fanning me,
I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head--There--she blows!
--Again I spring up the rigging, to look with the rest--We see--we
descend, wild with excitement,
I leap in the lower'd boat--We row toward our prey, where he lies,
We approach, stealthy and silent--I see the mountainous mass,
lethargic, basking,
I see the harpooneer standing up--I see the weapon dart from his
vigorous arm:
O swift, again, now, far out in the ocean, the wounded whale,
settling, running to windward, tows me;
--Again I see him rise to breathe--We row close again,
I see a lance driven through his side, press'd deep, turn'd in the
wound, 90
Again we back off--I see him settle again--the life is leaving him
fast,
As he rises, he spouts blood--I see him swim in circles narrower and
narrower, swiftly cutting the water--I see him die;
He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle, and then
falls flat and still in the bloody foam.
O the old manhood of me, my joy!
My children and grand-children--my white hair and beard,
My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long stretch of my life.
O the ripen'd joy of womanhood!
O perfect happiness at last!
I am more than eighty years of age--my hair, too, is pure white--I am
the most venerable mother;
How clear is my mind! how all people draw nigh to me! 100
What attractions are these, beyond any before? what bloom, more than
the bloom of youth?
What beauty is this that descends upon me, and rises out of me?
O the orator's joys!
To inflate the chest--to roll the thunder of the voice out from the
ribs and throat,
To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with yourself,
To lead America--to quell America with a great tongue.
O the joy of my soul leaning pois'd on itself--receiving identity
through materials, and loving them--observing characters, and
absorbing them;
O my soul, vibrated back to me, from them--from facts, sight,
hearing, touch, my phrenology, reason, articulation,
comparison, memory, and the like;
The real life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and
flesh;
My body, done with materials--my sight, done with my material
eyes; 110
Proved to me this day, beyond cavil, that it is not my material
eyes which finally see,
Nor my material body which finally loves, walks, laughs, shouts,
embraces, procreates.
O the farmer's joys!
Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese', Kanadian's, Iowan's,
Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese' joys;
To rise at peep of day, and pass forth nimbly to work,
To plow land in the fall for winter-sown crops,
To plough land in the spring for maize,
To train orchards--to graft the trees--to gather apples in the fall.
O the pleasure with trees!
The orchard--the forest--the oak, cedar, pine, pekan-tree, 120
The honey-locust, black-walnut, cottonwood, and magnolia.
O Death! the voyage of Death!
The beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing a few moments,
for reasons;
Myself, discharging my excrementitious body, to be burn'd, or
render'd to powder, or buried,
My real body doubtless left to me for other spheres,
My voided body, nothing more to me, returning to the purifications,
further offices, eternal uses of the earth.
O to bathe in the swimming-bath, or in a good place along shore!
To splash the water! to walk ankle-deep--to race naked along the
shore.
O to realize space!
The plenteousness of all--that there are no bounds; 130
To emerge, and be of the sky--of the sun and moon, and the flying
clouds, as one with them.
O the joy of a manly self-hood!
Personality--to be servile to none--to defer to none--not to any
tyrant, known or unknown,
To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic,
To look with calm gaze, or with a flashing eye,
To speak with a full and sonorous voice, out of a broad chest,
To confront with your personality all the other personalities of the
earth.
Know'st thou the excellent joys of youth?
Joys of the dear companions, and of the merry word, and laughing
face?
Joys of the glad, light-beaming day--joy of the wide-breath'd
games? 140
Joy of sweet music--joy of the lighted ball-room, and the dancers?
Joy of the friendly, plenteous dinner--the strong carouse, and
drinking?
Yet, O my soul supreme!
Know'st thou the joys of pensive thought?
Joys of the free and lonesome heart--the tender, gloomy heart?
Joy of the solitary walk--the spirit bowed yet proud--the suffering
and the struggle?
The agonistic throes, the extasies--joys of the solemn musings, day
or night?
Joys of the thought of Death--the great spheres Time and Space?
Prophetic joys of better, loftier love's ideals--the Divine Wife--the
sweet, eternal, perfect Comrade?
Joys all thine own, undying one--joys worthy thee, O Soul. 150
O, while I live, to be the ruler of life--not a slave,
To meet life as a powerful conqueror,
No fumes--no ennui--no more complaints, or scornful criticisms.
O me repellent and ugly!
To these proud laws of the air, the water, and the ground, proving my
interior Soul impregnable,
And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me.
O to attract by more than attraction!
How it is I know not--yet behold! the something which obeys none of
the rest,
It is offensive, never defensive--yet how magnetic it draws.
O joy of suffering! 160
To struggle against great odds! to meet enemies undaunted!
To be entirely alone with them! to find how much one can stand!
To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, death, face to face!
To mount the scaffold! to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect
nonchalance!
To be indeed a God!
O, to sail to sea in a ship!
To leave this steady, unendurable land!
To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the
houses;
To leave you, O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship,
To sail, and sail, and sail! 170
O to have my life henceforth a poem of new joys!
To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on,
To be a sailor of the world, bound for all ports,
A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,)
A swift and swelling ship, full of rich words--full of joys.
Walt Whitman
viernes, 24 de febrero de 2012
miércoles, 22 de febrero de 2012
DMK - Everithing Counts - Depech Mode
Una familia Colombiana toca Everything Counts de Depeche Mode / A Colombian family plays Everything Counts from Depeche Mode
jueves, 9 de febrero de 2012
jueves, 5 de enero de 2012
miércoles, 4 de enero de 2012
martes, 27 de septiembre de 2011
Poemario: ¡Para Escribirse en las Calles!
¡PARA ESCRIBIRSE EN LAS CALLES!
I
La Poesía de aferrarse al sueño más imposible,
el que me mueve desde que tengo razón…
por quien rendí el corazón…
Buscaré si es necesario en cada mujer a mi mujer…
Sacrificaré mis pasos de nuevo en pos de esta búsqueda…
Estaré dispuesto de nuevo a vivir el diluvio…
A pasar de nuevo el oscurantismo si fuese necesario…
A voltear cada piedra,
A nadar en el río,
A escalar cada árbol,
a vivir sin descanso…
Dibujaré por el mundo el camino que nos úna…
por si me llevan loco, gritando tu nombre…
rompiendo vitrinas, buscando tus ojos…
II
Cuanta falta nos hacemos mi niña,
cuantas lágrimas hemos tirado por otros,
cuanta saliva hemos tirado al piso,
cuantas ganas no nos hemos entregado,
cuantos pasos nos han dispersado,
cuantas verdades no nos hemos dicho,
¿es el café amargo también en tu espera?
¿es que en tu noche tampoco hay estrellas?
¿es tu soledad tan fría como la mía?…
¿es acaso tu desespero tan incesante?
III
Te quiero decir que te escribo de noche
Por que sea tal vez de esta forma que te alcanzo a escuchar…
Sin duda roncas en mi cabeza como el león en la sabana
Sin duda eres la estrella que me falta para desembarcar
Te digo de una vez, para que no haya debate después
¡No te resistas, eres mía y nada más!
Y otra cosa te digo, con la misma voz
¡No me resisto, soy tuyo desde hace un tanto,
Y desde hace otro, decidí serlo siempre…!
IV
Creo que el problema ha sido el quererte encontrar.
Mi aferrada avidez de tu rostro
me ha hecho esclavo de alguien que no conozco.
Es irreal la cantidad de momentos que no hemos pasado juntos,
las muchas risas que todavía no tenemos,
los huecos en el estomago que nos esperan,
las miradas de ansias desesperadas que nos aguardan
y los abrazos reconfortantes que necesito.
Cómo quisiera vagar contigo por el mundo,
perdernos en sus calles,
acostarnos en sus jardines,
nadar en todos su mares.
Sentir que el mundo es pequeño si lo caminamos juntos.
V
¡Mi corazón se endurece y cada vez más miedo tengo de escribirte!
VII
No son tus caderas,
o tu nariz perfecta,
son tus miradas…
y tus palabras verdaderas…
Sin medidas, sin excesos,
sin prisas ni letargos...
con la avidez de tu rostro
sin aún ser tu esclavo,
con las manos unidas
y los corazones separados...
Te propongo locura y prudencia
Te propongo embriaguez y conciencia
Vamos prontos al encuentro de los ojos
pero cautos al entregarnos uno al otro.
VIII
Por si alguien escucha…
Si es que no hablo al aire, si es que mis gritos tiene eco, te pido casual escucha que disperses mi mensaje. Yo ya no lo puedo hacer más. Te hablo desde el corazón, lo único que queda. Déjame contarte del desastre que es hoy esto. Los labios están rotos y manchados, los parpados cansados, cerrados de miedo y por una oscura afición a soñar. Es ahí donde todo empezó una bola de nieve blanca, finita con ataduras negras que caían hasta los hombros. Se la llevó el calor del día y por buscarla todo se fue de picada. Ahora las puntas de los dedos quemadas, ya no se siente nada. La lengua áspera y de fuera, busca como serpiente quién la sacie. Y no hablemos de la nariz, de su absurda obsesión de encontrar lo que perdió en un puñado de cabellos.
Todo se ha acabado, ¡esto de vivir mata! Con decirte que los pies, tan firmes y orgullosos, que alguna vez corrieron hasta esos ojos, ¡han perdido por completo la razón! Se la pasan persiguiendo otros pies para ver si algunos, de suerte, se les quieren subir. Figúrate también que el cabello que tanto tiempo estuvo en regla ahora es un completo revolucionario, está haciendo campamento aquí y allá. Y el pobre cerebro, una verdadera tragedia, tan ágil, tan rápido, tan… ¡Valió Madres! Con todo respeto mi señor. ¡Valió… Madres! Ahora está encerrado entre cuatro paredes blancas y no creo que vuelva jamás. Y para rematar los ojos siguen creyendo que no pasa nada, aún cuando en la mayor parte están en tinieblas ellos creen que es solo un día muy muy nublado. Y de aquellas no hablemos, pues fueron ellas quienes nos enterraron más y más.
Entonces como verás estimado escucha todo está acabado, solo falta la estocada final, quien sea bastará. Pero no des al viento mis palabras, guárdalas y repártelas como la mañana reparte sus rayos. No dejes que desaparezca en el tiempo, que me vaya sin dejar huella. Entrégale a otro incauto mis desdenes para que aprenda también lo que pasa en la espera.
Todavía No Te Amo - Poemas Perdidos
CREO QUE TODAVÍA NO TE AMO
Por la intensidad de este sentimiento
por la ansiedad de tenerte
por este martirio de no verte
y por el tiempo sin Ti tan lento...
Puedo decirte que te amo...
Pero la ilusión de un futuro
lleno de hermosas semillas
con las manos siempre unidas
venciendo inviernos duros…
Entonces, creo que todavía no te amo...
El inmenso amor de ahora,
será como un grano de arena
en las arenas del mundo...
Un amor por ti me ciega,,
que sin ti me pierdo
que siempre reniega
cuando no te tengo...
Te amo tanto ahora,
que es difícil imaginar
que hay todavía más entrega
con aún más felicidad.
Es por eso que puedo decirte que te amo,
pero entonces después de tanto pensar
creo que todavía no lo hago...
Por la intensidad de este sentimiento
por la ansiedad de tenerte
por este martirio de no verte
y por el tiempo sin Ti tan lento...
Puedo decirte que te amo...
Pero la ilusión de un futuro
lleno de hermosas semillas
con las manos siempre unidas
venciendo inviernos duros…
Entonces, creo que todavía no te amo...
El inmenso amor de ahora,
será como un grano de arena
en las arenas del mundo...
Un amor por ti me ciega,,
que sin ti me pierdo
que siempre reniega
cuando no te tengo...
Te amo tanto ahora,
que es difícil imaginar
que hay todavía más entrega
con aún más felicidad.
Es por eso que puedo decirte que te amo,
pero entonces después de tanto pensar
creo que todavía no lo hago...
Te Propongo - Poemas Perdidos
Te propongo
No son tus caderas,
o tu nariz perfecta,
son tus miradas…
y tus palabras verdaderas…
Sin medidas, sin excesos,
sin prisas ni letargos...
con la avidez de tu rostro
sin aún ser tu esclavo,
con las manos unidas
y los corazones separados...
Te propongo locura y prudencia
Te propongo embriaguez y conciencia
Vamos prontos al encuentro de los ojos
pero cautos al entregarnos uno al otro.
Hay Niña - Poemas Perdidos
Hay niña,
si solo supieras como te quiero, te quiero como sentados en la orilla de una fuente, como mi insistencia por escucharte, como mi perdón por tu perdón, como tus pies cansados y el privilegio de aliviarlos, como acomodándome la corbata o mandándome a peinar, como un beso largo de bienvenida, como un niño a una niña.
martes, 22 de marzo de 2011
Cravings - Accesorios Vanities - Vanities Accessories
La nueva firma Francesa de Accesorios ha propuesto artículos hechos de ropa antigua de marcas consagradas desde Brooks Brothers hasta Hermès. Rematado por una figurilla de "calavera" tallada en hueso. Los brazaletes cuestan al rededor de 50 Euros. Agradecería más información de estos artículos.
The new french brand Vanities make interesting accessories made of old wellknown clothing brands, from Brooks Brothers to Hermès. And finishing up with a handmade skull carved on bone. Bracelets cost around 50 Euros. I'd apreciate information about were to buy them.
martes, 1 de febrero de 2011
De puño y Letra - Si volviera a vivir... / If i were to live again...
If I were to live again, I would do it differently… would do more mad things, would live freely, irreverently, would fall in love quickly, forgive immediately, would rise up earlier and exercise more. I would be more of a gentleman and more of a rascal. Must definitely not watch television, would write more of all, of you, of us. If I were to live again, if God gives me one more day of life… I will do it differently.
lunes, 31 de enero de 2011
martes, 25 de enero de 2011
Must Go - Gino's East Pizza @ Chicago
An iconic go-to in Chicago's Pizza places. It’s a very friendly relaxed place where you go with someone otherwise you’ll lose your mind. You will spend about an hour at least, By normal standards that’s bad there is a very good reason I think:
The service is slow but friendly and joyful. You will wait for your food but there is a variety of very good beers (I strongly recommend FAT TIRE AMBER ALE 22oz.). The whole atmosphere is ideal to have a talk and enjoy the moment.
I took the Meaty Legend Deep Dish and it was phenomenal you can taste every single ingredient the pizza has. Even the crust is great… just a wonderful place to fill your soul with things that will eventually kill you.
Un lugar icónico en los lugares de Pizzas en Chicago. Es un lugar muy relajado y amigable donde debes de ir acompañado pues de otro modo te vas a volver loco. Vas a invertir por lo menos una hora para comer o cenar. Bajo estándares normales eso es malo para un lugar de comida rápida, pero tiene una muy buena razón:
El servicio es lento pero muy amigable y alegre. Esperarás por tu comida pero hay muy buen repertorio de cervezas, yo recomiendo pedir la FAT TIRE AMBER ALE de 22 onzas, extraordinaria. En sí la atmosfera que genera el lugar es ideal para platicar y disfrutar el momento.
Yo pedí una pizza llamada Meaty Legend en el formato de Deep Dish y estuvo fenomenal. Al probarla puedes distinguir cada uno de los ingredientes y cada uno es delicioso. Incluso la orilla esta riquísima… Es sin lugar a dudas un maravilloso lugar para llenar tu alma con cosas que eventualmente te matarán.
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