miércoles, 28 de diciembre de 2016
martes, 27 de diciembre de 2016
A word is dead
When it is said,
I say it just
Begins to live
La palabra muere
Cuando es dicha,
Yo digo que sólo
Empieza a vivir
Part One: Life; LXXXIX. Complete Poems. 1924.
Emily Dickinson (1830–86)
sábado, 17 de diciembre de 2016
domingo, 11 de diciembre de 2016
The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted,
The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road.
O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?
Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost?
Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me?
O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you,
You express me better than I can express myself,
You shall be more to me than my poem.
I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also,
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,
I think whoever I see must be happy.