G. K. Chesterton wrote -
“Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly. Solemnity flows out of men naturally, but laughter is a leap. It is easy to be heavy, hard to be light. Satan fell by the force of gravity.”
Angels can fly because...
G. K. Chesterton wrote -
“Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly. Solemnity flows out of men naturally, but laughter is a leap. It is easy to be heavy, hard to be light. Satan fell by the force of gravity.”
Slavoj Žižek about Surplus Happiness and other concepts (2023)
"repression of desire reverts into desire for repression."
"the most dangerous false distance is when you´re not aware of how serious it is..."
Slavoj Žižek
Desfigurada apenas - Paul Éluard (1932)
Este poema que se encuentra en La vida inmediata de Paul Eluard (1932) aparece como epígrafe en Buenos días, tristeza (edición original, Bonjour tristesse, 1954) de Françoise Sagan (Sudamericana, Buenos Aires, 1978. Traducción: Noel Clarasó)
Adiós tristeza
Buenos días tristeza
Inscrita estás en las rayas del techo
Inscrita estás en los ojos amados
No eres la miseria exactamente
Pues los labios más tristes te anuncian
Con una sonrisa
Buenos días tristeza
Amor de los cuerpos amables
Poder del amor
De done surge la amabilidad
Como un monstruo sin cuerpo
Cabeza decepcionada
Tristeza rostro bello.
A peine défigurée
Adieu tristesse
Bonjour tristesse
Tu es inscrite dans les lignes du plafond
Tu es inscrite dans les yeux que j'aime
Tu n'es pas tout à fait la misère
Car les lèvres les plus pauvres te dénoncent
Par un sourire
Bonjour tristesse
Amour des corps aimables
Puissance de l'amour
Dont l'amabilité surgit
Comme un monstre sans corps
Tête désappointée
Tristesse beau visage.
Like a Rainbow
Él buscaba un color
en cada mujer.
No como Mick y Keith..
Como si cada mujer
solo tuviera un color
Y no...
Cada mujer es como
un arco iris
si sabés cómo
apreciar
todos
sus colores.
No Homecoming - Henri Cole
Hansel and Gretel were picking strawberries
and listening to a bronze cuckoo.
As the forest mist thickened,
Hansel snuggled up to his little sister,
admitting they were lost. They were the children
of a broom maker who drank too much.
They did not understand that a wife
is to the husband what the husband makes her.
They did not understand that even
in the depths of misery, life goes on.
Squirrels play. Bees forage. Hemlocks bow.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I eat yesterday’s meat,
with peas and carrots, a bowl of rice pudding.
Doomed is the house without any love.
María Zambrano
"No se pasa de lo posible a lo real, sino de lo imposible a lo verdadero".
María Zambrano, en el Prólogo de Filosofía y poesía (1993)
Modulando
Jay me dijo: El tiempo se va modulando
según el espíritu. Como una esfera
que se agranda
y se achica.
The Good Life - Mark Strand
You stand at the window.
There is a glass cloud in the shape of a heart.
There are the wind’s sighs that are like caves in your speech.
You are the ghost in the tree outside.
The street is quiet.
The weather, like tomorrow, like your life,
is partially here, partially up in the air.
There is nothing that you can do.
The good life gives no warning.
It weathers the climates of despair
and appears, on foot, unrecognized, offering nothing,
and you are there.
Recordatorio
Hasta el invierno más interminable
de tu vida
se termina.
Y la próxima estación trae
algo más prometedor:
el aire libre, las flores
y el Sol.
O Captain! My Captain! - Walt Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Rainer Maria Rilke
“For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the
most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final
test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation.”
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