Posts etiquetados ‘poesia’

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Time only knows the price we have to pay

septiembre 16, 2009

Ayer alguien encontro mi blog buscando “hombres novios pibes chicos”. Me siento bastante incomoda ahora, urgh.

Les dejo una poesia para sentirnos un poco menos sordidos:

Villanelle

Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away?
Will time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.

– W. H. Auden

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“Yet portion of that unknown plain / will Hogde forever be”

septiembre 13, 2009

The History Boys

POSNER
“They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined – just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.

“Young Hodge the Drummer never knew –
Fresh from his Wessex home –
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.

“Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge forever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow to some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellation reign
His stars eternally.”

(…)

HECTOR
The important thing is,  he has a name. Say Hardy’s writing about the Zulu Wars. Or later, or…The Boer Wars, possibly.And these were the first campaigns when soldiers, common soldiers,were commemorated.The names of the dead were recorded and inscribed on war memorials. Before this, soldiers – private soldiers -were all unknown soldiers.And so far from being revered,there was a firm in the 19th century in Yorkshire, which swept up their bones from the battlefields of Europe in order to grind them into fertiliser. So, thrown into a common grave though he may be, he’s still Hodge, the Drummer. Lost boy though he is,on the far side of the world…
he still has a name.

“Uncoffined” is a typical Hardy usage. It’s a compound adjective,formed by putting “un” in front of the noun. Or verb, of course. Unkissed… unrejoicing…. unconfessed… unembraced. It’s a turn of phrase that brings with it
a sense of not sharing, of being out of it, whether because of diffidence or shyness. Of holding back, not being in the swim. Can- can you see that?

POSNER
Yes. Yes, sir. I’ve – I’ve felt it, a bit.

HECTOR
The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling,a way of looking at things – that you’d thought special,particular to you, and here it is,set down by someone else. A person you’ve never met,maybe even someone long dead.

And – and it’s as if a hand…has come out… and taken yours.

(from The History Boys by Alan Bennett. Poem by Thomas Hardy.)
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