To find the many in the onehe sweated under foreign skiesto see the stars behind the sun. (Tan grave ha sido,que murió antes de su nacimiento.). All the stars. Together. Metals, clay and feathers celebratetheir silent triumphs over dates.Only some Egyptian flapper’s silly hairpin giggles. “What happened is, we grew lonelyliving among the things,so we gave the clock a face,the chair a back,the table four stout legswhich will never suffer fatigue. Me junté al hombre,y abrí de par en par la vida, en nombrede la imperecedera juventud. Maybe it sees where our eyes failwith an insect’s inborn sharpness.I never sensed, nor could you tellthat our hearts were aglow in the darkness. Light bends around us. Cut me out of those sepia photos on the wall, burn those baby braids you keep in porcelain, toss my first communion gown into the sea. El Patio de Mi Casa, 1990, by María Brito. The author of several poetry... My patio was once a schoolyard, or maybe a barracoon, perhaps both, & the ghosts of children nest under the pink sink, mouths agape for flakes of rust, or they creep to the ceiling, sucking on the five taps of blue water, their little lips abuzz like cicadas. To see the world beyond the skies,to know the mind behind the eyes,To find the many in the onehe showed us stars behind the sun. All rights reserved Unauthorized reproduction is a violation of applicable laws. Bienvenido/a a este espacio. So we run,as gravity reclassifiesthe stars we saw behind the sun. You can read the rest of the PINTURA : PALABRA portfolio in the March 2016 issue of. A moth surprised us through the blinds,its wings in fuzzy flutter.Its silent path – see how it windsin a stubborn holding pattern. Ghosts are unruly, free to be fickle, unlike me, the pig-tailed girl you kept strapped to the sewing machine in the shed of planks by the mango tree too old to fruit. Here are plates with no appetite.And wedding rings, but the requited lovehas been gone now for some three hundred years. (Y yo seguí dormido. I wish I’d been born into a brood of mice, quick to grow, quick to breed, quick to die among the kapok trees. Could you explain to metheir unrelenting whispering?The wind may know, you say to me,but how is just a mystery. Our JuveniliaHad taught us both to wait,Not to publish feelingAnd regret it all too late –Mushroom loves alreadyHad puffed and burst in hate. Debí haberte encontrado diez años antes o diez años después. Las llamo así, porque son frases especiales, tanto por su significado como por la forma en la que están escritas. Unfucked, or anyway retiring,in the awkward sense. Gloria Fuertes nació en Madrida los dos días de edad,pues fue muy laborioso el parto de mi madreque si se descuida muere por vivirme.A los tres años ya sabía leery a los seis ya sabía mis labores.Yo era buena y delgada,alta y algo enferma.A los nueve años me pilló un carroy a los catorce me pilló la guerra;A los quince se murió mi madre, se fue cuando más falta me hacía.Aprendí a regatear en las tiendasy a ir a los pueblos por zanahorias.Por entonces empecé con los amores,-no digo nombres-,gracias a eso, pude sobrellevarmi juventud de barrio.Quise ir a la guerra, para pararla,pero me detuvieron a mitad del camino.Luego me salió una oficina,donde trabajo como si fuera tonta,-pero Dios y el botones saben que no lo soy-.Escribo por las nochesy voy al campo mucho.Todos los míos han muerto hace añosy estoy más sola que yo misma.He publicado versos en todos los calendarios,escribo en un periódico de niños,y quiero comprarme a plazos una flor naturalcomo las que le dan a Pemán algunas veces.AutobiografíaGloria Fuertes. Introduce tu dirección de correo electrónico para seguir este Blog y recibir las notificaciones de las nuevas publicaciones en tu buzón de correo electrónico. Eight. Retirement will never be an option.The gruff gentleman with the cap who understandswhat the numbers meanremembers a bicycle ride when he was younger. El patio de mi casa "En algún lugar de un libro hay una frase esperándonos para darle un sentido a la existencia" (Miguel de Cervantes) Her scarf a la Bardot,In suede flats for the walk,She came with me one eveningFor air and friendly talk.We crossed the quiet river,Took the embankment walk. "En algún lugar de un libro hay una frase esperándonos para darle un sentido a la existencia" (Miguel de Cervantes). ¡Ay! “Cuando te arreglas el pelocon la mano, distraída,se me enreda por completolo que pienso de la vida”. Leave them alone, I say to my mother, who wants to cleanse the house with carvacrol, trapping these children’s souls in beehives, then stringing them up with kites so they fly to the moon. As for me, I am still alive, you see.The battle with my dress still rages on.It struggles, foolish thing, so stubbornly!Determined to keep living when I’m gone!Salt1962Wisława Szymborska. Traffic holding its breath,Sky a tense diaphragm:Dusk hung like a backclothThat shook where a swan swam,Tremulous as a hawkHanging deadly, calm. Follow El patio de mi casa on WordPress.com. Despertétarde. Somewhen a boy is counting stars.Somewhen a man is photographing light.Somewhen his finger strokes the stubble on another’s cheek,and for a moment everything is relative. Let them play cat’s cradle with spiderwebs, let them rummage in your armoire of moths, let them lurk in your shadows of ill will & tease you to laughter. ¿Quién dirá que te vio, y en qué momentoen campo de batalla convertidoel íbero solar? Sonarà el nocturn.Fullejaràs potser Virginia Woolf.Vindré darrere teu amb el desigde sentir els teus cabells damunt la galta.Amb tota la tendresa, et faré asseureen un dels vells seients que compartíem(durant els últims temps hi estudiavesel llarg monòleg d’una dona solaque tu no vas ser mai). Becomingthe thing that happened in Principe.when he proved that the German was right,that light had weight,half a year after the Armistice.A populariser, but not courting popularity. Així que et fiquisal menjador, veuràs el teu retrati els nostres llibres. )Oh grave juventud. en el nidode antaño oí silbarlas balas. In the moonlight I see them bounce on my feather bed, bowed like an old donkey’s back, or they teeter-totter in my wicker chair darned with burlap string. and because we loved graceful profilesthe pitcher received a lip,the bottle a long, slender neck. Since eternity was out of stock,ten thousand aging things have been amassed instead.The moss-grown guard in golden slumberprops his mustache on Exhibit Number…. Pasó sin darme cuenta. César Gómez 517 views. He earned a BA and an MA at the University of Florida and a PhD at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Here’s a fan–where is the maiden’s blush?Here are swords–where is the ire?Nor will the lute sound at the twilight hour. Tot serà lògic.I aquest poema mai no haurà existit.Cançoner1976Feliu Formosa. No hi hauràni passat ni futur. This video is unavailable. Even what was beyond uswas recast in our image;we gave the country a heart,the storm an eye,the cave a mouthso we could pass into safety.”Alive Together: New and Selected Poems1996Lisel Mueller, Faràs dos trucs i t’obriré la portai no em sabré avenir que siguis tu.Et faré entrar al meu pis, que desconeixesi que només és fet per subsistir-hi.Però m’hi trobaràs, qui sap per quindesigni inescrutable.