Desde abril de 2005, con cambios de nombre, con etapas de intensa publicación y otras de silencio que nunca ha sido definitivo. Pensamientos, música, cine, literatura... Un blog, lo que solían ser los blogs personales. Ante todo, un espacio de expresión.
21 de diciembre de 2009
Las buenas cosas mueren bajo el sol
Sin lograr encontrar nada de nada,
ni una explicación ni un porqué
al que poderme aferrar.
Somos como mareas, que van y vienen, que suben y bajan, que se tornan melancólicas, sutiles o energicas, vitales... y al final todo pasa, y todo queda, pero lo importante es pasar... y vibrar.
It must rain before darkness thinks of light as her sister
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
(The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
How long ago the day is when at last I look at it with the time it has taken to be there still in it now in the transparent light with the flight in the voices the beginning in the leaves everything I remember and before it before me present at the speed of light in the distance that I am who keep reaching out to it seeing all the time faster where it has never stirred from before there is anything the darkness thinking the light
4 comentarios:
Somos como mareas, que van y vienen, que suben y bajan, que se tornan melancólicas, sutiles o energicas, vitales... y al final todo pasa, y todo queda, pero lo importante es pasar... y vibrar.
Un abrazo.
Mola quedarse de vez en cuando, ¿no? :)
claro que sí... nosotros ya siempre nos quedamos, porque ya nadie nos explica nada, porque ya somos nosotros y punto.
gracias por todas nuestras tardes de entre semana, por las noches de jueves, por las de verano en la terraza sobre las palabras...
It must rain before darkness thinks of light as her sister
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
(The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
How long ago the day is
when at last I look at it
with the time it has taken
to be there still in it
now in the transparent light
with the flight in the voices
the beginning in the leaves
everything I remember
and before it before me
present at the speed of light
in the distance that I am
who keep reaching out to it
seeing all the time faster
where it has never stirred from
before there is anything
the darkness thinking the light
(Any Time by W.S. Merwin)
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