Estimado José Luis: permíteme, por favor, insertar aquí este pequeño poemilla a modo de comentario, al que he estado dando vueltas estos días de "tranquilidad", basado en lo que me sugirió tu entrada, y leer a y sobre "our mutual friend" John Clare.
TO JOHN CLARE
It is from a crowded coastal desert that this I declare Do not behold it for its sight you would so much deplore So bleak that for the places you sang it makes me long At least by reading you some things seems less wrong
Scenes pictured by you bring yearning and nostalgy When in a sea of concrete, plastic and technology Many years already passed, yours was another world This brave new one keeps turning my head in a swirl
You stood captivated by fields and country life glares They say you lost your mind out of too many cares Your soul and work could escape your inherited poverty Now among the renowned and popular is your poetry
Green poems burn already in the Temple of Fame In stone and high clouds we have etched your name In the breeze I can hear words which you are Their sounds seem swift hare and gently flare
Estimado José Luis: permíteme, por favor, insertar aquí este pequeño poemilla a modo de comentario, al que he estado dando vueltas estos días de "tranquilidad", basado en lo que me sugirió tu entrada, y leer a y sobre "our mutual friend" John Clare.
ResponderEliminarTO JOHN CLARE
It is from a crowded coastal desert that this I declare
Do not behold it for its sight you would so much deplore
So bleak that for the places you sang it makes me long
At least by reading you some things seems less wrong
Scenes pictured by you bring yearning and nostalgy
When in a sea of concrete, plastic and technology
Many years already passed, yours was another world
This brave new one keeps turning my head in a swirl
You stood captivated by fields and country life glares
They say you lost your mind out of too many cares
Your soul and work could escape your inherited poverty
Now among the renowned and popular is your poetry
Green poems burn already in the Temple of Fame
In stone and high clouds we have etched your name
In the breeze I can hear words which you are
Their sounds seem swift hare and gently flare
Me alegro que la entrada de Mr. John Clare te haya sugerido este poema: está muy bien.
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