Pleasant surprise to find me to return home after a long day with an obscure book resting on my pillow. A selection poetic José Ramón Medina , one of the most interesting poets ...
lie. He knew the type so far, making it more wonderful. Although neither therefore as they say. Not surprisingly, Venezuelan literature I know what is necessary to graduate from school lyrics LIGHT not much, I say, not without embarrassment. Total
I meet with the book lying on my bed, I take it and browsing: a beautiful edition of Lumen, which is similar to one of my favorite books of Buddhist koans chan. "The thing is right," I say. I ask no one bears witness to the book. It's my time.
ELECTED Shortly after browsing the prologue Eugenio Montejo (come on, without fear, that I know that it does) I get the news that indeed I had brought it to me. "I bought a book? "At last? "Finally a book and no more T-shirts that do not use? No. They had been given in the library to purchase materials to build a model solar system for my cousin as they were not going to read, I brought it. Ah, well, I said, I still happy. A book found in materials to create the solar system. Maybe God lost the manual. Again I
browsing, in the section of poems, and I find this coup.
This is me. Who looks in the mirror without substance.
That's me: the passenger water
closed by mud and stone. This is my head, my forehead
invalid, my eyes that probe the depth of the
Things river. This is my heart that beats in rhythm
darkly that goes to the temples, and
hurts like a bird sometimes violent.
These are my legs holding me in the street, where I will
hurry, without knowing who calls me
assists in the futility of my efforts.
These are my arms and my hands and fingers with which I write, while,
sometimes at night, I think it is useless,
waiting this long and slow, like a lonely bird
lying in space.
José Ramón Medina, Certainty and Omens (1984)
immediately takes me to a little person I know , And which I have much appreciation, but only to the person I refer to a specific text: "I seem to February," a text that I remember was this blog, but now I find. I remember also telling Evaly that I looked too, according to these criteria, in February. I came across, while then I came across this I read.
spend a lot with these texts that achieve the wonder-in the old sense of the word to talk about yourself. I think getting into deep water. You can leave a wet or bitten by who knows what else. However, just the same, so do not write directly about yourself, you should happen to an ordinary Monday morning you are with book opens with a mirror and pa'l water.
Still, this is a mirror of season. In my case reflects a powerful reality, but old, like the anthem of a lost village. I guess these seeds of Hansel and Gretel leaving these people out there are mirrors of remote villages, rely on those things that you almost forgot.
Mirror, mirror hits hard, I think. Mirror, mirror has no mercy. I see the poem date: 1984. I'm going to start thinking like a toilet that these prophets are foretelling the apocalypse of the day in 2012, that being my birth year I spoke directly to me. But we must see that Einstein, with his tongue out and everything, something I sensed when said "The universe does not play dice."
Finally, José Ramón Medina you can find it in Europe for those in Maracaibo, those in the rest of the world in its wide range regondéense editorial, while I smoke a arguilito green with envy.
lie. He knew the type so far, making it more wonderful. Although neither therefore as they say. Not surprisingly, Venezuelan literature I know what is necessary to graduate from school lyrics LIGHT not much, I say, not without embarrassment. Total
I meet with the book lying on my bed, I take it and browsing: a beautiful edition of Lumen, which is similar to one of my favorite books of Buddhist koans chan. "The thing is right," I say. I ask no one bears witness to the book. It's my time.
ELECTED Shortly after browsing the prologue Eugenio Montejo (come on, without fear, that I know that it does) I get the news that indeed I had brought it to me. "I bought a book? "At last? "Finally a book and no more T-shirts that do not use? No. They had been given in the library to purchase materials to build a model solar system for my cousin as they were not going to read, I brought it. Ah, well, I said, I still happy. A book found in materials to create the solar system. Maybe God lost the manual. Again I
browsing, in the section of poems, and I find this coup.
This is me. Who looks in the mirror without substance.
That's me: the passenger water
closed by mud and stone. This is my head, my forehead
invalid, my eyes that probe the depth of the
Things river. This is my heart that beats in rhythm
darkly that goes to the temples, and
hurts like a bird sometimes violent.
These are my legs holding me in the street, where I will
hurry, without knowing who calls me
assists in the futility of my efforts.
These are my arms and my hands and fingers with which I write, while,
sometimes at night, I think it is useless,
waiting this long and slow, like a lonely bird
lying in space.
José Ramón Medina, Certainty and Omens (1984)
spend a lot with these texts that achieve the wonder-in the old sense of the word to talk about yourself. I think getting into deep water. You can leave a wet or bitten by who knows what else. However, just the same, so do not write directly about yourself, you should happen to an ordinary Monday morning you are with book opens with a mirror and pa'l water.
Still, this is a mirror of season. In my case reflects a powerful reality, but old, like the anthem of a lost village. I guess these seeds of Hansel and Gretel leaving these people out there are mirrors of remote villages, rely on those things that you almost forgot.
Mirror, mirror hits hard, I think. Mirror, mirror has no mercy. I see the poem date: 1984. I'm going to start thinking like a toilet that these prophets are foretelling the apocalypse of the day in 2012, that being my birth year I spoke directly to me. But we must see that Einstein, with his tongue out and everything, something I sensed when said "The universe does not play dice."
Finally, José Ramón Medina you can find it in Europe for those in Maracaibo, those in the rest of the world in its wide range regondéense editorial, while I smoke a arguilito green with envy.
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