Do you remember standing on a broken field White crippled wings beating the sky The harbingers of war with their nature revealed And our chances flowing by. When I thought that I fought this war alone You were there by my side on the frontline When I thought that I fought without a cause You gave me a reason to try. Turn the page I need to see something new For now my innocence is torn We cannot linger on this stunted view Like rabid dogs of war. When I thought that I fought this war alone You were there by my side on the frontline And we fought to believe the impossible When I thought that I fought this war alone We were one with our destinies entwined When I thought that I fought without a cause You gave me the reason why.

Author:Samulkree Dishakar
Language:English (Spanish)
Published (Last):6 June 2016
PDF File Size:6.64 Mb
ePub File Size:16.8 Mb
Price:Free* [*Free Regsitration Required]

Economial of means, he perseveres to heroic ends: that is his Scottish ancestry. After a generation of constant literary growth, Drummond has achieved in his poetry a perfect fusion of sensibility and reason: that is the history of this genius. Nowhere can that history be better read than in Poemas, a collection of the nine volumes of poetry that he published before It is Guiomar who covered her eyes And blew her nose fortissimo.

It is the still moon upon the plates And the cutlery shining in the pantry. What kind of noise is that on the stairs? It is the dripping of the water faucet, It is the inaudible lament Of someone who has lost his gamble While the music of the band Goes down, down, down. It is the virgin with a trombone, The child with a drum, The bishop with a bell, And someone who pianissimos the noise Which jumps from my heart. Keep still in your corner. Do not love.

I hear that there is shooting Within reach of our body. Is it a revolution? Say nothing. Everything is possible, only I am impossible.

The sea overflows with fish. There are men who walk on the sea As though they walked in the street. Do not tell. Suppose that an angel of fire Swept the face of the earth And the sacrificed men Asked for mercy. Beg nothing. I must cut it off. Useless to wash it. The water is rotten. Or to soap it. The soap is no good. The hand has been dirty For many many years. At first hidden In the pocket of my trousers, Who would know it?

People used to call me, Offering me their hand. Hard, I refused. The hidden hand Would spread its dark Track through my body. And I saw it was the same To use it or put it away. The disgust was the same. Ah, how many nights Way back in my house I washed this hand, I scrubbed it, I scoured it! For greater contrast, I wished I could turn it.

Into crystal or diamond, Or even, at last, Into a simple white hand, The clean hand of a man, Which you could hold And lift to your lips Or clasp in your own In one of those moments When two people confess Without saying a word… The incurable hand Opened its dirty fingers. It was a filthy dirt, Nor dirt of earth, not dirt of coal, not dirt of a scab, Not sweat of a shirt Of one who has worked. It was a sad dirt Made from disease And from mortal anguish In the disgusted skin. It was not black dirt — The black so pure In a white thing.

It was gray-brown dirt, Gray-brown, dull, thistle. Useless to keep The ignoble dirty hand Lying upon the table. Quick, cut it off, And through it into the sea!

With time, with hope And is machinery, Another hand will come, Pure — transparent —, And fasten itself to my arm. A difficult hour, when doubt invades the souls. Why did I make the world? God wonders And answers: I did not know. The angels at Him in disapproval. Their feathers fall. All the hypotheses: grace, eternity, love Fall. They are feathers.

One feather more, and heaven is undone. So quiet, no breaking noise tells The moment between everything and nothing. Tat is to say, the sadness of God. Amid cars, trains, telephones, Amid screams, the profound aloneness. O solitude of the ox in the field, O millions suffering without a curse!

Whether it is night or day makes no difference, Darkness breaks up with the dawn. O solitude of the ox in the field, Men writing without a word! The city cannot be explained And the houses have no meaning. O solitude of the ox in the field! The ghost ship passes Silently trough the crowded street.

The hands clasped, the life saved… But the weather is steady. The ox is alone. In the immense field: the oil derrick. Youth is lost. But life is not lost. The first love is over. The second love is over. The third love is over. But the hurt goes on. You have lost your best friend. You won no house, ship, or land. But you look at the sea. But you own a dog. A few harsh words, In a low voice, have hurt you,. Never, never have they healed.

But what about humor? There is no resolution for injustice. In the shadow of this wrong world You have whispered a timid protest. But others will come. All summed up, you should Throw yourself — once and for all — into the waters. You are naked on the sand, in the wind… Sleep, my son. For poetry, there is no creation or death. In her eyes, life is an unmoving sun, Which neither warms nor lights. Do not make poetry with the body. Do not tell me your feelings, Which capitalize on ambiguity and attempts the long journey.

What you think and feel, that is not yet poetry. Do not sing your city, leave it alone. The song is not nature Or men in society. For it, rain and night, fatigue and hope mean nothing. Do not dramatizes, do no invoke, Do not investigate. Do not waste time telling lies. Do not be anxious.

Your ivory yacht, your diamond shoe, Your mazurkas and superstitions, your family skeletons Disappear in the curve of time, time are worhless. Do not resurrect Your buried and melancholy childhood. Do not oscillate between the mirror And your fading memory. If it faded, it was not poetry.

If it broke, it was not crystal. Penetrate deftly the kingdom of words: Here lie the poems that wait to be written. Here they are alone and dumb, in the state of the dictionary. Before you write them, live with your poems. If they are obscure, be patient.



I feel my heartbeat when you run your fingers through my hair Yeah I can tell you I can feel you by my side when you're not there Yeah Just as my life fades to darkness you you make me see the light Show me that my search is over I pay the price, I pay the price. Tell you someday Baby, you and I should be one, one Do it always, brighter than the eye can see, we hide the sun. The taste of love is sweeter like honey on the vine like the wind that feeds the fire, two souls become entwined Someday baby you and I should be one, one. So I'm standing 'round this corner Tall enough to touch the New York sky, oh yes My love is so blind I just cannot hear or see the world go by, oh yes Someone can love so completely One kiss should break the sea Truth can be stranger than fiction This love is real This love is real. Tell you someday baby, you and I should be one, one Do it always, brighter than the eye can see, we hide the sun.

DIN EN 14879-1 PDF

Eu caminhava por Nova Iorque e esbarrei no homem que ia na minha frente. Tinha aleijados, pessoas em cadeiras de rodas, com muletas, nevava, e me parecia que a cidade inteira cantava isso:. Sabe, enquanto caminhava, pensei que eles estavam cantando isso, pensei que eles estavam cantando isso, que eram os outros cantando isso. Pensei que era outra pessoa. Mas quero te machucar, quero que isso acabe. Mas digo, amigos, que um dia


Podia me surpreender. O peso das. Lembro duma noite. No fim das contas eu nunca.


Just once that all I need. Entwined in finding you. Excluir playlist Cancelar Guardar. Bradley Cooper Lady Gaga. We are the perfect match, our DNA entwined You are the darkest of the angels from the blackest of the skies To you I must be glass, I let you see through I would smash into a thousand pieces if I lost you.

Related Articles