Fire Extinguisher Lasts

everything is confusing ... Ithaca

Less
your belly is all confusing ...
(Miguel Hernández) Less

your belly
everything is confusing. Less
your belly

future everything is fleeting, empty
past, cloudy. Less
your belly
everything is hidden under your belly

all insecure, everything is rearwardly

dust free world. Less
your belly
everything is dark, your belly

less clear and deep. Miguel


Hernández
English poet born in Orihuela, Alicante, in 1910.
son of peasants, played among other trades, the pastor of goats. Guided by his friend Ramon Sijé, started in poetry since the age of twenty, he published his first book "Perito en lunas" in 1933 and thereafter, the sonnets grouped in "The lightning that never stops," marked the poet's love experience. During the civil war
actively campaigned on the Republican side as Commissioner for Culture, was imprisoned and sentenced to death to end the conflict. Before dying, sick and detained, he published his latest book, "Song and Ballad of absence." Died
in 1942. ©

All the poetry of Miguel Hernandez is wonderful, makes it to the soul with the essence and charm, speaking from love to the Libet.
A great poet who always gives his poetry and magic Serrat has given more life with his music and his voice .... Freyja

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THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING NEAR AND THOUSAND APOLOGIES FOR NOT ANSWERING YOUR GREETINGS, BUT I WILL THIS WINTER OF MY LIFE AND CONTINUE SHARING WITH YOU AS ALWAYS
a big hug and THANK
VERENA


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Lifetime Fitness Membership Fees 2010

CHARTER

Fernando Giucich

many times
I wanted to write this letter,
and many other pieces I did


The long speech of my troubles, fearing
a joke, an irony

floating between the lines.

All attempts are unsuccessful,
now cast aside like old cardboard


in the little room of junk.
When I see a Sunday stroll

by the lake shore

usually accompanied by your children,

I have a feeling that if I had written the letter
,
they would be mine.



Giucich Fernando was born in Asuncion (Paraguay) and lives in Buenos Aires since 1969. He studied Law and Foreign Trade. Complete the drafting of student newspapers and assisted in drafting scripts for radio shows on film criticism. CLARA
is his first book and contains selection of poems written between 1980 and 2005.

Truth is a precious book of poems, feelings and life
Congratulations great poet and friend, and come clean sweep many more books, continue to fill the world of poetry

My big hug and thank you very much for this honor friend .... Verena

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THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING NEAR. REGRET DELAY IN REPLY TO ME BUT STILL SICK, THANKS FRIENDS
VERENA


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CHARTER

Ithaka (Constantine Cavafy)

When you On the way to Ithaca,
want it to be a long road,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
At Lestrygonians and the Cyclops, the angry Poseidon
not fear, Such
never find your way, if you keep
high thinking and emotion
select your spirit and your body enticing.
At Lestrygonians and the Cyclops, wild Poseidon
not find,
if not carry them within your soul, your soul
if not placed before you.
like to make it a long way.
there be many summer mornings
that with what joy, what joy you will enter ports
never seen before,
you stop at Phoenician marts, and acquires
valuables
pearl and coral, amber and ebony, and perfumes
sensual of all kinds, many more perfumes
sexy can,
go to cities of Egypt, to many,
learn and learn from the learned.
Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
The arrival there is your destiny.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
Better if it lasts for years, and now old
stop at the island, rich with all
gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have set out.
But it has more to give.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka will not deceive you.
so wise as I did, with so much experience, and understand what they mean
the Ithaca





Constantine Cavafy
Greek poet born in Alexandria. Egypt (1863), where he spent most of his life.
key figure in Greek literature of the twentieth century. Relentless self-criticism, often affected by his own heterodoxy, Cavafy published little during his life. He rejected the traditional values \u200b\u200bof Christianity, the heterosexual ethic, nationalism and patriotism. Cavafy created a personal style, something solemn and archaic, mixed with the Greek of his time. In his verses make up the Hellenistic and Byzantine history with contemporary issues, as in two of his best known poems, 'The god abandons Antony' and 'Ithaca', written in 1911.
Cavafy's work became known outside Greece through the references of EM Forster's study of Alexandria, Alexandria: History and Guide (1923).
Since 1930 his influence was important not only in young Greeks, but also foreign writers, and from this time the critical writings on his work are increasing.
A new push Cavafy's work took place with the publication of the Alexandria Quartet by Lawrence Durrell (1957-1960). He died in 1933

PD / Ithaca is a beautiful poem, and our road is long and full of adventure ... Freyja

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Paradise Lost love

Paradise Lost

(Rafael Alberti)

Through the centuries,
by nothing in the world,
me sleepless, looking for you.
Behind me, imperceptible, without
grazed my shoulder, my angel
dead watch.

"Where Paradise
shadow, you who have you been?"
question with silence. Cities

unanswered
speechless rivers, mountains
without echoes, silent seas.
Nobody knows. Fixed
men, standing at the edge of the graves
stop,
ignore me. Bird sad songs
petrified
course ecstatic,
blind. They know nothing.

Without sun, wind old
inert in
leagues go, rising
charred
falling back, some say. Diluted
, formless
the truth that hides itself,
avoid me heaven.
early as the end of the earth,
on the last edge, sliding
eyes
me dead in the hope that

green porch looking into the black chasms.

gap shadows Oh!
Hervidero the world!
What confusion of centuries!
Back, back!
What horror of darkness without voices!
I lost my soul!
"Angel dead, wake up.
Where are you with your lightning illuminates
return."

Silence. More silence.

Imóviles
pulses of endless night.
Paradise Lost!
fetch-missing, I
without light forever.

Through the centuries,
by anything in the world,
me sleepless, looking for you.

Behind me, imperceptible, without
grazed my shoulder, my angel
dead watch.

"Where Paradise
shadow, you who have you been?"
question with silence. Cities
unanswered
speechless rivers, mountains
without echoes, silent seas.

Nobody knows. Men
fixed, standing,
shore stop the graves,
ignore me. Bird sad songs
petrified
course ecstatic,
blind. They know nothing.

Without sun, wind old
inert in
leagues go, charred
rising, falling back
, some say. Diluted

, formless
the truth that hides itself,
avoid me heaven.

already at the end of the earth,
on the last edge, sliding
eyes
dead in me the hope that

green porch looking into the black chasms. Oh
gap shadows!
Hervidero the world! What
confusion of centuries!
Back, back!
What horror of darkness without voices!
I lost my soul!
"Angel dead, wake up.

Where are you with your lightning illuminates
return."
Silence. More silence. Imóviles

pulses of endless night.
Paradise Lost!

fetch-missing, I
without light forever.



A poem about pain through the soul, love when we do not find that Paradise Lost .... Freyja

Dear Friends:

Only thank you for being close, sometimes complicated health've been away, not forgetting

I visit them every one, my big hug and many thanks

Verena Sánchez Doering

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