Como es costumbre Colin pregunta algo al grupo, en esta ocasión (y por segunda vez) preguntó cual poema recordábamos de nuestra "niñez" (o quizá "younger days" quedaría mejor) y pues María dijo uno de Rubén Darío:
Birds singing
in the dark
—Rainy dawn.
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Para recordar tiempos más inocentes de cuando entramos a la carrera:
No Second Troy
Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
W.B. Yeats
Y en algún momento pasamos a esto:
Mr T.
bareheaded
in a soiled undershirt
his hair standing out
on all sides
stood on his toes
heels together
arms gracefully
for the moment
curled above his head.
Then he whirled about
bounded
into the air
and with an entrechat
perfectly achieved
completed the figure.
My mother
taken by surprise
where she sat
in her invalid's chair
was left speechless.
Bravo! she cried at last
and clapped her hands.
The man's wife
came from the kitchen:
What goes on here? she said.
But the show was over.
No hay punto de compraración entre uno y otro, sólo creo que es demasiado interesante el contraste entre lo que leemos en el primer año y lo que leemos en el último.
Ahora la pregunta....
¿cual sería su poema estimado lector?
