Jueves Poesía

En estos días extraños, húmedos, cuando quisiera que las palabras que salen de mi boca sean como tigres, cuando mi sangre hierve como el mar, en estas tardes larguísimas de invierno en las que me siento a escuchar música vieja y pensar en notas nuevas; no hay más que poesía. Out of the Rolling Ocean, the Crowd 1 OUT of the rolling ocean, the crowd, came a drop gently to me, Whispering, I love you, before long I die, I have travel’d a long way, merely to look on you, to touch you, For I could not die till I once look’d on you, For I fear’d I might afterward lose you. 2 (Now we have met, we have look’d, we are safe; Return in peace to the ocean, my love; I too am part of that ocean, my love—we are not so much separated; Behold the great rondure—the cohesion of all, how perfect! But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us, As for an hour, carrying us diverse—yet cannot carry us diverse for ever; Be not impatient—a little space—Know you, I salute the air, the ocean and the land, Every day, at sundown, for your dear sake, my love.) Mejor que yo lo dice Walt Whitman. El corazón es un tirano.