Don't let that horse


Don't let that horse
eat that violin
cried Chagall's mother

But he
kept right on
painting

And became famous

And kept on painting
The Horse With Violin In Mouth
And when he finally finished it
he jumped up upon the horse
and rode away
waving the violin

And then with a low bow gave it
to the first naked nude he ran across

And there were no strings
attached

Lawrence Ferlinghetti




"soy un corazon tendido al sol"

http://www.porfolios.com/argentinebabe
http://www.intimaria.org

OLEO DE MUJER CON SOMBRERO
(Silvio Rodríguez)


Una mujer se ha perdido,
conocer el delirio y el polvo,
se ha perdido esta bella locura,
su breve cinturo debajo de mí,
se ha perdido mi forma de amar,
se ha perdido mi huella en su mar.

Veo una luz que vacila
y promete dejarnos a oscuras,
veo un perro ladrando a la luna
con otra figura que recuerda a mí,
veo más, veo que no me hallo,
veo más, veo que se perdió.

La cobardía es asunto
de los hombres, no de los amantes
los amores cobardes no llegan a amores
ni a historias, se quedan ahí,
ni el recuerdo los puede salvar,
ni el mejor orador conjugar.

Una mujer innombrable
huye como una gaviota
y yo rápido seco mis botas,
blasfemo una nota y apago el reloj,
que me tenga cuidado el amor,
que le puedo cantar su canción.

Una mujer con sombrero
como un cuadro del viejo Chagall
corrompiéndose al centro del miedo
y yo, que no soy bueno, me puse a llorar,
pero entonces lloraba por mí
y ahora lloro por verla morir,
pero entonces lloraba por mí
y ahora lloro por verla morir.


"soy un corazon tendido al sol"

http://www.porfolios.com/argentinebabe
http://www.intimaria.org

A woman has got lost,
To know the delirium and the dust,
This beautiful madness has got lost,
Her brief waist under me,
There has got lost my way of loving,
My fingerprint has got lost in her sea.

I see a light that hesitates
And it promises to leave us in the dark,
I see a dog barking to the moon,
With another figure that resembles me,
I see more, see that I am not found,
I see more, see that she got lost.

The cowardice is a matter
Of the men, not of the lovers
The cowardly loves do not become loves
Not great histories, they remain there,
Not even the recollection can save them,
Not even the best speaker to bring them together.

An unmentionable woman
She flees as a gull
And rapidly I dry my boots,
I blaspheme a note and extinguish the clock,
That is good with me,
That I may sing her her song.

A woman with a hat
As a picture of the old man Chagall
Breaking to the center of the fear
And I, that I am not good, start to weep,
But then she was crying for me
And now I cry for seeing her to die,
But then she was crying for me

"soy un corazon tendido al sol"

http://www.porfolios.com/argentinebabe
http://www.intimaria.org