sábado, 20 de septiembre de 2014


It was a day peculiar to this piece of the planet,
when larks rose on long thin strings of singing
and the air shifted with the shimmer of actual angels.
Greenness entered the body. The grasses
shivered with presences, and sunlight
stayed like a halo on hair and heather and hills.
Walking into town, I saw, in a radiant raincoat,
the woman from the fish-shop. 'What a day it is!'
cried I, like a sunstruck madman.
And what did she have to say for it?
Her brow grew bleak, her ancestors raged in their graves
as she spoke with their ancient misery:
'We'll pay for it, we'll pay for it, we'll pay for it!'

Alastair Reid.1978

2 comentarios:

Ana dijo...

Hermosa tierra la de tu amiga Lenore
Buen domingo, Beatriz!!!

SUREANDO dijo...

buen domingo, Ana.
Este poema triste es porque ella quería la independencia por la que lucharon por siglos sus ancentros.

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