Manzanas podridas en el fondo de casa (Spanish Edition)

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Crop-footed, green-eyed, it Hows to all sides, and within it, the droplets, the secret things, sunken forever : the tunnels of ocean, whence arises the stairway proscribed by the celery, the disaster of shadows submerged, the proofs in the middle of air, the kiss in the depths of the stone.

Manzanas podridas en el fondo de casa

A medianoche, con manos mojadas, alguien golpea mi puerta en la niebla, y oigo la voz del apio, voz profunda, aspera voz de viento encarcelado, se queja herido de aguas y rafces, hunde en mi cama sus amargos rayos, y sus desordenadas tijeras me pegan en el pecho buscandome la boca del coraz6n ahogado. Que quieres, huesped de corse quebradizo, en mis habitaciones funerales?

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Que ambito destrozado te rodea? Fibras de oscuridad y luz llorando, ribetes ciegos, energfas crespas, rio de vida y hebras esenciales, verdes ramas de sol acariciado, aqui estoy, en la noche, escuchando secretos, desvelos, soledades, y entrais, en media de la niebla hundida, hasta crecer en mi, hasta comunicarme la luz oscura y la rosa de la tierra.

At midnight, someone beats at my door with drenched hands in the mist and I hear a deep voice, a voice barbed with prohibitive wind, the voice of the celery: wounded, it rages against water and root and plunges its bittering sheen in my bed; the blades of its turbulent scissors strike at my breast seeking a way to my heart under smothering water. What would you have of me, crack-bodiced guest in my funeral dwelling? What ruinous ambit surrounds you? Tissue of darkness and light and lugubrious fibers, blind rivets, ringleted energies, river of life, indispensable threads, green branches beloved of the sun, I am here, in the night, and I listen to deathwatches, solitudes, secrets, and you come in the midst of a lowering cloud-rack, to root in my heart and grow great and make known to me what is dark in the brightness, the rose of creation.

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Entre plumas que asustan, entre noches, entre magnolias, entre telegramas, entre el viento del Sur y el Oeste marina, vienes volando. Baja las tumbas, bajo las cenizas, bajo las caracoles congelados, bajo las ultimas aguas terrestres, vienes volando. Mas abajo, entre niiias sumergidas, plantas degas, y pescados rotas, mas abajo, entre nubes otra vez, vienes volando.

Mas alla de la sangre y de las huesos, mas alla del pan, mas alla del vino, mas alla del fuego, vienes volando.

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Mas alla del vinagre y de la muerte, entre putrefacciones y violetas, con tu celeste voz y tus zapatos humedos, vienes volando. Sohre diputaciones y farmacias, y ruedas, y abogados, y navfos, y dientes rojos recien arrancados, vienes volando. Between terrified feathers, between nights and magnolias and telegrams, between southerly winds and winds from the sea blowing West, you come flying. Under grave-plots and ashes, under the ice on the snail, under the remotest terrestrial waters, you come flying.

Deeper still, between girls under fathoms of water, blind plants and a litter of fish heads, deeper, still deeper, among clouds once again you come flying. Further than blood or than bones, further than bread; beyond wines, conflagrations, you come flying.

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Beyond vinegar's sting and mortality, between canker and violets, in your heavenly voice, with the wet on your shoes, you come flying. Over drugstores, committees, over lawyers and navies, wheels and the reddened extraction of teeth, you come flying. Sohre ciudades de tejado hundido en que grandes mujeres se destrenzan con anchas manos y peines perdidos, vienes volando. Junto a bodegas donde el vino crece con tibias manos turbias, en silencio, con lentas manos de madera roja, vienes volando. Entre aviadores desaparecidos, al lado de canales y de sombras, al lado de azucenas enterradas, vienes volando.

Entre botellas de color amargo, entre anillos de anis y desventura, levantando las manos y llorando, vienes volando. Sohre dentistas y congregaciones, sobre cines, y bineles y orejas, con traje nuevo y ojos extinguidos, vienes volando. Sohre tu cementerio sin paredes donde los marineros se extrav:ian, mientras la lluvia de tu muerte cae, vienes volando.

Mientras la lluvia de tus dedos cae, mientras la lluvia de tus huesos cae, mientras tu medula y tu risa caen, vienes volando. Over cities with roofs under water where notable ladies uncouple the braids of their hair with lost combs in the span of their hands you come flying. Close to the ripening wine in the cellars, with hands tepid and turbid, quiet, with gradual, wooden, red hands you come flying. Among vanishing airmen by the banks of canals and the shadows, beside lilies now buried, you come flying.

Among bitter-h11ed bottles, rings of anise and accidents, lamenting and lifting your hands, you come flying. Over dentists and parishes, cinemas, tunnels, and ears, in your newly bought suit, with your eyeballs effaced, you come flying. Over that graveyard unmarked by a wall, where even the mariner founders, while the rains of your death fall, you come flying. While the rain of your fingertips falls, while the rain of your bones falls, and your laughter and marrow fall down, you come flying. Sohre las piedras en que te derrites, corriendo, invierno abajo, tiempo abajo, mientras tu corazon desciende en gotas, vienes volando.

No estas alH, rodeado de cemento, y negros corazones de notarios, y enfurecidos huesos de jinetes : vienes volando. Oh aniapola marina, oh deudo mfo, oh guitarrero vestido de abejas, no es verdad tanta sombra en tus cabellos : vienes volando.

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La punta aguda, el cuerpo algo oblongo, la capa liada en elegante espiral, la tripa no tan apretada que no deje respirar el humo ni tan floja que el cigarro se arrugue al secarse, tales son las condiciones de una buena tagarnina. Once I got it, I could cut through the red tape, abolish committees, and act decisively. Account type. Toma nota de que hay clausulas penales. Only with kisses and poppies can I love you, with rain-sodden wreaths, as I brood on the ash of the horse and the yellow of dogs. Una decisi6n tomada impulsivamente puede dar lugar a una decisi6n equivocada. The luminous summer leads on: formations of lovers identically sad, deploying in twos : the lean with the plump, the merry and mournful : under elegant coconut palms, near the moon and the ocean, the bustle of trousers and petticoat-hoops is unending, a sound of silk hosiery fondled, and the feminine nipple blazing out like an eye.

No es verdad tanta sombra persiguiendote, no es verdad tantas golondrinas muertas, tanta region oscura con lamentos : vienes volando. El viento negro de Valparaiso abre sus alas de carbon y espuma para barrer el cielo donde pasas : vienes volando. Hay vapores, y un frio de mar muerto, y silbatos, y meses, y un olor de mafiana lloviendo y peces sucios : vienes volando. Hay ron, tu y yo, y mi alma donde lloro, y nadie, y nada, sino una escalera de peldafios quebrados, y un paraguas : vienes volando. Over the flint into which you dissolve, flowing fast under time, under winter, while your heart falls in droplets, you come flying.

You are no longer there in that ring of cement, hemmed in by the black-hearted notaries or the horseman's maniacal bones : you come flying.

outer-edge-design.com/components/mobile/1402-install-mobile.php Oh, sea-poppy, my kinsman, bee-clothed guitarist, all the shadows that blacken your hair are a lie : you come flying. All the shades that pursue you, a lie; all the death-stricken swallows, a lie; all the darkening zone of lament: you come flying. A black wind from Valparaiso spreads the charcoal and foam of its wings to measure the sky where you pass : you come flying. There are mists and the chill of dead water, and whistles and months and the smell of the rain in the morning and the swill of the fishes : you come flying.

There's rum, too, between us, you and I and the soul that I mourn in, and nobody, nothing at all but a staircase with all the treads broken, and a single umbrella: you come flying. Alli esta el mar. Bajo de noche y te oigo venir volando bajo el mar sin nadie, bajo el mar que me habita, oscurecido : vienes volando.

Oigo tus alas y tu lento vuelo, el agua de los muertos me golpea coma palomas ciegas y mojadas : vienes volando. Vienes volando, solo, solitario, solo entre muertos, para siempre solo, vienes volando sin sombra y sin nombre, sin azucar, sin boca, sin rosales, vienes volando. And always the sea, there. I go down in the night and I hear you come flying, under water, alone, under the sea that inhabits me, darkly: you come flying.

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I listen for wings and your slow elevation, while the torrents of all who have perished assail me, blind doves flying sodden: you come flying. You come flying, alone, in your solitude, alone with the dead, alone in eternity shadowless, nameless, you come flying without sweets, or a mouth, or a thicket of roses, you come flying. Si me preguntais en d6nde he estado debo decir "Sucede".

Debo de hablar del suelo que oscurecen las piedras, del rio que durando se destruye : no se sino las cosas que los pajaros pierden, el mar dejado atras, o mi hermana llorando. Por que tantas regiones, por que un dia se junta con un dia? Por que una negra noche se acumula en la boca? Por que muertos? Si me preguntais de d6nde vengo, tengo que conversar con cosas rotas, con utensilios demasiado amargos, con grandes bestias a menudo podridas y con mi acongojado coraz6n. No son recuerdos los que se han cruzado ni es la paloma amarillenta que duerme en el olvido, sino caras con lagrimas, dedos en la garganta, y lo que se desploma de las hojas : la oscuridad de un dia transcurrido, de un dia alimentado con nuestra triste sangre.

He aqu:l violetas, golondrinas, todo cuanto nos gusta y aparece en las dulces tarjetas de larga cola por donde se pasean el tiempo y la dulzura. Ask me where have I been and I'll tell you : "Things keep on happening. Why the distinctions of place? Why should day follow day? Why must the blackness of nighttime collect in our mouths?

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Manzanas podridas en el fondo de casa (Spanish) Hardcover – Hardcover; Publisher: Edición del Autor; 1a Ed. edition (); Language: Spanish. Download pdf book,, Edición del Autor, 1a Ed. edition (), Spanish, ISBN ASIN , Manzanas podridas en el fondo de casa book. Popular.

Why the dead? If you question me : where have you come from, I must talk with things falling away, artifacts tart to the taste, great, cankering beasts, as often as not, and my own inconsolable heart. Those who cross over with us, are no keepsakes, nor the yellowing pigeon that sleeps in forgetfulness : only the face with its tears, the hands at our throats, whatever the leafage dissevers : the dark of an obsolete day, a day that has tasted the grief in our blood.

Here are violets, swallowsall things that delight us, the delicate tallies that show in the lengthening train through which pleasure and transciency pass.

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Pero pe11etremos mas alla de esos die11tes, mordamos las cascaras que el sile11cio acumula, porque se que co11testar : hay ta11tos muertos, y ta11tos maleco11es que el sol rojo partia y ta11tas cabezas que golpea11 los buques, y ta11tas ma11os que ha11 e11cerrado besos, y ta11tas cosas que quiero olvidar.