Tomás Segovia in Madrid. January 2011. Photo: JB HAND
was my childhood was my childhood self
And I had all I can say that my arms
nothing left on my foreign environment posarla
Where or how wrap
From his days hanging
soilless root in all-embracing and nowhere was his
my childhood was not
desdecía burr that morning
clean in a landscape as a garden of one
Advanced Wireless
weapon and no alibi and disarming all enmity
playful breeze That
That I ruffled his hair was so
myself and did not need any
And no veil away
To look you in the eyes of the world
That breeze clear that landscape The hour suspense stray
All that poverty was the world's sacred
And for lack of a compass and a map
was the hand of life itself that there's
led me by the hand. February 22, 1911
Tomás Segovia.
This entry, in principle, not on "work, life and thought of Ramón Gaya" as stated in the subject of this blog, but this poem seems to us Tomas Segovia so high, so free, so essential, so the edge, so him and he loves us shelter in this house, a house not only of Gaya, but everything is Gaya.
0 comments:
Post a Comment