Margaret Atwood

He aquí un poema de Margaret Atwood. Lo descubrí mientras hojeaba mi Norton Anthology of Poetry. Lo posteo acá a ver qué les parece:

You begin

You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye,
that is a fish, blue and flat
on the paper, almost
the shape of an eye.
This is your mouth, this is an O
or a moon, wichever
you like. This is yellow.

Outside the window
is the rain, green
because it is summer, and beyond that
the trees and then the world,
wich is round and has only
the colors of these nine crayons.

This is the world, wich is fuller
and more difficult to learn than I have said.
You are right to smudge it that way
with the red and then
the orange: the world burns.

Once you have learned these words
you will learn that there are more
words than you can ever learn.
The word hand floats above your hand
like a small cloud over a lake.
The word hand anchors
your hand to this table,
your hand is a warm stone
I hold between two words.

This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
wich is round bur not flat and has more colors
than we can see.
It begins, it has an end,
this is what you will
come back to, this is your hand.

Comments

R.B. said…
¡Ay! Sentí esa sinapsis en la boca del estómago; hace mucho que no la sentía. Buen post, buen poema, buen gusto.
Gabriela said…
I loved it. Gracias por compartirlo, yo también lo tomaré prestado. Abrazo. G

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