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Poemas de Julia de Burgos

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PDF Preview. Table of Contents. Related Content. A Companion to the Poema de mio Cid. Editors: Irene Zaderenko and Alberto Montaner.


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This volume brings together a number of distinguished scholars in the field of Poema de mio Cid studies. Language and Chronology Text dating by machine learning. Inter-America: a monthly that links the thought of the new world, Volume 2 , University of Michigan: Inter-America Press, , page Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico, pages Google Translate. Retrieved 11 September Amado Nervo. Categories : 19th-century Mexican poets Mexican male poets Members of the Mexican Academy of Language births deaths Writers from Nayarit People from Tepic Ambassadors of Mexico to Uruguay Ambassadors of Mexico to Argentina 20th-century Mexican poets 20th-century Mexican male writers 19th-century male writers.

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By using this site, you agree to the Terms of Use and Privacy Policy. Poet , journalist , educator, Mexican Ambassador to Argentina and Uruguay. Spanish Wikisource has original text related to this article: Amado Nervo. Lovesick death will get no forgiveness out of me, none for this thankless life, none for the earth, nor for the black nothing. In these hands of mine a storm made of rocks is brewing, lightning, vicious axes dry and starving for catastrophes.

I want to dig up the earth with my teeth, I want to take dry, fiery bites pulling it apart bit by bit. I want to tear up the earth until I find you, so I can kiss your noble skull, unbandage your mouth, and bring you back to life. You will come back to the fig tree in my backyard: your soul will be at peace there, high up among the blossoms, gathering. Your heart, now only crumpled velvet, calls from a field of surf-like almond trees to my voice, wanting and full of love. And I call you to come to the milky almond blossoms who are souls flying. Va derramando piernas, brazos, ojos, van arrojando por el tren pedazos.

No hay estaciones domnde detenerse, si no es el hospital, si no es el pecho.

Detened ese tren agonizante que nunca acaba de cruzar la noche. Y se queda descalzo hasta el caballo, y enarena los cascos y el aliento. Silence that shipwrecks in silence of the closed mouths during the night. It never stops being silent, even when cut across. It speaks the drowned language of the dead. Open the roads of deep cotton, muffle the wheels, the clocks, hold back the voice of the sea, of the pigeons: stir up the night of dreams.

The soaked train of escaping blood, the frail train of men bleeding to death, the silent, the painful train, the pale train, the speechless train of agonies. They go, spilling legs, arms, eyes, they go, throwing chunks through the train. They pass, leaving bitter traces, a new Milky Way, with their own members for stars.

Visor de obras.

Hoarse train, disheartened, blood-red: the coal lies in its last agaony, the smoke heavily breathes, and, maternal, the engine sighs, it moves on, like a long discouragement. The long mother would like to come to a stop under a tunnel, and lie down weeping. There are no way stations for us, except in the hospital, or else in the breast. To live, a mere bit is enough: in a single corner of flesh, you can put up a man. One finger alone, one piece of a wing alone can lift the whole body into absolute flight. Stop that dying train that never completes its journey across the night.

Even the dying horse is left without shoes, and the hooves, and the breath, are buried under the sand. El Herido Para el muro de un hospital de sangre I. Excerpto de La Lluvia Han enmudecido el campo, presintiendo la lluvia.