Hola a todos, yo de nuevo por aqui.
Primero para agradecer las entradas y que se peguen la visita. Me doy cuenta que estan entrando, esto gracias al contador nuevo que puse... (ja ja ja, que pilo que soy) aún les falta acostumbrarse a comentar pero bueno, no importa, al menos se que hay alguien (o alguienes) que lee (o leen) lo que se anda en el blog.
Hoy les traigo algo de poesía -si si, ya se que he dicho que no me gusta, pero extrañamente esta es la única que ha conseguido moverme.
Este poema de Charles Bukowski, lo encontré en Love is a dog from hell, una compilación de un buen número de sus poemas, si lo quieren leer está en la Luis Angel y si saben dónde lo puedo conseguir porfavor me avisan para comprarlo.
Un abrazo y que lo disfruten.
you've got to fuck a great many women
beautiful women
and write a few decent love poems.
and don't worry about age
and / or freshly-arrived talents.
just drink more beer
more and more beer
and attend the racetrack at least once a
week
and win
if possible.
learning to win is hard--
any slob can be a good loser.
and don't forget your Brahms
and your Bach and your
beer.
don't overexcercise.
sleep until noon.
avoid credit cards
or paying for anything on
time.
remember that there isn't a piece of ass
in this world worth more than $50
(in 1977).
and if you have the ability to love
love yourself first
but always be aware of the possibility of
total defeat
whether the reason for that defeat
seems right or wrong--
an early taste of death is not necessarily
a bad thing.
stay out of churches and bars and museums,
and like the spider be
patient--
time is everybody's cross,
plus
exile
defeat
treachery
all that dross.
stay with the beer.
beer is continuous blood.
a continuous lover.
get a large typewriter
and as the footsteps go up and down
outside your window
hit that thing
hit it hard
make it a heavyweight fight
make it the bull when he first charges in
and remember the old dogs
who fought so well:
Hemingway, Celine, Dostoevsky, Hamsun.
If you don't think they didn't go crazy
in tiny rooms
just like you're doing now
without women
without food
without hope
then you're not ready.
drink more beer.
there's time.
and if there's not
that's all right
too.
Primero para agradecer las entradas y que se peguen la visita. Me doy cuenta que estan entrando, esto gracias al contador nuevo que puse... (ja ja ja, que pilo que soy) aún les falta acostumbrarse a comentar pero bueno, no importa, al menos se que hay alguien (o alguienes) que lee (o leen) lo que se anda en el blog.
Hoy les traigo algo de poesía -si si, ya se que he dicho que no me gusta, pero extrañamente esta es la única que ha conseguido moverme.
Este poema de Charles Bukowski, lo encontré en Love is a dog from hell, una compilación de un buen número de sus poemas, si lo quieren leer está en la Luis Angel y si saben dónde lo puedo conseguir porfavor me avisan para comprarlo.
Un abrazo y que lo disfruten.
How to be a great writer
Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski
you've got to fuck a great many women
beautiful women
and write a few decent love poems.
and don't worry about age
and / or freshly-arrived talents.
just drink more beer
more and more beer
and attend the racetrack at least once a
week
and win
if possible.
learning to win is hard--
any slob can be a good loser.
and don't forget your Brahms
and your Bach and your
beer.
don't overexcercise.
sleep until noon.
avoid credit cards
or paying for anything on
time.
remember that there isn't a piece of ass
in this world worth more than $50
(in 1977).
and if you have the ability to love
love yourself first
but always be aware of the possibility of
total defeat
whether the reason for that defeat
seems right or wrong--
an early taste of death is not necessarily
a bad thing.
stay out of churches and bars and museums,
and like the spider be
patient--
time is everybody's cross,
plus
exile
defeat
treachery
all that dross.
stay with the beer.
beer is continuous blood.
a continuous lover.
get a large typewriter
and as the footsteps go up and down
outside your window
hit that thing
hit it hard
make it a heavyweight fight
make it the bull when he first charges in
and remember the old dogs
who fought so well:
Hemingway, Celine, Dostoevsky, Hamsun.
If you don't think they didn't go crazy
in tiny rooms
just like you're doing now
without women
without food
without hope
then you're not ready.
drink more beer.
there's time.
and if there's not
that's all right
too.
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