POETRY

OUR BENCHI don’t know what meaningHad for you Our bench

We got there with such a white heartAs anyone who begins a blank diary

The clumsy game of knowing eachotherThe sweet game of emotion through the tip of our fingersLengthening the space left in half an hour

Breathing that time as a second stolen to eternityAnd every dayTaking from the present the intimacy of a second

Let me spy you for an instant longerRecording the shinning hidden behind your lookSavour my wish

Stroke the fold of your smile with my glanceFeel your youth beating by my side

So, when you have leftI’ll keep your presence livingAnd your absence will tell me that you existed

Stuck to meOn this benchFar away from this world.

POETRY

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum (muffled: sord, apagat)Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, (crepe bows: llaços de crep)

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden

POETRY

The Four Ages of Man

He with body waged a fight (començar a lluitar),

But body won; it walks upright.

Then he struggled with the heart;

Innocence and peace depart.

Then he struggled with the mind;

His proud heart he left behind.

Now his wars on God begin;

At stroke of midnight God shall win.

William Butler Yeats

POETRY'Splendour in the Grass'

( )What though the radiance resplandor which was once so bright

,Be now for ever taken from my sight Though nothing can bring back the hour

,Of splendour in the grass ,of glory in the flower

, We will grieve not rather find ;Strength in what remains behind

( )In the primal sympathy compasió ;Which having been must ever be

( ) In the soothing tranquilitzants thoughts that spring ;Out of human suffering

,In the faith that looks through death In years that bring the philosophic mind

William Wordsworth