Nothingandall

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Agosto 21, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — looking4good @ 4:44 pm

Aprender a aprender

Después de un tiempo, uno aprende la sutil diferencia entre sostener una mano o encadenar un alma, y uno aprende que el amor no significa recostarse, y que una compañía no significa seguridad, y uno empieza a aprender. Que los besos no son contratos, y los regalos no son promesas y uno empieza a aceptar sus derrotas con la cabeza alta y los ojos abiertos.

Uno aprende a construir todo su camino en el hoy porque el terreno de mañana es demasiado inseguro para planes, los futuros tienen una forma de caerse a la mitad.

Después de un tiempo uno aprende que “sí” es demasiado, y hasta el calorcito del sol quema. Así que uno planta su propio jardín, y decora su propia alma, en lugar de esperar que alguien le traiga flores.

Y uno aprende que realmente puede aguantar que uno realmente es fuerte, que uno realmente vale, y uno aprende y aprende…y con cada adiós… uno aprende.

Jorge Luis Borges

 

Hills of Salt – Dahlia Ravikovitch

Filed under: Dahlia Ravikovitch,poetry — looking4good @ 4:35 pm
Sea Painting, Scituate, MA 8″ x 10″ oil on chip board
by Lauren E. Todd

Sea foam fluttered like birds’ wings
and two salt hills were left on the beach,
and all the sea long was lake-upon-lake
with sailboats tiny as a thumb,
their colors like bubbles of soap.

And the two of us sat, each by his lakes,
two strips of beach between us
and a wealth of seaweed.
And the heavy fronds of algae swayed back and forth,
clinging to the teeth of the reefs with a soughing of unbridled lust.

A mass of seaweed broke loose and fell at my feet,
and my eyelids were heavy with light.
And the sea rose up and flowed over from pool to pool,
and across its blue streams there lay a scrim of sheen.

Lakes were brimming in the palms of our hands,
the strips of beach between us — two arms wide.
And all that day we never drew near, not by a hairsbreadth,
our bodies like two salt hills, our feet like seaweed.

translated by Chana Bloch

Dahlia Ravikovitch (b. 17 Nov 1936 in Tel Aviv; d. 21 Aug 2005)

 

Hills of Salt – Dahlia Ravikovitch

Filed under: Dahlia Ravikovitch,poetry — looking4good @ 4:35 pm
Sea Painting, Scituate, MA 8″ x 10″ oil on chip board
by Lauren E. Todd

Sea foam fluttered like birds’ wings
and two salt hills were left on the beach,
and all the sea long was lake-upon-lake
with sailboats tiny as a thumb,
their colors like bubbles of soap.

And the two of us sat, each by his lakes,
two strips of beach between us
and a wealth of seaweed.
And the heavy fronds of algae swayed back and forth,
clinging to the teeth of the reefs with a soughing of unbridled lust.

A mass of seaweed broke loose and fell at my feet,
and my eyelids were heavy with light.
And the sea rose up and flowed over from pool to pool,
and across its blue streams there lay a scrim of sheen.

Lakes were brimming in the palms of our hands,
the strips of beach between us — two arms wide.
And all that day we never drew near, not by a hairsbreadth,
our bodies like two salt hills, our feet like seaweed.

translated by Chana Bloch

Dahlia Ravikovitch (b. 17 Nov 1936 in Tel Aviv; d. 21 Aug 2005)

 

Hills of Salt – Dahlia Ravikovitch

Filed under: Dahlia Ravikovitch,poetry — looking4good @ 4:35 pm
Sea Painting, Scituate, MA 8″ x 10″ oil on chip board
by Lauren E. Todd

Sea foam fluttered like birds’ wings
and two salt hills were left on the beach,
and all the sea long was lake-upon-lake
with sailboats tiny as a thumb,
their colors like bubbles of soap.

And the two of us sat, each by his lakes,
two strips of beach between us
and a wealth of seaweed.
And the heavy fronds of algae swayed back and forth,
clinging to the teeth of the reefs with a soughing of unbridled lust.

A mass of seaweed broke loose and fell at my feet,
and my eyelids were heavy with light.
And the sea rose up and flowed over from pool to pool,
and across its blue streams there lay a scrim of sheen.

Lakes were brimming in the palms of our hands,
the strips of beach between us — two arms wide.
And all that day we never drew near, not by a hairsbreadth,
our bodies like two salt hills, our feet like seaweed.

translated by Chana Bloch

Dahlia Ravikovitch (b. 17 Nov 1936 in Tel Aviv; d. 21 Aug 2005)

 

The Husband Store!

Filed under: Uncategorized — looking4good @ 1:33 pm

A store that sells husbands has just opened in New York City , where a>woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the>entrance is a description of how the store operates.

You may visit the store ONLY ONCE!
There are six floors and the attributes of the men increase as the shopper ascends the flights.

There is, however, a catch. … You may choose>any man from a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor,
but you cannot go back down except to exit the building!

So, a woman goes>to the Husband Store to find a husband. .>>On the first floor the sign on the door reads:>>
Floor 1 – These men have jobs and love the Lord.>>
The second floor sign reads:>>Floor 2 – These men have jobs, love the Lord, and love kids.>>
The third floor sign reads:>>Floor 3 – These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, and are>extremely good looking.>>

“Wow,” she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.>>
She goes to the fourth floor and sign reads:>>Floor 4 – These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop- dead>good looking and help with the housework.>>

“Oh, mercy me!” she exclaims, “I can hardly stand it!”>
Still, she goes to the fifth floor and sign reads:>>Floor 5 – These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop- dead>gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak.>>

She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign>reads:>>
Floor 6 – You are visitor 14,363,012 to this floor.
There are no men on>this floor.
This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible

Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store.
Watch your step as you exit the building, and have a nice day!

 

NICARAGUA: PESCADORES EN SU TARDE…

Filed under: Historical — looking4good @ 8:55 am

Pescador miskito 1

Enmudece la tarde
ocio y modorra.

Un grupo de pescadores alcohólicos
apuran una botella de aguardiente

Hablan de grandezas pasadas
Hablan realidades y fantasías
Mezclan su vida y tragos…

Sucios
tienen al menos
tres días
de no bañarse.

Me detuve a platicar con ellos
y me contaron que esperan
el zarpe del barco que los llevará
a las profundidades de una mar
que no entiende de pobrezas.

Ninguno tiene mujer
la última que tuvieron
los abandonó
cuando implantaron la veda de la pesca.

El adelanto de dinero
que les dió la empresa
para el viaje
hoy se lo han bebido en guaro
o se lo han fumado en crack
o las dos cosas.

Tienen la mirada perdida
en sueños
que nunca tuvieron
ni tendrán
con esa vida que llevan.

Tienen la mirada vidriosa
sedienta de droga
y droga…
por que después de la droga
no hay nada

No hay cuerpo ni alma
que la soporte

“Homero
reportanos una media (de ron) para el enjuague…”

Me sonrío con ellos

¿Para el enjuague o para el enganche con la otra?

Se ríen…

Usted sabe como es esto…

Sí lo se ___ les contesté ___

No estaba seguro de que lo habían entendido.

Les dí los veinte pesos para la media
y me marché
dejándolos entre trago y trago…

Homero.

Pescador miskito

 

A Meu Favor – Alexandre O’Neill

Filed under: Alexandre O'Neill,poesia — looking4good @ 12:56 am

A meu favor
Tenho o verde secreto dos teus olhos
Algumas palavras de ódio algumas palavras de amor
O tapete que vai partir para o infinito
Esta noite ou uma noite qualquer

A meu favor
As paredes que insultam devagar
Certo refúgio acima do murmúrio
Que da vida corrente teime em vir
O barco escondido pela folhagem
O jardim onde a aventura recomeça

A meu favor tenho uma rua em transe
Um alto incendio em nome de nós todos

Alexandre Manuel Vahía de Castro O’Neill (n. em Lisboa a 19 de Dez de 1924; m. em 21 de Agosto de 1986),