Dear All,

Please vote for me. I am standing as a candidate for One Young World. One Young World is a platform where I will be able to represent the youth of today and address the challenges facing the world today.
Please vote for me, so that I can become a delegate in February 2010:

http://apps.facebook.com/oywcandidates/entry/384/


Thanking you in anticipation.

Sincerely,
Wajahat Nassar

 

 

Bella como ninguna,

Hoy una lágrima corre  por ti.

Se que no comprendes,

Por que hoy actuó  así.

Solo quiero verte feliz,

Inseparable en su regazo,

Quiero estar junto a ti,

Cuando venga el primer paso.

¡Tan grande es el lazo!,

Que ya te puedo escuchar.

Pequeña doncella,

Ansiosa te voy a esperar,

Te quiero cuidar…

Pero entiende, que son otros responsables,

Por favor jamás te sientas culpable.

Es mas, sientase orgullosa,

Por que como tú no hay ninguna

Iluminas la luna y te reflejas en las estrellas,

Mi bella princesa es UD la más bella,

Te quiero más y más,

Huele, disfruta, goza de paz,

Y que el mundo no te envenene,

Por que tu corazón tiene…

La virtud de amar.

¡Que no quede duda!

Observa, tu alma es pura,

Blanca como tu futura piel

Y como una nube de sol.

Así tu vida es la razón

Que agranda mi corazón,

Para decirte ya…

Que te amo.

 

 

“a mi futura sobrinita”

 

 

 

                             

                        Autor/a: reisel (Jennifer concha)

 

                      Bienvenidos, aquí deja tu huella

Aquí busco un lugar donde la fe desborda
su mágica ternura, aquí doy mi alma
entre los lirios y glicinas de mi historia
de los astros que perduran en sus orbitas.

Donde los cristales de tus ojos
reflejan armonía y elegancia
donde dejas tus sandalias en la puerta
marcando senderos invisibles.

Aquí busco la llama de la musa 
en sagrada inspiración florecen
nuestros versos perfumados 
en líneas de antiguos pergaminos.

Aquí donde nace mi esperanza
unidos por la uncida poesía 
entre música y sueños describen
la nostalgia que escribo en mis poemas.

©Noemí_Alas
Cinco razones 
I

Que desolada belleza
tiene la muerte
?en la otra orilla Caronte 
Espera?.
Que detalles tan sublimes
en ese féretro
El calor avanza como mortaja
se inmola un recuerdo.
Se murió el amor.
Hoy lo están velando.

II
 
Como árbol de sólo dos ramas 
me deshojaba.
 Mis raíces 
se secaban.

Entre sollozos 
ayer sigue siendo hoy 
Un día tras otro.

El tiempo
 Inventado de nácares
a intervalos?

 Hizo su agosto
amortajándome.

Donde el ayer se repite
como los ciclos
de la tierra.
 
Sigo caminando
descalza 
en puntillas de pie
mi cielo se fue.
 
III
 
Si tejiera un manto con mis penas
si con ellas se cubriera mi espalda 
si por cada lágrima tallara figuras
tendría un zoológico de cristal.
Luciría un escote lleno de brillos 
trasmutaría esas gotas peregrinas
de mi vida plana y haría que brillen 
como el arco iris, tornasolado. 
 
IV
 
Quise llegar alto cruzando
las nubes blancas algodonadas
cruzando la neblina y la lluvia  
chocar con el arco iris sin detenerme.
Quise volar en tu cielo estrellado
con giros de golondrina traviesa
y salpicarme de rocío las alas azules
vibré entre mi aleteo  diáfana feliz.
Iluminada por el sol olvidé mi peso
no soporté el dolor contorsionando 
mi cuerpo, triste y llorando olvidé
el camino de vuelta y caí muerta.
 
 V
 
 Ya no me duele tu recuerdo, 
nuevos anhelos, nuevos sueños
surgen vuelve el amor de la 
mano tierna y mirada fresca
ya no soy cautiva de tus ojos 
ni de tu cuerpo, otro me da paz 
otro cuerpo me da reposo.
¡Cuanta pasión atesoró mi alma! 
No supe despedirme acuérdate?
Los sueños siempre vuelven.
 

©Noemí_Alas

   FONTE: http://www.noemialas.com/index.php

Dear All,
I have started a new project Online Model UN, the first training session has been planned on 11 July 2009.
The first conference will be held online from 15 to 18th July 2009.
Please send an email of interest to wajahat.nassar@gmail.com by 10th of July 2009.

Thank you

Yours sincerely,
Wajahat Nassar

  Convido todos os amigos leitores a visitarem a Revista Bacamarte, belíssimo projeto editorial dos meus amigos Cândido e Fábio.

Com periodicidade mensal e já na terceira edição, Bacamarte leva ao exigente leitor poesias, contos, crônicas, ensaios, resenhas e  muitas outras matérias interessantes. Vale a pena conferir.

Acima, a imagem da 2ª  capa (junho de 2009) de Bacamarte e o link para a revista.

"Bacamarte, pela democratização da literatura."

Uma ótima leitura!

www.revistabacamarte.com.br

   

    

 

Europa en los años 20 moviò a los jòvenes de la generaciòn perdida  , a viajar desde Nueva York , por la opciòn  de que en Parìs se vivia bien con poco dinero  . En la novela " Parìs es una fiesta " refleja el entorno de la generaciòn perdida  . El escritor Robert E . Spiller , en su historia de la literatura norteamericana  : " Nacidos en su mayorìa en la dècada final del siglo anterior  , y criados en los años en que la naciòn alcanzaba su madurez como potencia mundial ,  estuvieron muy dispuestos  a considerarse perdidos cuando en el momento de llegar a hombres se veìan hundidos en lo que parecìa el colapso de la civilizaciòn occidental " . Estos jòvenes perdidos han visto nacer el nazismo , el socialismo , el facismo . Han reido con Buster Keaton , Harold LLoyd  . Bailan charleston . Los escritores màs relevantes son Theodore Dreiser , Sherwood  Anderson , Sinclair Lewis y Gertubre Stein  , Dashiell Hammet  . Los màs conocidos escritores de la generaciòn perdida , son Ernest Hemingway  y Francis Scott Fitzgerald , y con su obra  El derrumbe " , señala lo complicado que es ser escritor despuès de la Primera guerra mundial . Gertrude Stein , en su salòn de la rue de fleurus se convirtiò en una mama grande de escritores como  Hemingway . Miss Stein habìa llegado a Parìs antes de la Primera guerra mundial , concentrando en torno a su librerìa  una nutrida cantidad de artistas y intelectuales , fascinado ante la tolerancia que emanaba la americana. Nacida en 1870 . en una familia pudiente . Estudiò medicina , al poco tiempo abandono la Universidad  . Su hermano Leo influyò en su decisiòn de ir a Parìs . Leo descubriò el mìtico departamento en el 27 de la fure de fleurus que su hermana hizo tan famoso .La metiò en el conocimiento de la pintura moderna a travès de Cezzane , Gaugin , Renoir y Toulouse - Lautrec . Picasso y Matisse fueron asiduos visitantes a las tertulias que se realizaban los sàbados por la tarde , como tambièn lo fueron  los poetas Guillaume Apollinaire y Max Jacob . Gertubre Stein escribiò su primer libro " three lives " en 1908 . En 1933 publica  " Autobiografìa de Alice B Toklas " .  En 1930 publica " Dix Portraits " , ilustrado por Picasso . El poeta  y crìtico Ezra Pound , fue uno de los primeros en llegar a Parìs , desde Inglaterra , donde habìa pasado los años de guerra . Habìa llegado a la conclusiòn de que " Londres estaba muerto " , escribiò a William Carlos William en 1920 . Tambièn llegò el escritor Sherwood Anderson en 1921 , habìa publicado  " Winesburg Ohio " , que da iniciò a su fama literaria . En 1921 llega Hemingway  y Francis Scott Fitezgerald , "el  golden boy "de la generaciòn perdida  . Scott provenìa de una familia arribista y de poco dinero , pero logro ser educado en exclusivos colegios en Newman Academy de Boston y en la Universidad de Princeton . En 1920 publica  " A este lado del paraiso " con 24 años . El escritor chileno Luis Dominguez en un ensayo sobre la obra del escritor : " Su ser irreflexivo , romàntico , actor de sì mismo , que  parece zambullirse a ojos cerrados en al sociedad , para salir a flote con una leyenda , casi  y ese otro , su ser lùcido ,  casi cruel consigo mismo , que no espera piedad para sì por muy mal que ande sino que la se clama o continùa reclamàndola para los otros " . El escritor junto con su esposa Zelda  Sayre derrocharon el dinero , hasta comprarse un Roll Royce  . Otros escritores vivian sumidos en la miseria y que fueron protegidos por Sylvia Beach , llamada por Hemingway Madame Shakespeare , por ser la dueña de la elegante librerìa  " Shakespeare Company " . La librerìa se abriò en 1919 en la rue dupuytren . El escritor Hemingway entrò a la librerìa , sin dinero . Sylvia fue amable con el escritor y le presto algunos libros . En 1920 conociò al escritor irlandès James Joyce , que fue un asiduo visitante en su librerìa . En 1914 , Joyce escribìa su obra cumbre " Ulises " que terminarìa en 1921 . En 1918 aparecen fragmentos de Ulises en Lihe Review   de Nueva Yrok , que fue acusada de obscena . Sylvia financio la publicaciòn de Ulises y James  Joyce acepto encantado . En 1922 el libro estuvo listoa cuando el escritor cumplio sus 40 años . Natalie Clifford Barney , dueña de un salòn cultural de la generaciòn perdida , por su caracter irreverente y  inquieto  . En 1909 , la Clifford Barney  , habìa adquirido un apartamenteo en la rue jacob , donde estuvo el salòn , todos los viernes . Asistìan escritores  de la talla de Paul Valery , Colette , Rilke  . El poeta Ezra Pound fue su gran amigo . La colonia literaria llamado el barrio , en el centro de Montparnasse , existia cuatro cafès : " La Coupole " " Le select" " La rotonda"  " Le dome"  . En 1925 , los criticos literarios comentadon de la escuela de la rotonde , para referirse  a la nueva corriente de la literatura americana . Entre idas y venidas , de Nueva York a Parìs , Scott terminò su segunda novela " Los bellos y malditos " , en 1922 . en 1925 , publica  " El gran Gatsby     2 , y T.S . Eliote cree que es " El primer paso de la novela norteamericana desde Henry James " . En la primavera , en 1925 , Scott conoce a Hemingway en Parìs  . Es el encuentro entre la fragilidad y la rudeza . Hemingway , con novelas como Fiesta ( 1926 ) , Adiòs a las armas (1929)  , Por quièn doblan las campanas (1940) ,  El viejo y el mar (1952)  .  Aquellos escritores de la generaciòn perdida , compartieron los sueños y un dìa lo perdieron aquella etapa que fue tan breve como el ladrido de un perro de una comarca vecina . Solo quedo el pasado de que la vida literaria fue un hermoso sueño narrativo , en el atardecer , en las calles de Parìs .

 

 

MARIETTA MORALES RODRÌGUEZ

 

 

Voy a detener el tiempo…

Con el roce de tu boca…

Y con tus ojos en mi espejo

Detendré tu reflejo

Para envolverlo en un susurro…

Ya siento el murmullo,

Ágil en tu reacción...

No te veo pero mi corazón

Predice tu reacción

A mis palabras locas.

 

 

     

 

 

                      Autor/a: reisel (Jennifer concha)

 

 

ESTE LUNES  6  DE  JULIO  , SE VIENE LA SEGUNDA LECTURA DESCENTRALIZACIÒN POÈTICA EN ANTOFAGASTA . EN EL CAFÈ DEL SOL ( ESMERALDA 2013) , A PARTIR DE LAS 10:00 DE LA  NOCHE  . ESTAN INVITADOS TODOS LOS POETAS DE ANTOFAGASTA , A LEER SUS POEMAS Y PRESENTAR SUS PERFOMACE O MONÒLOGOS  .

 

LES SALUDA FRATERNALMENTE

MARIETTA MORALES RODRÌGUEZ

COORDINADORA DESCENTRALIZACIÒN POÈTICA ANTOFAGASTA .

 

 

                    ***********

Olivos de mi tierra

Olivos de Castilla, la humilde, la callada;
notarios inmutables del paso de los días;
discretos, resignados, que nunca pedís nada
ni en calurosas siestas ni en madrugadas frías.

Verdiazul puntillismo del lienzo castellano,
mezclado con los ocres y azules de cobalto
de la reseca tierra y el monte toledano,
remendando llanuras vistas desde lo alto.

Guerreros alineados, ejércitos estáticos;
vestidos con el caqui perenne de sus copas,
indómitos y rudos, impasibles y apáticos,
conquistando colinas sus alineadas tropas.

Olivos de mi tierra, foresta de La Mancha,
templados por cien años, curtidos por mil vientos;
en la llanura inmensa que se pierde y ensancha,
moteando el paisaje de verdes cenicientos.

Benéficos quijotes manchegos del secano;
guardianes de doncellas; héroes de cien campañas; 
triunfadores del duro terruño castellano
en los llanos más llanos de todas las Españas.

Amigos de rebaños de cabras y merinas,
de tordos y palomas, de grajos y abubillas.
Biombo improvisado de aldonzas campesinas.
Vuestra leña es sustento de las lumbres sencillas.

Sois la auténtica estampa del oasis manchego,
que arrancáis de la tierra lo mejor de su entraña
para dar, generosos, al sufrido labriego
el bálsamo que cura las heridas de España.

Cómplices de perdices, de liebres y conejos
que en cada otoño huyen de la cruel escopeta.
Refugio de topillos en los tocones viejos,
en oquedades menguas y en las hondas grietas.

Estáis en lo más hondo del alma campesina
y sois la herencia viva de la España judía;
llegados desde costas de tierra palestina
a Castilla, al Levante y a toda Andalucía.

¿Quién os trajo a Castilla? ¿Quién os hizo españoles?
¿Por qué aguantáis estoicos el cierzo y el solano?
¿No os congelan los hielos? ¿No os abrasan los soles,
ni os ahogan las negras tormentas de verano?

Nunca seréis un árbol de adorno en los jardines;
nunca fuisteis cantados por insignes poetas;
por vuestros viejos troncos no treparán jazmines,
ni seréis el sustento de místicos ascetas.

Con vuestra flor humilde nadie formará un ramo;
ni estarán vuestros frutos de adorno en los fruteros;
no seréis para el arte objeto de reclamo,
ni serán vuestros troncos trajín de carpinteros.

En vuestros viejos troncos, ni anidan ruiseñores,
ni los enamorados dibujan corazones.
Ninguna primavera os viste de colores,
ni en vuestra rala fronda se ocultarán pasiones.

¡Árboles bisabuelos...! que intentan jubilaos
por dar mano de obra al pobre jornalero;
las máquinas agrícolas intentan desplazaos
fríamente guiadas por  rico caballero.

Plantas oleaginosas que mueren en verano;
una extraña política absurda y despiadada;
un plan de regadíos o el crecimiento urbano,
segará vuestra vida fecunda y dilatada.

Herencia de olivares sagrados de la historia:
de la rama de olivo y una blanca paloma
y el beso traicionero de mítica memoria.
Uno estaba en el huerto, el otro en alta loma.

Pero, para el consuelo de la cristiana gente
que religiosamente confía en...  un mañana,
cada Semana Santa, invariablemente,
no faltará un ramito de olivo en su ventana.

NAIROBI, Kenya, Jun 29 - Kenya on Monday confirmed the first case of Swine Flu involving 20-year-old British student who is on a field trip in Kisumu.

Public Health Minister Beth Mugo broke the news on Monday, saying that the patient may have had contact with the initial suspected case that turned negative on Saturday in Nairobi.

“The patient has been quarantined at a hotel in Kisumu,” she told a press conference at her Afya House office.

On Saturday a suspected case of Swine Flu in Kenya tested negative after momentarily spreading panic across Nairobi.

Ministry of Public Health officials said tests conducted at the Kenya Medical Research Institute – based Centre for Disease Control produced no traces of the H1N1 influenza virus.

Samples were taken from a 20-year old Kenyan female student who had arrived from London and reported that she may have come into contact with someone exhibiting symptoms of the flu.

She was rushed to the AAR Health Clinic at Sarit Centre, Westlands where doctors immediately alerted KEMRI officials who took over the case.

AAR Public Relations Officer Juliet Ratemo said: “We closed the AAR Health Centre and took all measures to ensure that our staff and other patients present did not come into further unprotected contact with the patient.”

News about the patient had spread across Nairobi via SMS overnight on Friday, spreading panic as people sought to know the authenticity of the text messages.

In mid this month, the World Health Organisation (WHO) raised the Pandemic alert status from phase 5 to phase 6, which meant that the disease had reached the emergency level.

“It’s not killing more people, it’s not more aggressive than before so don’t think because we have elevated the phase to 6 the disease has become more severe, no! It is about geographical spread. We have been expecting the worst, we are lucky it’s not that bad,” Dr David Okello, WHO Kenya Director had said.

After the alert was raised, Public Health Minister Beth Mugo said the government had stepped up surveillance of the influenza H1N1 and over 50,000 doses of the drug Tamiflu was in the stock pile for use in case of an outbreak in the country.

She had also said there was a ready isolation facility at the Kenyatta National Hospital in case of an outbreak.

The first case of influenza H1N1 virus was reported in late April in Mexico.

According to the WHO website, by Friday, there were 59,814 confirmed cases of the swine flu around the world. 263 people have died of the disease.

The H1N1 strain is a new type of virus that has not circulated previously in humans. The virus is contagious, spreading easily from one person to another and from one country to another.

Young people under the age of 25 years are the main casualties in all the countries.
A similar outbreak occurred in 1918 but was more severe than the current epidemic but the WHO warned that this may change hence the need for more vigilance.

Kenyans can get more information on the disease through the following contacts: 0722- 331 548,020-204 0542, 271 8292.

HOW IT SPREADS AND SYMPTOMS

The virus typically spreads from coughs and sneezes or by touching contaminated surfaces and then touching the nose or mouth. Symptoms are similar to those of the seasonal flu, and may include fever, sneezes, coughs, headache, muscles or joint pain, sore throat, chills, fatigue and runny nose.

The CDC notes that most hospitalizations have been people with underlying conditions such as asthma, diabetes, obesity, heart disease, or a weakened immune systems. In an attempt to slow the spread of the illness, a number of countries, especially in Asia, have enforced strict quarantines on travellers showing any symptoms, along with travellers seated nearby any infected persons.

A record-shattering vinyl album and its moonwalking maestro. A paper poster of a golden-haired beauty in a one-piece swimsuit that was gossamer and clingy in all the right places.

It all seems so quaint now, the fragmented dream memories of a fleeting micro-era that began with words like "bicentennial" and "pet rock" and ended with MTV, Atari and absurdly thin cans of super-hold mousse.

The man-child named Michael Jackson and the luminous girl known as Farrah Fawcett-Majors jumped into our consciousness at a plastic moment in American culture — a time when the celebrity juggernaut we know today was still in diapers. When they departed Thursday, just a few hours and a few miles apart, they left an entire generation — a very strange generation indeed — without two of its defining figures.

"These people were on our lunchboxes," said Gary Giovannetti, 38, a manager at HBO who grew up on Long Island awash in Farrah and MJ iconography. "This," he said, "is the moment when Generation X realizes they're grown up."

It was a long time coming. Cynical, disaffected, rife with ADD, lost between Boomers and millennials and sandwiched between Vietnam and the war on terror, Gen X has always been an oddity. It was the product of a transitional age when we were still putting people on celebrity pedestals but only starting to make an industry out of dragging them down.

Its memorable moments were diffuse and confusing — the Ronald Reagan assassination attempt, the dawn of AIDS, the explosion of the Space Shuttle Challenger. It had no protest movement, no opponent to unite it, none of the things that typically shape the ill-defined beast we call an American generation.

These were the people who sent to the top of the charts a song called "We Don't Need Another Hero," then figured out how to churn them out wholesale, launching the celebrity obsession that is now an accepted part of American cultural fabric.

And that was personified nowhere better than in the two people who died Thursday.

She was, perhaps, the last in a line that began with Betty Grable in World War II — the bathing beauty who seemed kissed by the sun and exuded a potent combination of innocence and sexuality. But her "Charlie's Angels" jiggle-show image presaged another world entirely. It was the one that would come to be dominated first by Brooke and her Calvins and ultimately, as the hunger grew tawdrier, by American Apparel ads and the celebrity sex videos of Pamela Anderson and Paris Hilton.

She struggled for credibility after the poster and the Angels. She got it in 1984 with a dramatic turn as an abused wife in "The Burning Bed." But her last stand — a documentary about the cancer that killed her — was tainted by her run-ins with insatiable paparazzi and tabloids.

He was another thing entirely — perhaps the most recognizable face in the world, even more so than the pope or Barack Obama. His musical genius and energy seemed boundless for a time. They were rivaled only by his quirks, which consumed him.

He had a bumpy, extraordinarily public childhood. Then he spent an off-the-wall lifetime trying to get it back, erecting a ranch named after the fantasy land of Peter Pan and inviting children to share his life and his bed — with results that some said drifted into the criminal.

He caught fire in a Pepsi commercial. He shrouded his children in full-body coverings and dangled one over a balcony to show his fans below. His fabled multiple plastic surgeries turned him into someone almost unrecognizable. Nose sunk into face, cheekbones became caricature, ebony drifted into ivory.

Yet through it all, even when the years of his quirks outstripped the years of his glory, he remained one of the planet's most popular figures, selling out shows wherever he went. "Icon," the Rev. Al Sharpton said, was "only a fraction of what he was." But icon was, of course, what he always acted as if he wanted to be.

Today, celebrities aren't merely created for our consumption. Audiences are passive no longer. We demand a part in creating our icons: Jon and Kate Gosselin and their ilk might as well be publicly held companies, and we all insist upon buying a few shares. Farrah and Michael Jackson were other — above us, maybe, or apart from us. Now, when we crown new icons, we want them to BE us.

"We want everything right now, and there's a blurring of reality. When does the celebrity world stop and our world begin?" said Penni Pier, an associate professor of communications at Wartburg College in Waverly, Iowa.

When Farrah gazed at us in her swimsuit and, a single moment in history later, MJ dared us to moonwalk, they commanded giant audiences. The world had not yet become fragmented into the microcommunities that exist today. We liked them or we hated them, but we shared the experience just as Walter Cronkite told us each night that "that's the way it is."

Today, when Lindsay Lohan Twitters pictures of herself to her legions of followers, the notion that a paper poster bought in a shopping-mall Spencer Gifts could change the celebrity game seems rustic. And the vinyl version of "Thriller," redolent of raw materials and production lines, is a ghost in the virtual world of iTunes — a world that the generation after X negotiates with the fluidity of natives.

In the 1990s, members of Generation X would often laugh in bars about how the time of the Boomers was passing — about how the quaintness and naivete that made up the 1960s was, finally, a grave being danced on by Kurt Cobain. Today, members of that same generation sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings of pop.

A sexy poster upon a boy's wall in which a young woman grins wholesomely. A record album called "Thriller" and its attendant music videos, built upon the notion that sexiness came in the frisson of hints and suggestions rather than in cutting directly to the big reveal.

In the end, finally, they stand as the relics of a generation — one that struggled to find its place and now, suddenly, while still young, one that must wonder if it is as passe as the paper and vinyl that its icons' most memorable moments were etched upon.

We don't need another hero? After this week, are we sure?

The Open Society Institute (OSI) Human Rights Internship is intended to attract recent graduates of Masters and LL.M. programs in the social sciences, law, and humanities to the human rights sector, giving them the opportunity to gain first-hand research experience in the field of human rights, government accountability, or penal reform. Successful candidates receive a locally determined stipend and the opportunity to work in one of the leading human rights and accountability advocacy organizations in Central and Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union. The program is designed to benefit both the intern and the host organization. Internships are envisioned to last from 6 to 12 months, depending on the research topic and scope. For the upcoming year, OSI will support up to 10 internships.

Eligible candidates must fulfill the following three requirements:
1. Be the recipient of an OSI fellowship from the Network Scholarship Program, or a graduate of the Central European University's Human Rights Program or Comparative Constitutional Law Program.
2. Have graduated in the past three years from LL.M. or MA studies in the social sciences, law or humanities.
3. Be a citizen of a country from Central and Eastern Europe, the former Soviet Union, or Mongolia.

Deadlines
- Contact potential hosting NGOs: Monday, August 31, 2009.
- Final Internship Application: Submit by Thursday, October 1, 2009.

For host organizations and to apply, please visit the following link:
http://www.soros.org/initiatives/hrggp/focus_areas/internship.

Patrick Rochon – Light Painting Master
I love you for all the women I haven't known
I love you for all the times in which I haven't lived
For the scent of the wide open spaces and the smell of hot bread
For the melting snow and for the first flowers
For the innocent animals which haven't been frightened by man
I love you to love
I love you for all the women I don't love

Who reflects me if not you yourself-I see myself so little
Without you I see nothing but an empty space
Between those other times and today
There have been all those deaths that I have crossed on straw
I have not been able to break through the wall of my mirror
I've had to learn life word by word
How one forgets

I love you for all the wisdom, which is not mine
For health
I love you against everything which is only illusion
For that immortal heart over which I have no power
You think that you are doubt but you're just reason
You are the powerful sun that rushes to my head
When I am sure of myself
Poetry - Paul Éluard

Volim te za sve zene koje nisam upoznao
Volim te za sva vremena u kojima nisam zivio
Zbog mirisa velike pucine i mirisa topla hleba
Zbog snijega sto se topi i prvih cvjetova
Zbog cednih zivotinja kojih se covjek ne plasi
Volim te zbog voljenja
Volim te zbog svih zena koje ne volim

Jedino u tebi ja se dobro vidim
Bez tebe ne vidim nista nego siroku pustos
Izmedju nekad i danas
Postojale su sve te smrti sto sam ih
ostavio za plotom
Nisam mogao probiti zid svog ogledala
Morao sam uciti zivot slovo po slovo
Kako se zaboravlja

Volim te zbog tvoje mudrosti koja nije moja
Zbog zdravlja
Volim te uprkos svim obmanama
Zbog tog besmrtnog srca sto ga ne zadrzavam
Ti mislis da si sumlja a nisi nego razum
Ti si veliko sunce sto mi na glavu sjeda
Kad sam siguran u sebe samog.

poezija -Paul Éluard