martes, 26 de abril de 2011

'A Process in the Weather of the Heart', de Dylan Thomas

A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
Turns night to day; blood in their suns
Lights up the living worm.

A process in the eye forwarns
The bones of blindness; and the womb
Drives in a death as life leaks out.

A darkness in the weather of the eye
Is half its light; the fathomed sea
Breaks on unangled land.
The seed that makes a forest of the loin
Forks half its fruit; and half drops down,
Slow in a sleeping wind.

A weather in the flesh and bone
Is damp and dry; the quick and dead
Move like two ghosts before the eye.

A process in the weather of the world
Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child
Sits in their double shade.
A process blows the moon into the sun,
Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;
And the heart gives up its dead.

2 comentarios:

  1. Me encanta, me encanta, me encanta.

    Dylan Thomas es desde hace tiempo uno de mis poetas favoritos y cada cierto tiempo vuelvo a él: And death shall have no dominion...

  2. Ah, es increíble. ¡Me alegro de que compartas el sentimiento, Rachel!