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Sylvia Plath

Ariel

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Publicado póstumamente en 1964, este es el último poemario de Sylvia Plath y llegó envuelto en una cierta polémica, pues su marido, Ted Hughes, editó el manuscrito original suprimiendo o añadiendo algunos poemas. Esto dividió a la crítica entre los que lo consideraban una intromisión y los que entendían que Hughes y Plath solían colaborar.

Finalmente, en 2004, salió a la luz la edición íntegra de Ariel que ahora presentamos, con la selección y organización original de los poemas, en edición ilustrada.

Esta obra es una brillante muestra del estilo poético de la gran escritora estadounidense, de versos alternativamente brutales y suaves, cortantes y acariciadores.
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111 yazdırılmış sayfalar
Orijinal yayın
2020
Sanatçı
Sara Morante

İzlenimler

    Paola Hernándezbir izlenim paylaşıldıgeçen yıl
    👍Okumaya değer
    🔮Gizli Derinlikler

Alıntılar

    Geraldine Guarnerosalıntı yaptıgeçen yıl
    This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.

    The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.

    The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God,

    Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.

    Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place

    Separated from my house by a row of headstones.

    I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

    The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,

    White as a knuckle and terribly upset.

    It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet

    With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.

    Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky—

    Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.

    At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

    The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.

    The eyes lift after it and find the moon.

    The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.

    Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.

    How I would like to believe in tenderness—

    The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,

    Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

    I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering

    Blue and mystical over the face of the stars.

    Inside the church, the saints will be all blue,

    Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,

    Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.

    The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.

    And the message of the yew tree is blackness—blackness and silence.
    Krishna Hare Krishnaalıntı yaptı24 gün önce
    El mundo es personal y de sangre caliente,
    Krishna Hare Krishnaalıntı yaptı25 gün önce
    Amor, amor, el humo me brota a ras de suelo

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