La extensión de mi cuerpo

Walt Whitman, Kike de la Rubia, Antonio Rivero Taravillo

• Editorial: Nórdica Libros
• Año: 2014
• ISBN del libro electrónico: 9788416112166
• Categoría: Literatura
• Categoría: Poesía

Pocos poetas poseen una voz tan personal, poderosa e influyente como Walt Whitman. Así lo afirma Juan Marqués en su presentación: «el poeta de WestHills consiguió, sencillamente, decirlo todo. Whitman inauguró un mundo, afirmó o insinuó en él todo lo que deseaba o necesitaba afirmar o insinuar delnuestro y después lo clausuró, obteniendo y brindándonos un producto perfecto, macizo, sin grietas. Lo que cantaba de sí mismo lo cantó de todos nosotros, lo que dijo de América lo extendía a todos los rincones del universo».Hemos seleccionado para esta antología veintiséis poemas del célebre Canto de mí mismo, con una nueva traducción de Antonio Rivero Taravillo y unimpresionante trabajo gráfico de Kike de la Rubia.«Ese Walt Whitman del que le hablé es lo que más me interesa actualmente. Acabo de leer su segundo libro y me ha sentado mejor que ningún otro libro en mucho tiempo.»Henry David Thoreau

THE SPREAD OF MY OWN BODY

1

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,

I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,

Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,

I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,

Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,

Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,

I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,

Nature without check with original energy.

2

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,

I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,

The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,

It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,

I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,

I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,

Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,

My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,

The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind,

A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms

The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,

The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,

The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earth much?

Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?

Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,

You shall ...

Índice

• Portadilla
• Créditos
• Autor
• Ilustrador
• Contenido
• Presentación, por Juan Marqués
• LA EXTENSIÓN DE MI CUERPO
• THE SPREAD OF MY OWN BODY
• Contraportada