Mientras cae la ruina y otros poemas
AntologĂa poĂ©tica
C.S. Lewis
- 186 pages
- Spanish
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Mientras cae la ruina y otros poemas
AntologĂa poĂ©tica
C.S. Lewis
Ă propos de ce livre
La presente obra constituye la primera antologĂa poĂ©tica en lengua castellana de la que, sin duda, fue la faceta literaria menos conocida del escritor britĂĄnico C.S. Lewis.Se puede afirmar que Lewis se sintiĂł poeta desde sus primeros impulsos literarios hasta el final de su vida. De hecho, sus primeros textos publicados bajo el seudĂłnimo de Clive Hamilton fueron un pequeño tomo de versos titulado Spirits in Bondage (1919) y el largo poema narrativo Dymer (1926). De la misma manera, sus escritos autobiogrĂĄficos o de carĂĄcter privado muestran que su vocaciĂłn literaria fue, primera y esencialmente, una vocaciĂłn poĂ©tica y que Ă©sta se mantuvo firme durante toda su existencia. De ella surgiĂł el volumen Poems (1964), en el que su albacea literario, el reverendo Hopper, recopilĂł buena parte de los poemas que Lewis habĂa ido escribiendo a lo largo de su vida.El poeta Lewis sigue siendo a dĂa de hoy un perfecto desconocido, incluso para sus mĂĄs acĂ©rrimos lectores; mĂĄs aun para sus seguidores en lengua española, que apenas han tenido hasta el momento posibilidad de acceder en su idioma a la obra poĂ©tica de Lewis. OjalĂĄ esta antologĂa, presentada aquĂ en ediciĂłn bilingĂŒe, permita a los lectores asomarse al riquĂsimo y exuberante mundo poĂ©tico de nuestro autor.
Foire aux questions
Informations
El deseo del mundo
BALLADE MYSTIQUE
The stony garden waste and sere
With blight of breezes ocean blown
To pinch the wakening of the year;
My kindly friends with busy cheer
My wretchedness could plainly show.
They tell me I am lonely hereâ
What do they know? What do they know?
And easements creak in winter drear
I should be piteously alone
Without the speech of comrades dear;
And friendly for my sake they fear,
It grieves them thinking of me so
While all their happy life is nearâ
What do they know? What do they know?
In sunny lands without a tear
And found a forest all my own
To ward with magic shield and spear,
Where, through the stately towers I rear
For my desire, around me go
Immortal shapes of beauty clear:
They do not know, they do not know.
The friends I have without a peer
Beyond the western oceanâs glow,
Whither the faerie galleys steer,
They do not know: how should they know?
BALADA MĂSTICA
IRISH NOCTURNE
From the waste oceanâs weedy strand
And fills the valley, as a cup
If filled of evil drink in a wizardâs hand;
And the trees fade out of sight,
Like dreary ghosts unhealthily,
Into the damp, pale night,
Till you almost think that a clearer eye could see
Some shape come up of a demon seeking apart
His meat, as Grendel sought in Harte
The thanes that sat by the wintry logâ
Grendel or the shadowy mass
Of Balor, or the man with the face of clay,
The grey, grey walker who used to pass
Over the rock-arch nightly to his prey.
But here at the dumb, slow stream where the willows hang,
With never a wind to blow the mists apart,
Bitter and bitter it is for thee. O my heart,
Looking upon this land, where poets sang,
Thus with the dreary shroud
Unwholesome, over it spread,
And knowing the fog and the cloud
In her peopleâs heart and head
Even as it lies for ever upon her coasts
Making them dim and dreamy lest her sons should ever arise
And remember all their boasts;
For I know that the colourless skies.
And the blurred horizons bread
Lonely desire and many words and brooding and never a deed