Blog de Juan Fernández

De todo un poco, como en botica. Apuntes medioseculares, donde, por hablar, se habla hasta del gobierno. Este blog cuenta con la bendición de los siguientes santos: San Woody, San Humphrey, San Frank McCourt, Santa Almudena, Grande de España, patrona de los canadienses, y Santa Dorothy Parker. Borrachos y borrachas de sombra negra, abstenerse.

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Lugar: Madrid, Spain

domingo, febrero 06, 2011

T S Eliot Reading The Love Song Of J Alfred Prufrock

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

5 Comments:

Blogger Iris said...

Quina meravella, no l'havia sentit mai així!!!
He intentat deixar-te la traducció. però és molt llarga i no cap als comentaris.
Tota un cant a la incertesa, al dubte i a la por de veure uns somnis complits!!!
Mil gràcies pel vídeo crec que vaig a llegir-lo una i mil vegades!!!

20:36  
Blogger Iris said...

uiiiiiiiiii, vull dir escoltar-lo.

20:37  
Blogger Maresfp said...

"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.

Bello poema. Gracias por compartirlo.

21:22  
Blogger Iris said...

Maresfp, lo que dices es lo mejor del poema, el miedo a no formular una pregunta de manera clara. Es todo un monólogo de divagaciones que nunca le sacan del pesimismo existencial en el que se encuentra sumergido, debido seguramente a malas esperiencias anteriores. Me encanta esta forma de dejar aflorar los pensamientos en el poema.
Bueno, os dejo ya, qque me enrollo como las persianas y me temo que voy a ser capaz de soltar mil y un disparates y terminar en la Divina Comedia.
Abrazos a los dos, que la disfrutéis

21:39  
Blogger Iris said...

experiencias, SOS

21:42  

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