milagro.
(De miraglo).
de ~.
1. loc. adv. U. para expresar que algo ha ocurrido cuando
parecía imposible que ocurriese, o que no ha ocurrido cuando todo hacía creer
que iba a suceder.
vivir alguien de ~.
la noche afuera
|
Idilio en el café
|
|
Ahora me
pregunto si es que toda la vida
hemos estado
aquí. Pongo, ahora mismo,
la mano ante los ojos —qué latido de la sangre en los párpados— y el vello inmenso se confunde, silencioso, a la mirada. Pesan las pestañas. No sé bien de qué hablo. ¿Quiénes son, rostros vagos nadando como en un agua pálida, éstos aquí sentados, con nosotros vivientes? La tarde nos empuja a ciertos bares o entre cansados hombres en pijama. Ven. Salgamos fuera. La noche. Queda espacio arriba, más arriba, mucho más que las luces que iluminan a ráfagas tus ojos agrandados. Queda también silencio entre nosotros, silencio y este beso igual que un largo túnel. |
Jaime Gil de Biedma
falda
como un tornado que pasara
lentamente
la vida esparció los objetos
por las cuatro
esquinas de este mapa objetos
de escaso valor souvenirs
bolígrafos gastados
transistores sin pilas y
prendas prendas como esa falda
tirada por el suelo
recuerdo el día que la
compraste ¿qué es esto? no
no voy a ponérmela es
demasiado corta cien mil veces
en cócteles en verbenas en
domingos estúpidos en casa
bailando para ti sólo para ti
cien mil veces me la puse
sin bragas sin nada debajo
como tú me pedías y ahora ves
tirada por el suelo
se la pone luisa para jugar
con las amigas
si vieras cómo ha crecido en
pocos meses
Pablo García Casado
oasis
En un artículo reciente
en The independent sobre Steve Coogan, leo lo siguiente de abajo. Cuando aparece el sentido común es como un oasis.
In any
case, his life appears quieter than it was in 2007 when the Daily Mail dubbed him "Coogan the
Barbarian." He lives outside Brighton, near to Clare, his 16-year-old
daughter from a previous relationship, in a mansion he shares with Elle Basey,
a 23-year-old lingerie model he met when he was guest-editing Loaded. "And there I, ah, I draw
a veil," he says. "I don't like to bang on about my personal
life." He spends his spare time at his house in the Lake District. "I
don't like going to sunny places on holiday," he says, with a baffled
sneer. "I love Britain." He walks and reads – classic-car magazines
and history books. This weekend, he went cycling on the South Downs. "They
are not particularly exciting things", he says. "But I like doing
them."
His
professional life is rather more serious, too. Comedy leaves him a bit cold
these days. "You get older and you want something more. I do love comedy,
I'd just rather use it as a device to do something of substance." He is
already working on a new screenplay with Pope ("He's workmanlike, good at
the big picture. I over-analyse, like the myopia of it.") loosely based on
his childhood. And he is writing his autobiography. It will only cover half of
his life, probably up to when Partridge was born.
"So
I don't have to roll my sleeves up and start slagging off people I work with
and upset them. I'll only have to mildly criticise my friends and family. And
they won't sue me." Will it be a happy tale? "Yeah. I'll try and
manufacture some sort of trauma obviously. Make it more interesting. The
content will be slightly underwhelming – 90 per cent of my childhood was very
happy. I wasn't buggered by a priest, no one molested me. The only thing that
happened was I had to go bed early and miss Bouquet of Barbed Wire.
And I wasn't allowed a new Chopper for Christmas."
He
was a dreamy child, always fantasising about films, or life in London, where
everyone "lived in Mayfair, in expensive apartments, and drove
Bentleys." At school, he was a talented mimic, but a reluctant one. "I
wasn't the performing monkey. There were people in my class who goofed around
and I thought they were idiots," he says. He is not sure what he would
have done, had he flopped in showbusiness. "I dread to think. I probably
would have drifted into teaching. God knows, I've never had a proper job."
disparos
I
was five and he was six
we rode on horse made of sticks
he wore black and i wore white
he would always win the fight
we rode on horse made of sticks
he wore black and i wore white
he would always win the fight
Bang bang, he shot me down
bang bang, i hit the ground
bang bang, that awful sound
bang bang, my baby shot me down.
Seasons came and changed the time
when i grew up, i called him mine
he would always laugh and say
"remember when we used to play?"
Bang bang, i shot you down
bang bang, you hit the ground
bang bang, that awful sound
bang bang, i used to shoot you down.
Music played and people sang
just for me the church bells rang.
Now he's gone, i don't know why
and till this day, sometimes i cry
he didn't even say goodbye
he didn't take the time to lie.
en plural
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