Leonard Cohen.Enhorabuena
Tú hija se llama Lorca, y él está en todas tus letras.Gracias.Esperamos que Oviedo te guste.Tierra de pelayos y premios.Y de amigos.
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
De nada.Y ahora a leer.Y a escribir clarito, para que se entienda.Lo dice el jurado del Booker.Menos mal que Jules Barnes, ahora, con su premio pijo(posh bingo), se ríe.Ja, ja, ja.
Dance me to the end of love
Etiquetas: Desde Ballsbridge
posted by Efímera at 5:13 p. m.
2 Comments:
Admirada Efímera, de Barnes he leído El loro de Flaubert y La mesa limón. ¿Me recomiendas algo más?
Julian Barnes is the author of nine novels, including Metroland, Flaubert's Parrot, A History of the World in 10 ½ Chapters, England, England and Arthur and George, and two collections of short stories, Cross Channel and The Lemon Table.
Ha ganado el Bookerr con The Sense of an Ending, bonito título.Barnes dice no creer en Dios, la ciencia lo explica todo.Steiner reflexionaba sobre ficciones:Al principio hubo un Big Bang; Dios creó el mundo.¿Cúal elegimos? ¡Ay!, el mono listillo, neuronas dormidas,bueno, perdona, acaso Arthur&George.Qué hay despues de la muerte lo dejamos para otro día.
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