BLANCA – Vaig fent camí mentre tracto d’apaivagar el meu discerniment confús. Activo els ulls envers la immensa rojor del cel, embolcallada per un brancatge ufanós, bressolada pel vent i endolcida per la llum roginosa del capvespre. En l’instant en què l’astre rei renunciava a la seua ubicació presidencial, la Blanca deixava la carnisseria del
SOME PEACE OF MIND I noticed what was going to occur, I did nothing though. I was not willing to move, felt like sitting in a shadow. I never fought for anything, nor look back or front, Hated the present times from the bottom of my heart. I worked, breathed and studied, sometimes even wrote,
Una ruta literària pren forma resseguint un indret per mitjà de la mirada d’un escriptor que ha sabut ordenar i descriure les seues emocions i les dels seus protagonistes a través de l’experiència del lloc. Pot esdevindre una activitat molt complexa per a l’exercici de la qual es necessita un bon raig d’imaginació, així com
GOOD NEWS Shall praise good news and sing melodies. Bye wars and blood, the sea is calm tonight, Welcome new hymns, true anthems of gaiety. Not flying on the air, not building the moon on earth, Walking in beauty like a cloudless night, Kissing new ways of living in starry climates. Hopes that my heart
HORIZON Path guiding my steps with healthiest horizon, As longings that life is building with the hope To belong to a nation that believes in its roots. We delivered the alphabet of austere sounds, This land with clear thrusts invokes the river’s echo. This country keeping the native language As a treasure with thousand values.
GOOD NEWS Shall praise good news and sing melodies. Bye wars and blood, the sea is calm tonight, Welcome new hymns, true anthems of gaiety. Not flying on the air, not building the moon on earth, Walking in beauty like a cloudless night, Kissing new ways of living in starry climates. Hopes that my heart
HORIZON Path guiding my steps with healthiest horizon, As longings that life is building with the hope To belong to a nation that believes in its roots. We delivered the alphabet of austere sounds, This land with clear thrusts invokes the river’s echo. This country keeping the native language As a treasure with thousand values.
CRADLES Listen to the wind as it gently cradles The yearnings of youth in the rustle! Teenage hearts are mirroring happiness In a few instants of peerless joy. The school is cunning linking home, In search of waves of brightness, And a sea of hope in what is to come. Under woodland pleasant voices resonate
MENAHEM BEN SARUQ, lingüista jueu tortosí del segle IX De rostre esblanqueït i pigat, amb un nas aguilenc, Menahem Ben Saruq mostra els ulls grossos i verds com les maragdes, protegits per unes celles gruixudes. Els seus llavis són molsuts i rojos com una rosella. Duu els cabells llargs amb una certa ondulació. Un borrissol
STROLLING We were strolling along a busy avenue, — Lots of faces and windows and lights — , Staring discreetly at everything nearby. We are not sojourning in pernicious caves, Those ancient hells ruled by injurious winners. Some poems recall the greatest sorrows, Sharpening all the tools of fear, And singing the enduring nostalgias, With
THE VALUE OF POETRY I do believe the essential value of poetry should not only be sought in the development of a new metric and a different syntax, but also in the search for a new value for the word, reducing it to its essential elements. The poet ought to alter the verse, create new
NOT A NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKER All in all, first thing readers ought to bear in mind: I have been teaching the English language for decades, I am not a native speaker though. I mostly make use of my beloved native Catalan in my literary work. Consequently, it was quite a big challenge to try to
FRONT VIEW I saw front view, consciously, what would happen But I didn’t move a finger. I was stock-still, unwilling, Facing a hereafter that no longer suited me. I’m not stone-made or fond of current times, Nor do I want to rewrite history. I breathe, work, study, write and concentrate. I don’t smoke or drink,
CLOUDY It was a cloudy morning, I dared not look back. The whole day staring at faces and rocks and branches, And doors the faces came from, hiding… fading. Up close I beheld it and didn’t get off the floor. Right then, suddenly, it got dark. And I no longer saw the clouds. I might
PARADING I am staring at a crowd parading down a wide avenue In a laborious hectic town where words become verses, And the stars are rolling across hastily, Relieving the solitary sorrow we are all feeling. The world is no longer lost here. All this new landscape Is expanding happily — Dominated by rigorous fondness