jeudi 16 avril 2015

IDILIO MUERTO

Qué estará haciendo esta hora mi andina y dulce Rita
de junco y capulí;
ahora que me asfixia Bizancio, y que dormita
la sangre, como flojo cognac, dentro de mí.

Dónde estarán sus manos que en actitud contrita
planchaban en las tardes blancuras por venir;
ahora, en esta lluvia que me quitta
las ganas de vivir.

Qué será de su falda de franela; de sus
afanes; de su andar;
de su sabor a cañas de mayo del lugar.

Ha de estarse a la puerta mirando algún celaje,
y al fin dirá temblando: «Qué frío hay... Jesús!»
y llorará en las tejas un pájaro salvaje.

César VALLEJO, Los heraldos negros (Quarta edicion, Lima, 1988)

jeudi 2 avril 2015

Jeudi Saint

The Voice of God is heard in Paradise :

"What was vile has become precious. What is now precious was never vile. I have always known the vile as precious: for what is vile I know not at all.
What was cruel has become merciful. What is now merciful was never cruel. I have always overshadowed Jonas with My mercy, and cruelty I know not at all. Have you had sight of Me, Jonas My child? Mercy within mercy within mercy. I have forgiven the universe without end, because I have never known sin.
What was poor has become infinite. What is infinite was never poor. I have always known poverty as infinite: riches I love not at all. Prisons within prisons within prisons. Do not lay up for yourselves ecstasies upon earth, where time and space corrupt, where the minutes break in and steal. No more lay hold on time, Jonas, My son, lest the rivers bear you away.
What was fragile has become powerful. I loved what was most frail. I looked upon what was nothing. I touched what was without substance, and within what was not, I am."

Thomas MERTON, The Sign of Jonas (1953)