On the Pont Neuf I met
Where does this song distant
On a barge anchored evil
Or Subway Samaritan
On the Pont Neuf I met
Without dog
sign without a stick without mercy on the desperate
To whom the crowd departs
On the Pont Neuf I met
The old image of myself
Who had eyes for crying
mouth for blasphemy
On the Pont Neuf I met
Cette pitoyable apparence
Ce mendiant accaparé
Du seul souci de sa souffrance
Sur le Pont Neuf j’ai rencontré
Fumée aujourd’hui comme alors
Celui que je fus à l’orée
Celui que je fus à l’aurore
Sur le Pont Neuf j’ai rencontré
Semblance d’avant que je naisse
Cet enfant toujours effaré
Le fantôme de ma jeunesse
Sur le Pont Neuf j’ai rencontré
Vingt ans l’empire des mensonges
L’espace d’un miséréré
Ce gamin qui n’était que songes
Sur le Pont Neuf j’ai rencontré
Ce jeune homme et ses bras déserts
Ses lèvres de vent dévorées
Disant les airs qui le grisèrent
Sur le Pont Neuf j’ai rencontré
Baladin du ciel et du coeur
Son front pur et ses goûts outrés
Dans le cri noir des remorqueurs
Sur le Pont Neuf j’ai rencontré
Le joueur qui joua son âme
Comme une colombe égarée
Entre les tours de Notre-Dame
Sur le Pont Neuf j’ai rencontré
Ce spectre de moi qui commence
La ville à l’aval est dorée
A upstream dies romance
On the Pont Neuf I met
This poor little like my
He showed on the Seine
Off the sunspots
Sur le Pont Neuf j 'I met my other
off my masquerade
And in the day faded
He whispered Comrade
On the Pont Neuf I met my double
ignorant and credulous
And I have long remained
In my own shadow receding
On the Pont Neuf I met
Sitting in the worn stones
The refrain that The murmur
j'ai reve here but lumière fut
Aveugle aveugle rencontre avec tes
Passant Regards veufs
Ô mon passé désemparé
Sur le Pont Neuf
Louis Aragon
DELANO
Man dies when stabbed by bird at cockfight
A Kern County man attending a cockfight died after being stabbed in the leg by a bird that had a knife attached to its own limb.
The coroner says 35-year-old Jose Luis Ochoa was declared dead at the hospital about two hours after he suffered the injury in neighboring Tulare County on Jan. 30.
An autopsy last week concluded that Ochoa died of an accidental "sharp force injury" to his right calf.
Sheriff's spokesman Ray Pruitt says it's unclear if a delay in seeking medical attention contributed to Ochoa's death. Tulare officials are investigating, and no arrests were made at the cockfight.
Cockfighting is a sport, illegal in the United States, in which specially bred roosters are put into a ring and encouraged to fight until one is incapacitated or killed.
Come night, Night and the same old, born dethroned Queen
Night, Night
internally equal to silence
Night with the stars, sequins on your dress fringed rapid
Infinity.
vaguely Come, come
slightly
come alone, solemn, his hands dropped
sides, and come
door behind the distant mountains of the nearby trees,
your funds in a field all the fields I see,
make the mountain a single block of your body,
remove it in all the differences I see from a distance during the day,
all the roads that go up,
all the different trees that are dark green in the distance, all the houses
white smoke through the trees
and leaves only a light, another light and another, in the distance
vague and vaguely disturbing,
in the distance suddenly unable to go.
Our Lady of the impossible things that we seek in vain,
dreams that visit us at dusk at the window of the purposes that we cherish
a large terrace overlooking the sea cosmopolitan hotels,
European music and the sound of distant voices and nearby
and we complain because we know that they never realize.
cullaci Come, come and console
,
baciaci silently on the forehead,
so lightly on the front that we are not aware of being kissed
except for a difference in the soul
and a faint sob from leaving mercifully
'
us where ancient roots of those trees whose wonder
fruits are the dreams that rocked and we love them because we know
no relation to what we can
be in life. Come
solemn, solemn and full
a hidden desire to sob, perhaps because
large and small is the soul's life, and not all
gestures can go out of our bodies, and arrived only
far as it goes
our arm and we see only as far as our eyes see.
Come, painful,
Mater Dolorosa of the anxieties of the timid,
ivory tower of the sadness of despised,
cool hand on the forehead of the feverish Humble,
taste of spring water on the parched lips of the Fed.
Vieni, dal fondo
dell'orizzonte livido,
vieni e strappami
dal suolo dell'angustia in cui io vegeto,
dal suolo di inquietudine e vita-di-troppo e false sensazioni
dal quale naturalmente sono spuntato.
Coglimi dal mio suolo, margherita trascurata,
e fra erbe alte margherita ombreggiata,
petalo per petalo leggi in me non so quale destino
e sfogliami per il tuo piacere,
per il tuo piacere silenzioso e fresco.
Un petalo di me lancialo verso il Nord,
dove sorgono le città di oggi il cui rumore ho amato come un corpo.
Un altro petalo di me lancialo verso il Sud
dove sono i mari e le avventure che si sognano.
Un another petal to the West, where it burns hot
everything that maybe it's the future,
and there are rumors of large machines and large rocky deserts
where souls are overgrown and morality does not come.
And the other, other, all other petals
- oh hidden toll of bells to hammer in my soul! -
trustworthy East,
the East which is all day and faith, the East
pompous and fanatic and hot, too
the East that I will never see, the East
Buddhist, Brahmanic , Shinto,
the East that is all we have, we are not all that
,
the East, where - Who knows - maybe even today live Christ
where perhaps there is a God reigning over all bodily ...
Come over seas, over seas more
,
above the sea by the uncertain horizons,
come and passed his hand on his back savage,
Calm him and mysteriously hypnotic
or tamer things crawling!
Come, caring,
come, maternal
on tiptoe, you sedesti
old nurse at the bedside of the associated loss of faith, and you saw born
Jehovah and Jupiter,
and you smiled because everything is false except the darkness and silence, and the vast
mystery beyond them ... Come, Silent Night and ecstatic,
wrap your mantle light
my heart ... Quietly, like a breeze in the evening slow
quietly, as a maternal gesture reassures
with twinkling stars (or disguise of the Beyond!)
gold dust in your hair blacks,
and waning moon, mask mysterious on your face.
All sounds playing in a different way when you come you
When you enter each item drops
No one sees you enter
Nobody notices when you came, if not
suddenly see that everything is gathered,
that it loses all the contours and colors,
and high into the sky, still clearly white and blue horizon,
already sharp scythe, or yellow circle, or simply spread whiteness, the moon begins its day.
Dedications
I dedicate this poem to the men with whom I did not go never read]
children never had the poems he wrote that no
I dedicate this poem to women who do not love their children
death to those in hotels
without anyone to embrace
I dedicate it to the author of the slogans written on the walls with spray cans]
men and women tortured anonymous
to what even his name never uttered
I dedicate this poem to those who cry out in pain to give birth
those who scream scared stations
bus and in the vaults of the market
I dedicate it to suicide
poets who live forgotten in some anthology
that washing the corpses
women who go to bed with all those who fall asleep
always dedicate themselves
this poem to the godfathers and godmothers
that make love and are transformed into stone
to those who are washed with a bowl of pumpkin
Friday santo e sono trasformati in pesce
all’uomo che volle essere un avvoltoio
e a quelli che sognano di poter volare
Dedico questa poesia al Signore della Notte stellata
al Pappagallo di Fuoco
al Pianto delle Mosche
alla Pioggia Verde
al Guardiano del Miele
alla Fratellanza dei Fratellini
alla Maschera che Piange
alla Rude Lumaca di Terra
allo Scivolo dei Quattro Angoli
agli Unificatori di Corteccia per il Vino Cerimoniale
La dedico a coloro che suonano il flauto e il tamburo
quando vanno alla fonte a lavare i panni
alla donna che sguazza nelle cascate
e si bagna i capelli con acqua di iris
a quella che allatta il suo piccolo tra le canne
a quelli che cercano l’arcobaleno nella oleosa pozzanghera
ai vogatori che inventano il canto con le braccia
a quelli che lavano la farina di granturco sotto la pioggia
alle donne che trasportano l’acqua nei secchi
e camminano lungo la strada
Alla ragazzina che vede le lucciole
alla ragazzina con la lanterna in mano
ai ragazzini che saltellano con una torcia di stoppie
a quelli che corrono nel fuoco
e sotterrano i loro morti in cucina
cantando fra le macerie
all’uomo che imbroglia la sua stessa morte
nel suo letto di morte
a quello che scende dalle montagne
per non bruciarsi con le stelle
a quello che afferra la mano della morte per ballarci insieme
alle donne che hanno molte nuore
che portano iguane sulla testa
alle ragazze dai capelli ricci che vendono neve ai tropici
ai pescatori di gamberi che avvistano la cometa dell’alba
a quello che si rimbocca le maniche e chiede un’ascia
a quella che vende gnocchi di patate, di mumu e chipilìn
a quelli che tagliano pannocchie tenere e le mangiano nei campi
a quelli che legano la zampa del cane che ruba polli
ai ragazzi – ragazze che uccidono per amore
a quelli che si gettano nella fossa dove si seppellisce un amico
al poeta che non può scendere dal tetto
perché è troppo innamorato
e a quello che fa quello che può
I dedicate this poem to what you do not frequent the cafes and swimming pools
know or talk on the phone
those that do not fit in the bank or go on TV
those of evening schools
receiving love letters with spelling errors
and poets that never begins to write
the waiters who swallow their dignity to women of child
washing clothes of others
women who do not dare say what they think
nor raise his voice or be happy without
to permit a man who fell down
and swallow his tongue in the crowd
to those who sleep with her apron on and minds on things to
do while their husbands are too fast
to those women who wake up in the darkness beneath palm roofs
and make tortillas in the huts
the woman who burned her hair
blouse dirty the coal
those that dry up pumpkins
tin roofs and no chairs
To the men who sing to their children to sleep in tsotsil
and have dirty fingernails
scavengers to those who mow lawns with a machete who sow
prickly pears and eat tortilla salt
the night watchman who works during the day than with the slippers
routes that goes back a hundred beds each morning to the old toothless
selling chewing gum on beach
those who travel on foot to the cocoa plantations
to those with black faces scorched by fire
tears and scars of their deafness
I dedicate this poem to the man chained
maltrattai
children to the children of alcoholics
women who care for children of other
but see their fortnightly
that washing the floors of private school
and can not write his name
women who eat at the table to those of the hospice
sleep around the oven of a bakery
men who clean public toilets and sweep the streets at dawn
women dancing in cabarets and
sono stufe
Questa poesia è dedicata all’impastatore di mattoni
morto costruendo la casa di qualcun altro
al poeta con la bocca sigillata per sempre al suo funerale
a coloro che fuggirono di notte
quando la lava seppellì la loro chiesa
ai vicini che tempo fa sotterrarono i loro figli
uno dopo l’altro come gli anni che passano
a quelli che hanno dovuto vendersi i figli
il sangue e il sesso
e a quelli che non hanno più niente da perdere
Dedico questa poesia ai contadini senzatetto
che occupano le terre del padrone
che scavano tunnel sotto le banche
che danno fuoco alla sgranatrice
che non lasciano ombra
e fanno skip moonless
bridges that go to the thirteen-year guerrilla
and know their first woman as an outlaw among the volcanoes
For the two injured girls
peeled for the possum Olga
Dogs bastards beaten with sticks
those born in countries where the truth is that illegal
took another name for years and not see their family
to those who have never slept in the same bed
and share a common grave
I dedicate this poem to his mother seeking her son in the morgue among other poems
beheaded
not able to say what his body is
and tells each of them goodbye with a hug
Ambar Past (Translated by Anna Lombardo )
Of Polish descent, and Ambar Past 'was born in 1949 in the United States in 1985 and took Mexican citizenship. He lived for years among the natives in the most 'remote Mexico, Nicaragua and Guatemala. For more 'than 30 years has lived in Chiapas, where he learned to speak the Tzotzil Mayan. In 1975 he founded the Taller Lenateros tsotsil Mayan cooperative in San Cristobal de Las Casas. He writes poetry and short stories.
____________________________
U n boy of 21 years, Marc Higgins of Bristol, Connecticut, and 'accused of fatally stabbing his contemporary and wounded three others for a discussion of flatulence. They were all at a party and Marc has farted all night.
A girl and 'felt so offended by his behavior that he slapped at that Marc has left the party but' returned shortly afterwards armed with three knives, killed a twenty-one who had taken around the smells and injured for the same reason the other two boys and a girl.
Mah ...... except my daughter that I never heard it once, all the other members of my family, natural and acquired, should all be dead.
